The machine gun fired again. Apparently the gunners could no longer see the two men lying on the ground and were firing at random to pin them down. Then the destroyer could range in on them, and this time there would be no mistakes with the target. Blade soberly wondered if either he or the courier had much chance of living more than another ten minutes.

Again a burst from the machine gun. This one went on so long that Blade guessed they would now have to change belts. He risked raising his head enough to look out to sea. Then he stared in surprise and mounting delight.

The destroyer had come about and was heading away to the south, down the channel. White water at bow and stern showed that she was already doing twenty knots and working rapidly toward full speed. A big searchlight forward was sweeping the sea in a great arc. Something sudden and compelling was drawing the destroyer away from the victims waiting for her on land. Blade didn't know what this could be, but he didn't have to. What he did know was that for the moment all he faced were the machine gun, its crew, and perhaps a handful of other Russlanders in shape to fight. Dispose of them-and quickly, because the destroyer's captain might turn back or a helicopter arrive with reinforcements. Then inflate the raft, get the courier into it, paddle out into the channel, signal to the-

A sheet of yellow flame tore upward from the destroyer's stern. On top of the flame rode a crown of flying pieces of the ship-depth charges, steel plates, boats, men, the whole after turret with its jutting guns and radar gear. At the base of the flame the sea rose in a dark wall topped and laced with foam. Then the thunder of the explosion came rolling across the water. Blade thought he'd become used to explosions by now, but this one swelled and swelled, until he had to open his mouth and clap his hands over his ears. The ground under him vibrated, and several weakened trees cracked and toppled over.

As the flying pieces started splashing back into the sea, Blade saw the machine gun clearly. The two gunners had both risen to their feet and were staring open-mouthed out to sea, blind to everything except the dying ship. They paid no attention to Blade as he pulled a grenade from his belt, jerked the pin, and threw it. The men still had their mouths open when the grenade landed between them, so they died that way.

Two more Russlanders sprang up from cover as the blast of the grenade died away, but Blade was ready for them, his finger on the trigger. A quick burst and the two men went down. Blade waited another minute, looking for anyone still able and willing to make a move against him. At last he was satisfied there was no one left.

As he turned back toward the sea the wave from the explosion struck the shore, a six-foot wall of green water and foam. It rolled up the beach, scouring away the craters from the shells, reaching high enough to catch several fallen trees and pull them out to sea as it drew back.

Blade looked down at the courier. The man was still breathing, but deeply unconscious. Probably just as well, considering his wounds. Blade picked up the raft and survival pack and carried them down to the water's edge. Returning, he picked the courier up in his arms and carried him down to the shore. The man weighed over a hundred and sixty pounds, but to Blade's muscles and adrenalin-charged system he seemed light.

Blade unpacked the raft and jerked the inflation tab. The C02 cartridge went off with a wsssssh and the five-foot doughnut of dark rubber rapidly filled and firmed out. Blade laid the courier in it, making him as comfortable as possible. Then he pushed the raft through the shallows until it was well afloat, sprang in, and unfolded the paddles.

The raft moved slowly and sluggishly with the extra weight aboard, and it had only a few inches of freeboard. But it showed no sign of being unstable, and that was enough for Blade. The raft didn't have to take him and the courier back to Englor. It just had to keep them afloat long enough to be picked up by the submarine.

Five hundred yards offshore Blade looked toward where the destroyer had been. At first glance she seemed to have vanished completely. Then Blade saw a long, low, rounded shape in the water, moving gently to the swell. The light from a patch of burning oil a few hundred yards away showed red paint on it, and a few tiny dots perched along it. The destroyer's stern was gone, blown to bits. The bow was still floating, capsized, and with a few of the crew clinging to it.

A thousand yards farther out, Blade shipped the paddles and began laying out three hand grenades. Three grenades exploding at one-minute intervals was the agreed-upon signal for the submarine to surface and make pickup.

Blade had the first grenade in his hand, ready to pull the pin, when a long, thin metal tube slowly crept out of the sea two hundred yards away. A faint wake trailed away behind it. Then the wake died, the tube rose higher out of the sea, and the rest of the submarine followed the periscope. Foam swirled away from the stern as the officers on the bridge maneuvered their ship toward Blade.

A line darted across the water from the three sailors standing on the deck. Blade caught it and pulled the raft in hard against the gleaming black steel of the submarine's hull. The sailors moved cautiously down the hull toward the water until they were practically hanging on their safety lines. Blade sprang up lightly from the raft onto the hull, and all four men joined together in heaving up the raft.

Blade let his breath out with a long sigh of relief, saw that the three sailors were gently lifting the courier, and headed for the bridge ladder. There was one more thing to be done before he would be satisfied with the night's work. As he scrambled up onto the bridge, he saw the submarine's captain leaning against the railing, binoculars around his neck.

«Welcome back, Mr. Blade,» said the captain.

«Thank you, sir,» said Blade. «Now, if you can manage it, I think we'd do well to pick up a prisoner or two from that destroyer.»

The captain shook his head. «I'm sorry, Mr. Blade. It might be useful, but it would also be dangerous. We can't afford to stay around here much longer, and certainly not on the surface.»

«But-«

«No, I'm sorry. We were able to get rid of that destroyer only by using-by using something we didn't expect to have succeed so well. I'm not going to risk my ship any further, now that we've got you aboard.» He smiled politely but turned away with a finality that suggested he would not be polite if Blade pushed the matter any further.

Blade shrugged. Both he and the captain were right, in different ways. The captain was right in not wanting to endanger his ship any further. On the other hand, a prisoner or two from the destroyer might tell Englor much, possibly even something about their ship's mission.

But aboard his own ship there was no arguing with the captain. There was nothing to do but accept his decision and hope the courier lived to talk.

The diving alarm hooted. Blade stepped aside to let the lookouts and the officer of the watch plunge down the hatch, then followed them.