Chapter 38 - DUEL ACROSS THE SLIPWAY
The armored assault boat lurched violently on the incoming swell, its heavy diesel engines roaring as the pilot fought against the swirling vortex of the flooded pen. On its bow, an Apex gunner manned a 40mm Mk 19 automatic grenade launcher, his helmet-mounted sight flashing green as he locked onto the telegraph pillbox where Dr. Aris was frantically splicing copper lines.
"One round into that box and the drives are gone!" Miller yelled, firing his rifle from the crane ladder, but the rounds ricocheted harmlessly off the gunboat’s reinforced armor plating.
Elena reached the top platform of the crane, forty feet above the churning floodwaters. The wind howling through the open sea gates whipped her wet hair across her face, but her stance remained as solid as a mountain ridge.
The range was eighty yards. The target was moving erratically on three axes, bucking and rolling with the violent incoming sea swell. The light was almost non-existent, broken only by the flickering red remnants of the dying flare and the distant gray of dawn outside.
Any modern sniper would have spent thirty precious seconds calibrating the laser rangefinder, adjusting for humidity, and hoping the digital crosshairs wouldn't lose contrast against the sea spray.
Elena Vance had no crosshairs. She had only the steel blade of Hill 881.
She planted her combat boots wide on the wet iron grating of the crane platform. She braced her left elbow hard against her knee, locking her skeletal structure into a human shooting vise. She aligned the front sight post with the gunner’s head, tracking the violent roll of the boat.
*Down on the swell... up on the crest... peak of the rise.*
*Fire.*
The M14 spoke.
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The heavy bullet caught the gunner precisely under the rim of his helmet before he could cycle the charging handle of the grenade launcher. The man collapsed across the mount, his body pinning the weapon harmlessly toward the concrete ceiling.
Before the boat’s pilot could reverse the throttles to escape, Elena worked the charging handle—not pausing, not hesitating. She shifted her aim three feet down, targeting the boat’s external steering linkage exposed at the stern. Two rapid shots tore through the hydraulic lines, spraying fluid and leaving the vessel spinning helplessly in the surging whirlpool toward the concrete retaining wall.
