it here,” Hawke told Quick, guiding his hand to the blood-soaked depression. “There. Harder. That should hold you till we get you to sickbay.”
“I’m all right, sir. Just a sting. You got the helm okay?”
“Yeah, hold on. I’m going to lose these bastards in that fog bank.” Hawke firewalled the twin throttles and swung the boat hard starboard, catching the backside of a cresting wave and getting the big RIB momentarily airborne. “Stoke, you have that man battened down?”
“I got him, boss,” Stoke shouted above the roaring engines. “You go on ahead and open her up!”
“Good God,” Hawke said a moment later, his eye tracking the narrowing gap between the two moving vessels on the vivid color display. “What the hell is this, Tommy? A launch from the Star ?”
“I don’t think so, Skipper,” Quick said, struggling to his feet. “Way too big. She’s got to be some kind of—holy shit!”
“What?”
“Whoever they are, she’s painted us! We’re all lit up!”
“Who the hell—”
Hawke put the helm hard over and the inflatable curved a tight radius cut to port. Immediately, he veered hard starboard, initiating a violent zigzag course in a desperate effort to elude more incoming enemy fire. A steady warning tone now came from the Zodiac’s on-board systems and a half dozen panel lights began flashing rapidly.
Hawke thumbed the radio mike.
“Blackhawke, Blackhawke, Chopstick’s under attack…repeat…under… attack …we are taking evasive measures…copy?”
“Skipper!” Blackhawke ’s fire-control officer replied, “we’re not believing this, sir. I think they—yeah, they are launching! Get out of there!”
“She just launched,” Hawke said, disbelief palpable in his voice. They were off the coast of France, for God’s sake. He yanked the wheel once more hard to starboard. “A surface missile! Are they all bloody insane around here?”
“Can you lose it, sir?” Quick asked, eyeing the screen in utter disbelief. He clenched his shoulder and staggered every time they went off a wave and exploded through a wall of water. The big props dug in once more and they shot forward.
“I don’t know—depends—if it’s heat- or radar-guided and—you know what, to hell with this… Blackhawke ! Talk to me!”
“Roger that, Skipper,” came the cool voice of the crewman manning the ship’s fire-control and commo operations center. “Missile has no active radar…it is heat-seeking…we, uh, we have lock-on with the attacking vessel…they, uh, the attacking vessel not responding to repeated verbal warnings, sir.”
“Who the hell are they?” Hawke demanded, curving an impossibly tight right turn.
“Refuses to identify herself, over. Visual ident impossible in this thick stuff, sir.”
“Are these outboards hot enough to pull that missile in?”
“Maybe not…it’s going to be close—hard left now!”
Hawke looked back at Stokely and the rescued American holding on for dear life in the stern of the Zodiac. He needed to get Harry Brock to safety. He’d do what he had to do. He put the damn thing halfway up on its side the turn was so tight.
The missile passed harmlessly not ten feet aft of his stern.
“Blackhawke, sink the attacking vessel. Fire when ready.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. We confirm that. Blackhawke is launching—”
“I cannot believe this shit!” Stokely shouted. “Man, we—nobody shoots a damn missile at a little rubber boat!”
The Zodiac was lifted upward on a roiling mound of water by the massive explosion aboard the attacking boat. The soupy grey fog surrounding them instantly became an incandescent orange and the shockwave nearly ripped the four men from the small inflatable.
Whoever had had the nerve to shoot at him no longer existed.
The sea-skimming Boeing Harpoon AGM 84-E missile fired at Hawke’s command by Blackhawke was carrying nearly five hundred pounds of Destex high explosive in its warhead. The Harpoon unerringly
“I’m all right, sir. Just a sting. You got the helm okay?”
“Yeah, hold on. I’m going to lose these bastards in that fog bank.” Hawke firewalled the twin throttles and swung the boat hard starboard, catching the backside of a cresting wave and getting the big RIB momentarily airborne. “Stoke, you have that man battened down?”
“I got him, boss,” Stoke shouted above the roaring engines. “You go on ahead and open her up!”
“Good God,” Hawke said a moment later, his eye tracking the narrowing gap between the two moving vessels on the vivid color display. “What the hell is this, Tommy? A launch from the Star ?”
“I don’t think so, Skipper,” Quick said, struggling to his feet. “Way too big. She’s got to be some kind of—holy shit!”
“What?”
“Whoever they are, she’s painted us! We’re all lit up!”
“Who the hell—”
Hawke put the helm hard over and the inflatable curved a tight radius cut to port. Immediately, he veered hard starboard, initiating a violent zigzag course in a desperate effort to elude more incoming enemy fire. A steady warning tone now came from the Zodiac’s on-board systems and a half dozen panel lights began flashing rapidly.
Hawke thumbed the radio mike.
“Blackhawke, Blackhawke, Chopstick’s under attack…repeat…under… attack …we are taking evasive measures…copy?”
“Skipper!” Blackhawke ’s fire-control officer replied, “we’re not believing this, sir. I think they—yeah, they are launching! Get out of there!”
“She just launched,” Hawke said, disbelief palpable in his voice. They were off the coast of France, for God’s sake. He yanked the wheel once more hard to starboard. “A surface missile! Are they all bloody insane around here?”
“Can you lose it, sir?” Quick asked, eyeing the screen in utter disbelief. He clenched his shoulder and staggered every time they went off a wave and exploded through a wall of water. The big props dug in once more and they shot forward.
“I don’t know—depends—if it’s heat- or radar-guided and—you know what, to hell with this… Blackhawke ! Talk to me!”
“Roger that, Skipper,” came the cool voice of the crewman manning the ship’s fire-control and commo operations center. “Missile has no active radar…it is heat-seeking…we, uh, we have lock-on with the attacking vessel…they, uh, the attacking vessel not responding to repeated verbal warnings, sir.”
“Who the hell are they?” Hawke demanded, curving an impossibly tight right turn.
“Refuses to identify herself, over. Visual ident impossible in this thick stuff, sir.”
“Are these outboards hot enough to pull that missile in?”
“Maybe not…it’s going to be close—hard left now!”
Hawke looked back at Stokely and the rescued American holding on for dear life in the stern of the Zodiac. He needed to get Harry Brock to safety. He’d do what he had to do. He put the damn thing halfway up on its side the turn was so tight.
The missile passed harmlessly not ten feet aft of his stern.
“Blackhawke, sink the attacking vessel. Fire when ready.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. We confirm that. Blackhawke is launching—”
“I cannot believe this shit!” Stokely shouted. “Man, we—nobody shoots a damn missile at a little rubber boat!”
The Zodiac was lifted upward on a roiling mound of water by the massive explosion aboard the attacking boat. The soupy grey fog surrounding them instantly became an incandescent orange and the shockwave nearly ripped the four men from the small inflatable.
Whoever had had the nerve to shoot at him no longer existed.
The sea-skimming Boeing Harpoon AGM 84-E missile fired at Hawke’s command by Blackhawke was carrying nearly five hundred pounds of Destex high explosive in its warhead. The Harpoon unerringly
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