, three miles below him, heading for the same “skunk.” He scanned the water out to 20 miles around them — nothing — and felt satisfied. No witnesses… and no rescue.
When the timer passed 60, he engaged the laser and kept it on the go-fast, now only five miles ahead. Mongo’s geometry was perfect. He estimated the Fire Scout to be less than two miles from the boat. A MIDS display message warned him a shot was imminent. Seconds later, a fiery flash sprinted forward from the unmanned helicopter to the boat, a guided 2.75- inch rocket trailing a brilliant white plume against the blue textured sea below. Mongo returned his attention to the FLIR display, holding the laser on target, and waited for the rocket to enter the picture.
When it did, the display was washed out by the explosion, and Mongo could tell the boat was knocked off its keel by the force of impact. As the flash subsided, the boat careened wildly and rolled upside down with a huge splash. He saw debris splashes around the smoking hull, but no flame. The white fiberglass hull floated as the concentric impact rings and smoke subsided. On the FLIR he observed no movement around it.
Mongo circled like a vulture, keeping his FLIR — and eyes — locked on for signs of survivors. There were none, and Mongo wondered what the controller had in mind. He sent another photo of the hulk as a prompt. Within a minute, he received his tasking:
STAND BY FOR SHOT
LIMA IN 1 MIKE
Mongo acknowledged and set himself up for another south to north run. As he descended to below 10,000 feet, he worked to keep his aiming diamond low on the hull. He saw the Fire Scout launch another guided rocket from inside a mile. The rocket motor was still burning when it exploded into the upturned hull, cutting it in half and sending a spray of debris that churned up the water on the far side. Within seconds, both pieces of the hull slipped below the waves. Now down on the water, he saw no signs of life, not even a floating body. The controller messaged him again:
Mongo rogered the message, and, climbing through the buildup columns, set a course back to the ship. It was now time to pay more attention to his low-fuel state. Soon he was back at 35,000 feet, heading east with the sun high above.
Cruising at a transonic airspeed, he felt he was floating above the earth, in total dominion of it, looking down on the hapless merchant ships and dirty little fishing boats. They were clueless, like dumb sheep grazing in a meadow, protected by him who keeps watch, killing the wolf without remorse. He killed