Task Force (6 page)

Her barracuda broke surface, like a fish jumping at an insect, just as there was a roar below and the shock wave hit. Her legs felt like they had been sledgehammered, all the way up to her waist, but her vital chest and stomach were clear of the water.

Barnard had been right, Price realized. Safety lay above the surface of the water. Her legs felt bruised but otherwise okay.

Not so for her barracuda. The ultrasonic sound wave had smashed into it, crumpling the light tailfin structure and ripping off the bow. It began to sink, grabbing at her leg and threatening to take her down with it until she kicked herself clear. Her air tube snagged on something and ripped the mask from her face, spiraling with the broken barracuda to the depths of the ocean. With the mask went her night vision, although that was hardly necessary. The lights of the ship were turning night into day.

She dived back below the surface as coil-gun projectiles
zizz
ed through the water around her. The lights of the ship grew in size as it bore down on her position, and she swam frantically, desperate to get out of its path before it ran her down.

The ship passed her by with a growl of propellers, the kick of the bow wave shunting her aside. She was weaponless. Helpless. Trapped in the open ocean.

The ship heeled over, circling around for another run.

The Bzadian crew were reloading the launcher, slotting another of the stubby ultrasonic bombs onto the cradle. The deck-mounted searchlights swiveled around to the left as the deck tilted beneath Chisnall’s feet, the ship turning sharply.

“Varmint, go loud,” he whispered.

Somewhere behind him and off to port, the Zodiac’s engine started with a roar.

The crew shouted and pointed as they gathered on the port side of the vessel.

Chisnall raced forward, just behind the enemy soldiers, but unnoticed.

He reached for the depth charge, then stopped himself. What could he do with it? The Bzadians would simply replace it with another.

His hand brushed against something hanging from his utility belt. The neckcuffs!

He grabbed one and clipped it around the base of the depth charge, just above the fins, securing it to the cradle. Backing away, he ducked below an equipment locker as one of the Bzadians turned and glanced at the launcher.

The ship was still slanted as it circled around on a tight
loop. He had hoped they would chase the Zodiac, but instead they were turning around for another run at the Angels.

Several of the Bzadians crossed just in front of him.

He slid back and whispered into his comm, “Price, this is Chisnall. How copy?”

“Clear copy, LT. We’re in the water. Most of the barracudas are out of action.” Price’s voice sounded calm.

“Okay, on my mark, dive down, as deep as you can,” Chisnall said.

“Negative,” Price said. “We have to try and get up out of the water before the next depth charge.”

“Price, listen,” Chisnall said. “There’s no time to explain. On my mark, get under the water, stay there as long as you can. It’s your only chance!”

“Solid copy,” Price said.

The ship straightened as it completed its turn and began its second run. The arm of the launcher drew down.

There was a shout behind Chisnall. He spun to see two Bzadians running up the passageway. One was firing at him, but the shots were going wild on the unsteady deck of the ship.

There was a whiplash sound from the launcher and the catapult arm snapped upward.

Three seconds
.

The Bzadians were either scanning the water for the splash or distracted by the shooting. None of them seemed to have realized that the depth charge was hanging from the cradle of the launcher, tethered by the neckcuff around its tailfins.

He leaped up from his hiding place and sprinted. A bullet
tugged at his arm and another sparked off the side rail beside him.

“Now!” Chisnall shouted. “Get under
now
!”

Two
.

The Bzadians at the bow were turning now, faces wide with shock as he burst through the middle of them, hurdling the guardrail and swan-diving toward the water.

One
.

The water rushed up to meet him as the world turned to thunder.

“QW-67, THIS IS COASTAL DEFENSE COMMAND. WHAT IS
your status?”

The sound of the radio echoed down the stairs from the bridge above. The speaker was female, and although speaking in standard Bzadian, she had a slight accent that Chisnall couldn’t identify.

“QW-67, this is Coastal Defense Command. Can you hear me?”

Chisnall ignored it and concentrated on what he was doing, which was searching the pockets of the ship’s captain.

