Shock of War

than Zeus, or perhaps a larger man, he would have been able to easily parry the blow; it was delivered off-balance, and Zeus was wide open for an easy counterpunch. But the last thing the man expected was to be confronted by a thief, and his eyes widened as Zeus’s blow landed. Zeus swung the pistol toward his head, catching him at the side of the temple. The man collapsed on the pavement, his eyes shut.

Zeus dropped to his knees, anxious. The man was still breathing, but he was unconscious.

The keys were on a long chain at his belt. Zeus unhooked them, then dragged the man off the side of the road.

“What are you going to do with him?” Christian asked, limping around from the back.

“Just get in the truck,” said Zeus.

“You gonna kill him?”

“Get in the truck.”

Christian blinked, then did as he was told.

Zeus dragged the man about twenty yards from the road. He bent down, making sure one last time that he was still breathing, then ran back to the cab.

* * *

There was a large map among the papers in the cab’s glove compartment. Between the map and the large compass on the dashboard, they figured out that they were headed toward National Road 325, headed for Qinzhou.

The map could get them all the way to Beijing, but they’d need to stop for fuel several times; they had barely a half a tank. Zeus unfolded the map and held it over the steering wheel, thinking how he might get fuel without only American money. Fifty dollars might very well cover a full tank — he had no idea what the price would be, let alone whether a station out here would even accept American money.

Surely not.

Robbing a place would be even more foolish.

Christian sat pitched into the corner of the cab, quiet, sullen. Zeus thought he should say something to him, give him some sort of morale booster, but he didn’t feel like talking to him, much less cheering him up, so they drove in silence.

As best he could figure, they were on G050, the expressway heading westward. Qinzhou would be off to the right, to the northeast. They were so far from Beijing that it wasn’t even on the map. Zeus pulled the map away from the wheel, folding it before handing it to Christian. The major took it wordlessly, holding it in his hand as if it were a train ticket waiting to be collected.

The highway was not very much different than those in the States. There were few other vehicles; most were trucks, and the majority were going the other way. Every time Zeus saw a set of lights growing in his side mirror, he eased off the gas, hoping to let them slip by him with a minimum of fuss. As they approached, he felt a quick pinch of fear. He worried that the vehicle would turn out to be a police car.

None did. As each passed, he felt a small burst of relief, enough to cheer him and push him on for a few miles, until more headlights appeared. This rollercoaster of emotions made it harder for Zeus to concentrate on a plan, and it was not until he saw the glow of Qinzhou to the north that he finally formulated one.

“Give me that map again,” Zeus told Christian.

Once again he spread it along the top of the steering wheel. Rather than going all the way to Beijing, the best thing to do was to turn south. Vietnam was relatively close — the border was perhaps fifty miles away. True, there would be troops and border guards, but the fighting was much farther west, and in the jungle it should be relatively easy to find a place to slip through.

Even better: they could steal a boat from the coast and sail south. He already knew from the briefing for the mission that the Chinese weren’t able to patrol the entire coastline, and were concentrating their ships to the east and south. A few hours in a small fishing vessel would be far less risky than trying to drive to Beijing.

“Take this,” he told Christian, handing him the map. “We want to stay on G050 to S221. Can you follow it?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t guess.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know the road system. It looks like it’ll be a lesser road. Like a state highway compared to an interstate. Something like that.”

“Mmmmm,” said Christian, studying the map.

Though the map included Western letters and numbers for the highways, the road signs they passed were exclusively in Chinese. Christian worked on correlating the Chinese highway designations with the Western figures, and found the turnoff for S221, which cut south. But as soon as they pulled around the access ramp off the expressway, Zeus realized they had another problem. There was a toll booth ahead.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Do we have money?”

“What?” said Christian.

“Tolls. Look around — maybe there’s change in the glove compartment.”

Christian opened it and rifled through even though they’d already looked.

Zeus wasn’t sure what to do. There was a small, thin gate barring the lane; he could roll through easily enough. But surely the toll collector would alert the local police. They’d be pulled over in minutes.

He could play dumb foreigner. But why would a dumb foreigner be driving a truck?

He eased into the toll lane, deciding he would hit the gas just as he drew even with the booth. That would take the collector by surprise, and he might not get out quickly enough to see the truck’s plate.

A bare hope, but all he had.

“Money!” said Christian. He’d found a small change purse between the seats. “How much?”

Zeus tapped the brake, jerking the truck to a stop just even with the window of the booth. A woman who barely came up to the handle on the truck’s door peered up quizzically.

“Give me the biggest bill,” Zeus whispered to Christian.

Christian handed him a twenty yuan note. Zeus leaned his hand down to the toll taker, hoping that she wouldn’t get a good glimpse of his face and realize he was Caucasian.

The woman began jabbering at him. He guessed she was asking if he had something smaller, since she hadn’t taken the bill.

He shrugged, holding his hand out in an empty gesture.

“We should just go,” said Christian under his breath.

The gate was down. He could break through it easily enough, but that would mean they’d have to ditch the truck.

Zeus glanced to his right, looking to make sure there wasn’t a police car on the shoulder ahead. He was about to stomp on the gas when Christian tapped him across the chest.

He held out a toll card.

Zeus took it and handed it down. The tollkeeper said something in an exasperated tone, probably accusing him of being a dope. She kept talking, asking for something else. Maybe his license — were foreigners allowed to drive in China?

It didn’t matter. He didn’t have a Chinese license — or any license. And he certainly wasn’t going to give her his passport.

The woman scolded him. Zeus realized finally that she wanted more money.

“Give me another bill,” he told Christian, turning to him.

“What?”

“Just give me some more money.”

“There are two tens.”

Christian gave them to him. Zeus held them down. The woman took them.

The gate remained down.

All right, thought Zeus. That’s it. He put his foot on the gas. But instead of revving, the engine stalled, flooded by the sudden surge of fuel.

His throat tightened in an instant.

Quickly, he reached for the key. Nothing happened. He slipped the truck into neutral. Before he could try