Outlanders 39 Hydra's Ring, page 15
Then his sixth sense, what he referred to as his point man's sense, raised the hairs at his nape. The skin between his shoulder blades seemed to tighten, and he shivered as with a chill. His point man's sense was really a combined manifestation of the five he had trained to the epitome of keenness. Usually some small, almost unidentifiable stimulus triggered the mental alarm, but he saw nothing overtly threatening.
As if to confirm his point man's assessment, Brigid murmured, "At this time of day, fishermen should already be out on the river. The whole waterfront should be jumping."
"Just what I was thinking," Grant said curtly. Nodding to the silently staring passengers, he added, "And so do they."
Kane looked up toward the pilothouse. Through the open door he saw Lakesh standing beside Captain Sun Fan at the big wheel while the man guided the junk expertly toward the long pier of Yichang. Both men stared intently ahead.
Swiftly, Kane went across the deck and climbed the steps. As he entered the pilothouse, Sun Fan cast him a worried glance and said, "I don't like it."
"Neither do I," Lakesh said. "For a fishing village, Yichang seems to be singularly empty."
"Water very shallow here," Sun Fan commented worriedly. "Sandbars, rocky bottom, tricky to manoeuvre. All the marker buoys gone."
The sun suddenly lifted over the eastern ridges, and the river mist thinned, then vanished. Dawn turned the surface of the river an unearthly shade of gold and green.
The captain leaned out of the pilothouse and shouted instructions to a crewman on the deck. The sailor repeated the call, and within moments Kane felt the vibrations of the junk as the engines were slowed even more.
Looking beyond the waterfront into the village proper, Kane glimpsed no children in the streets or women doing marketing. He saw a few water buffalo splashing and grunting in the shallows, giving the tied-up sampans a wide berth. His point man's sense howled an alarm.
"Captain," he said sharply, "I think we should sheer off."
Sun Fan cast him a surprised glance. "Why? You see something?"
"It's what I don't see. Veer away before we get any closer."
When the captain hesitated; Kane shouldered him aside, seizing the wheel and spinning it to starboard, hoping to turn the bow off the approaching pier and present a broadside to the fleet of sampans. The junk lurched and Sun Fan snarled in anger, stumbling against Lakesh.
In a reproachful tone, Lakesh began, "Friend Kane, you are being too—"
The stutter of an automatic rifle broke the quiet of the cool post dawn air. Glass shattered and flew from the pilothouse windows. Sun Fan's angry snarl turned into a squawk of fear, and he threw himself to the deck behind the wheel. Lakesh and Kane joined him there. Kane's gren-laden combat harness and Copperhead pressed painfully against his ribs.
Screams of tenor and panic erupted from the deck as the passengers and crew alike began stampeding to cover and dropping flat. Reaching up behind his right ear, Kane activated the Commtact. "Grant, Baptiste— are you able to spot the shooters'?"
"Hell, no," came Grant's lion-like roar of outrage. "We hit the deck just like everybody else."
Brigid's tense, breathless voice whispered inside his head. "You're in a better position to take a look than we are, Kane."
More rifles opened up, bullets slamming against the pilothouse walls. Wood splinters flew through the air. More glass jangled and ricochets went keening away. Both Lakesh and Sun Fan shielded their faces from fragments of glass and wood.
Kane crawled through the narrow door and pulled himself around the corner of the pilothouse to a point where he could see the waterfront. He saw dark-clad men racing down the dock, all of them armed. The sampans were pushing away from the bank, and from the little cabins muzzle-flashes stabbed like clusters of mad fireflies. Autofire rattled and bullets sent water fountaining up all around the junk. A hailstorm of slugs thudded into the hull, just above the waterline. Kane recognized the distinctive rattle of AK-47s.
He grasped the mechanics of the trap in an instant— the pirates had hidden in plain sight within the sampans, waiting until the junk had entered the narrow, shallow strait flowing past Yichang. Rather than mount an attack where Sun Fan's ship had more maneuvering room and could outrun them without fear of striking a submerged obstacle, the pirates had removed the warning buoys and waited until the junk slowed.
