“Ranging…six thousand meters.”
“Roger,” his co-pilot replied.
“Give me three degrees left, please—” Todd requested, lost in his concentration as they crept up on the boat, holding course and speed. They haven’t seen us. Good.
“Comin’ left three,” Mark answered. “Slowing to one hundred.”
The range steadily decreased, and Todd transmitted their status to the E-2. “Tango Lima, ten seconds.” He then said over the ICS, “Designate… good heading, good offset… solid constraints box… solid seeker head.”
“Roger, Delta Charlie,” transmitted the disembodied voice of the E-2 controller.
With the laser designating the boat two miles ahead of them, Todd kept up a running commentary for the benefit of his crew.
“We’re armed up, good laser… five seconds.” He concentrated on holding the reticle on the middle engines, and when the range was ideal, squeezed the controller trigger to the second detent. After a familiar and unnerving delay, and sounding no different than a bottle rocket, the Hellfire shot past his shoulder. It left a white plume as it climbed gracefully ahead. He then transmitted;
“Rifle away, now, now, now… fourteen seconds.”
“Roger, Delta Charlie,” the E-2 calmly responded.
While Todd concentrated on reticle placement, Mark watched the missile fly away. It became a white point that abruptly stopped in midair halfway to the boat as the rocket motor burned out. The missile immediately became invisible, and his eyes then went to the boat, bounding northwest as before.
Todd watched the seconds-to-go display count down as he kept the reticle on. “Five seconds,” he whispered into his lip mike, keeping his eyes on the display. They still don’t see us, he thought, transfixed by the infrared image casting off spray from the bow. When the missile exploded on the engines, the display went nearly white, and Todd instinctively looked up to see his target.
“Nice shot,” offered Mark, as if Todd had driven a ball into the fairway on a relaxing Saturday morning round of golf.
Todd watched the boat suddenly stop in the water as a mixture of white and black smoke rose into the air. “Impact. Cease lase.” he transmitted to the E-2.
* * *
Enrique, pants down around his ankles and sitting on the toilet, held a lighter flame to the end of his own joint and puffed. A terrific shock, accompanied by an ear-splitting boom, jolted him off the seat. His body bounced against the thin fiberglass of the head as toilet water splashed everywhere. Stunned and on all fours, he felt the boat pitch and roll out of control. His first thought was that Jorge had run into a floating log or some other piece of flotsam. Warm blood ran down Enrique’s forehead into his right eye socket, and he felt pain in his right knee. A loud