Страница 39 из 90
"Don't worry so much," Falstaff panted, tugging at his arm. "We have other work to do. I've got confidence in those two and the women with them."
"Well, maybe . . ." Donato grumped. "But cross your fingers about those mines."
From under the greenthorns on the east bank of the river, Brodski and Van Damm peered out with their optics, studying the sleeping ship.
"Hmm, looks all right, Ski. Your plan better work."
"It will. Besides, what else do you have to do on a cold morning like this?" he said, rubbing Blue Tree sap on his exposed body.
"Look up an Island woman and promise to protect her for the rest of her life."
"I never believed you were that much of a politician. You ready to swim?"
"Ja." Van Damm glanced at the dark water, and shivered. "It ain't go
Brodski gave two tugs on the line, and both men walked gingerly into the water. The bags of rocks that hung from their belts held their feet on the bottom, and the river's current was negligible at this point. As the water crept over their heads, they held up the plastic tubes that would allow them to breathe. Aside from the cold, the work was easy so far.
Following the shore line until they felt the distance knots in the rope, they pulled their heads clear of the water and looked downstream. Against the dark bulk of the Last Resort, they could see the bi
Brodski patted his way along the rope toward his pre-assigned position. "Hell of a mess," he muttered. "Me, a mud marine, playing frogman!"
"Ribbit, ribbit," Van Damm grumbled back. "I like this no better than you. Cold water, no proper gear and painted blue to boot . . . ."
"Let's get on with it," Brodski whispered through his chattering teeth.
They waded silently downstream until the bow of the Last Resort loomed above them. They patted over the rough wood surface, hunting for the proper spot.
Brodski moved down the hull until he felt the warm water of the engine's cooling exhaust. Now, just five arm-lengths more, he considered. He could be a little long in his measurement, but too short would be disastrous. He gave the hull an extra forearm-length for luck, and pressed the flat of the mine against the side of the fishing boat. He counted to ten, waiting for the glue to set, and again added a little more for luck.
Done. Brodski walked slowly toward the stem, waited for a forty-second eternity until a touch on his right arm-and another on his right bun-a
"Did yours stick?" Van Damm asked, scraping water off his skin.
"On time, and like advertised. How about yours?"
"I thought I was going to have to piss on it to make it work!" Van Damm snapped, with almost enough emphasis to make it noticeable five meters away.
"Well, just so long as it stuck. Let's move."
Unmindful of the scratches, they lifted the mass of the natural barbed wire and crawled under it.
"The towels should be on our right."
"Ribbet!" challenged a voice ahead of them. "How high's the water?"
"Knee deep!" replied Brodski, in his best frog voice.
"Knee deep," Van Damm echoed, right behind him.
"How do you manage to keep that Afrikaaner accent on a frog croak?" Brodski asked.
"N-natural talent," Van Damm replied through clacking teeth.
A feminine giggle answered them. Soft footsteps pattered down to the hedge.
Van Damm and Brodski traded invisible grins in the dark.
They were greeted with warm towels-and warmer female arms, and a kiss each (who can prove anything in the dark?), and were led uphill.
"Heroes' welcome," Van Damm muttered.
"Patience, Owen. It gets better."
When they reached what seemed to rival the inside of a cow for darkness, Jane's voice asked, "Did you do it?"
"If we didn't, it's the devil to pay with the cook out to lunch!" Brodski replied. "One thing's going for us though; if one falls off, it's liable to do more damage than one on the hull. They're in damned shallow water."
"Good . . . . I mentioned the tradition of the divers' return, didn't I?"
"Right here," came Makhno's voice, followed by the sound of liquid pouring into cups. "Divers' return, or death to us all," he said, lifting his glass.
As whiskey, it was poor; as simple blood-warmer, it was right on target. Brodski and Van Damm gulped it gratefully.
After dressing, they shook hands. "I'll see you when it's over, Owen," said Brodski.
"Ja, you'll owe me drinks if this doesn't work."
"And I'll pay up, if either of us is still alive."
They parted company in the dark, and went their separate ways.
It was just before dawn when the charges went off.
They blew a large hole in the forward hold of the Last Resort, and one in the aft net stowage. With one hole to port and one to starboard, she sank quickly-and on an even keel-leaving only the wheel-house above water.
Of the troops aboard, half a dozen were knocked into the water by the initial blast. The rest, including the two deckhands, stayed long enough to realize that the Last Resort was sinking fast-then grabbed gear they could reach, and slid off into the chilly water.
Jomo, after a final furious look at the sinking boat, was last to leave. He found the water shallow enough that he could wade, holding his stu
The water ended at a bare rock cliff-face, too steep to climb, especially in the dark.
There was no help for it; the survivors had to wade along the cliff until they came to easier land. Jomo bellowed and chivied them to the left, recalling that the land had sloped sooner toward the east side of the island.
The Simbas groggily complied, struggling through the cold, swift-ru
The survivors clambered up the narrow beach of stones and started pushing into the greenthorn hedge just as Byers' Star peeped over the horizon, silhouetting them against the background of the gleaming river.
Directly ahead of them, half a dozen women stood up behind the greenthorn hedge and fired at them, from less than five meters away, with shotguns.
At least six of the Simbas went down in the first volley, and the second came an instant later. The survivors turned and ran, a few back out into the water, the rest to the left along the narrow pebble-beach. Gunfire followed them.
The Simbas ru
Two men raised empty arms and shouted promises to surrender. Jomo, cursing, shot both of them. A shotgun blast tore the ground beside him, narrowly missing his foot. He dropped and rolled under the nearest cover-which was the greenthorn hedge. From where he lay among the thorns, he couldn't see if anyone else followed his example.
On the other side of the hedge he heard a woman's voice snap: "They're ru