I could have spent all night pondering the unpleasant
possibilities. but it was time to move.
"On three," I said and pulled the pin from the flash bang.
"One." I held the spoon down with my thumb.
"Two." I swung my arm back so that the twenty-eight-ounce, gun steel
cylinder could get some lift when i tossed it through the doorway.
"Three." I brought my arm forward, pitching the flash bang device softball
slow pitch style, in a gentle arc. I watched in horror as it flew
three inches to the right of where I'd aimed, bounced off the door frame,
and came back at Doc and me.
The DEF-TEC No.25 flash bang distraction device has a one-and-a-half-second
fuse. When that 1.5 seconds runs out the explosive takes over, you
get a flash that measures 2.42 million candlepower, and a bang that's rated
at 174.5 decibels at five feet.
Let me translate that to English for you. It's bright enough
and loud enough to scare the living shit out of just about anybody- which
is exactly what the fucking thing did to me as it caromed off the stairs,
bounced once, and went off precisely six inches due south of my crotch.
The concussion lifted me and my jewels a foot in the air, and i came
down in a heap- my legs going out from under me. I hit bad and wrenched
my ankle- I felt my talus and proximal phalanx bones (didn't know i knew
that, did you?) go pop-pop-pop. I felt these things because i couldn't
see or hear anything- i was temporarily blind and deaf, thinks to the efficiency
of the flash bang.
Instincts took over. I rolled to my left, promptly dinging my
knee on the unforgiving steel tread, and smashing my nose against the railing.
Oh, that hurt.
So much for surprise. Well, fuck surprise- we'd do this by sheer
aggression and violence of action.
I pulled another flash bang from my pouch, pulled the pin, and threw
it Phil Niekro fast ball through the narrow opening. This one actually
slid through and went off inside, and I charged up the stairs and through
the door, Doc hot on my hobbling trail.
There is almost no way to describe the inside of the plane during a
hostage rescue, except to say that it's complete pandemonium- and that's
an understatement.
There was no light- except for the faint glow of exit signs, the lights
we carried on our weapons, and the residue from the blinding explosions
of the flash bangs. There was a lot of smoke. We were all screaming,
"Abajo, abajo- down, down-" so the passengers wouldn't jump up and get
themselves shot by mistake. Even so, a couple of heads raised themselves.
I wacked at 'em as i charged down the aisle, screaming obscenities.
My hologen USP light was on, sweeping the cabin as i moved steadily
down the aisle. Three rows forward i saw something- caught sight
of a muzzle coming up in my direction. I shouted "Gun- left" at dock,
brought my pistol up, got a sight picture through the Trijicons, and squeezed
off four pairs of rapid double-taps.
I shot past the asshole five times and hit him three- groin, belly,
and chest. The .45-caliber SWAT loads lifted the son of a bitch off
his feet and slammed him back against the seats. He fell between
two rows of screaming, ducking passengers and I pursued him, oblivious
of the bodies i was stepping on.
Damn- he was obviously wearing body armor because even though the .45
had knocked him down, he was still shooting- his 633HB stitching a ragged
line in the ceiling as the hostaged scrambled to get out of the way.
Okay- I'd shoot the son of a bitch again. Except i didn't have
a shot- he was between seats and there might have been hostages between
me and him. I launched myself over the headrest, drawing the DSU-2
as I went. Smashed my face against the tray table, stretched my arm
out as far as I could squeeze between the seats, and stuck the thick black
serrated blade right through his body armor in the center of his chest,
and cut upward until I'd eviscerated the cock-sucker. Now there was
no way he'd get up. I wrestled the gun from his hand and tossed it
in Doc's direction. I sure as hell didn't want it sitting unattended.
I sheathed the knife, changed magazines, whipped blood from my nose,
and looked forward, where I saw the light beams from Duck Foot's and Rodent's
weapons through the rising smoke. They had a tango face down and
were flexi-cuffing him. Beyond them, in the front of cabin, there
was smoke and shooting- shit that was where SECNAV was supposed to be.
I heard something behind us and turned. Doc was ready- his MP5
caught a shadow coming out of the rear starboard head and stitched a neat
three-round burst into the tango's face. "Shit-" Doc screamed, and
charged. He scooped something off the floor, flung it down the the
stairway, then hit the door and the deck simultaneously.
I heard the explosion and then Doc screamed, "Aw, fuck me-"
I would have checked on Doc but i was occupied by another tango.
This one popped up between the starboard seats just aft of the galley like
a fucking shooting gallery target. He had a submachine gun pointed
vaguely in my direction. Now a second asshole popped up on the port
side. What was this a fucking convention?
I double-tapped the starboard T- he was the most immediate threat-
in the chest, shoulders, and head. He dropped.
Now, my peripheral vision caught a glint of a weapon in a second man's
hand, and i swung to the left, bringing the USP around.
"Yo-scum bag- drop the fucking gu, get down, arms out, palms up and
don't fucking move!" It was Gator. Except instead of shooting
the bad guy like he was supposed to do, he was shouting orders. Well,
Gator's an ex-cop and he still likes to whisper those sweet cop nothings,
like, "Freeze motherfucker, or name your beneficiary."
This was no time to be polite. No time to lose, no warnings,
no Mr.Nice Gu. Nothing but three double-taps. I caught tango
two in the chest and neck with two bullets. A third shattered his
jaw and he went down, too.
I moved forward, coming right up in the galley when there was a slight
pause in the action- we'd been at it for about fifteen seconds now- and
then I heard three wonderful words. "Bow section clea." Wonder's
New Yawk accent punched through my headset.
A half second latter, I heard "Midships clear." that was Rodent's welcome
ship.
"Doc-"
"Aft clear, Skipper." Doc picked himself up off the deck. He'd
caught a piece of shrapnel on his cheek, and he looked like he had been
cut with a straight razor- a ten-stich repair job at least. I saw
in my flashlight that he was already slapping a piece of tape on it.
Damn, we'd done good. No- we'd done great- ten men had done the
job of seventeen, and I was proud of 'em all. "Okay- let's get SECNAV
and secure. and get some fucking lights on- now!"