Page 137 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
The Melara 76-millimeter auto cannons opened up just then, firing airburst proximity shells, throwing a cloud of shrapnel in front of the runaway train of missile debris. The shrapnel cloud stripped away the worst of the red-hot wreckage like a coffee filter straining grounds. But a fiery chunk of fuselage shot through and hit theOregon’s superstructure with a hard glancing blow, punching a gaping hole through the corner of the third-story deck.
The debris strike rang like a hammer blow throughout the ship.
“Damage report,” Juan called out.
“No casualties, minor damage,” Max replied from his station.
“Wepps?”
“No radar locks, no missiles, chopper retreating,” Linda said. “All clear.”
“We’re playing rope-a-dope again,” Max said. “I know we could sink that tin can if you’d let us.”
“Orders are orders,” Juan said. “Even the ones that suck lemons.”
“You want to splash that helo, send a message?” Linda asked.
“Don’t even put a surface-to-air lock on it. Let the Chicoms think we’re playing nice.”
The forward bulkhead monitor showed open sea and sky, and the high prancing bow of theOregonarcing across the horizon.
“How far do you want me to take her, Chairman?” Eric asked.
Cabrillo saw the radar track. TheOregonwas now twenty-eight miles from theBaktunand theFuzhou, now closing on her.
“Put theBaktunbetween us and theFuzhou, then hove to.”
Eric grinned. “To block theFuzhou’s line of sight. Aye.”
“Think the grumpy neighbor has stopped shouting at us?” Hali asked.
“He’s gonna yell a lot louder if we charge back onto his lawn.” Cabrillo was thinking about the carrier-killing hypersonic Eagle Strikes theFuzhoudeployed. There was no way theOregoncould outrunthem, let alone survive a single hit. And according to the specs Eric posted, the Chinese destroyer carried at least twelve of them.
Cabrillo glanced at the Project Q countdown clock.
Just ten minutes to go. He had to do something.
But what?
75
Aboard theBaktun
Stokes and Fierro stood in the CIC. The La Liga crime lord waited anxiously for news from Dr.Bose down in her lab. She promised the organoid AGI would launch precisely ten minutes from now.
But Stokes was straining the leash, salivating at the prospect of combat. The old war dog had watched the supremely fast and violent exchange between theFuzhouand the American ship—no doubt the one he had fought with before. It deployed the same weapons and speed that had defeated his attacks earlier. And now it had a new name.Oregon.
His eyes glanced at the countdown clock. In less than ten minutes the AGI would launch and he could power up his engines without fear of harming the project and earning Fierro’s wrath. But after Project Q was stood up on its own two feet, he’d retake control of his ship, and give battle to theOregonno matter what Fierro said. He’d waited his entire adult life for a moment like this—and he’d fire on the Chinese, too, if it came to that.
“Mr.Fierro, Director Peng is calling for you,” the comms tech said.
Fierro stepped over to the comms station.
“We saw your skirmish, Peng. Well done.”
“Never mind that,” Peng said. “I’m coming over to your ship. I want to personally witness the historic moment when Project Q comes to life.”
Fierro swallowed his irritation. “Of course. I look forward to finally meeting you in person.”