Kane cast a glance back in the direction from which they had sailed. As he expected, he saw three sampans closing in on them fast, water purling around their prows. The drone of the outboard motors was very audible now.
Speaking rapidly, Kane relayed to Brigid and Grant the situation. "I'm not sure if we're outnumbered yet," he concluded grimly, "but we're sure as hell inconvenienced."
"Why doesn't Sun Fan do something?" Grant demanded angrily.
As if on cue, the captain leaned out of the wheelhouse and began shouting orders, and his words were repeated among the sailors and passengers. Rising to a crouch, Sun Fan spun the wheel and the junk continued its starboard turn toward the opposite bank just as a concentrated volley of gunfire blazed from boulders and thickets that edged it.
Kane lowered his head, glimpsing spear points of flame flickering from almost every foot of the embankment. Steel jacketed bullets sped from both sides of the river and sang through the rigging and sails. The pirates were not expert marksmen, and many miniature waterspouts sprayed up just before the junk's bow, but it was only a matter of seconds before the junk was trapped in the apex of the triangulated cross fire. Kane felt an instant of grudging admiration for Chien Ho's grasp of tactics, but then his mind turned to defense.
Sun Fan turned the wheel away from the bank, trying to maintain a position in the center of the river. The current slowly pushed the junk in a clockwise circle, and a stream of bullets raked the vessel, chewing through sails, rope and wood. Holes appeared in the sailcloth, giving them the likeness of giant lace doilies. One of the crewmen doubled up and fell overboard, tumbling headfirst into the water. Sun Fan howled in wordless fury.
"Time for us to do something," Kane snapped, wrestling to detach his Copperhead from the combat harness.
"I concur," Lakesh said, duck-walking over to him, his autopistol in hand.
"I wasn't talking to you," Kane countered. "But as long as you're here, lay down some cover fire."
"Fire where?"
"Anywhere on the river," Kane said impatiently, hiking himself up on one knee and bracing the butt of the Copperhead against his shoulder. "Doesn't Sun Fan have any weapons on board that his crew can use?" I
Before Lakesh could reply, half a dozen sailors rose up at the starboard rail, heavy automatic pistols in their hands. They poured a hail of fire onto the decks of the sampans. Lakesh joined in, squeezing the trigger of his Colt deliberately and carefully, spacing his shots.
One of the sampans slowed and a man stood up, bringing his AK-47 to his shoulder, and he squeezed off a protracted burst, the bullets chopping Hinders from the rail. A sailor cried out and flailed backward, grabbing convulsively at his chest.
Kane squinted into the Copperhead's scope, targeted the sampan's outboard motor and squeezed the trigger, holding it down. The subgun tore off a series of reports so fast they resembled the sound of coarse canvas tearing. The bullets punched through the motor's housing and internal fuel tank, splashing the contents over the deck of the boat. Kane continued to fire at the engine, striking sparks from the metal with a sound like a hammer pounding repeatedly on an anvil.
A pirate yelled at the man with the autorifle and he hastily adjusted his aim, lifting the barrel toward Kane. A swath of bullets hammered at the pilothouse, bullets clawing finger-long chunks of wood from the corner. Kane registered the heat of a bullet passing close to his face, but he continued firing at the outboard.
A shaved sliver of a second later, the sparks ignited the spilled gasoline. To Kane's surprise, an explosion erupted from the stern of the boat, throwing it high into the air, surrounded by a red-and-yellow ball of flame. Apparently the sampan had a larger fuel reservoir than was normal, with a direct feed line from a hidden tank to the motor.
The pirates fell or jumped overboard and began swimming frantically through the layer of burning fuel on the surface toward the other boats.
"Stylishly cold-blooded, Kane," Lakesh remarked. "And effective."
Not sure if the scientist was being sarcastic or offering genuine praise, Kane demanded, "You hit anything yet?"
"No," Lakesh answered, squeezing off another shot.
A man on the deck of a sampan staggered, dropping his AK-47 so he could clap both hands around the blood-spurting hole that appeared in his belly.
"Yes," Lakesh intoned.
