by G M Eppers
She floated away from me a couple of feet and reiterated, “Turn around.”
Slowly, I did as she told me, my hand gripping the axe handle tightly against the beam. Not only was this a better angle for chopping at the rope, but I could see a mile away out over the ocean. At first I thought it was a star, low on the horizon, but it blinked on and off. It didn’t take long to realize it was a repeating pattern, though I wasn’t familiar with Morse Code. If it was saying something, I didn’t understand it. But I didn’t have to. “The Cavalry?”
“Stay tough, Billings. Help is on the way.”
All too soon, she was gone again, and I was alone on the beam, at least a hundred feet above the deck of the Norwegian ship. I looked down again and saw shadows moving in and out of the flickering firelight. What if the sail caught fire? I hadn’t thought of that. The canvas may have been treated with fire retardant, but I couldn’t be sure. It might fall inside the bulwarks, but I couldn’t be sure. “Damn.”
I looked out at the blinking lights again, trying to estimate their speed. It was too dark. Looking down, the torches illuminated the melee below with surprising clarity. Several of the Viking wannabes were lying on the deck, apparently unconscious, possibly dead. Nitro was off to one side, taking some time to use Roxy’s ribbon to bind the cut on Badger’s shoulder, ignoring the gash I spotted near his own knee. The twins had sandwiched someone between them and were rolling across the deck, all six hands holding onto the top several inches of a broken spear. Roxy, the zipper down her back reflecting the firelight, was in stocking feet, having lost one shoe and currently using the other to whack away at a Norwegian’s knuckles as he clutched his axe. Her skirt was badly torn, but she didn’t appear to be bloody. Sylvia, as usual wearing almost entirely black clothing, was harder to spot, but I found her swinging from a low beam to plant herself on a Norwegian’s shoulders like a little girl at a Fourth of July parade riding on her father’s. Once there, she clawed at his eyes while he swung an empty bow and tried to retrieve an arrow from the quiver that was now under Sylvia’s butt. Even McGrone was holding his own, his shirt tails hanging out, using an axe handle as a club to beat a Norwegian about the head and shoulders.
I took in all of this in just a few seconds. Realizing that my original plan of sending the sail downward could backfire, it was time for me to get back to deck level. I spotted a couple Norwegians heading over to the side where Nitro was tending to Badger’s wound, so I directed my descent in that direction, hoping to come down advantageously like I had before. I did land between them, but facing the wrong way. The Norwegians were behind me. I spun around to see the point of an arrow inches from my eyes. Instinctively, I brought up my arm to guard my face, and in the process knocked the arrow, and the bow in which it was nocked, upward. The Norwegian loosed, whether intentionally or accidentally I couldn’t be sure, and it flew over the side, passing through the flame of a torch as it went. At least 600 pounds of Norwegian slammed into me, forcing me backwards into Badger and Nitro, all of us falling on our backs. Using my momentum, I brought up my feet, planted them on the nearest abdomen, and pushed, launching one of the Norwegians into the air and over the side. The splash he made was quite audible even up on the deck.
I rolled to one side, apologizing to Nitro and Badger, and got back on my feet quickly. They did likewise, and the second Norwegian faced the three of us. He had no weapon, but it seemed Badger had been watching some of the other tactics and immediately reached forward with one hand to grab as much of the guy’s beard as he could. Pulling him closer, he got his other hand into the hair as well and pulled with all his might as the man howled. The Norwegian swung his arms underneath and brought them up forcefully under Badger’s, breaking his grip. It caused his injured shoulder, now tied with a pretty cornflower bow, to rotate painfully, and he fell back, clutching his shoulder with his other hand. A dark stain appeared on the ribbon.
Nitro and I gripped each other’s hands, forming a barrier between Badger and the Norwegian. “Brussels?” asked Nitro.
“Brussels,” I agreed. We swung our arms back and forth, and up and down, causing the Norwegian to watch us curiously. Like ballroom dancers, we let go with one set of hands and I twirled Nitro underneath my arm. He came around with a fist ready and hit the Norwegian with a forceful uppercut. Because his beard would have cushioned the blow, Nitro didn’t aim for his chin, but connected with his sternum. In Brussels, we had used the maneuver to break someone’s windpipe. Here, it snapped at least two ribs. Roaring, the Norwegian tried to stretch his arms high to return the blow but had to hug himself in pain, instead.
