Free Sunset in Silvana (Da'ark Nocturne Book 1) by Paul Sims, Robert Warr Page A

don’t like her, but she is a nurse, and she knows what she’s doing – she found our nose filters, for goodness sake.  I think she’s right, and she’s drained our dispensers and replaced the drugs with blood plasma to see what will happen.  I suggest you let her do the same to yours as soon as possible.”
    Goran shrugged, and Boris made his way forward, where he was soon sitting at the front between the hulls, dangling his feet in the spray and fishing.  The sun was warm and the fish were biting, and soon a couple of good-sized pluny lay beside him on the deck.  He had just re-baited his hook and was about to cast it again when the peaceful afternoon was rudely shattered.  There was a strange whistling sound, followed by a splash off the port bow, a muffled explosion and a fountain of water.
    “Mortar!” he yelled instinctively.
    Goran immediately heeled the boat over to starboard, while the others dived for cover.  There was another splash, a muted ‘whump’ and another cascade.
    By this time, Talia and Anoushka had rolled off the roof.  The former landed behind Boris on all fours like a cat, and he could sense she was ready to respond to the danger.  There was a tense silence for some seconds before she called, “What do we do?”
    “We’ve got to keep going and get out of range as soon as possible,” Goran shouted back.  “The shore is too shallow here to beach the boat and make it to cover safely.  Anyway, whoever’s doing this may have friends waiting for us if we try.  But there are some dangerous shoals if we go out too far.  Here comes another shell – brace yourselves.”  He threw the tiller over and the yacht yawed to port instants before the muffled report as another mortar bomb was fired.
    “I think I can see where they’re coming from,” said Boris, pointing into the woods just ahead of them.  It was perhaps surprising that Goran had known the shell was coming before it had been fired, but he was too concerned with keeping hold of the boat to worry about that.  The shell hit the water and exploded to starboard, but closer this time.
    “I wish there was some way we could fight back,” Talia shouted.  “Is there nothing we can do?”
    “Oh, sure,” muttered Boris.  “We can install a top-of-the-range interceptor system – just check in your handbag, Talia, love.”  Aloud, he called back, “We can just pray that we won’t be hit, and that they haven’t any snipers with them.  We’re sitting ducks out here, and a wooden boat is scant cover from a high-powered rifle bullet.”
    “Can’t you go any faster?” Anoushka asked Goran in a tremulous voice, clearly trying to fight off hysteria: she gave a yelp as he heeled the boat over to avoid the next missile.
    “We’re at the mercy of the wind,” he replied.   “It’s driving us onshore.  While we run ahead of it, we’ve got enough speed that I can just about avoid being hit, but I have to tack out to sea sometime soon or we’ll run aground.  Once I do that, we’ll lose momentum and become an easier target.”
    “Leave it as late as you dare,” Boris advised him, as the boat swung again and a shell exploded disturbingly close, “We’re past their launch point now, and when we change course we’ll be heading away from it.  Hopefully we’ll soon be out of range.”
    Goran threw the tiller over again: there was another explosion to starboard, but further away this time.  Anoushka gave a shrill giggle with no humour in it, and Talia exclaimed, “Missed again!”  The next shell fell thirty yards astern, its noise now muffled by the spray thrown up as the catamaran swerved and zigzagged further out to sea. 
    “It’s OK, ’Noushka,” said Talia, putting a reassuring arm around Anoushka’s shoulders, “it’s stopping.  They can’t reach us now.”
    When there had been no bombs for several minutes, Goran changed course once more.  “We can’t go much further out,” he said.  “There’s