Page 145 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
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Aboard theOregon
“Looks like theBaktun’s in trouble,” Cabrillo said.
Like the rest of the op center team, Cabrillo was stunned at the near instantaneous destruction of theFuzhou. But it appeared the Chinese had gotten a few shots off as well, punching holes in theBaktunjust below the waterline underneath the bow.
If theBaktunsank, Cabrillo couldn’t capture the AGI Overholt so desperately wanted.
TheOregonwas already running at full tilt, its massive engines pulsing astronomical power. Even at her current high rate of speed it would take his ship a full twenty-four minutes to get to theBaktunand board her to secure Project Q—if she stayed afloat that long.
But theOregonmight not survive the next few seconds. TheFuzhou’s deadly hypersonic missile was still streaking toward them at over Mach 10. There was no way to outrun it.
TheFuzhou’s “dead hand” missile strike was about to kill them all.
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Aboard Peng’s helicopter
Hovering just twenty-five feet above the sea a half mile away, Peng watched in stomach-churning horror as the great Chinese warship suffered crushing blow after crushing blow. TheFuzhoubarely had a chance to respond. Its single deck gun got off a few shots just seconds before succumbing to theBaktun’s relentless cannonades. It appeared to be sinking.
The pilot checked his fuel gauge. Only thirty minutes of flight time was left and there was no other Chinese ship or base anywhere near. It was only supposed to be a short flight to theBaktun, so he hadn’t ordered a refueling.
The pilot turned in his seat and glanced at the anxious Marines in back and saw their young faces ghosted white with terror.
“Will theBaktunlet us land, comrade?” the pilot asked. “If not, we’ll all drown out here.”
Peng mopped away the flop sweat from his eyes.
“We’ll have to try. All they can do is kill us quicker.”
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Aboard theOregon
“Eagle Strike descending,” Eric called out.
TheOregon’s radar had tracked the ship-killing hypersonic missile through its entire trajectory and now it was racing down toward them at over ten times the speed of sound.
“There’s no way to outrun it,” Eric said. “Brace for impact.”
“No need to,” Cabrillo said without looking at him.
“Sir?”
“Because it has a minimum range of twenty-five miles,” Murphy said with a grin, standing in the op center doorway. “And by charging toward theFuzhou, you got inside that range.”
All eyes turned toward the monitors. The streaking missile roared overhead in a blaze of blinding light—and overshot theOregon. Before anyone could exhale, the Eagle Strike exploded harmlessly in the distance in a massive wall of water.
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Aboard theBaktun
Stokes bolted from his command chair, raging at his startled CIC crew as the first salvos from his guns fired at theFuzhou, demanding to know who authorized the attack without his permission.
But his voice was lost in the din of roaring gunfire, blaring alarms,and the shouts of his men calling out the attacks as they unfolded. Stokes stopped raging as he caught sight of theFuzhou’s bridge exploding, knowing full well no one could survive that kind of blast. Had theFuzhoubeen in battle stations, the captain and her team would have secured themselves in their armored CIC belowdecks.
Stokes’s shock and rage gave way to sudden elation as he watched his ship rip the Chinese battle cruiser to shreds. But when theFuzhou’s deck gun opened up and punched fatal wounds into theBaktun’s hull, he knew the game was over. He turned toward his second-in-command and gave his final order to the stalwart Brazilian.
