Blood In the Water (12 page)

So here they were, and finally, to top everything off, that morning they'd awoken to the sight of a distant sail that drew inexorably closer for several hours before finally, suddenly, hauling away to the east. They had no idea whose it was, but it almost had to be the Doms, and whatever they decided to do wouldn't matter at all if they didn't get the plane out of sight.

“One more hard pull, Kari,” Fred wheezed. “We nearly got it!” The Nancy was under the trees now, with only its tail sticking out. But the tail was painted with bright white and red stripes, clearly visible from a long way off. If they could just get it a little farther, then cover it with a pile of palmlike fronds they'd cut that looked like giant whisk brooms, it should do well enough.

“Daamit!” Kari groaned after their final effort, pitching down in the sand. She lay there panting for a moment, then rolled over to look at him. Fred was lying beside her, up on one elbow and staring out to sea.
“I near bust myself that time!” she groaned. The water pouring out of the plane pattered in the sand. “But you right. It'd be just as heavy if we done it yester'dy.”

“Maybe,” Fred said grimly, “but
you
were right. We should've done it anyway.” He nodded out to sea, rising to his feet, and churned through the sand to the pile of fronds. A ship, perhaps the same they'd seen that morning, was approaching the lagoon from the east. Just a couple of miles away, they saw that it was a side-wheel steamer—like the Doms and Impies both used—but it was approaching under sail alone, its boiler cold. “Quick!” Fred said, tossing fronds to lean against the plane. “Maybe they haven't spotted us!” Kari jumped to help. In just a few minutes, they had the battered Nancy well hidden, and they scurried a short distance away where they'd piled all their gear, to watch.

“Uh-oh!” Fred murmured. “We forgot something!” Kari immediately knew what he meant. There was a damp, concave track leading from the water, across the beach, and directly to the hidden plane. She started to jump up, to race down and erase the track as well as possible, but Fred grabbed her arm. “Too late!” he snapped angrily. “They'd be bound to see us out there now, if they didn't already.”

“They'll see the track!”

“Sure, but they'll think it was a boat, and maybe it's gone.” He shook his head. “I'm such an idiot! Next time we land on a deserted island and you want to do something practical when I'm hot to go sightseeing, just punch me in the nose and take charge!”

“You bet.”

Fred picked up his Blitzerbug SMG, blew sand out of it, and handed the other one to Kari. “They're not going to get us again,” he said simply.

“Nope,” Kari agreed, dragging an oilskin bag closer to her. Inside were six grenades. “It all goes in the pot, we make sure to blow the plane?”

Fred nodded. “The transceiver too. Or we can bury it now. One less thing to remember when the time comes—while making sure they don't get us either.” Kari nodded, and they quickly wrapped the heavy wooden box containing their wireless gear and buried it in the sand. “Too bad we can't set it up an' send a last ‘so long,'” she said as they finished.

“Yeah. Too bad.” Fred shrugged. “Probably wouldn't hear us anyway.” They settled back to watch the approaching ship. It didn't appear to
be a Dom naval vessel, at least. The sails were plain, unadorned canvas, and there was only a small red flag with a crooked golden cross fluttering from the stern. The ship was armed, its sides pierced for half a dozen guns, but it only stood to reason that any ship on this world that could be armed, would be.

“Dom merchie,” Fred definitively proclaimed at last. “Just like those troopships we busted off Scapa Flow.”

“Which bust
us
too,” Kari reminded. They'd been shot down by massed musket fire while throwing handheld bombs at the things. Fred winced at the memory. Not only had Kari been seriously wounded, but they'd both wound up in the
water
. Fortunately, the voracious fish hadn't had time to gather before
Walker
picked them up.

“Yeah. Hey, what's it doing?” The ship had reached the entrance to the lagoon, but there it suddenly dropped anchor and all its canvas began to vanish as its crew swarmed in the rigging. To their growing amazement, no boat was lowered, nor did it look like anyone on board was paying the slightest attention to the beach. Soon, to their even greater bewilderment, the ship's topmasts and upper yards were struck down to the deck. “Hey!” Fred suddenly blurted. “They're
hiding
!”

“Must be,” Kari agreed. “But who is they hidin' from?”

“Beats me.”

