The Emperor's Revenge

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Large wind-driven swells made it a challenge for Juan to reach Gretchen. With powerful strokes, he finally made it to her, latched her vest to his, and swam toward the large yellow life raft, bobbing on the sea, twenty yards away.

As he swam, he saw the Achilles slow to a crawl. Several figures jumped overboard, but no lifeboats or additional rafts were launched. He thought he saw a splash in the dark space between the yacht’s twin catamaran hulls. He couldn’t be sure.

He scanned the water and spotted two orange life vests ahead of him near the raft. Those had to be Eric and MacD. Juan swam toward them harder, knowing that neither of them would have the strength to pull themselves into the raft once they reached it. He knew the Oregon was behind him and had to have seen the raft deployed. Max would be racing to pick them up.

The fire aboard the Achilles reached its apex. Huge geysers of flame shot into the sky, throwing off thick clouds of black smoke. The fuel tanks finally succumbed to the heat and exploded, annihilating the stern of the majestic yacht and blasting away shards of steel, fiberglass, gold, mahogany, and crystal. The bow, still on fire, settled into the water at a steep angle and seconds later disappeared from view. Except for an oil slick and floating bits of debris, the Achilles was gone.

Juan reached the raft. “How is everyone?” he asked MacD and Eric. He could see now that it was octagonal, with a weatherproof canopy to shield occupants from the sun and rain.

“Going swimmingly,” MacD said with a forced grin.

Eric coughed up some water. “I could sleep for about three days.”

Both of them looked ashen but in good spirits.

“I think shore leave for the entire crew has been well earned,” Juan said as he untied Gretchen’s line. He hauled himself into the raft, pausing to catch his breath before pulling Gretchen in with him. Then he pulled up MacD and, finally, Eric, who cried out when a wave hit them and caused his leg to bang against the lip of the raft.

Juan checked Gretchen. She was still unconscious. He brushed the hair from her face and swaddled a reflective blanket around her to keep her warm. Frustrated that he couldn’t do more for her, he lay back in exhaustion and triggered his mic. “Max, can you read me?”

Max’s voice came back garbled and indistinct, the result of damage to Juan’s comm system.

“Juan… you seen… coming to… sonar…”

“Max, if you can hear, tell Julia to get the medical team ready. We’ve got casualties.”

“Juan… it’s coming toward you…” He could now hear that Max’s voice had an urgency that he wasn’t expecting.

He peered out of the canopy’s opening, expecting to see the Oregon coming toward them. Instead, he saw a disturbance in the water, like the wake of a ghost ship. Moments after that, a black fin pierced the surface as it rose.

No, not a fin. A conning tower.

It was the Achilles’s submarine. And it was charging straight toward them.

The conning tower hatch flew open and there was Golov, maniacally grinning at Juan as he brandished an assault rifle.

Juan momentarily thought about dumping everyone overboard and diving under the water, but there wasn’t enough time and he didn’t think the others would make it back to the surface. All of their weapons had been discarded when they jumped into the water, but he still had the .45 ACP Colt Defender in his combat leg. He drew it and found the raft’s flare gun, which he wielded with his other hand. Neither was a match for a high-powered assault rifle at this distance.

Golov seemed to agree with his assessment and waggled a finger at Juan when they were a hundred yards away, well out of effective range of his pistol. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and waved good-bye to Juan.

Before he could fire, someone from inside the sub grabbed Golov’s attention. He yanked the rifle away from his shoulder, called down into the sub, then looked to his left in horror.

Juan looked right to see the familiar rusty bow that he knew so well racing toward the submarine.

Golov yelled for the sub to dive, but it was too late. The kinetic energy of eleven thousand tons of armored steel bore down on the relatively puny eight-man submarine. Golov screamed in terror and defeat as the bow of the Oregon hit the sub dead center.

It split in two as if it were cleaved by a butcher’s knife. The conning tower was crushed, pinning Golov inside the hatch. Water surged into the broken front half of the sub, pulling it down. Juan’s last sight of the Ukrainian ship captain was him flailing desperately as he was sucked down beneath the sea’s surface to a watery grave.

Max reestablished comms. “Juan… you there?”

“Still here, Max. Thanks for riding to the rescue.”

“Our pleasure. The old girl took a licking, but she came through it all right. Did we lose anyone?”

“Not yet, but some are in bad shape. Come and get us as soon as you can.”

“Hux is waiting in the boat garage with stretchers. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Juan felt a hand grasp his arm. He looked down and saw Gretchen’s eyes open, searching and confused.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Where am I?”

Juan took her hand gently and knelt beside her. “We’re on a life raft. How are you feeling?”

“I can’t move my right leg.”

“You’ve been injured in an explosion, but Julia is on her way to take care of you.”

“Doesn’t hurt too much.”

Juan knew that wouldn’t last long. She was still in shock. The pain hadn’t hit her yet, but it soon would.

She looked at Eric, then MacD, before returning her gaze to Juan. “Did we… Did we stop them?”

“We sure did. You missed all the fun.”

Gretchen wheezed a hoarse laugh. “You call this fun?”

Juan shook his head and smiled at her. “I call this a typical day at the office.”