“OK, guys, we’re going to reverse to the right. Petty Officer Jason, get ready.”
“Aye, sir.”
Rolling out of his right turn, Todd continued, “Target is one o’clock coming to two… Petty Officer Jason, your target is a single individual in the water next to the wreckage.”
“Tally, sir.”
“You are cleared to open fire. We’re gonna stay about 100 meters off.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
* * *
Enrique was incensed. When are the fucking Yanquis going to rescue me! he thought.
He watched the helicopter circle lazily around him. Surely they had spotted him with all the water he was throwing into the air. He hated the Americans, hated their rich Coast Guard sailors who offered him clean bottled water and good food in their cookie-cutter blue uniforms — after they had boarded his go-fast boat five years ago. Yes, it was jealousy. They had so damn much, stealing resources and money as they did everywhere around the world. And the sailors looked down on him, including the women sailors in their blue coverall uniforms. That was an unbearable insult, and Enrique would one day avenge the dishonor. He could kill the weaklings with his bare hands, and given the opportunity after they rescued him, he would.
In the distance he saw the helicopter turn away from him. Turning away?
He couldn’t believe the helicopter was leaving him to die! That feeling quickly subsided when it turned around and flew back toward him. Finally, the cocksuckers! As the aircraft drew near, he scanned nervously for sharks. Hurry up, dammit!
He saw the aircraft approach, but it did not slow down. He could clearly see the pilot, and behind him, the gunner — with his gun pointed. With clarity Enrique saw what was going to happen…
The Yankees are going to shoot me like a dog!
In a frenzied state of terror, his hands worked to open the vest toggles. As he moved to duck underwater, he took a last look at the helicopter and realized it was too late.
Santa Maria! Ayudame!
Enrique Martinez’ last image was a flash from the side of the gray aircraft.
* * *
The M240 spit a stream of bullets that churned up the water around the man and covered him in spray. After two full seconds of fire the gunner stopped and watched for movement. From his left seat, Todd had to look across the cockpit to see the target.
“See any movement?”
“No, sir.”
“Roger, we’ll do another circle. Petty Officer Mike, you want some target practice?”
“Yes, sir!” the GAU-21 gunner crowed.
Todd reversed his turn to the left and answered, “OK, your target is the floating boat hulk. Mark, you’ve got the aircraft. Have a Tally?”
“I’ve got the aircraft. Tallyho.” Mark replied, taking the controls and keeping the turn in.
Todd kept control of the tactical situation. “Your target is nine o’clock coming to ten. Let’s stay off about 500 meters, Mark. Petty Officer Mike, call Tally.”
“Tally,” the gunner answered.
“Roger, open fire.”
A tongue of flame leapt from the 50 caliber barrel with a deafening chainsaw sound and cordite smell that filled the cabin. Splashes bloomed next to the hulk as the heavy rounds punched big holes in the fiberglass hull. The gunner fired several bursts, tearing the floating bow to pieces before it slipped below the waves.
Todd was back on the MIDS display as he keyed the mike to transmit to the E-2. “Tango Lima, Delta Charlie is splash-one complete. Standing by for steering to track one-one-eight-two.”
The E-2 rogered the transmission and sent Todd steering directions to his next assigned target, the trawler 40 miles south. He would need the three remaining Hellfires to sink this larger and heavier vessel, with the GAU and M240 to complete the job.
The Sierra accelerated as it turned southeast. It left behind floating pieces of fiberglass — and slicks of blood.