From the deck below and behind him, Kane heard the stuttering of Grant's Sin Eater and the door-slamming bang of Brigid's TP-9. Twisting his head, he saw them using crates of cargo as bulwarks as they returned the fire from the pirates on the opposite bank. Almost all of the passengers lay flat on the deck. They cried out in terror as they clutched at family members and animals. Pigs squealed, goats bleated and the chickens went into a cackling frenzy. The cacophony was maddening.
The sound of the sampans' engines rose in pitch, and four of the craft surged forward simultaneously, circling the junk like blood-crazed sharks. The bone-rattling chatter of the AK-47s drowned out the staccato hammering of Grant's Sin Eater. He ducked as bullets gouged the rail, stinging his face with splinters.
"I'm getting sick of this shit," he grated to no one in particular, although his three companions heard him perfectly.
Reaching under his coat, Grant detached a small, apple-shaped metal orb from his harness. The Cerberus redoubt had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of V-60 mini-grenades, and rarely did he go into the field without bringing a few along. Craning his neck to see over the rail, he glimpsed a sampan sliding alongside the junk. As its gunwale rasped against the hull, Grant unpinned the grenade with his left hand and his right arm swung up and out in a looping overhand.
With unerring accuracy, the small sphere bounced from the sampan's bow and rolled across its deck. A blast of orange flame blossomed with an eardrum-compressing concussion. Fragments of wood rose into the air. The screaming pirates catapulted over the side, wreathed in cocoons of fire. The boat sank almost immediately.
On the starboard side, more sampans plowed through the waters of the Yarkand, steady fusillades of autofire scorching a path before them. The sails of the junk acquired more ragged holes. Fragments of wood flew from the deck rail and two more of the crew dropped, writhing around bullet wounds.
Three sampans drew alongside the junk, and coils of knotted rope licked out, the grappling hooks catching fast on the starboard side forward. Voicing shrill, fierce cries, the pirates swarmed up the ropes and leaped aboard the junk.
Nothing was calm and organized about the boarding. Both Kane and Lakesh fired steadily and the first wave of attackers folded over, some falling into the river or thudding back onto the decks of the sampans. Kane burned through the rest of the Copperhead's clip, blazing rounds across the deck, spent rounds tinkling down around him in a glinting rain. He scattered shots among the surviving boarders, driving them to cover behind the crates and bales of cargo. Then the subgun's bolt snapped open on an empty chamber, and the sudden silence of the Copperhead was at once noticeable among attacker and defender alike.
More boats pulled close. Sun Fan cried out commands, but his crew didn't hear them over the cacophony of screams. They backed away from the rail, intimidated by the ferocious appearances of the attackers who came boiling over the side in a howling horde.
The pirates were stocky, saffron-skinned men. Their faces were broad and flat, their hair black and coarse. Their limbs were decorated by elaborate and luridly colored tattoos, and they were dressed in a random assortment of rags and headgear, from red scarves and white turbans to fur caps. They were armed with auto-rifles, hatchets and curved dao swords. All of them had the bearing and feral expressions of rabid animals.
Kane absently noted that none of them had daggers clamped between their jaws, which indicated they had a degree of common sense, at least. The passengers scrambled desperately to the far side of the junk, hemming in Brigid and Grant and obstructing their field of fire.
The defence put up by Sun Fan's crew was disorganized and sporadic. They retreated toward the quarterdeck, fighting a rearguard action without watching one another's backs or even taking the time to aim their pistols properly. More pirates hauled themselves over the rail until Kane estimated nearly a score was assembled on the deck, struggling with the crew and a handful of the more courageous passengers.
Kane heard Sun Fan voicing another shouted harangue to rally his sailors, but it terminated in a choked cry. Quickly, he back-crawled into the pilothouse. The captain sagged over the wheel, wheezing, blowing droplets of blood from his slack lips. A wet stain spread across his shirt. Judging by the pink froth on his lips, Sun Fan had taken a bullet in a lung.
Kane pulled him away from the wheel and sat him down, propping him against the wall. Looking out the window, he saw that the junk had almost drifted past the village's dock. He came to a swift decision. Gripping the wheel, he shouted, "Brace yourselves!" and gave it a hard spin.