They watched the strange ship, practically radiating tension judging by the behavior of its crew, for more than an hour. In that time, the only things that seemed to notice them were biting insects and some strange purple crayfish-looking things that occasionally marched up, bold as scorpions, and spit tiny streams of stinging fluid at them. The stings weren't bad, but they left a rash, and Fred and Kari amused themselves by smashing the arrogant little crustaceans with sticks before they came within the roughly three-foot range of their weird little squirters. “Mr. Bradford would love these guys,” Fred murmured, whacking another one. “He'd have already figured out everything about them, and named 'em too.”

“They like little kinds o' those spiderlobsters that was seen on Talaud Island, before it blew its top,” Kari said, scratching her arm under the fur. “I bet they squirt bugs an' small critters to stun 'em, then eat 'em. Maybe enough of 'em squirt us, we get stunned too.”

“Say, you could be right. All the more reason to mash 'em.” Fred looked thoughtful. “Let's call 'em ‘scraypions'! We discovered 'em, and we've never gotten to name anything before.”

“Why call 'em that?”

Fred was about to explain his play on words, when he noticed several things at once. First, there was a sudden increase of activity aboard the ship that had grown still and watchful, and a puff of dark smoke gushed from the top of its tall funnel. After much apparent confusion aboard, a barge went over the side and was lowered to the sea. For the next fifteen minutes or so, men clambered down into the boat, some burdened with small trunks and other belongings. Finally, a small knot of what were obviously Dom soldiers—Blood Drinkers, by the red facings on their yellow tunics, Fred and Kari both realized in alarm—joined the other men in the boat and it began, very clumsily, pulling toward the beach.

“Well, that does it,” Fred said grimly. “At the rate they're going, they'll be a while getting ashore. Let's get ready.”

“Wait,” Kari pointed. The smoke pouring from the funnel was thicker now, and the paddle wheels began to turn. The anchor cable grew slack, but then dropped into the water.

“They cut their cable!” Fred exclaimed. “Or just let it go. Why on earth . . .”

“Look there!” Kari pointed again. Another ship was slashing in from the east, all sails set and taut, a stream of gray smoke tearing downwind.

“Who the devil . . .”

“Somebody the Doms is scared of,” Kari answered his unfinished question. “Somebody they hid from, an' is gonna
run
from . . .”

“And don't think they'll escape, so they sent somebody, maybe somebody important, ashore!” Fred finished for her. He grabbed Kari's telescope and focused it on the other ship. It
looked
a lot like one of the Allies'
Scott
Class steam frigates, or DDs, though maybe not as big. Its three masts and square rig were virtually identical, and there were no paddle boxes along its sides, so it had to have a screw propeller. At a distance, the main differences were that it had no white band painted between its gunports, making them impossible to count, and its flag was somewhat . . . different. He couldn't make out details. “It's them,” he said wonderingly.
“The Los Diablos! Anson's people. It has to be!” He grinned. “We found them after all!”

“Let's just hope we found 'em in time for 'em to save us from them guys,” Kari said sarcastically, nodding at the approaching barge.

“I'm not worried about them. With nobody to back them up, I have a plan.” The Dom steamer was slowly gaining way, her lower sails unfurling even as topmasts were sent back up. There was no way it could escape the sleek predator swooping down, however. Clearly, it was trying to distract the other ship from the men now going ashore. Fred didn't think it would work because the Dom probably wouldn't get very far before the chase ended. That other ship was
fast
, and he was sure it would come back to check if the Doms had done exactly what they had.

“C'mon,” he suddenly said. “It looks like the boat's going to land a couple hundred yards down the beach. Let's go give them a welcome, shall we?”

“Fred, there's maybe sixteen men in that boat!” Kari objected.

“So? They're going to think there's a lot
more
of us.”

*   *   *

They hadn't been in position for more than a couple of minutes, still panting from their sprint through the island jungle, when the heavily laden barge crunched onto the sand beneath the bright surf. A couple of men hopped out in ankle-deep water, holding lines, and stepped to the beach. “Now!” Fred hissed, and their two Blitzerbugs stuttered from the trees, spraying the water around the boat on full auto. Small geysers drenched the men as they hurled themselves down in the boat and on the shore.

