“Suffice it to say, your crew is going to be okay. Just don’t let any of them near the deck or any open spaces.”

“That’s been my standing order all morning,” the captain assured him. “Here we are.”

They’d reached the top of the stairwell. There were no doors but there was a hatch in the ceiling accessible by a ladder. Ski started up without a word.

Linc held out his hand, “Thank you, Captain. We’ll take it from here.”

“Oh yes, right. Good luck to you,” he said and shook Linc’s outstretched hand.

Ski got the hatch open, flooding the stairwell with brilliant sunlight. He climbed through, followed by Linc. There was no way to lock the portal from the top, so they would have to keep an eye on it to make sure that no one came up after them.

The roof of the pilothouse was a featureless plane of white-painted steel shadowed by the ship’s funnel and an antennae array. When they neared the edge they dropped to their bellies so as not to show themselves and again looked down over the dock. At the end of the causeway they could see Mike’s small army awaiting their signal. The UAV buzzed nearby.

“Oregon, this is Linc. We are in position. Give us some time to designate targets. Stand by.”

After setting up their rifles and placing full magazines along the lip of the roof so they could quickly shift positions, the two men scoped every one of the enemy soldiers, figuring out who the officers and noncoms were so they could decapitate the leadership, as the saying went.

“I’ll be damned,” Linc muttered.

“What?”

“Eleven o’clock. Guy with the shades chewing out some teenager.”

Ski shifted his rifle so he could see who Linc was talking about. “Got him. Yeah? So? Who is he?”

“That, my friend, is Colonel Raif Abala, the sneaky bastard who pulled the double-cross on us when we were selling him the guns. He’s General Makambo’s right hand.”

“Seems to be out of favor if Makambo sent him here,” Ski said. “Want to take him first?”

“No, I think I’d rather see his face when he realizes what’s what and who’s who. You ready?”

“I’ve got at least four officers on my half of the dock and six more who seem like they know what they’re doing. Rest are cannon fodder.”

“Okay, then let’s rock and roll. Oregon, we’re ready.”

“We’re good to go here,” he heard Mike Trono say over the tactical net.