Unlucky 13

Chapter 95

Captain George Berlinghoff ran out onto the deck from the Luna Grill at the bow, four of his officers behind him, men who’d never been in battle, men with wives and children and aspirations.

Maybe they thought of the ones they loved as they stared out at the chaos and the bloodshed, the downed passengers crawling, trailing blood, the nearly dead and the clearly dead, innocent people in pajamas, many of them fighting back with fists and bottles and whatever they could find.

As the captain of a tourist ship, he was going by Brady’s plan and a lot of old war movies he’d seen from his couch. He waded into a battlefield, armed with one of the dead commandos’ assault rifles.

He did what Brady had said to do.

He assessed the situation and he looked for opportunities. And then he saw Brady, frozen in place right at the foot of the stairs.

Incongruous music from the speakers in the bar wafted across the deck.

As Berlinghoff tried to put the scene together, he saw that Brady was advancing on the overturned bar. Actually, he was coming toward one of the terrorists, who was holding a woman in front of him, using her as a shield.

He heard the gunman shout at Brady, “Is this your wife?”

Berlinghoff slung the AK and pulled his handgun from his belt—the old revolver with one round in the chamber.

Jackhammer was occupied with Brady and didn’t see or hear Berlinghoff come up from behind. Berlinghoff looked over the gun sight to the back of the commando’s neck. He was too close to miss.

He had his finger on the trigger—when suddenly shots rang out and his gun spun from his hand. Blood spurted from his wrist, and he shouted, “Damn!”

He gripped his wrist but blood pumped out between his fingers. More bullets punched into him.

Mother of God. He was hit.