The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

“I don’t care!” Golov shouted, practically spitting the words. “Destroy that ship!”

He stared down the helmsman, who finally set a new course. The Achilles began its turn. Kravchuk reluctantly ordered a new shell loaded into the railgun.

—

Now they’re turning on us,” Max told Juan.

“Don’t worry,” Juan said. “We’re about to take care of that.”

He pulled MacD to his feet and nodded to Eric. The timers were set at fifteen seconds. Eric flicked them on and they ran out of the power supply room. Leading the way and watching for any further gunmen, Juan sprinted up the stairs as Eric and Gretchen helped MacD behind him. They were two decks up, and moving down the hall toward daylight, when the detonators went off.

The blasts tore through the power room, spewing a jet of fire out through the corridor and licking at the bottom of the stairwell. The railgun wouldn’t be firing again. The detonation worked just as they’d hoped.

It was the next explosion that Juan wasn’t expecting.

Their C-4 must have damaged some system they weren’t aware of, setting off a secondary reaction, because a huge blast threw him down the hall.

Juan’s vision blacked out for a moment and then returned as he, strangely, found himself lying on the floor. He shook his head to regain his senses.

Down the hall, Eric writhed on the ground, holding his leg. Juan crawled over to him.

“Stoney, are you hurt?”

“My leg,” Eric said, grimacing. “I think it’s broken.”

“Hold on. We’ll get you out of here.” Flames crept up the walls on the other side of the yacht. The automated fire suppression system had been knocked out in the blast.

Juan looked around and saw MacD propped up in a seated position, regarding him with a ragged smile.

“Ah expected better amenities on a yacht like this.”

“Where’s Gretchen?”

MacD turned his head in surprise as if he’d forgotten she was with them.

They both spotted her at the same time. She was motionless, with her hip pinned under a beam that had fallen from the ceiling.

Juan ran to her and leaned down to check her breathing. She was still alive but unconscious.

Eric was in no condition to help Juan, and MacD wasn’t much better, but at least he was mobile.

“MacD, grab her arm and pull her out when I lift the beam.”

Using his good hand, MacD got hold of her arm. Juan thrust his titanium-framed combat leg under the beam and pried it up. He got just enough leverage for MacD to drag Gretchen out. When she was clear, Juan lowered the beam and picked her up very carefully, not knowing the extent of her injuries.

“Help Eric,” Juan said, then nodded toward the door leading out onto the deck. “There should be a life raft outside that exit. Come on. I don’t think the Achilles is going to be afloat much l

onger.”

Outside, Juan put Gretchen down for a moment, opened a hatch, and withdrew a life raft canister. There were also several life vests, which he handed to MacD and Eric, before fitting one on Gretchen.

The Achilles had slowed to half speed but was still traveling faster than most other ships could. It didn’t matter. They had to risk jumping overboard.

“This is going to hurt, Stoney,” he said.

Eric nodded in understanding. “I know.”

Movement caught Juan’s eye. He looked up, past the ruined railgun, to a man dashing out onto the flying wing outside the bridge. Golov glared down at him from the railing, yelling something that Juan couldn’t understand.