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As he spoke, another volley exploded from the enemy ship.
“Hold on!” Richard roared to her, bracing himself.
The water exploded to their front aft side. A miss, though the Peace rocked precariously.
Tara held tight to the mast, weighing the possible consequences of the battle. It might be time for them to abandon ship, and use Richard’s knowledge of the islands and the water to survive. “Where are we?” she asked him quickly.
“Near the mainland,” he told her. “Just a few islands southwest of the mainland. And it’s time for you to go. Head northeast—”
“I will not leave you. You’re—well, you’ve a safety net in me, if we’re together. We’ll head northeast. By ship, or by foot. They will flounder in the channel—they’re floundering now! I’m not leaving you, so please don’t waste your time trying to get me to do so.”
He stared at her with exasperation. But even as he did so, he bellowed to his men below.
“Fire!”
THE UNION SHIP WAS ROCKING like a cradle in the water, ablaze in the aft section, and Tremblay was shouting orders to his men.
Finn balanced easily enough, watching as men hurried about, stumbling here and there, and turning a slight shade of green at the pitch and heave of the ship.
Tremblay was a seasoned captain. He held his sea legs steady, moving with the motion of the ship, a pitch and roll he probably knew far too well.
“Gunners!” he shouted out, his voice calm and powerful. “Stay your posts! Seamen, douse that fire! See if we’re taking on water!”
Tremblay swore beneath his breath. “She hit us! The lucky Reb actually hit us…. Keep us steady men! We’ll come apart on the reef! Gunners, fire! Take to the cannons, boy, and give her a long volley, one after the other, all ablaze!”
Finn turned to him. “Captain, we don’t want all aboard killed.”
“We’ll man the boats, and bring them in. We must stop her—before she stops us.” He stared at Finn. “We may be floundering already. If she scrapes coral now …”
“Demand her surrender,” Finn urged.
“Her surrender? We’ve been hit!” Tremblay said.
“Aye, but she is listing worse. Demand her surrender,” Finn insisted. “She can’t know that we’re taking on water just as badly.”
“Hold fire!” Tremblay called.
His order came just as someone fired a gun prematurely.
THE NIGHT WAS SPLIT again with a great boom of sound, and the earth itself seemed to tremble.
That time, the thunder in the air was followed by a shuddering explosion; they’d been hit again, and hard. The repercussion swept Tara off her feet. She fell and discovered that she was lying under Richard. She quickly eased from beneath and rose above him, touching his face. “Richard, Richard …”
He opened his eyes slowly, and then blinked rapidly. “We’ve been hit … we’ve been hit a death blow…. Take the helm and try to steady her until we can abandon ship. I’ve got to get below … to the others …”
“Richard, it’s burning. It’s—it’s too late!”
“Have to … have to get down there … My men …”
He staggered to his feet; she feared he wouldn’t make it to the deck below, but there would be no stopping him.
The night that had been so pleasantly dark and quiet was now ominous in its silence between small bursts of fire that ignited about the ship. Black smoke was heavy on the air.
“Richard, please,” she said softly.
He grabbed her by the shoulders; his eyes seemed almost blank. He was shell-shocked, she knew, but she couldn’t stop him.
“I have to see,” he said thickly. “You know I have to see … Someone could be … injured.”
No. She wished that it was true, but no one could have survived that explosion.
He thrust himself from her, heading for the steps below.
Tara staggered back and grabbed the wildly jerking wheel, using all her strength to steady the ship, trying to keep her limping forward. But another volley followed, and another. It was all she could do, just to hold tight.
Richard burst out from the deck below, his face covered in soot, his features twisted in a grim mask.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, jerking her around to face him. “They’re dead … the men are dead, and we’re taking on water. Get out of here, now!”
Past Richard, she could see that the enemy steamer was moving in on them.
They stared at each other—Richard angry and impotent to get her away, Tara determined that she’d never leave him, not at any cost.
Then thunder burst through the sky again, so loud that it was painful, and when the ship shuddered, it was as if they’d been hit by the hand of God.
Perhaps they had been….
Tara landed hard, stunned and breathless. For a moment, even she was completely disoriented, seeing only darkness. Then color and light returned to her world. She grasped a trunk and pulled herself to her feet. Looking around desperately for Richard, she saw that he was hanging over the portside of the ship.
A wave crested over the ship. Water washed around her friend.
And when the water was gone, Richard was gone.
With a scream, Tara rushed to the rail, and saw his body being swallowed by the darkness of the ocean.
She pitched herself over the rail to follow him.
“JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH!” Tremblay raged. “Who’s responsible? The last volley wasn’t on order!”
Finn could have echoed his furious sentiments, but it would do no good. A gunner ran up to them, soot-faced and frantic.
“Captain! There was a spark that flew from the match … it caught the wick. We didn’t fire to destroy her!”
“Destroyed or not, I need the men aboard that ship,” Finn said.
Another filthy man ran up to the captain. “Sir, we’re taking on water—heavily. We’re working the pumps, bailing…. She’s on a reef, sir. Cut by the coral as well as their return fire!”
“Lower the longboats!” Tremblay ordered in a booming voice.
As the men hurried to do as told, Finn stared out at the Rebel runner.
“We’re sinking, Agent Dunne!” Tremblay told him.
“I am aware, sir.”
He stood his ground, staring at the enemy ship. The masts were shattered; she was listing badly to the landward side. Fire had broken out in her aft; he’d seen the explosion that had hit her there. The way that flames were leaping and burning, he assumed they’d hit her powder supply.
Whatever cargo she carried would soon be lost.
