M/V DON CARLOS
Victor Pope made a final tour of the ship’s exterior. Gerritt Maas’s men had been up most of the night, fashioning mounts for the M-60s, and Jeff Malten was still supervising the test firing. They met aft of the bridge.
“How’s it going?” Pope asked.
“Well, we had to headspace that one gun. Those idiots on that destroyer hadn’t even bothered to do that. Obviously they hadn’t tested it.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, and we’re the beggars.”
Malten shifted his weight against the transport’s roll. He was hardly aware of his movement. “Well, Admiral Derringer must’ve been kneeling on a pretty thick carpet. I didn’t really think we’d get the guns this soon.”
Pope merely nodded. Then he said, “We have thirteen healthy operators but we need at least three on the guns. I don’t like trying to take down a ship with just ten guys.”
“Hey, I was going to tell you. One of the crew saw what we were doing and took an interest. He even helped us degrease the ’60 that hadn’t been fired. Turns out that he was a Marine E-3. Think we can use him?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, is he any good?”
Malten smiled. “He had a pretty good pattern around the empty can we tossed overboard. And he doesn’t lean on the trigger too much.”
Pope thought for a few heartbeats. “Does he know what’s likely to happen?”
“Yeah. I told him everything. The bad guys have belt-fed weapons and RPGs, and any M-60 is gonna be a priority target. But he said he spent Desert Storm afloat off Kuwait and figures this is his chance to make up.”
“Well, okay. I’ll talk to him. What’s his name?”
“Ritter. Goes by Tex.”
“Figures. Texans are like that.”
Malten laughed again. “That’s what I thought. But he’s from Vermont.”
Pope leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded. “Okay. That gives us eleven operators, unless another crewman can help.”
“I talked to Dr. Faith. He says that Verdugo can stand up as long as he doesn’t have to move.”
“That’s what Esteban said when I checked on him, but he didn’t mention doing any shooting.”
“Might be worth checking out,” Malten offered. “We can see how he does with the gun and the mount to hold on to. That would make a dozen door-kickers.”
“Let’s do it.” Pope turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, one other thing, Jeff. Tell the gunners that if possible, they need to stagger their firing. We don’t have a lot of ammo, and there won’t be any A-gunners to reload for them. I don’t want everybody running dry at the same time.”
Malten nodded. Then, eyeing his superior, he asked, “Vic, what’s your plan? Can we take a ship with only two full boats?”
“Actually, Jeff, I’m not planning on using the boats.”
Malten muttered, “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?”
Pope turned and walked away from the workers. “Here’s what I have in mind.”