The Forgotten (John Puller 2)

“General?”

“Back on the clock.”

She looked up ahead. “Any idea how much farther? Even with the storm the skies are lightening.”

“I know. And in this weather the trip time is hard to judge.”

A moment later there was a huge bolt of lighting that briefly turned night to day. It was followed by an enormous crack of thunder that seemed to shake the bow rider to its fiberglass core.

“This boat was not built to take a beating like this,” said Carson.

“Neither were people.”

“If we go down we’ll never survive in these seas.”

“Some R and R for you, huh?”

She touched him on the shoulder. “Like I’d have it any other way.”

“Okay, you have my vote for four stars.”

“And so what’s the plan when we get there?” “The plan is we beat the bad guys and rescue the prisoners.”

“That concept I got. I mean how do we do it?” “I don’t think we can tactically battle-plan this one, General. It’s all about conditions when we get there. It’s an oil platform. We get to the base and work our way up. With the head start they had they’re already there. And with the storm like it is they’ll have to move to an enclosed space. I doubt they’ll have perimeter security set up. They wouldn’t expect anyone to hit them tonight. When the storm has passed they’ll head back out, retracing the way they got here, taking all the evidence with them.”

“And then?”

“And then they’ll set up a pipeline somewhere else. These guys are bacteria. They keep mutating to keep one step ahead of the antibiotics.”

“So we’re penicillin?”

“Something a lot stronger, I hope.”

“If they’re higher up in an enclosed space?”

“It gives us a chance. Stealth plus ability plus luck. That combo has equaled victory on more battlefields than you and I can count.”

“Let’s hope we can add one more to the pile.” “Do my best.”

“I know that, Ranger. And if you were wrong and they didn’t come back out here?”

Puller didn’t answer. He was looking up ahead.

“Go sit down, General.”

“What?” She looked up ahead, but couldn’t make out what he could.

“Julie, go sit down. Now! And hold on. Tell the others. Quick.”

Carson scurried to do this.

She had just heard something in Puller’s voice she thought she never would.

Fear.

CHAPTER 85

It was not a giant wave heading at them.

Maybe it would have been better if it were.

It was a boat. No, boats were small.

This was not small. This was a ship. An ocean-going vessel of immense proportions.

A horn sounded from somewhere, deep and penetrating.

Puller did not even bother hitting his horn. It would not have been heard over the sounds of the storm or the engine noise from the approaching vessel.

Puller had an immediate problem. He had to keep taking the approaching waves at roughly a forty-five-degree angle. As even sailors with limited experience knew, hitting waves at that angle cut their power sharply and also lessened the height the water would send a boat to.

Head-on at ninety degrees would ensure that you would receive every ounce of kinetic energy the oncoming liquid hammer could provide.

And you might very well climb a wave only to find yourself capsizing when a vertical point of no return was reached. Once your bow was straight up in the air, you were done. Flipping over backwards was pretty much inevitable. And for the passengers on board, you’d either be crushed by the boat or thrown out into the water to drown.

The problem was that for Puller to veer away from the path of the oncoming ship, he would have to hit the waves nearly directly on. The oncoming vessel was big enough, and with a deep V hull made of steel, it was strong enough to take the waves head-on. In fact, the ship was creating vast banks of rolling seas as it churned through the water at about twelve knots, pushing millions of gallons of already frothing Gulf water ahead and to the sides of it like a shovel does snow.

At the last possible instant, with the ship’s horns ringing in his ears, Puller cut the wheel sharply to the left. He not only had to avoid the ship, he had to avoid its wake, which could easily capsize the bow rider.

In order to achieve that he had to cut a wide arc around the ship and move away quickly.

To do that he had to increase his speed.

That was not easily accomplished in seas like this. In fact it was nearly impossible. Half the time his prop was completely out of the water, spinning uselessly in the open air with no water around it for traction.

He did not entirely achieve his goal.

Puller yelled, “Everybody hold on.”

They didn’t hit the ship. But they did hit something else.

The leading edges of the ship’s wake broadsided them. The boat’s port side tipped down and the starboard side lurched up, probably far beyond the manufacturer’s recommendation.

Carson and Landry slid across the deck and hit the port gunwale.

Carson would have gone into the water except that Mecho, one big hand wrapped around a handrail inside the boat, grabbed her leg in a crushing grip.

Landry managed to hold on to the gunwale, but her legs were dangling over the side before she regained her equilibrium and fell back inside the boat.

Diaz had slid back to front and ended up entangled with Puller’s legs. One hand firmly on the wheel, Puller grabbed her with the other and lifted her up.

Unfortunately, the wall of water thrown off from the trailing edge of the ship’s wake hit them just as the boat righted itself.

Gagging on saltwater, Puller managed to call out, “We’re getting swamped.”

They all grabbed buckets that Mecho found under a seat and started bailing. The drains on the boat helped, but they were overwhelmed with the volume of seawater.

Puller watched as the sides of the boat started lowering into the ocean.

Using two buckets, Mecho bailed like a machine with inexhaustible fuel. Puller gave the wheel to Diaz and grabbed a bucket.

Soon, as first Landry and then Carson grew exhausted and slumped down into the water collected inside the boat, it was just the two men standing nearly side by side in the boat throwing water out a little quicker than it was coming in. Puller’s painkiller was wearing off and his wound began to throb. But he didn’t stop.

“We’re coming back up,” shouted Diaz. “Keep bailing.”

Renewed by this, Carson and Landry jumped back in and started to bail simply using their hands. The tide began to turn in earnest.

Forty minutes later, the drains and bilge pump took over and the interior of the boat became relatively dry.

It was only then that Carson and Landry hung their heads over the side of the boat and threw up the seawater that had collected in their stomachs.

Puller upchucked over the side as well and then took over the wheel from Diaz and continued his fight through the leading edge of Danielle.

Mecho dropped the buckets and stood there, soaked, his big arms at his side, breathing hard and looking up ahead.

It was if he could sense something coming.

At the helm Puller eyed the fuel gauge. He had filled the tank before they had left from cans that Diaz had had on board. But the pounding waters had caused the engine to suck a lot more fuel than normal to keep its forward progress.

Puller performed a quick calculation in his head.

The answer was unmistakable. And deeply disturbing.

We're not going to have enough gas to get back.