Ultimate Battleship

Chapter 10

"You—what are you doing here?"Chu Xiaoxiao’s voice cracked like thin ice, each syllable trembling as if caught in a late autumn gale. She pressed herself against the tent’s nylon wall, the fabric damp against her shoulder. Moonlight seeped through the seams, painting her face in jagged silver—highlighting the wildness in her eyes, the bruise blooming on her cheek.

"Rather than that..."Nie Yun tilted the flashlight higher, its beam transforming his grin into a caricature of itself. The light caught the stubble on his chin, the saltwater tangling his hair, and something else—specks of blood on his knuckles. "Might I suggest we relocate before the local wildlife RSVP to this slaughter?" He nudged the second brother’s corpse with the toe of his boot, the motion casual as brushing aside a pebble.

By the derelict ship, the leader advanced like a panther on the prowl. His flashlight beam wavered over barnacle-crusted planks, illuminating a trail of fresh blood—dark, almost black in the mist. **"Third Brother!"** he shouted, the words bouncing off the hull and dissolving into the surf.

Silence answered, thick as tar. The only sound was his own breath rasping in his throat, the ocean’s roar a distant threat. He knelt, pressing two fingers to the bloodstain. Still warm.

"Answer me, you son of a b***h!" His voice broke on the last word, echoing through the ship’s skeleton. He’d known the third brother since they were kids stealing cigarettes from dockworkers—had trusted him with his life a dozen times over. If this was a setup...

Cursing, he realized the trap: the satellite phone was in the third brother’s pocket, and the island’s only radio lay smashed at the base of a palm tree. He drew his pistol, the metal cold against his palm, and ducked under a sagging beam.

Then—**bang**. The gunshot was a thunderclap, vibrating the sand beneath his boots. He spun, flashlight trained on the tent a hundred yards away. The nylon flap flapped in the wind, askew. No sign of the second brother.

A cold hand gripped his heart. He hesitated, torn between the ship’s shadowy hold and the girl he’d been paid to protect. Ten million dollars was a lot of money, but dead men spent nothing.

**"To hell with this."** He broke into a run, sand flying up to sting his eyes. The pistol bounced against his hip, a constant reminder of how quickly things had gone sideways.

Halfway to the tent, the whine of an engine stopped him dead.

Their speedboat—the *Seawolf*, a sleek fiberglass nightmare—was pulling away from the shore, its wake glowing in the moonlight. The engine’s roar was a middle finger to the night.

**"Second Brother, you f**king traitor!"** He screamed until his throat burned, visions of the ten million slipping away with the boat. The second brother had always been shifty, but this—this was betrayal on a biblical scale.

By the time he reached the tent, the *Seawolf* was a dot on the horizon. He kicked the sand, sending shells skittering, and that’s when he smelled it: copper and salt, a scent he knew too well.

The flashlight beam found the second brother first—his boots, then his lifeless eyes, then the pool of blood spreading beneath his head like an oil spill. The wound was a neat hole above his left eye.

**"What the—"** The leader staggered back, tripping over a rock. If the second brother was dead, who was driving the boat?

His gaze snapped to the shipwreck. A glacial realization crept over him, colder than the ocean at midnight.

**Third Brother.**

The oaf who couldn’t tie his own shoes without help. The enforcer who’d once cried over a dead puppy. Had he been playing them all along? Luring him to the ship, killing the second brother, stealing the girl and the money...

**"All these years... you were the snake in my garden?"** The betrayal was a physical blow, knocking the wind from his lungs. He sank to his knees, the pistol slipping from his grasp. The sand was damp against his trousers, soaking through to his skin.

Footsteps crunched behind him.

The third brother stumbled out of the shadows, one pant leg torn, a goose egg rising on his forehead. **"Boss! Thank Christ—you won’t believe what happened! There was this ship, and the anchor just... flew at me! Like it had wings!"** His hands flailed, mimicking the motion.

The leader tackled him in a bear hug, nearly cracking his ribs. **"You’re alive! It wasn’t you!"** Relief flooded him, warm and dizzying.

The third brother squirmed, face turning red. **"Boss, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not into that whole... manhandling thing."**

Hours later, huddled behind a rocky outcrop, the leader cleaned his pistol while the third brother shivered in a stolen jacket. The sky was turning gray, the first tendrils of dawn curling over the horizon.

**"That ship,"** the leader said, racking the slide with a metallic click. **"We’re going to find it. And when we do—"**

He didn’t need to finish. The third brother nodded, teeth chattering. They made their way back to the shoreline, stepping over the second brother’s corpse as if it were a log.

But where the shipwreck had rested, there was nothing.

The beach was as empty as a graveyard, the sand smooth and unmarked. Not a splinter, not a rusted nail remained. Even the bloodstains had been washed away by the tide.

**"B-Boss..."** The third brother’s voice shook. **"Remember that story your old man told us? About the *Lady of the Waves*? The ghost ship that—"**

**"Ghosts don’t fire f**king guns!"** The leader snapped, but his eyes betrayed him, scanning the horizon for any sign of sail.

**"Well, something clobbered me good,"** the third brother muttered, rubbing his head. **"And my belt buckle’s gone. Poof! Maybe it was a kinky ghost? Like, into b**m or some—"**

The leader backhanded him. **"Shut the hell up. Let’s get off this rock before—"**

A low hum cut him off. A sleek black boat was approaching, cutting through the water with military precision. It wasn’t the *Seawolf*—this was something else, something expensive, with tinted windows and a gun turret mounted on the bow.

**"Boss,"** the third brother whispered, peeking over the rocks. **"You think that’s the client?"**

**Whack.** Another slap. **"i***t! They’re here to clean up the mess. Which includes us."**

On the beach, a man in a tailored suit stepped off the boat, flanked by two goons in tactical vests. His face was gaunt, his eyes like chips of ice. **"You,"** he said, pointing at a lackey in a wet suit. **"Where is it?"**

The lackey swallowed hard. **"It was here, Mr. Feng! The ship, the girl, the—"** He pointed to the second brother’s corpse. **"One of the Three Mad Dogs is dead!"**

Brother Feng smiled, a humorless thing. **"Who gave you permission to set foot on this island?"**

The gunshot was a pop in the morning air. The lackey fell, blood blooming on his wet suit.

Behind the rocks, the third brother turned green. **"Boss, these guys are straight-up psychopaths."**

The leader didn’t answer. He watched the boat depart, its wake fading into the distance. Ten million dollars, gone. The girl, gone. His brothers, dead or missing.

He tasted salt on his lips, and something else—ash, as if the entire world had burned around him. The third brother nudged him, pointing to the horizon where a storm was brewing, dark clouds rolling in like a bad omen.

"Boss," he said, "what now?"

The leader stood, brushing sand from his pants. He checked the pistol’s chamber, then holstered it. **"Now," he said, voice flat, "we find that goddamn ship. And we make them pay."**

The third brother nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the empty sea, where the ghost ship had vanished. He shivered, despite the rising sun, and wondered if some debts were better left unpaid.