A canteen was shoved into Ryan’s face.
“Drink,” Mildred ordered, taking his hand and splashing some of the vodka on his palm.
Ryan’s eye went wide at the pain. “Don’t waste this,” he growled, pulling away. “Need every drop to leave here.”
“Not anymore,” the physician replied, hauling his hand back. “Dean found a pile of cans filled with coal oil.”
“Must be emergency fuel for the engine,” he grunted as her needle plunged into his skin, sewing the cut closed.
“But J.B. says it will work fine in that turbine generator. We have gallons of fuel now. More than enough.” Finishing a knot, Mildred paused to bite off the excess thread.
“Still got those empty bottles from the trunk?” he asked as she wrapped it tight with strips of boiled Army bedsheets.
“Sure,” Mildred answered, packing away her supplies. Then she looked up and smiled. “Damn good idea. They hate fire.”
“Slow it down, at least,” Ryan stated, flexing the hand. “Better. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
A sharp whistle cut the air.
“Incoming!” Jak shouted, firing behind them.
Just rounding the point was a PT boat, stuttering flame from its .50-caliber blaster, showing it was already throwing lead their way.
Ryan went to their own fifty, and worked the massive bolt on the huge rapidfire. There was only half a belt dangling from the breech, and no spare coils of ammo anywhere in sight. Bracing himself against the recoil, Ryan fired a short burst at the approaching Petey while Krysty and Jak placed carefully shots with the handblasters. Shouldering the med kit, Mildred crouched low and started feeding cartridges into the S&W M-4000.
Pausing to let the wind clear away the acrid smoke from the fifty, Ryan cursed as he saw something with a smoky contrail arcing through the sky. Then another appeared right behind it.
“Missiles!” Doc cried, fanning his mammoth blaster at the moving target.
The companions cut loose with their blasters, while Ryan pulled the trigger of the fifty and held it down as he made concentric circles in the air, trying to zero in on the Firebird.
He got a hit as the lead rocket detonated into an aerial fireball. The second went right through and came out dripping flames only to explode one heartbeat later. Shrapnel peppered the stern of FT 53, bouncing off the side cannons, but the sandbag wall stopped most of the killer debris.
“Everybody okay back there?” J.B. asked from the helm. Both hands were white from holding the sword in place against the bucking yoke.
“Go faster,” Jak replied, reloading his Magnum pistol.
“Doc, Krysty,” Ryan snapped, grabbing some of the damp sandbags from the side and placing them on the aft wall. The others helped until the stern wall was three feet high and double thick. Now they had some protection against the rockets, and the extra weight forced the rear end of the boat into the water and kept the nose high. That would boost their speed. As long as another Petey didn’t attack from their sides, this would work.
The Steyr resting on his shoulder, Ryan knelt behind the sandbag wall and tracked the enemy ship through the scope of the longblaster. The machine was in excellent shape, with not a single sign of rust or wear. Behind the windshield of the short wheelhouse were three men. A redhead was pointing a big-bore longblaster their way, a short guy was at the wheel and a handsome man with slicked-back hair and a fancy shoulder rig seemed to be shouting orders. Ryan assumed him to be the captain.
The enemy .50-caliber stuttered again, then a flurry of arrows lifted into the sky and fell pitifully short.
Working the bolt on the Steyr, Ryan delicately adjusted the focus and mentally calculated the sheer factor of the wind, trying to take the roll and pitch of the ships into account. The Deathlands warrior had done long shots before, but this was a pure bastard, on a moving platform aiming at another moving platform. Sea spray fogged the view, while the men on the other ship moved back, getting ready to launch another attack. The distance was closing.
Holding his breath, Ryan squeezed the trigger. A sec men on the deck threw his arms high and tumbled into the sea. He fired again, and another went overboard, but then the rest hit the deck, safe behind their own sandbag wall.