The attack boat sat nestled between a pair of sleek yachts; its matte black hull absorbed the sunlight, making it look like a shadow on the water. It was a 45-foot marvel. Brendon paused for a moment to take it in. Cody had really outdone himself with this one.
It had a sharp, aggressive profile. Its hull curved elegantly, tapering at the stern, and the darkened glass of the thin cockpit windows was the only reflective material on the vessel. The reinforced canopy was a lattice of toughened armour plates and a lightweight Kevlar mesh. Brendon grabbed it to steady himself and boarded the vessel. As he did, the specification and correct operation of the machine flooded into his mind.
This thing had heavy machine guns mounted for close-range defence and engaging softer targets. Thirty-millimetre automatic ranging and tracking cannons for larger targets. A surface-to-surface missile system for short-range anti-ship manoeuvres. Stinger anti-aircraft missiles to counter planes and drones. There were torpedoes, rockets, grenade launchers, anti-submarine depth charges, and much more combined to make this a formidable, lethal craft.
Brendon knew every inch of it and could operate it expertly.
Its interior continued the sleek futuristic themes. He settled into the elevated pilot's seat in the centre of the cockpit. It was the only seat in the entire boat. The vessel hummed to life, sensing his presence. Control panels lit up with vibrant displays, and he instinctively understood their function: navigation, weapon systems, communications.
Knowledge flowed into him like an old memory resurfacing after hearing a song or smelling a smell. He flicked the right switches in the right sequences, and the four Mercury Racing 450R outboard engines roared to life. They threw up water in the stern twenty feet high, telegraphing his position to the horde of Sentinels pulling into the harbour. The boat vibrated beneath him like an angry beast, hungry for action.
The bots fixed on his position. A barrage of gunfire and rockets erupted. Ordnance ricocheted off the nearby boats, sending shards of debris flying through the air.
The narrow angle of the quay meant the bots had to shred their way through hundreds of millions of dollars worth of maritime luxury before they could even put a scratch on Brendon's boat. But he wasn't going to wait around for that to happen.
Watching everything from screens in the cockpit, Brendon calmly gripped the joystick on the right hand of his captain's chair. He peered through the thin slits of the windshield and pushed forward on the throttle charger in his left. The attack boat surged ahead, pushing Brendon back into his seat as if he'd been kicked in the chest.
It sliced through the water with remarkable speed. Bullets were now raining down upon it; some struck the canopy or the blast shield in the back but met only a solid thud against the reinforcements. The armour absorbed each impact effortlessly. His confidence in this craft grew.
He swiftly initiated a series of commands on the navigation panel. The map displayed various locations and indicators of where the bots were firing from, but he would be out of range shortly. Brendon's focus zeroed in on his goal.
He synced the boat's computer with the locator in his hand, and waited as the onboard computer plotted a speed course to the island, and to Grace. The screen blinked and confirmed the sync with an affirmative tone. The boat shifted slightly as it adjusted its heading toward the right direction and out of the harbour.
The city skyline began to blur in his peripheral vision as he pushed down harder on the throttle. The boat leapt forward, its hull slicing through the choppy surface like a sabre. So fast now, the spray didn't have time to stick to the windscreen.
Behind him, the sound of gunfire and explosions faded.
He was heading out into the open sea, towards the horizon. Brendon watched as the blue dot on the navigation display began to follow a thin red line across a featureless, empty screen.
It should be easy going from here on in.
Time passed and Brendon was firmly out in open water.
Then a blip flickered to life on the radar screen. It moved at speed, closing the distance between them worryingly fast.
Brendon's focus intensified all of a sudden.
He slowed the boat and grabbed a pair of binoculars.
He opened the hatch in the armoured canopy, squinting in the sunlight. He checked the scope for a rough bearing and scanned the horizon. Nothing. He then turned his attention skywards.
There, cutting through the expanse, he saw it. Just a small dot for now, but coming in fast. It was the unmistakable silhouette of a Lockheed AC-130 Spectre gunship. Brendon swallowed slowly and, for the first time, registered apprehension in his persona. Instinctively he knew he was about to be in a difficult situation.
The Spectre was formidable.
Originally a large cargo plane, this derivative had been converted into a devastating ground attack aircraft. All along its port side, Brendon scanned its incredible firepower.
The main weapon, an ancient but capable 105mm howitzer, effectively made the aircraft into a flying artillery piece. Alongside it, a 40mm Bofors cannon could spit out shells that would saw tanks in half. Finally, a smaller, but no less lethal, 25mm Gatling gun would make short work of any softer targets still left standing.
Brendon watched through his binos as the Spectre roared into position high above him.