Anyone caught in the aft was dead; they had, at the least, died swiftly. The portside of the ship and her fore still stood in the night, though the fire would soon consume them, as well.
He quickly reckoned the distance from the dying ship to the shore; a strong swimmer could make it. Theoretically, others—if not killed by the blast—might well still be aboard, dead or dying, or unconscious.
Finn didn’t want to wait for the tenders; he stripped off his jacket and headed for the rail.
“Agent Dunne!” Tremblay called. “Sir! The boats will be speedy—”
“Not speedy enough.”
Finn dove from the ship’s deck, hitting the water hard and pitching downward. The water was cold, a hard slap of ice against his flesh as he landed and thrust through its density. In the night, not even his eyesight was much against the depths, but he had little interest in what was around him. When his legs scraped coral, it only confirmed that their ship would have floundered had it come out this far. The Rebel captain they chased knew his landscape, and knew it well.
Finn swam hard, picking up greater speed with every length he cleared from the Union boat. He could see the Rebel ship burning and listing, and he swam harder; it was war, of course. A Union ship destroying a blockade runner and all aboard was a regrettable fact of war.
To Finn, it meant a dead end. If all aboard had perished, he might never know if he had found Gator, if this threat to Lincoln still remained; if failed, he might not be able to return to the president’s side.
There were shouts audible in the air. The Union men had lowered the longboats, and crews were coming in his wake.
He reached the burning ship. It listed so badly to the side, he could climb straight aboard. The remnants of her shell would remain where it was in the days to come, her skeleton caught on the reef.
Despite the heavy smoke on the air, he could smell the sickly sweet scent of burning flesh, and he prayed that those caught in the inferno had been baked before the fire even reached them. Crawling aboard, dripping with seawater, he lifted his arm against the rise of the flame to protect his face. He quickly ascertained that there was no getting belowdeck; anyone caught there was gone.
But a hurried search topside against the rip of the flames in the night revealed no bodies consumed by fire or otherwise. And if anyone had survived, they had not gone for their longboats—they had done as he had, diving into the night.
Someone was out there. Even if the ship’s crew had been small, there had been someone topside. Someone running the operation.
Gator?
In just another second, Finn realized that the heat of the fire had already nearly dried his sea-soaked clothing.
He could feel his flesh beginning to sear.
He dove back into the water, and began to swim again, aware that the water felt even more frigid against the heat of his body. The difference between the fire heat aboard the ship and the winter water was extreme; he knew that he had to keep moving, and move fast. The fire illuminated the night, and he looked toward the shore. He could just see a tangle of mangroves, and beyond that, the small spit of a beach.
The island was some distance. And though it might be far warmer than any sea farther north, the icy hand of winter had stretched even down here. Could an injured man have possibly survived?
Yes.
Possibly.
Whatever it took, he had to know.
Finn couldn’t help his thoughts from spinning, even as he kept his arms and legs moving in swift, even strokes through the water. He was sick at the thought of the men caught by the cannons as the ship exploded. He was angry that he had come so far, and that he might never know if they had or hadn’t killed Gator.
No.
Someone had to have been topside. And that person had survived.
Someone was out there, alive and well, or dying, in the midst of the mangrove isle, and he was going to find them.
CHAPTER THREE
TARA’S DESPERATE DIVES beneath the surface had paid off—she’d found Richard and quickly brought him to the surface.
But he wasn’t conscious, and with the frigid water washing around her, salt waves rocking hard against them minute after minute, it was difficult to even ascertain at first if he was alive. Mindless of the water, she squeezed his torso to force water from him … and he coughed, and he breathed.
And he lived.
“Tara …” he gasped.
“I’ve got you, Richard, I’ve got you,” she assured him.
“Too far from shore. I can’t make it. Go … for the love of God, go.”
“Ease back. I’ve got you.”
“Tara, you can get—” Richard’s words were cut off as a wave washed over them. He coughed violently again. “Get away!”
“Shut up! Quit talking. Keep your mouth closed and lie back. Damn you, Richard, I can swim with you. Stop fighting me or I’ll knock you out and drag you, so don’t make it harder for me,” she warned him with a note of steel in her voice.
Water washed over him again. He sputtered it out, and she took advantage of his weakness to force him flat and slip her left arm around his chest in a hold that would allow him to keep his head above the surface while she fought the waves with her right arm and legs. She had a reserve of strength that was deep, fortunately, as the sea itself seemed to be against them that night.
As she kicked harder, she was dimly aware of some form of shadow that seemed to linger over Richard’s boat.
Death?
She gave herself a mental shake; she couldn’t think that way. She had to use her entire concentration to get her friend to the shore. She didn’t even dare look back at the Yankee ship. Richard had been thrown severely about his wounded ship, and if she didn’t get him to land, nothing else about the night would really matter.
An explosion suddenly burst through the night and Tara realized that a powder keg had exploded.
The resulting mass of waves wrenched Richard from her arms. Skyrocketing flames illuminated the water, and she couldn’t see Richard anymore.
Even with her exceptional sight and strength, it seemed like an eternity in agony, diving and searching, diving and searching.
While the blazing fire on the ship illuminated the surface of the water, creating an almost beautiful array of golden splendor on the now-gentling waves, beneath the glowing sheen the water remained stygian in the night. She could barely see, and while she knew about where Richard had gone in, she couldn’t pinpoint the precise location, and she might not have found him at all had he not bobbed to the surface.
Facedown.
“Richard!” she shouted, swimming to him, turning him over in the water. His eyes were closed; his form was limp.