They were in the main cabin, below the bridge. The ultrasonic blast of the depth charge had smashed every window on
the ship and damaged a lot of the electronic equipment. Stalled in the water and drifting with the currents, it was now a ghost ship, silent, dark, nobody conscious on board.

The Demons had hunted around in the black waters on the Zodiac and hauled each of the Angels on board before returning to the ship. Now they were working their way through the cabins, neckcuffing crew members until they ran out of cuffs and tying the rest with rope.

Monster, who said he knew a little bit about boats, was up on the bridge, trying to work out the ship’s controls and restart the engines before the ship wandered too far.

Wilton and one of the Demons had taken the Zodiac to try to locate the equipment pods.

“We’re wasting our time,” Price said. She finished tying up one of the Bzadian crew members and rolled him over in a corner with the others. “It’s after eleven. We’ve missed the shift change.”

“Thanks to these amateurs,” the Tsar said with a contemptuous glance at one of the Demons.

Varmint was giving some medical treatment to one of his team. He looked up. “You’re real tough, aren’t you, pretty boy? You want to come over here and say that?”

“If it wasn’t for you screaming out your location, the ship would never have found us,” the Tsar said.

“That’s enough, Tsar,” Chisnall said.

Varmint walked over and stood nose to nose with the Tsar, who didn’t flinch. “Our sonar unit malfunctioned. Started
active pinging all by its ownself. You got a problem with how we handled it, you talk to me.”

“ ‘All by its ownself,’ ” the Tsar repeated.

“Yeah, that’s right, half-wit,” Miscreant said, going to stand by his leader. “All by its ownself.”

Price moved up alongside the Tsar. “Maybe you should have checked it before the mission,” she said.

She looked wiry and mean. Of the two of them, she was the far more dangerous, Chisnall thought, and wondered if Varmint realized that.

“Maybe we did, but someone tampered with it,” Varmint said.

Chisnall froze. His breath caught in his throat.

Was that possible? Could there be another traitor among the human forces? On the last mission, a traitor had nearly cost him his life.

He had taken no chances on this trip. He had personally checked all the Angel Team’s barracudas, then supervised their stowing into the equipment lockers on the submarine.

But he hadn’t thought to inspect the Demons’ equipment.

Barnard was checking knots on a group of Bzadians at the back of the room. Chisnall caught a curious exchange of glances between her and Varmint.

“It couldn’t have been tampered with,” Chisnall said. “The entire navy base was declared a top-security area prior to the mission. And the wharves were sealed off.”

“Except for the navy crews,” Varmint said. “And your guys.”

The words hung in the air, an unspoken accusation.

“And yours,” Price said.

Varmint laughed, a short bark. “My guys, I trust. They’ve been with me a long time. How well do you know your team, Chisnall?”

Chisnall said nothing. He had to speak; he knew that. His team would be expecting him to back them up. But how well
did
he know his team? Monster, Price, and Wilton, yes. After Uluru there was no doubt. But Barnard and the Tsar were new. Did he really trust them?

“Maybe your sonar was faulty,” the Tsar said into Chisnall’s silence. “Did you think about that before you started hurling accusations?”

“Do me a favor and don’t try to think,” Varmint said. “Just concentrate on looking pretty.”

“Idiot,” Miscreant said.

“None of us sabotaged your equipment,” Price said. “And you wouldn’t be here now if we hadn’t come to your rescue.”

Yobbo rose and stood next to the other Demons. Hooligan joined them. Four of them faced down the two Angels. Barnard stayed where she was and Chisnall found himself still unable to move. The terrifying thought of another traitor, possibly in his own team, had made his blood freeze.

“You rescued us? I don’t think so, little girl,” Yobbo said. “Our skipper had everything under control, until your LT blundered in and nearly got himself killed.”

“He saved your lives, little boy,” Price said.

“That lily-livered wimp bag couldn’t even save himself,” Miscreant said with a meaningful glance at Chisnall, who was still crouched over the unconscious body of the ship’s captain.

“Wimp bag?” Price said, her eyes gleaming, her fists clenching and unclenching.

A sharp breath of wind lashed the ship with a high-pitched whine and the floor lurched beneath them. From the bridge came the sound of smashing glass as a broken pane fell out of its frame. One of the Bzadians groaned and stirred.

