Armageddon

“But the government has decreed that we honor our treaty obligations.”

“You are very brave,” said Dazhou.

Then he pulled the trigger.

As the captain’s body fell to the ground, blood coursing from his skull, Dazhou turned to the other officer. The man stood in shock; he did not appear to be breathing.

“Where is the ship’s intercom?” Dazhou asked.

Without saying a word, the man went to a panel at the side and held up a microphone. Dazhou took it.

“This is Captain Dazhou Ti. I have been commanded by God to take over this ship to join in a holy war against the western devils who rule Brunei through the bastard sultan and his family. It is a holy war and the rewards of those who truly believe will be eternal and guaranteed. Any who do not wish to join us may leave the ship in five minutes. After that, we will set out.”

Allowing some to leave was a calculated risk. The ship’s complement was fifty-one; it could be operated with less, but most of the twenty-three sailors Dazhou had brought with him were not familiar with the ship and it would be difficult to operate it if everyone aboard deserted. On the other hand, the appeal to faith—and a religion that Dazhou himself did not share—put the argument to join him in its starkest, most obvious terms.

He handed the microphone back to the other officer. “You too may leave,” he told him.

“I am a believer. I stay”

Dazhou nodded, then turned back around. Blood still poured from the captain’s head.

“Throw him overboard,” he told his men. “Then report to the second officer. We have much to do”

North of Meruta

1243

Dog crouched on his knee behind the tree, watching as something moved about thirty feet ahead through the brush. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the terrorist, but he could not actually see the man. He had the rifle wedged against a shoulder. He cocked his head down so he could see through the scope; the sweat on his palm made the M4 feel oily and he pressed his fingers tighter.

A white rag appeared in the middle of the scope.

Was the man surrendering?

He raised his head, saw only a blur. He was only twenty feet away at most. He had a rifle in his hand.

The white was the shirt he was wearing.

Dog put his head down again, his eye on the scope.

He’d lost his target!

Dog pushed the barrel to his right but couldn’t find his enemy. He brought the weapon down, sca

The gun popped in his hands, the recoil easier than he thought. He swung right, saw something much further away but hesitated, not sure exactly what it was. Finally he saw a rifle with a banana clip against a white background through the leaves and fired. This time he saw that he had hit what he was aiming at; it furled backward, falling to the ground.

Something cracked behind him. Dog swung around, nearly losing his balance. A white shirt loomed in front of him.

He fired point blank into the man’s stomach. The bullets didn’t seem to affect the terrorist at first. He continued fumbling with the AK47 in his hands, having trouble making it shoot. Dog fired again, still at point blank range.

A bulletproof vest!

Dog started to aim higher, but just then the terrorist began to dance—it was the only way to describe what Dog saw, a kind of macabre shake and jump, a turn to the left and then to the right, as if the man were trying belatedly to duck away from Dog’s gunfire. He shook his shoulders, and then the gun dropped from his hands and he fell off to the side, confusion on his face.

Dog started to stand. As he did a shout made him lose his balance and he toppled forward, just in time to hear three short bursts of automatic rifle fire. To his right. Lang burst through the leaves and stood over him, firing again. Dog pushed himself back to his knees but Lang held him down, crouched over and scouting the nearby jungle.

“All right,” said the soldier, tugging him to follow. Dog stumbled and then started to run, moving sideways as well as frontward as they tracked toward the road. His feet sloshed in a wet spot and he nearly fell, but somehow he managed to keep his balance until he reached the road’s shoulder. His elbow and shoulder broke his fall and he rolled onto his stomach.

“It’s all right, we’re clear,” said the soldier from his haunches a few feet away. “Cross the road. We’ll move down the ditch there. There’s a little cover.”

Dog glanced to his left, then scrambled over the macadam and got into the vegetation. He started to relax, then realized he should be covering Lang’s crossing. He got up and watched as the soldier made his way across the roadway very deliberately.

It wasn’t that he went slowly, just that he was under control. Unlike Dog, he’d have been able to react and fire if anything had appeared.

“Let’s duck through this run of trees,” suggested Lang. “Then angle back.”

They began trotting through the jungle, going several hundred yards west before angling back in the direction of the road and the village they had visited earlier. When they had the highway in sight, they stopped to catch their breaths. They couldn’t hear anyone following.

“Good going back there, Colonel,” said Lang.

“Good going to you, too.”

“You want to give that little radio a go again or what?”

“Yeah” Dog took it from his pocket and put it back on voice, making another broadcast. After several more tries, he, gave it up, slipping it back to beacon. The battery was limited, but Dog figured that there was no sense trying to conserve it; they’d either be saved or dead by the time it ran out the way things were going.

“Nobody home, huh?” said Lang.

“Not yet.”

“We’ll just have to take care of ourselves, that’s all. You think we should head back to the village?”

“I think that’s a better idea than staying here”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Lang. It was the first time since they’d met that he’d expressed anything close to doubt, and Dog felt instantly uneasy.

“I don’t like to sit when I can be moving, if you know what I mean,” added the soldier. “I say we move”

“I agree,” said Dog.

“All right, let’s move out then. But listen, Colonel, no bullshit now—you get tired, you tell me, okay? I mean, no offense, but you got to talk up if you’re tired”

Under other circumstances, Dog might have been insulted—or even touched. But now he just shrugged. “Don’t worry about me. And you can call me Dog”

“Yes, sir,” said Lang, getting to his feet.

Aboard “Pe