Then all of a sudden its wings tilted down towards him, bringing its guns to bear as the plane started to trace a large circle around his location. He quickly dropped back into the cabin and secured the hatch.
Brendon was well aware of how the Spectre operated.
It would circle a target area and unleash its onboard arsenal on its target in sustained and brutal barrage. A typical engagement with a Spectre would leave approximately one square mile completely obliterated. Making a run for it was not much of an option, but he needed time to prepare the anti-aircraft weapons onboard. Brendon pushed the throttle to full, and the boat lifted out of the water as it picked up speed.
Without warning, the sea in front exploded, jolting the boat to the left. Brendon felt the impact before he saw it. A barrage of heavy artillery started to rain down, turning the flat sea into a forest of violent geysers.
Brendon fell to the deck as the boat started to be tossed around like a toy in a washing machine. He struggled to get back into his seat, but he managed to harness himself in and maintain control at the same time. Every few seconds another shell landed and another explosion jolted the boat.
Alarms blared within the cockpit, while red lights flashed ominously across the control panel. He gripped the controls tighter, eyes darting around as explosions erupted around him. Each blast sent saltwater spraying over the deck, and he could feel the hull's armour shudder under the relentless assault.
Brendon frantically scanned the console screen in front of him, desperate for anything that could help him. His eyes darted as he navigated through menu options until he found what he was looking for. Anti-aircraft munitions. With adrenaline starting to pump through his veins, he prepared to deploy them.
Just as Brendon activated the targeting system, the Spectre opened up with its smaller guns, raining hundreds of bullets a second down on the embattled vessel. Rounds started to hit on target and were quickly eating through the armour plating. Brendon's breath caught in his throat as flames started to lick at his windscreen.
The heat intensified, but the armoured canopy seemed to be withstanding the onslaught. Alarms and red lights continued to flash all over the cockpit. He glanced down at the gauges, oil pressure and hydraulics all dropping rapidly. Then water levels started rising inside the cockpit. He was sinking fast, but the engines were still pushing the boat through the water.
The attack seemed to ease off.
Perhaps they were reloading.
Brendon pulled the emergency release tabs on the canopy. It jettisoned off the back of the boat, landing flat on the ocean surface with a hollow thud. He dove in after it.
He swam a few strokes and took cover beneath it.
He then watched as the burning vessel sped away, coming under a renewed barrage from above. Around half a mile away, it finally succumbed and exploded. It took less than thirty seconds to sink.
The sea calmed quickly in the aftermath.
It was almost still now.
Brendon was treading water, close to the armored canopy, watching the giant C130 loiter above the wreckage site. Was it done? Would it now leave?
It started to turn towards Brendon and then began to level out. Brendon inched closer to the peppered piece of canopy now barely bobbing on the surface of the sea. It was his only hope for refuge. He tried to get as far underneath as he could.
The plane droned closer, now flying low.
Brendon braced himself for what was to come.
Abruptly his forearm started to vibrate again. It was his console notifying him. The Spectre tilted its wings into attack position. Brendon could do little else but watch. He tried to do his best to tread water, shelter under the canopy and pull the sleeve down of his jacket.
Then a few hundred yards ahead of him, a giant splash, followed by a loud cupping sound. He shielded his eyes from the water, but when he eventually looked up, he saw a missile hovering in front of him, perfectly still, as if suspended in time.
Then its engine ignited and a loud boom erupted. Smoke, steam and exhaust swirled around him but he somehow managed to stay at the surface.
It fired straight up into the air, arching towards the inbound aircraft.
The explosion was big, loud and rewarding. Brendon took cover as small pieces of burning fuselage rained down into the water around him.
Accompanying the fiery downpour the water around him started to bubble. Gently at first then more intensely. Then, from beneath it, a huge tall black column began to emerge followed by two small hydroplanes on either side of it. A sinister black monolith rose from the depths, a mere twenty meters ahead of him.
Once the conning tower of the submarine was fully visible the top deck began to emerge. Brendon started to feel it on his feet. He could now stand. As the water dissipated he struggled to stay upright. He grabbed a nearby handle and clung to it as the canopy and bits of wreckage flowed away off the sub's top deck.
When he could Brendon stood and assessed what had just happened. He looked over the surface of the sea, at the burning debris of the C130 and wondered what The Sanctuary would throw at him next.
Once fully surfaced the sub began to steam ahead.
Brendon staggered as the hulking black mass started to shove its way through the water.
He looked up.
Just on the distant horizon, Brendon could make out a shape. It was land. It was an island. He checked his locator. It was his destination. It was where he would find Grace.