Jerry mentally blocked the sound of Fisher’s voice, focusing only on Anderson as he cleared rooms for them.
“Coppertop.Heisman.Bow clear.Port and starboard clear.Over.”
“Heisman.Coppertop.Roger.Moving toward bow.Over.”
“Coppertop.Heisman.Possible bandit to your twelve.Bandit is prone in the kitchen.Over.”
They stacked and breached the kitchens.The smell of burning food mingled with the scent of recent death.In the kitchens, they found the corpse of a crewmen.The murdered chef had taken a round to the forehead.Nothing they could do for him.As Jerry went by the smoking oven, he turned the burners off.
Brock whistled and held up a baggie of heavy-duty zip-ties.Norton nodded once and threw up a thumb.
Through the kitchens, into a large corridor, and on to the end.They moved in a tight group, their upper bodies barely moving, their legs moving almost synchronously beneath them, carrying them smoothly down the corridor.
“Colada.Trout.All clear to stern.Lift clear.Over.”
“Trout.Colada.Moving to lift.Over.”
Norton waved the team to the entrance of the freight elevator.They stacked until it arrived, cleared it, and breached as soon as the doors opened.It smelled of produce and seafood.Jerry kept his foot in the threshold, keeping the elevator on their deck and the doors open.
“This is Coppertop.Set.Over.”
“Colada set.On your mark.Over.”
Norton replied, “Roger, Colada.On my mark.Over.”
Norton broadcast to Peña as he pushed the “1” button.“Mark, mark, mark.”
With the group in a defensive posture and Anderson speaking into the comms, they silently emerged from the elevator, weapons ready.
They could hear the high-pitched whine of a light-duty electric forklift rolling through the space, stacking cargo to port and starboard.The intruders had packed their end of the cargo bay with row upon row of large crates stacked up to eight high.The crates would certainly affect Jerry’s ability to maneuver and fire within the target space.Conversely, they would provide adequate cover and concealment, preventing their opponents from freely maneuvering as well.
Anderson signaled, “Coppertop.Heisman.Four armed Bandits to your eleven, twelve, and one.Be advised.Colada to your twelve.Over.”
Instantly, Fisher signaled, “Colada.Trout.Three armed bandits to your twelve and one.Be advised.Coppertop to your twelve.Over.”
Norton whispered, “Alright, ladies.Check your targets on every shot.Just like we’ve done a thousand times—except no gear whatsoever.”
They nodded.
Peña broadcast, “Colada to Trout.On your mark.Over.”
Fisher, keeping his voice needlessly low, broadcast, “Roger.Standby.”
Norton whispered, “Tighten up.”
Jerry already felt relatively tight.
A few very long seconds later, Fisher, hypothetically waiting for the opportune moment to strike based on what he and Anderson could observe through the cameras, finally broadcast, “Mark, mark, mark!”
Both teams instantly opened fire with their noisy borrowed Benelli shotguns.In confined spaces, the shotgun’s semi-automatic design allowed for rapid target acquisition and follow-up shots.The tight spread of the eight double-aught buckshot pellets in each shell allowed for a wider impact area at close range, without traveling far beyond the target.As available weapons went, the shotgun worked for close-quarters combat by limiting the risk of friendly fire.Also, they epitomized overwhelming violence, often making opponents freeze or hesitate after the opening salvo.
“Contact right!”
Jerry, crouching behind a crate, peered around it, firing two shots in rapid succession, then moving to the next crate.
“Strike one!”
“Contact left!”