There was a gentle cough from the staircase that led up to the bridge, and Monster was there, backlit by the light from the top of the stairs.

“Monster was with Chisnall at Uluru,” he said. “If he is wimp bag, then Monster is a big girl’s handbag.” He grinned. “Is Monster a big girl’s handbag?”

“Uh-oh, it’s smiling,” Chisnall said, finally finding his voice. He stood up. “I hate it when it smiles like that. You can never tell if it wants to hug you or if it’s about to tear you limb from limb.”

The bulky shape advanced down the stairs to stand right behind Price.

“Monster, try to leave some of them alive,” Chisnall said. Monster grinned again and there was something primal about the way he bared his teeth, like a wild dog preparing to attack.

Varmint held Monster’s gaze for a moment, then snorted and turned away. “We’re out of here as soon as the Zodiac gets back,” he said.

The others followed him out of the rear door.

Price spun around to face Monster. She pushed him in the chest, thrusting him backward. “What was that all about?”

“Four on two. Was not fair fight.”

“Oh, sure. Like I can’t stick up for myself,” Price said. “Now they think I’m weak.”

“He was only trying to help,” the Tsar said.

“Did I look like I needed his help?” Price said with a withering glare at the Hungarian. “Did I ask for his help?”

Price wasn’t really angry with Monster for backing them up. Chisnall could sense that. She was just making noise to cover for the fact that Chisnall should have jumped in and hadn’t.

Price started to say more but stopped as Wilton appeared at the rear door, dripping with water.

“Did you find the equipment pods?” Chisnall asked, grateful for the interruption.

“Yes, both,” Wilton said. “Both Oscar Kilo. They’re on the stern deck.” He looked around. “Everything all right?”

“Just Sergeant Price and Monster having a lover’s tiff,” Barnard said.

“Get puked,” Price said.

Varmint stuck his head back through the door. “See ya, kiddies. Try not to hurt yourselves playing with the big boys’ toys.”

“Get going,” Chisnall said. “The task force will be at the river mouth in less than an hour.”

“Only if you do your job,” Varmint said.

“I think we’ll cope,” Chisnall said. “Get out of here.”

“Have fun, boys,” Price said. “Try not to blow your nuts off. Oh, too late.”

A single-finger salute came back through the doorway as Varmint disappeared.

“Exactly how will we ‘cope’?” Barnard asked.

“We’ve missed the shift change,” the Tsar said. “The next one is not for four hours.”

“How will we even get to the island?” Wilton asked. “Most of the barracudas are out of action or missing. Those that are still working are damaged. They’d hear us coming a mile away.”

Chisnall was silent. He had no answer. They called him Lieutenant Lucky, but good luck had been in short supply so far on this mission.

He walked to the rear of the room and out onto the stern deck. The lights of the island were so close, but so far out of their reach. The wind gusted again, rocking the ship, still powerless and at the mercy of the waves.

The Demons were unhooking the Zodiac from the winch cables, and as he watched, the motor started, the bow lifted, and the Demons ducked beneath a spray of water as the boat powered away.

“Even if we get to the island, the Pukes won’t be expecting another shift change.” Price’s voice sounded softly right behind him. “We’d have to fight our way in. There’s no way.”

Chisnall didn’t look around but kept his eyes on the island.

“There’ll be a way,” he said, wishing he felt more confident that that was true.

“I don’t see how—” Price said.

Chisnall cut her off, aware that his voice was rising but unable to help himself. “Neither do I, Sergeant Price, but I do see
that if we can’t make this happen, then the mission is cactus. The Bzadians are sitting in the White House by Valentine’s Day, and by the end of the year the human race is gone the way of the dinosaurs. So no, I don’t see how either, but we’re going to do it anyway.”

He turned and saw she was not alone. The rest of the team had emerged from the cabin and was standing alongside Price. There was an uncomfortable silence, and he realized it was the first time he had raised his voice to his team like that. The silence grew, and he wanted to fill it, to apologize, but a leader could not do that. It would seem weak.

“I have an idea,” Barnard said.