An excerpt from my first novel, Pacifica.

The plane was now out of his line of sight.  People in other boats just stared in shock.  He turned and started the boat, steering it around the stern of the press ship, until he could see his target again.  He did not stop the boat this time, but grabbed the unused stinger, and pressed his body against the wheel to keep the boat on a straight course.  He leaned the weapon on the top of the boats windscreen, and tried to acquire the plane again, but his boat was bouncing around too much.  He felt for the throttle leaver and shut down the engine.  He kept trying to get the sight on the plane that was beginning a slow, lazy left turn.  He finally got a lock, and pulled the trigger.  Again a charge pushed the missile clear of his boat, before the solid rocket fired and accelerated it to twice the speed of sound.  It left a Smokey corkscrew trail, as it continually adjusted its path towards the lumbering plane. 

The rockets electronic brain received a proximity signal that it was within range, and it switched from infrared, to its own active radar causing it to move its focus from the engine, to what it estimated was the center of the object.  It flew over the tail plane, and made contact with the center wing before exploding its warhead. 

As the center wing ruptured and the high octane fuel it held exploded, the alloys it was made from vaporized.  The space plane fell, spinning violently away as a fiery wreck towards the sea.  The outer wings shot upward, while severed from the center wing, the two sleek fuselages rolled inward towards one another.  Engines free of restraint, continued their momentum in long downward arcs.  The two fuselage cockpits barely had time to collide, before the whole aircraft erupted into an enormous fireball that dropped flaming wreckage, and burning fuel into the sea, and the people and vessels below.