Edge of War

After the mutiny, Zeus went up to the bridge, thinking he might try to talk some sense into Quach. But the spy had been placed under guard as well. He shrugged when Zeus came in, and stayed at his post near the radio, listening to the transmissions from shore and other Chinese vessels.

Zeus took his binoculars and went above, watching the water and considering what to do.

At this point, the marines might very well decide to scutde the whole mission, since it would jeopardize their escaping with the ship. If they went that far, then it would eventually occur to them that killing Zeus and Christian was the next logical step.

If it hadn’t already.

They’d probably kill the spies as well. Except that they wouldn’t do that while they still needed to speak Chinese. Which might be the real reason they hadn’t killed the Americans — no sense getting rid of them while they were still useful.

Zeus and Christian would have to escape on their own. They could make their way back to the area where they’d left the Zodiacs, steal their own boat.

The marines might look for them. But the Chinese would be looking for the marines. The boat was a pretty big target. They’d never get away with it.

Assuming the Chinese realized what was going on. They might not. They hadn’t so far.

Maybe he didn’t have to escape. Maybe the marines knew they’d have no problems once they were back — they’d be considered heroes. The Americans’ objections would be insignificant.

It would be a risk for them. Better to escape.

Zeus and Christian had their U.S. passports taped in small plastic bags to their chests. China and the U.S. weren’t at war, and once on shore the Americans should have no trouble — in theory. But they didn’t have any of the necessary paperwork, and just washing up on shore in the middle of a battle in wet suits — that wasn’t going to look good.

Better than turning up MIA. They’d never even be acknowledged.

“How grim is it, you think?” asked Christian, coming up the ladder after visiting the galley. One of the marines was right behind him. Zeus had no idea how much English, if any, the man spoke, but he couldn’t take chances.

“Grim.” Zeus pointed in the distance. “There’s a highway there.”

Christian pulled up his glasses and looked. Did he understand what Zeus was trying to tell him?

There was no way of knowing. Zeus scanned the shore again, mentally calculating the distance. It had to be nearly three miles.

Could he swim that far if he had to?

What did it matter? As soon as the marines saw he was gone, they’d chase him down anyway.

Around 5 p.m., they got a communication from a command unit. The unit was wondering why they had not checked in. The marine captain told Quach not to answer at first, then sent Solt up to ask Zeus for advice.

Zeus went down to the bridge.

“Tell them we’re continuing to inspect some suspicious boats,” said Zeus. “Be as vague but as positive as you can.”

Quach spoke to them for a few minutes in Chinese, apparently satisfying them.

“It’ll be dark enough to set out soon,” Zeus told the marine captain, deciding to try and push up the timetable. “We should get ready.”

“Go over the plan.”

Zeus mapped out the attack he had envisioned earlier, with minor revisions. It called for the two fishing boats to go into the harbor. A team of two men aboard each would swim over and plant charges on the landing boats closest to the open water. The debris would be released nearby and the fishing boats would then retreat. Rather than blowing up the patrol boat — still his preference, he said — he suggested putting charges on the third fishing vessel and leaving some debris nearby. The patrol boat would start westward as soon as the teams arrived back.

“It is a good plan,” said the marine captain.

“Christian and I will take this landing boat,” said Zeus, pointing to the craft farthest west. “Mr. Quach should come with us in the fishing boat, in case we’re stopped by the Chinese.”

“Mr. Quach has to stay with the ship,” said the captain. “Solt will go.”

He assigned one of his men as well. Zeus let him pick the other crew.

“Once you see the explosions, make a transmission that you’ve spotted a periscope,” said Zeus. “Lay down the depth charges from the fan tail.”

“We should be back aboard by then,” said Christian.

“I mean if we don’t make it,” said Zeus, staring at the marine captain.

The captain held his glare for a moment, then turned his eyes toward the deck.

* * *

Since the timers they had for the charges were only good for an hour and they wanted the explosions to coincide roughly with the missile attack, leaving before 10 p.m. didn’t make much sense. But Zeus wanted to be on the island before the attack, which meant leaving as soon as possible. And with the marines itching to get out of the area, they set a new H-hour for the explosions: 10 p.m.

They climbed aboard the fishing boats at 1807 — seven minutes after 6 p.m. They would have a little over three hours to get close to the landing ships and set the charges, then return.

Or not.

“I’m surprised they let us go,” whispered Christian as Zeus steered the boat away.

“Maybe.”

Zeus took a wide turn, heading westward. The plan called for him to sail to the west of the city, then tack back, following a pattern they’d observed some of the fishing boats take earlier. But after a few minutes he changed course and headed directly for the landing craft.

“What are you doing?” Christian asked.

“Going to Plan B.”

“B?”

“It’s more like W or X,” admitted Zeus. “Hang on.”

He pushed the engines to full throttle. The marine watching them stayed at the aft end of the cabin, not saying anything. Nor did he object twenty minutes later when Zeus cut the motor and let the boat drift.

“You’re coming with us,” Zeus told Solt.

She looked up at him, her eyes studying his face. She was a beautiful woman, he realized. Very beautiful.

“Will you be able to swim?” Zeus asked.

“Yes,” she said.

They took the bags with the debris with them over the side, pushing off one by one. The night was cloudy and fairly dark, but the boxy shadow of the landing craft stood out against the light from shore. Zeus was the last to leave the boat, watching after Solt as she swam. But within a few strokes she started to pull away, and he ended up being the last one to the landing craft by quite a margin.

“Hey, slowpoke,” said Christian when he got there.

“Set the charges,” said Zeus.

“Ya think? Already done. All we have to do is push the button and the timer starts.”

“Do it.” Zeus swam to the stern of the landing boat and climbed up the ladder with the body bags. He threw the pieces of metal and plastic inside the empty craft, then went back to the water and let the weighted bags sink to the bottom. He pulled a waterproof ruck from the last bag — clothes.

“We’re good?” Zeus asked Christian.

“You bet. I say we get to shore.”

So at least he can add two plus two, Zeus thought. He turned to Solt.

“We’re not going back to the fishing boat,” he told her. “I’m afraid the marines will kill us before we get back to port.”

“I know,” she said.

“I’m sorry about Mr. Quach.”