This one did. It was a bloody big bang and it came from behind me. I turned. The trawler’s twin screws were churning the water into foam. The anchor chain from the gunboat was falling away towards the ocean floor. Someone had smashed a quick-release shackle. Tri was on the move in a big hurry, it seemed. The water all around the black hull was filled with twinkling golden sparks that spiralled slowly down towards the reef below. There was a slapping, banging, drumming sound that cut across the sound of the trawler’s engine. For a moment I didn’t get it, then I realised that the golden sparks were the spent shell cases from Tri’s heavy artillery. The noise was that of the heavy machine guns at work, transmitted down through the boat’s hull. While the big Brownings were doing their thing, brass was being sprayed out of the guns and over the side where it tumbled into the depths. The slow dance of the spent shell casings was almost beautiful. Beautiful! Jesus, I thought, my oxygen must be on the way out.
