Page 171 of Cry Havoc
“There they are!”
Tom increased his speed.
Twenty yards away.
Tom watched the driver turn and extend his arm, sending a burst of gunfire in their direction.
Ineffective.
He can’t possibly reload while driving. Now is your time.
Tom pushed the boat harder, cutting across the canal around another boat coming at them and then back toward their prey. He adjusted his weight while pivoting the engine on its mount.
“Hold on!”
Tom rammed the target vessel just forward of its driver, forcing it into a vacant moored market boat.
The Russian’s longtail turned on its side as it connected with the moored boat, dumping an unconscious Dvornikov into the brown water of the canal. Serrano dove in after him.
As their craft righted, Tom saw the security man make a frantic grab for the rocking market boat, hanging on to its side and pulling himself up. Tom used his boat’s momentum and leaned into the natural tendency of the longtail to spin. As the boat twisted, he leaned down on the leverattached to the engine, made a slight adjustment, and brought the driveshaft and spinning propeller out of the water, raking it across the upper legs of the man trying desperately to escape. Tom heard screams of anguish as the spinning screw cut through the muscles, tendons, and nerves on the back of his upper thigh.
“Tom!” Serrano managed, struggling with Dvornikov’s unconscious, limp body in the water. He had him in a headlock and was using his left arm to stay afloat.
Tom cut the engine, stopping the rotation of the driveshaft, and used it as a lifeline for Serrano, who grabbed it with his left hand.
The boat continued to rotate, its bow bumping into the floating market where the wounded man flailed. He was attempting to pull himself onto the market to escape, legs now useless with their connective muscles cut through to the bone.
Tom grabbed him by the neck and yanked him backward onto the boat, pinning him to the deck. The SEAL noted he had a leather satchel slung across his body.
As Tom’s hand went to the back of his belt for the EK knife to slit the man’s throat, he stopped. The man looked familiar. He had seen him before.
As blood from the man’s wounds seeped onto the deck, Tom heard Serrano shout from the water.
“Tom!”
He had worked his way up the driveshaft and was hanging off the stern.
“A little help.”
Tom extracted his EK blade but instead of slitting the man’s throat he turned the blade around and smashed him three times in the temple, putting him out. He then cut the leather satchel from his body and tossed it out of reach.
He sheathed his blade and turned to help Serrano. Tom held Dvornikov against the side of the boat while Serrano pulled himself in. The twoAmericans then braced themselves, careful not to capsize the unstable watercraft, and hauled Dvornikov over the side.
“Now what?” Serrano asked, catching his breath and looking at the two unconscious men lying on the boat’s deck.
“Hold us here,” Tom said, pointing to the edge of the floating market.
Serrano held them fast as Tom jumped onto the market. The SEAL looked up, drew his blade, and sliced strips of the makeshift cloth roof before walking to the bow and cutting a length of rotting rope that held it to the side of the canal. He then ran back and slid into the longtail boat.
“Help me with this,” he said to Serrano, handing him a strip of cloth.
Tom went to work using his strip as a tourniquet above the bleeding wound on the man’s right leg.
Serrano did the same to the left.
Tom then pushed him over and used the line he had cut to secure the man’s hands and feet.
Tom then rolled him back over and studied his face.