We turned back to Badger to find Xerxes himself blocking our way. It was appropriate that he was growling because he smelled like wet dog. Evidently, he’d had at least one trip over the side of the ship and his decorative furs were drenched and dripping. He took a wide stance and roared like a WWF wrestler. His only weapon appeared to be fury. Behind him, Badger was holding onto some rigging ropes to avoid going overboard himself. Using the ropes to pull himself up, he stood on the bulwark. “Seville!” he shouted.
I turned to Nitro. “Seville?”
“Seville!” He made it sound like a battle cry, but even the Norwegian had to recognize the name of the Spanish city. Not that he would understand what we meant by it, of course. Gripping the rope, Badger lifted both feet and kicked Xerxes in the back, but low, where it was unexpected. Instead of having the blow bounce off his broad shoulders, it hit the sciatic nerve, making Xerxes’ knees buckle. Feigning concern, Nitro and I stepped forward to catch him, each of us grabbing an arm. In the second or two when his legs were useless, we pushed him backwards into the bulwark where Badger was standing. Badger wrapped the rope around his wrist, making sure he wouldn’t lose his grip, and lifted his legs once again. He straddled Xerxes’ shoulders and used his leg muscles to pull while we pushed, pulling his lower legs up as levers, using his own impressive weight to overbalance the Norwegian and throw him over the side. The resulting splash was very satisfying.
Badger hopped off the bulwark and let go of the rigging with a smile. The dark stain on Roxy’s cornflower blue ribbon was bigger now. “Hang on guys,” I told them. “Help is on the way. I saw a ship approaching when I was above.”
They looked up and noticed the loose sail, flapping forlornly in the high wind, sounding like an incoming pterodactyl. “You didn’t finish? That could take out about 20 of them.”
“It also could have started on fire if it landed on a torch,” I said. “I’m not that desperate yet.”
The battle was still ranging all around us, with yelling and grunting and the flash of metal. I saw two Norwegians had piled on top of someone up on the observation deck. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here when Xerxes pulls himself up again.” The three of us ran over and bounced up to the deck, ganging up on the two Norwegians and grabbing their furs. Startled, they both abandoned their quarry, who turned out to be Sylvia. She tried to grab the axe handle they were using to strangle her but couldn’t get a grip and the handle came around and slammed into Badger’s bad shoulder. He swore and backed off.
Nitro was in a better position and he got a grip on the axe handle. I was thankful there was no blade on it. The two of them danced around, each holding onto the handle, skirting the edge of the observation deck repeatedly. I glanced at Sylvia, who was still sitting down, and she looked at me as if to say, “isn’t it obvious?”
She got up, Badger and I got hold of Nitro, and Sylvia got a running start, slamming her head into the Norwegian’s stomach at just the right moment. He toppled over the edge. Badger and I got Nitro to let go of the handle so he wouldn’t go over as well, and the handle went with him as the Norwegian plummeted to the steel deck below. He looked like he was trying to rise, then gave up and lay still. The second Norwegian tried to rush Sylvia, and she calmly moved out of the way and we watched him do a flying flip, landing soundly on his shipmate. The two of them started scuffling with each other, but they wer
e both weak and injured.
I looked up and saw the United States battleship U.S.S. Tammy Duckworth looming just as the voice came over a loudspeaker. An array of large Mark 7 Naval armaments were aimed right at us. “Surrender and prepare to be boarded!” A second later the entire deck was under a blaze of floodlights, temporarily blinding everyone aboard. I shielded my eyes, but by the time they adjusted dozens of United States Navy personnel had boarded the ship and were rounding up the Norwegians, confiscating axes, spears and arrows, even the broken ones. The grumbling Norwegians were placed into plastic zip cuffs and herded like cows over a gangplank to the battleship.
As I blinked my eyes into focus, I saw Captain Dergunderhoeven approaching with a wave. “You folks all right?”