“Don't move, assholes!” Fred roared, pitching his usually embarrassingly boyish voice as low as he could. “There's . . . a hundred muskets aimed at you right now, and if anybody understands English, he's got three seconds to tell everybody to throw their weapons in the water! One . . .”

The Blood Drinkers started to raise their muskets, and the Blitzers snarled, hitting them—and a couple of men around them. Shrieks tore the air over the swishing surf, and when a man shouted within the group, weapons started splashing in the water.

“All of them!” Fred bellowed. “We better not find so much as a toothpick on any of you or you all die!
Two!
”

“Todo! Ahora! Obedeceme!”
the hidden voice shouted louder. Immediately, there were more splashes, large and small.

“Okay,” Fred called. “Now, one at a time, jump out on shore, throw your coats and everything else you've got in a pile, and plant your faces in the sand, arms and hands spread. The last four men, drag out anybody who's dead or wounded, strip them, then do as the others!”

The voice—Fred now saw it belonged to a man with a large graying mustache and goatee, richly dressed in elaborately embroidered coat, breeches, and tricorn hat—went on for several moments and all the men did as he commanded. Two apparently dead men were dragged from the boat, but the four wounded managed to move themselves. Finally, all were lying on the beach under the blistering sun.

“You too, Mr. Fancy-pants,” Fred called. “On your face!”

“I will not!” the man replied in English, his tone haughty, but also aggrieved. “It is not required!”

“
I
require it,” Fred stated, a little confused, “so if you don't want some extra holes in your hide, you'll dump the duds and grab sand.”

“You . . . speak strangely. Who are you?” the man demanded.

“You talk funny too. Now get down!”

Reluctantly, the man removed his fine coat and laid it gently aside, then sank to the sand and sprawled with as much dignity as he could manage. Fred stood and advanced from the trees. “Keep them covered! Shoot if they even twitch!” he called back. In spite of what he'd said, the haughty man raised his head to look at him as he approached.

“Who are you? Where is your commander? I will only surrender myself to him!” His eyes narrowed as he glared past Fred at the trees. “And where are your ‘hundred' men?” he demanded, rising to his knees. “
Soy
 . . . I am Don Emmanuel del Rio Negro, Envoy of His Supreme Holiness, the Messiah of Mexico, and Emperor of the World by the Grace of God! I will not be treated this way! There are rules that govern how we fight!”

“No rules between
us
, buster!” Fred snarled, pointing his pistol at Don Emmanuel. He'd left his Blitzer with Kari. “And you'll surrender to me or I'll blow your damn head off!”

“Then I ask again. Who are you?” His eyes swept across Fred's rumpled, sweat-stained flight suit. “What kind of uniform is that?”

“I'm Lieutenant Fred Reynolds, US Navy, and
I
command . . . a company of . . . I think you call them ‘demon warriors.' Ensign Kari-Faask! Show yourself!” he called back at the trees. “Everybody else, stay down and keep these guys covered!” he added belatedly. Kari stood, her large eyes glaring, tail swishing rapidly. Don Emmanuel cringed in spite of himself. Obviously, he knew of Lemurians.

“I know who you are,” the Dom practically spat. “I have heard your name! You are the Imperial
spy
who penetrated the Holy Temple, treading upon the sweet benevolence of His Supreme Holiness Himself!”

Fred was surprised to be so well-known. “I'm no Impie and I wasn't a spy. Kari and I were prisoners who escaped being
tortured
by your boss's main stooge, Don Hernan. But if you know me, and you know about Kari's people, then maybe you also know you better do what I say before I let my demon warriors eat you!”

“What? You mean we
not
gonna eat 'em?” Kari demanded in an exaggerated tone of disappointment.

With Fred still pretending to command hidden troops, Kari came out and securely tied each Dom's hands behind his back—then tied them all together along a kind of picket line stretching from the trees to the boat. At some time during the process, it must've become apparent to Don Emmanuel and his men that Fred and Kari were alone after all, and they grew more sullen and less cooperative—until Kari fired a burst from her Blitzer into the sand at their feet. After that, they obeyed quite readily. They had no choice. Particularly when they realized that whether Kari really wanted to eat them or not, she'd far rather just shoot them than go to all the effort of tying them up.