Chapter 18 - THUNDER AT WILSON BRIDGE
"They see us!" Kane yelled over the roar of the engines. "Wheelhouse sniper taking position!"
A sharp crack echoed across the open river. A high-caliber bullet struck the armored windshield of the Mark VI with the impact of a sledgehammer, spider-webbing the thick ballistic glass but failing to penetrate.
"Return fire! Suppress that wheelhouse!" Kane shouted to the deck gunner.
The remote-controlled .50-caliber machine gun on the patrol craft’s roof pivoted with hydraulic precision. A thundering three-round burst rattled the air, shredding the wheelhouse railing of the *Chesapeake Iron* into flying wooden splinters and metal shrapnel. The sniper fell backward onto the deck, out of action.
"Get us alongside!" I shouted to the helmsman. "If they cut his ties and drop him into the wake, the screws will chew him to pieces!"
The Mark VI cut through the tugboat's heavy churning wake, bouncing violently across the violent chop. Every wave sent shockwaves through my spine, but the adrenaline running through my veins completely drowned out the pain from my recovering shoulder.
On the tug's stern, the remaining mercenary looked back at our approaching gunboat with frantic panic. He realized his escape plan was evaporating. In a fit of desperation, he kicked Marcus forward onto his chest and reached down toward the release latch of a massive anchor chain looped around the captain's legs.
"Not today," I growled.
I leaned over the reinforced gunwale, leveled my sidearm, compensated for the violent roll of the river, and squeezed the trigger twice.
The bullets struck the mercenary’s shoulder and thigh. He cried out in agony and collapsed onto the rusty steel deck, dropping the heavy iron release tool.
"Boarding now!" the boat commander shouted.
The Mark VI slammed hard against the port flank of the tugboat with a sickening screech of metal on metal. Magnetic boarding grappling hooks fired, latching onto the tug's high gunwale.
I was the first man over the rail.
My boots hit the wet deck with a resounding crash. I rolled across the slick diamond-plate surface, coming up with my weapon aimed at the wheelhouse door. Another mercenary burst through the hatchway with an Uzi raised, but Kane was right behind me—a single, disciplined double-tap dropped the attacker instantly.
I scrambled across the stern toward Reynolds.
"Marcus!"
The captain was pale, his temple covered in dried, oxidized blood, his breathing ragged and shallow. But as I pulled out my combat shears and severed the heavy plastic zip-ties binding his wrists, his eyes cracked open.
He looked up at my torn dress uniform, then at the smoking barrel of Kane’s carbine, and managed a faint, bloody smirk.
May you like
"Grant..." he wheezed, coughing up a mouthful of river spray. "You... you were supposed to be... testifying on Capitol Hill."
"I gave my opening statement, sir," I whispered, hoisting his arm over my shoulder with Kane taking the other side. "Now we're going back to finish the cross-examination."
