"Let's find out, man." He triggered the 203, which loosed its 40mm grenade with a hollow-sounding thump. The projectile slammed into an acetylene tank and detonated; the entire front half of the ship lit up in a savage, yellow glare, as white flames clawed at the sky. Men were screaming, lying prone and pounding on the deck as flames ate their backs, or running madly to escape their own blazing clothing and skin.

The survivors, completely demoralized, ran for cover or dove headlong over the railing, preferring the cool black of the water to being burned alive on deck.

A single automatic rifle barked challenge from the bow, and Kosciuszko opened up in reply.

0126 hours (Zulu +3)

Fuel-dock

Bandar Abbas shipyard

Gunfire exploded in the night, full-auto bursts cracking across the black water from the direction of the Yuduki Maru. From their vantage point in the stinking mud beneath the shore end of the fuel pier dock, Coburn could see tiny figures running along the freighter's forward deck, or on the pier at the ship's port side. It looked like all hell had broken out aboard the Japanese freighter, with flames engulfing part of the deck halfway between the bow and the superstructure, accompanied by the familiar chatter of a pig, an M-60 machine gun.

"What's happening with the Combattante?" he asked. Cautiously, Doc crawled out from beneath the pier, looking down the line of wooden pilings to the moored patrol boat. "Shit," he said. "Looks like trouble."

Coburn duck-walked through the mud to Doc's side, to a point where he could see the patrol boat's stern alongside the massive pilings of the fuel pier. Steel pipes threaded their way across the dock, and beyond them, embedded in concrete, were several storage tanks.

The gunfire and explosions aboard the Yuduki Maru had certainly captured the attention of the Iranians aboard the gunboat. Coburn couldn't see the craft's forward turret, but the open 40mm mount was being rapidly swung around, as Iranian sailors yelled at each other and pointed. Soldiers were trotting across the pier now, looking for firing positions. Gunfire from the patrol boat would slash into the Japanese freighter's side if the bad guys dared open up. And SEALs caught on deck would be sitting ducks...

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Doc asked.

"Wouldn't be one bit surprised." Coburn fished into his black gear and pulled out a hand grenade. Doc too produced a grenade, holding the arming lever shut as he worked the cotter pin free.

"Those POL tanks look good," Coburn said. POL — petroleum, oil, and lubricants, in this case diesel fuel — an ideal target.

"A SEAL's wet dream," Doc said. "On my mark now, three... two... one... go!"

Together, they let fly, sending the grenades arcing high above the pier, then bouncing with a stony clatter on the concrete among the fuel pipes. "Bepaweed!" someone screamed, and then the night dissolved in thunder. Diesel fuel gushed across the concrete from ruptured lines and tanks.

Coburn pulled out a second grenade, a canister this time, with AN-M14 and INCEN TH3 stenciled on the side. The AN-M14 was an incendiary grenade, packed with thermite and given a two-second fuse delay. He exchanged glances with Doc, pulled the pin, and let fly.

The thermite burst amid the pooling fuel oil at 2200 degrees, hot enough to burn through steel. Thunder rolled again, and this time the sky turned to flame.

0127 hours (Zulu +3)

Bridge

Freighter Yuduki Maru

They'd waited outside the bridge until they heard gunfire rather than bursting in at once, figuring that the battle might offer a diversion for the bridge assault team. Taking up positions on either side of the door, Murdock and MacKenzie counted down silently as the gunfire built to a crescendo of thundering noise. There was a deck-jolting concussion — what were the guys playing at out there? — and then Murdock went through the bridge door first, his H&K stuttering softly as he tracked its muzzle across a startled Iranian soldier, punching the man back against a bank of computer consoles. MacKenzie was right behind him, swinging the deadly gray bulk of his M-60 as lightly as Murdock's H&K, and when his finger closed on the trigger, the bridge rang with the hammering, rapid-fire detonations of that machine gun.

Half glimpsed as he swept the bridge were flames lighting the night outside — one blaze on Yuduki Maru's own forward deck, other greater, brighter fires erupting two hundred yards to starboard, lighting the night in an unfolding glory of yellow and orange that caught a large patrol boat in silhouette.

Murdock didn't pause to admire the view, however. He tracked left and killed another man by the teletype machines, then pivoted back to cover Mac. Three Iranian naval officers, one with ornate gold braid on his white uniform, tried to scatter for cover as MacKenzie's searing fusillade scythed through them. One down... two... three... Another man, an army officer, grabbed for his holstered pistol, then seemed to dissolve in red mist and fragments as MacKenzie's weapon cut him down as well.

"Wheeoo! Rock and roll!" MacKenzie yelled into the sudden silence as his finger came off the trigger. "Just a-playin' in the band!"

"Yeah, you left 'em dead in the aisles," Murdock replied, stepping closer to the dead naval officers, probing them with his foot. "Watch it with that thing, huh? We still have to get this ship out of... uh-oh."

Murdock froze, his H&K aimed at the figure standing alone on the Yuduki Maru's starboard bridge wing. The man was holding a pistol, but the muzzle was pointed uselessly at the overhead. Possibly the guy hadn't had time to aim... or maybe he was trying to surrender. He was Japanese, which meant Ohtori. Another Ohtori prisoner would be a real bonus for the intel boys. "Easy there, guy," Murdock called. "Drop the weapon. Ah... buki o sutero! Drop your weapons!"

"Put it down!" MacKenzie added, his voice sounding as loud as the full-auto mayhem of a moment earlier. "Now!"

The Japanese terrorist wavered for a moment, the pistol aimed at the sky in a trembling, uncertain hand. Suddenly, he snapped the muzzle down against his right temple and jerked the trigger. There was a crash and the man's head snapped over against his shoulder, the left side of his skull suddenly gone soft beneath a wet mat of disarrayed hair. The pistol fell over the railing; the terrorist dropped to his knees, then fell full-length on the deck.

"Son of a bitch!" Jaybird said, coming up behind Murdock. "Was he crazy?"

"Worse," Murdock said. "He wanted to die for his cause. Hard to fight people like that."

"Well, better them than us," MacKenzie said. "Let's make sure the rest of them do the same. C'mon, Jaybird. Help me set up this pig over there."

Together Jaybird and MacKenzie braced the M-60 on a smashed-open section of the bridge window.

There were bodies all over the freighter's forward deck, visible now as the flames dwindled. It looked like someone had touched off some propane tanks; the only fire now was from burning scraps of wooden crates, but it was bright enough to give MacKenzie a perfect view of the deck. A soldier took aim at the bridge and fired, the bullet going wide. MacKenzie answered with a burst that sent the man toppling sideways into the water. Wild shots were coming from the shore, but nothing coordinated or effective.

For the second time, Murdock approached the bridge computer console, tapping in memorized commands. The computer was giving readouts in Japanese again; obviously someone had been working with it recently, trying to access the cargo locks. Switching it back to English, Murdock scrolled rapidly through various user logs and menus. Good. His password was still in place... and the cargo hold had not been breached.