Ghost Fleet (The Tide, #7)

by Anthony J. Melchiorri

“I expect you to wait on my command,” Mokri said. “We will not destroy their drone, and we will not attack them head-on. That is foolish and suicidal.” “It is not suicide when you know you will defeat them,” Semenov said. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. When they infected you with that agent, did it give you claws but remove your common sense?” “I could tear out your heart right now,” Semenov said. The Hybrid’s words rang true. He could see those claws slicing through his flesh, those gray muscles powering Semenov’s fist through his ribs. A heavy weight pulled at his insides, something he hadn’t felt since Spitkovsky had first told him he’d “watch” over his family in Moscow. Mokri was afraid. “You will not do that,” Mokri said. “And why not?” “Because even though you could, you cannot command a ship like this. You would sink it before you’d even reach the Huntress. You and I both know, even if my heart were lying under your foot, I would not be the unluckiest person aboard this ship. That honor would go to you when Spitkovsky found out how you had screwed our directive.”