slime.
He pushed upright, only to fall into the water as the branches he’d lodged against gave way. Zeus rolled to his right, dug his foot down, and found ground just solid enough to support his weight.
Straightening, he heard something wallop the air behind him. It was a strange sound, one that didn’t correspond to anything he knew or had experienced before. Before he could decide what it was, the water rose up and hurled him forward, throwing him up over the tip of the tree into a patch of mud.
Zeus punched down with his arm and managed to get to his knees. Something grabbed his side — one of the soldiers. Zeus leaned down, hooking his arm beneath the man, and together they dragged themselves toward a clump of weeds. To Zeus’s surprise, the man had a missile box in his right hand.
Zeus turned, expecting there would be a whole group of soldiers with their gear struggling after him. But there was nothing, just a clear patch of flooded field. He couldn’t even see the boats. The felled tree he had landed on poked out of the water about forty feet away. Beyond that, the flooded stream rippled with white froth, extending sixty or seventy yards to a green bank.
Zeus’s AK-47 was still strapped over his shoulder. But the extra ammo he’d had in a small field bag was back somewhere on the boat; all he had now were two banana magazines, one loaded and the other taped to the first magazine.
“The road is up this way somewhere,” Zeus told the soldier who’d come out with him. “There are some buildings — let’s get up there and get our bearings.”
The weeds were actually a berm separating two fields. Though flooded, the next one was only ankle-deep with water. There was a pair of buildings at the far side, maybe thirty yards away. Zeus, the AK now in his right fist, began trotting in their direction.
The shelling had stopped.
The buildings were small farmhouses, similar to the hovels he’d seen before. Zeus pounded on the door of the nearest one.
The words he’d heard earlier came to him: “
No one answered. He looked at the soldier, gesturing that he should say something as well. The man yelled something of his own, a different phrase, but again there was no answer.
They ran to the next building. This one had a window at the front, next to the door; Zeus knocked on the glass and yelled. When no one answered, he pounded on the door, then found it unlocked.
They went in. The front room was some sort of family room, with chairs and cupboards. There was a wet spot in the corner opposite the door, apparently where water had come up from below. They searched the house quickly — there were only three other rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom with a small bed and a crib, and a bath. All were deserted.
“Stay here,” Zeus told the soldier, gesturing. “I’ll be back with the others.”
He went outside, calmer now, heart no longer throbbing. The road they’d been headed toward was across another field directly in front of the house; he could see the crown running in a backward Z to the north.
There were more buildings on his left. From here they looked deserted.
Starting back toward the flooded paddy, Zeus tried to triangulate where the other boat would have been when he was thrown overboard. Somewhere to his right, he decided, and he angled that way, climbing over a row of half-submerged vegetation dividing the fields. Another cluster of houses, four or five them, sat along a flooded lane just beyond a sparse cropping of trees. These were much bigger houses than the one he had left the soldier at, a much more logical place to gather the missile teams. Zeus decided to head for them and check them out.
The closest building was a bamboo-roofed two-story house whose lower level was perched on stilts, apparently protection against flooding. A porch ran around this level, plantation style.
When he was ten yards away, he saw a man emerge from the lower level of the house, walking out of a basement room. Zeus raised his arm to wave at the man. The man froze, then threw himself down.
“Friend! Friend!” yelled Zeus, running toward him. He couldn’t remember the Vietnamese word.
“Friend!” he repeated, leaping over a small hedge. As he landed, he saw the man cower. Zeus raised his eyes, looking toward the corner of the building. There was another man there, and a second, and a third.
“Hey!” he yelled.
One of the men spun toward him. He had a uniform, and a gun. The rifle barked.
Zeus hit the dirt. The rifle was a QBZ-95 bullpup, easily identified as Chinese.
As was the uniform of the man aiming at him.
15
“We are an American warship, and we intend to inspect your cargo according to UN sanction 2014-3-2 forbidding the passage of military aid to the belligerents in Southeast Asia,” declared Silas. “Prepare to be boarded.”
The seas were still heavy, and sending a rigid hulled craft across would be risky. But with the sun up now and the last squall of the storm drifting northward, Silas would do so anyway. The
“No answer, Captain,” said the communications mate.
“Try it again, broadcasting on all channels,” said Silas. “We’ve been patient all night.”
Indeed, the merchant ships had sat off his bow now for quite a while. Since they weren’t moving forward and with the Chinese cruiser and her frigate nearly thirty miles to the east, Silas had bided his time.
Those were, after all, his orders. The merchant ships were just to the east of Vietnam’s coastal waters, in open seas. Technically, he could stop them whenever he wanted to inspect the manifest, but the admiral had directed that he wait until the ships were clearly embarked toward Hai Phong — which to Silas meant inside the twelve-mile limit.
But the cruiser had just changed course for him. It was time to bring things to a head.
After the message was repeated, Silas had the helmsman adjust his course to get a little closer. He wanted to make things as easy as possible for the boarding craft.
He had a sudden inspiration and ordered weapons to have the forward gun track across, making it very clear to the cargo vessel that he was prepared for business.
“Boarding party, stand by,” ordered Silas over the ship’s intercom system.
“Captain, the merchant vessel is turning off,” said the helmsman. “Moving northeastward, sir. All ships.”
A few seconds later, Lt. Commander Li reported that all of the Chinese merchant ships had changed direction. They were heading back toward China.
“Do you plan to pursue?” Li asked.
Silas wanted to. But his orders were to get the ships to leave peaceably if possible.
He could go ahead. But if they really were packed with men, his boarding party would be in a dangerous situation. In the end, he’d probably ending up sinking every damn ship around him, which was what he wanted to do. But he’d also lose some good men in the process.
“I intend to hold my position off Hai Phong,” he told Li. “If the Chinese want to just turn and run, that’s okay with me.”
Belatedly, Silas remembered that the admiral had directed that he contact him before issuing the Chinese an ultimatum.
Ooops.
He smiled to himself. Even when he didn’t do it on purpose, he seemed to drift toward insubordination.
“Arrange a secure video link to fleet,” he told his communications mate. “I’ll take it in my quarters, after I’ve