"Why?" Brigid asked, voice tight with tension.
The vessel heeled over to port so sharply that men on the deck went sprawling. Some stayed on their feet by clutching the rail while a number of the pirates tumbled down into the Yarkand.
The armed men on the dock fired at the approaching ship, bullets punching dimples in the hull. They realized standing their ground was futile, so they turned and began running. Amid a tumult of screams and gunfire, the junk crashed against the corner of the pier, splintering planks in explosions of broken, flying timbers.
Holding on to the wheel tightly, Kane bit out, "That's why."
Chapter 18
The impact bowled almost half of the pirates off their feet as the echoes of the shuddering crash filled Kane's ears. Interwoven with the deafening cracks of rupturing, splintering wood were cries of shock, pain and anger from animal and human throat alike.
The junk jolted to such a violent halt, Kane nearly pitched headlong from the pilothouse. The entire ship tilted sharply to port. Loose boxes and crates slid over the boards and toppled onto people cowering on the deck. Pigs escaped from their owners and raced in a squealing, panic-stricken stampede all over the boat.
Kane stepped out of the pilothouse, jerking away from Sun Fan's grasp on the tail of his coat. "My boat—" the captain gasped. "You bastard, wreck my boat—"
Kane gazed down at the disarray on the deck and saw Brigid and Grant climbing to their feet, angrily pushing and kicking aside boxes and bales that had fallen on them. A freed chicken flapped past Grant's face, leaving a flurry of feathers in its wake. Impatiently, he waved them away. Glancing up at Kane he demanded, "Are we finally going to put a stop to this?"
"That's the plan, Duke," Kane replied. To Lakesh he said, "Cover us."
Before the man could lodge an objection, Kane leaped down from the superstructure to join his two friends. On his way he casually stomped a pirate between the shoulder blades as he attempted to rise, driving him face-first against the deck.
The yelling pirates, in the process of making a concerted rush, stumbled to a surprised, clumsy halt when they caught sight of the three black-clad strangers standing in their path. Their cries died in their throats, their eyes flicking from the gun barrels to the grim faces of the people holding them. They stared in wild-eyed amazement and fear.
For a long tick of time the tableau held frozen. Then one of the pirates, his face deeply scarred, uttered a piercing shriek and plunged forward. After a second, his companions kicked themselves into motion after him.
Veterans of dozens of battles, the Cerberus warriors rushed across the deck in a wedge formation to meet them. Kane took the point of the V, the rapid drumming of his Sin Eater hurling the pirates back. Grant and Brigid assumed positions on either side of him. When they fired, it was without haste or mistake. At every shot a pirate either tumbled overboard or spun, grabbing at a wound.
Kane bounded forward, the Sin Eater in his fist blazing on full-auto, cutting a swath through the men, stitching their chests, ripping holes in arms and legs. Several of the pirates returned fire with AK-47s, but hampered by their companions, they hit nothing but wood and air. Still, they pelted forward in a bellowing mob.
Inspired by the example of the outlanders, Sun Fan's crew made a crazed, desperate countercharge against the invaders. For a few very long minutes, it was a confused, brutal, bloody battle on the decks. The sailors armed themselves with flat, curved swords and boat hooks.
Kane glimpsed Seng Kao wielding a sword, slicing halfway through the neck of a pirate. Blood spouted from the severed carotid artery, a scarlet fountain that splashed across the deck and slicked the boards. The other crewmen followed his lead, surging forward to engage the enemy breast to breast, blade to blade.
The pirates had not expected an easy fight, but they had not dreamed it would be like this, either. The presence of the three outlanders could not have been anticipated by the keenest tactical mind. The pale-eyed man moved with a speed that almost defied the eye. Sword slashes either sliced empty air or did not penetrate his coat. The flame-haired woman moved almost as swiftly, avoiding all the hands that clutched for her.
A toothless, shaved-headed man with great brass earrings hanging from the stretched-out lobes of his ears grabbed Brigid by the collar of her leather coat, yanking it down to pinion her arms against her sides. A microsecond later the side of the man's head shattered, blowing gray and crimson over the face of a pirate trying to get into position behind Grant.
