The Crimson Chase: A Chase Fulton Novel by Cap Daniels

Author:Cap Daniels [Daniels, Cap]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anchor Watch Publishing, L.L.C.
Published: 2024-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

I Didn’t See That Coming

Mike Tyson said it best: “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

I stopped counting missions a long time ago, but I never remember contact with an enemy that followed my plan. The coming days of our lives would be no different. Something—possibly everything—would change. Somebody would do something we didn’t expect, or we’d make an error that demanded an immediate change of plans.

We slept, ate, and conducted weapons drills while the Lori Danielle carried us across the Caribbean at almost a mile a minute.

During a break for Gatorade and calories, Gator said, “I really appreciate you guys taking the time to work weapons drills with me. I’ll get up to speed, and we won’t have to do this stuff all the time.”

Singer gave his protégé a knowing grin. “That’s the most rookie thing you’ve said since you’ve been here.”

“What do you mean?”

Singer said, “We’re not running drills for you. We’re running drills for the team. This is exactly what we’d be doing even if you were still playing ball in Kansas. This is what we do. We train, train, and train some more. Then, when the fight comes, the training takes over and we come out with fewer bullet holes in us than the bad guys have in them. If you don’t like weapons drills, you’re in for a long, hard road with this team.”

“Seriously?” Gator asked. “This is routine?”

Singer said, “Yes, sir. Everybody on this team hopes he never has to pull another trigger in anger, but we all know that hope ain’t a plan. Because of that, we’re going to be better trained, better equipped, and harder hitting than anybody we face. That’s how we stay alive.”

The drills continued until our bellies demanded groceries.

As we finished lunch—or “noon chow” as they call it on the ship—Skipper plucked her phone from her pocket, listened, and said, “Thanks.” She dropped her fork and looked up. “We’re within radar range of the target vessel.”

We abandoned our plates and piled into the CIC. “There she is,” Skipper said, pointing toward monitor number two.

“How do you know that’s her?” Hunter asked.

“Because the radar target correlates with the satellite data. When we get within visual range, we’ll launch a drone and get some hi-def video of her.”

As if on cue, the ship slowed and settled into the water as the hydrofoils retracted into their wells inside the hull. Every eye was glued to the radar screen as we pulled ahead of the yacht by at least a mile.

Gator asked, “Why are we moving ahead of them if our plan is to follow?”

Skipper spun around. “You’re asking good questions, new guy. The position out front gives us two advantages. First, nobody thinks they’re being chased by somebody in front of them, so we appear to be a coincidental parallel track, but not a chaser. We’ll vary our position over the next few hours to appear even less threatening.”

“That makes sense,” he said. “What’s the second advantage?”

She drew a triangle in the air with her fingertip.

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