“Now what?” J.B. shouted. “We’re mobile, but in a bottleneck. Use the pass, and we’re sitting ducks for those wall cannons!”
“Fuck the pass,” Ryan growled, digging in a pocket with his uninjured hand and extracting his butane lighter. He flicked it once to check the flame, then headed for the undamaged Firebird pod. “We’re going straight through the coral reef breakers, and at full speed!”
Chapter Eighteen
Muttering curses, Giles stumped along the smoky deck of the Gibraltar, trying not to trip over the bodies. Only two ships of the pirate fleet were still floating; the rest were sinking or burning. The other vessel, whatever its name was, had ceased firing its cannons once the mainsail caught fire and fell to the deck, smothering the crew. Many had tried to cut their way free, but nobody escaped from the burning canvas.
Now there was only Giles, and the Gibraltar. The rest of the swabs on board the flagship had been aced by a Firebird that flew over and exploded in the air, the shrapnel chilling everybody on deck. Only he had survived, the mast shielding him from the deadly blast. Now Giles was alone, the last pirate on the last ship.
The Peteys were still circling the dead ships, firing bursts from those big rapidfires, but soon even those idiots would realize nobody was shooting back, and they’d start coming on board for a recce. With blasters in one hand and slave chains in the other. No way Giles would ever let others do to him what he did so often to his prisoners. Death first.
Moving among the corpses, the pirate took a knife from a dead man, a gourd of wine and water, a machete and finally a revolver and three live rounds from the still hands of Red Blade. Or he thought it was Red Blade. It was hard to tell without a head on the body.
Well armed, Giles headed for the hatchway. He’d grab some food in the galley, then go hide in the bilge with the rats. Back on the Delta Blue, there had been secret places on the ship where a man could hide from the most ruthless search. Even used the cubbyhole once to smuggle out the daughter of a baron. Before the vessel had left the dock, Giles had been enjoying the girl while her frantic parents and an army of sec men searched the streets for the lost child.
Awkwardly thumping down the companionway with his cane, Giles knew it would be the same again here. He’d stay out of sight, for weeks if necessary, feeding off the rats until the time was right, then escape from under the very nose of the lord bastard himself. Afterward, he’d steal a ship and find those bastard outlanders again to finally get his revenge. This was far from over.
AS THE COMPANIONS raced across the harbor in the damaged PT boat, their speed steadily increased until the craft was skimming across the water, going from wave to wave, practically flying.
Standing near the Firebird pod, Ryan noted that the pirate ships were oddly quiet, the ville, too. Only the Peteys were still darting about, shooting their machine guns and launching Firebirds. The Deathlands warrior watched as a tall man shouted orders while he fired a hand cannon into the sea, wounding the pirates being eaten by the sharks. He had to be the commander of the lord baron’s armada. There would be no mercy or deals with a coldheart like that. Best to chill the man first chance he came under the crosshairs of the Steyr.
“Fifty yards!” Krysty shouted from the bow.
Quickly lighting the main fuse, Ryan aimed the pod at the water ahead of the bouncing vessel, threw a handle to lock it in position and stood clear. This worked, or it didn’t. There was nothing more he could do.
Joining Ryan by the port cannon, Krysty felt a strange crawling sensation in her mind, and turned fast, staring at the rockets. She could have sworn somebody whispered to her, asking a question too soft to hear. Her skin crawled at the memory of the unnatural feeling, and her animated hair coiled tightly in reaction to her agitated state.