But then I see the gunner blown backward, the pintlemount gun spraying fire into the sky before it falls silent at last. Without the MG to worry about, I chop the throttle, jump the wake again, and I’m right in the "slot," directly behind the Otter and about fifteen meters back. I squeeze the triggers again, and watch the twin MGs chew the living drek out of the boat’s stern. There’s a flash of fire, a plume of oily black smoke as I drive a dozen rounds into the inboard engine, and then the Otter’s down off the step and slowing so fast I almost plow into its stern. I chop my own throttle right back, and squeeze off two more short bursts right into the open cockpit.