Survivalist - 18 - The Struggle Page 17
On the deck near Rourke’s bare feet was the AKM-96 that a moment ago had been aimed at him. He picked it up, stabbing the muzzle of the AKM-96 under their hatch. The body was being compressed, blood spurting from it. Rourke fired, spraying out the contents of the magazine into the space below.
He left the rifle wedged beneath the hatch, then reached to it, throwing his body weight against the hatch. Suddenly Paul was beside him, then Jason Darkwood. “Wait a minute!” Paul shouted. There was a second AKM-96 on the sail’s deck and Paul grabbed it, fired it out beneath the hatch.
Suddenly, the downward pressure on the hatch eased, reversed. There was a shout from below. It was Sam Aldridge’s voice. “We’re secure below—get more men down here, Jase!”
As the hatch raised, Rourke, then Paul Rubenstein and Jason Darkwood simultaneously started down, Rourke’s knife back in his fist.
Bodies of Soviet seamen and Americans from Mid-Wake lay everywhere. Aldridge was bleeding from his right shoulder. “The bridge is secure. And so are the torpedo rooms. Time’s on our side now!” Aldridge started down into the bowels of the Island Classer.
Rourke took the ladder down, skating it, crashing, dropping to his knees, then running after Sam Aldridge.
Paul Rubenstein was beside him.
Sam Aldridge was shouting, “The ship is ours!”
And Jason Darkwood ran toward the bridge …
The fighting below decks consumed another hour, scouring every berth and cabin, every possible space
I for Soviet personnel. Those who surrendered or were I captured alive were allowed to live. They were put I ashore with provisions and a radio, the radio disas-i sembled so it would take several hours to make it work | again, enough time for Darkwood to pilot the Island Classer out of harm’s way.
They waited for dawn, and the snow finally slowed, nearly stopped. There was a crack in the horizon, sun bleeding beneath it across the sea.
Above the sail, some of Aldridge’s Marines raised the American flag.
John Rourke stood beside Paul Rubenstein. It was cold. The wind blew fiercely as the flag stiffened under it.
John Rourke watched it for a long time. Things were turning around. He felt it inside himself. Beside him, Paul Rubenstein wept.