“Ah.”
“Little early for beer, isn’t it?”
“My clock’s all off. Flew in last night. Tony.” He stuck his hand out and she took it.
“Bathsheba,” she said.
It was his turn to laugh. She arched an eyebrow. “You’re not messing with me?” he said.
“Call me Beth.” The smile came back.
“I like Bat better. You here on vacation, Bat?”
“Celebrating my retirement.” She took a pull from the beer.
“Israeli Defense Force, right?” She looked mildly surprised.
“Did my compulsory two years and stayed in five more. I can see you’re a vet by your ink.” She nodded at Lee’s arm. His forearm tats were visible below the sleeves of his camp shirt. A red arrow below the word FORWARD in black; a set of paratrooper wings with a grinning skull.
“I could see your history by that in-and-out wound. AK?” he said.
“Lebanon.” She nodded. “Funny thing is, getting shot was what made me stay in.”
“I can relate. You should get some ink yourself.”
“The Torah would not approve. What are you doing in Rhodes, Tony?”
“I won the Powerball. Two hundred million after taxes. Now I travel the world meeting interesting people from other cultures and, for a change, not killing them.”
“You’re full of shit.” She smiled with her eyes this time.
“You’d really think that if I told you the truth. I’m here waiting on some friends of mine coming into port today,” he said.
“Your friends have a yacht?” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Great big one.”
Chaz shambled up and sat down heavily in the empty chair between them. He looked drowsily from the girl to Lee.
“Six hours in-country and you’ve already made friends.”
“Damn straight, Tyrone. Meet Bat,” Lee said and tilted his beer back.
“Tony and Tyrone?” Bat grinned.
“I guess so.” Chaz shot a glance at Lee. His eyes narrowed as he looked past Lee to the lobby opening across the pool patio.
“What is it?” Lee said, turning. “Someone we know,” Chaz said.
Two figures stepped from the shadows of the lobby into the clean Aegean sun.
43
The Captain’s Course
The kid perched on the spar atop the mast had eyesight like Ted Williams. He shaded his eyes to watch the pursuing ships and called down details to the captain. To Dwayne, they were just bobbing rectangles visible now and again in the copper glare off the sea. Praxus translated to Caroline who relayed it to Dwayne.
“They’re both, Carthaginian. The boy says he can tell by the sails. The lead ship has two stylized dolphins on its sail, the symbol of Yamm, god of the sea. The ship following has sails of white with red stripes. They’re both triremes with all oars in the water.”
“These odds suck,” Dwayne said.
“Six to one would be my guess,” Caroline said. “All trained soldiers. They’ll likely have catapults or ballista on board.”
“Faster ships. Outnumbered. Outgunned. Nowhere to run.”
“What are our options, Dwayne?”
“Limited. We could slip overboard. Or take a chance of becoming slaves to a better class of bastard. I’d rather fight than give in or drown.”
“You mean this is your chance to play Hercules,” she said.
“I was thinking Conan,” he said.
“The talk-show guy?” Her brows knit.
Dwayne moved from the crowd of fighting men around the mast and Caroline followed. He leaned over the gunwale to watch the twin rows of oars driving them forward. Both teams were pulling full out. They couldn’t keep it up long after twenty hours of rowing with only short rests.
“We’ll be in a fight before the day is over,” Dwayne said, eyes locked on the foamy wake created by the blades slicing through the chop.
“What will we do?” Caroline’s voice was small. “Get yourself a spear and keep your back to the mast. When the fighting gets closer, you move away. The reach of the spear will help. Use both hands and maintain a solid stance. You get pulled off your feet, and you’re finished.”
She digested those bleak instructions. “Where will you be?”
“Wherever the fight is thickest. They’ll need me. You’ll be able to keep me in sight. I’m taller than any of these guys. Remember, when you stab someone, make sure you twist the blade so you can pull it out.”
“You get in much spear fighting in the Rangers?”
“I’ve been in my share of knife fights. Blades are blades. The principle is the same.”
“This is hopeless, isn’t it?” She pressed closer to him, and he put an arm around her shoulders.
“I won’t lie to you. We’re probably fucked from the start,” he said, his chin in her hair. “But battles are funny things. You can’t give up. Sometimes the math turns on its head, or an unexpected variable changes everything.”
“Example, please,” she said. She wanted him to keep talking about anything to get her mind off what might lie ahead.
“Like Napoleon’s hemorrhoids.”
“What?”
“Napoleon had ’roids the size of grapefruit the morning of Waterloo. Couldn’t get on his horse. Sat in his tent on one of those donuts all day. Had to rely on his generals to tell him what was going on. He got bad intel and went all-in when he should have withdrawn.”
“Is that true?” She laughed.
“One tube of Preparation H and we’d be speaking French now,” he said gravely.
She laughed hard enough to make some of the crew turn their heads.
“Maybe we should make that our next trip,” he said. “A little butt cream for the little corporal.”
She collapsed against him, helpless with laughter that turned to sobs.
Ahinadab was at the stern, pacing back and forth, with an ear cocked for any new word from the hawkeyed boy atop the mast. Xin was conscious once more and in a foul mood. His ruined nose was covered by a bloody cloth tied around his face. It might have looked comical if not for the glare of Xin’s angry eyes blazing from his bruised face. He stood by watching his captain muttering and pacing.
The sail was down with the wind dying as the sun rose. The sail masters moved the lines back and forth along the gunwales to catch each breath of
