The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [145]
Consequently, with the cable already attached to the yard engines, the iceboat crabbed slowly toward the stricken Beauregard, trailing cable over the side. It seemed to take forever, with the DNR officer exposed by sitting in front of the huge propeller cage, and the trooper on his knees in the open bow, cable in hand.
“All shooters, if anybody tries to detach the cable after it’s in place, take them out.” Adams was talking his sharpshooters through the scenario.
The iceboat moved steadily on, with the trooper in the bow occasionally looking over his shoulder to see that the cable paid out properly. I could feel my pulse in my neck.
When the iceboat was about ten feet away from the tow ring on the Beau’s bow, the secure radio crackled to life.
“Alpha Two Spotter has a masked subject with a long gun. He’s, uh, on the main deck, and he’s behind the glass, just right of center.”
I couldn’t see him, as there were lots of reflections in the glass.
“And Alpha Two Spotter has the same subject moving to the shore side of the boat, and, and … He’s coming out onto the deck …”
I saw the glazed door open, and a man step out onto the deck with what looked like an AK-47 in one hand. He was in a green coverall and was wearing a dark ski mask. He started toward the bow of the Beau, about twenty feet from him. He brought his other hand to the rifle, and began to bring it to his shoulder.
“Shoot,” said Adams. Very calm, very matter-of-fact.
I didn’t hear a thing, but the man with the rifle just suddenly fell off the deck into the icy water, as if he’d been backhanded by a giant.
The iceboat edged closer to the bow of the Beauregard. All of a sudden we could see a myriad of small splashes erupt in the water around the small craft, and a twinkling from the boat. Automatic rifle fire, and a large bit of it.
“Let’s suppress the fire, people,” intoned Adams. “Get all of ’em. There’s at least one shooter on the river side of the deck … Suppress that asshole …”
An occasional star appeared in the glazed area of the Beauregard, but I couldn’t see anything else happening. The sharpshooters were having a hell of a time getting a clean shot at any shooters on the boat, because the passengers were bunched up all over the place. The firing at the iceboat did seem to slacken off, though, and it kept edging closer and closer to the bow. When it got within about ten yards, it should be concealed from the shooters by the bow of the riverboat. A safe zone, although temporary. It slid up to the bow, and we all let out a little cheer.
“Let’s not get happy, people,” said Adams into his radio. “They gotta get out of there, too. Find the shooters. Take your best shots, but be careful.” He said to me, as an aside, “We gotta make a decision as to whether or not to accept collateral damage. We hold a shot to save a passenger, we could lose several hundred in return …”
He seemed awfully calm, for all that to be going on in his head. My respect for him went up another notch.
We watched as the trooper clambered back to the front of his boat, grabbed the towing ring of the Beauregard with one hand, and the cable with the other. Surely, and with what appeared an easy motion, he drew them together, and began to fasten the cable to the ring.
“He makes it look easy,” said George.
He did, too. Slicker than hell.
We all began to make noises of relief, when there was another explosion on the Beau, throwing up a gout of water, oil, and mud.
“There she goes!” hollered Olinger. “Damn it, they’ve sunk her for sure now!”
True enough, the General Beauregard began to settle noticeably, and by the stern.
“Get those fuckin’ yard engines moving!” hollered Lamar. “Now, now!”
As the Beau started for the bottom stern-first, the yard diesels began to slowly take up the slack on the cable. Too fast, and they’d tear the towing rig right off the bow. Too slow,