Read Online A Time to Die by Mark Wandrey - Free Book Online Page B

approach and arm your men!” His head came around at the sharp order and he quickly had them slow and relayed her orders. All around her the men looked worried as they fitted magazines into guns and racked tubes to charge shotguns. The .50 caliber gunner knelt to open boxes and deftly began readying his instrument of destruction.
    The boat had slowed to maybe ten knots as she looked around and gave a nod before raising the glasses once more. Yeah, it was blood all right. Or someone was taking a joke way too far.
    “Body in the water,” the driver called out and pointed to a blue dressed pair of shoulders bobbing in the surf.
    “All stop,” she ordered and the boat drifted forward. “Get a gaff and check if that’s a live person.”
    One of the man put his rifle down and took a stick from its holder on the gunwale. As the motors idled and the drifted within reach, he gently hooked the blue shirt and pulled. Another man held his belt, just to be sure. As he pulled the body rolled over. Most of the face and neck were gone, torn away. Maybe eaten by sharks after he/she fell in the water. She couldn’t even tell the sex. One of the men gagged and held his face.
    “Steady men,” the Boatswain said. “Let’s get the body aboard.”
    “Belay that,” Grange said with a shake of her head.
    “Ma’am?”
    “It’s not going anywhere. You there, slip a life ring over that arm and we’ll come back for it.” She turned to the Boatswain, “I don’t want the men all getting freaked out with a damn corpse on the deck if we get in the shit.”
    “Aye-aye, Ma’am. You heard the Lieutenant, secure the body with a float and let’s move on.”
    The tenor of the motors changed as they were put in gear and the longboat crawled towards the dock. The delay had bought the gunner time to load his big guns, and for that she was grateful. For some reason now, ten armed men no longer felt like a force to be reckoned with. She remembered her own sidearm and quickly removed it from the holster, loaded it, and returned it.
    Another minute and they were holding a few yards from the dock. It was apparent to all of them now that a battle of sorts had taken place. There were blood sprays in a half dozen places, and two more bodies sprawled across the deck of a thirty foot Boston Whaler tied up a short distance away. It was listing to port badly and Grange figured it would sink soon. There were bullet impacts here and there from small arms. Not many, but a few had obviously found the Whaler.
    What was really getting to her was the two bodies in the Whaler. One was face down, only a leg sticking up over the side. The other was in the pilot’s seat, his face and jaw ripped completely away, tongue hanging down like a macabre red tie.
    “What the fuck?!” one of the men demanded, no longer able to keep his peace.
    “Dios mios,” another man said, reverting to Spanish. “El Diablo!”
    “That’s enough,” the Boatswain barked and the boat fell silent.
    “Let’s go in,” Grange said, unable to keep a quaver from her voice.
    “Aye-aye, sir,” the old Boatswain said and tapped the driver on the shoulder. The motors went into gear again and the boat slid forward.
    Despite her efforts the men were spooked pretty badly. Regardless, when they were a meter away two of them did as planned. Slinging shotguns they took ropes and leaped across to the dock. One quickly secured the rope to a cleat while the other unlimbered his weapon and went to one knee. The boat was made fast to the dock and the other six men swarmed over the side. Grange was last ashore, her sidearm held at her side in one hand and trying to control her breathing.
    No sooner did they hit the deck then the sound of the elevator came alive in the platform leg. Nine weapon muzzles spun around to cover the doorway quickly followed by the twin barrels of the big fifty.
    “Steady,” she said, then quickly glanced at the Boatswain on the longboat. “Be ready,” she said and