Carnifex

Santisima Trinidad

The forward forty-millimeter and three of the starboard side tri-barrel .41s spat death at a speedboat winding its way through the smoke in the air and the wreckage floating on the water. With all the surface turbulence—the result not just of natural waves but of the explosions that had churned the water—marksmanship left something to be desired. Even so, the men had adopted the simple expedient of beginning their fire low and letting the boat rock it upward.

The target boat was a flaming mess, with blood running out the gunnels. That was no reason to cease fire until the thing . . .

Kaboom.

A dark curtain of wind-borne smoke closed down around the Trinidad and the falling debris of its late target. Pedraz looked around for some recognizable landmark, without success. Then a sudden gust of wind tore apart the smoky curtain and he caught sight of the carrier.

Is there less fire and smoke now? Hard to tell. I can only hope . . .

But there is fire, and then there is "FIRE!" The side of the carrier, so much as was visible, erupted in blossoms of flame as the machine guns and light cannon, catching sudden sight of the Trinidad and not quite recognizing it, opened up.

"KeerIST!" Pedraz jammed the throttle forward and sprang back into the smoke. A quick glance behind him—very quick, under the circumstances—told him that the carrier's gun crews were following and walking—sprinting, really—their fire to where they thought the boat was heading. He jerked the wheel to change course.

"Dos Lindas, this is Trinidad. Have we offended you in some way?!?!?!"