With the Norwegians cleared out, it was easier to assess what I was already thinking about as my team. The cut on Badger’s arm was still covered by Roxy’s ribbon, but I saw him flexing his fingers to test it. McGrone, regaining his feigned dignity, stood at attention, tucking in his shirt. Dergunderhoeven looked at him suspiciously, but snapped an uncertain salute to his superior officer from another service. Nitro had some dried blood around his nose, Sir Haughty’s head was dripping blood along his hairline, and Sylvia’s smile of appreciation was marred by a hole where a first premolar should be. Roxy’s skirt was split to varying degrees in three or four places and her hair looked like she’d made contact with an unguarded electrical socket. The twins, to my grateful and highly biased eyes, looked gorgeous. Avis boldly told the captain that she may have sprained her pinky, but, like Badger’s fingers, it too bent as requested when Avis wiggled it. Nitro identified himself as a doctor and asked to be escorted to the sick bay to help with the injured of both parties. A seaman in a crisp uniform and white cap led him away.
“Thanks for the rescue, sir,” I said.
“Looks like you did a good job of holding your own. We’re just your ride home.” He gave a quick order for several of his crew to take control and pilot the Norwegian ship to the Port of Miami, where it would be inspected and searched, starting a long string of international legal and foreign relations activities.
“You’ll find plenty of contraband in the hold. A lot of cheese that may or may not be Uber,” I told him.
“It’s all the same now. I’ll contact the Chembassy first thing in the morning and make sure the port authorities get it processed before any of their heads hit a pillow. Come on,” he added, “I’ll show you to sick bay. All of you should be checked out, then there are plenty of beds for you.”
Bed was a beautiful word just then. As I followed him to the elevator, I glanced back at the Norwegian ship one more time, to the crossbeam still holding onto the loose sail slapping at the air like a metronome, where Mom had sat with me not that long ago.
Dergunderhoeven noticed my distraction. “You okay, son?”
I pulled myself away. “Yeah, fine. Sir, my things on the Ike?”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “If anyone has touched them, Bobby has agreed to be flogged at dawn.”
Chapter Two
After tending to our wounds and providing a simple meal of sandwiches and juice, the Duckworth took us to the Port of Miami while we slept for a few hours. By the time we roused and had breakfast, they had processed the VAVAVA activists and transferred their ship into custody. Most of our equipment was recovered and returned to us. The captain filed paperwork with the Chembassy regarding the cheeses in the hold, making note of our explanation for the open crates of Pule and Gouda. He didn’t remark on the value of the Pule, so I didn’t mention it. The Chembassador would probably know and lament the loss of about half of it to our fake dynamite. The Duckworth then took the team and Captain Dergunderhoeven back to the Ike. As we stepped on the deck of the massive aircraft carrier, I pulled the twins with me to see Captain Dergunderhoeven. Now that we were back on his ship, there was something I wanted to ask him. “Sir, this is my fiancé and her sister. I’d really like it if you would do us the honor of marrying us.”
I hadn’t warned the twins that I was going to ask, and they pulled back. “Billings, no. Not here. We’re going to have a big ceremony! We don’t have the dresses!” argued Avis.
“We’re not ready. We made all those plans,” added Agnes. “Mom and Dad would be so disappointed. Besides, we don’t have the rings and you can’t even put Avis’ ring on until her finger heals.” Avis waved her left hand and pointed to the two fingers taped together as if I’d never seen them before. “No. Absolutely not,” her sister finished.
I’d been expecting some reluctance. I took both of Avis’ hands in mine and stared her in the eyes. “Sweetheart, I almost lost you yesterday. I almost lost you today. I’ll probably almost lose you tomorrow. I don’t want to wait anymore. We can do the big ceremony later, but let’s get married here.” I spread out one arm to indicate the vast ocean around us. “This is romantic. It’s unique. It could be our secret.”
“Secret, hell,” said Roxy, who had overheard. “You are not robbing me of my maid of honor spotlight.” As I turned my attention to Roxy, I noticed Avis throw a glance at Badger, who gave her a very subtle shake of the head in return. Meanwhile, the Captain was watching our exchange, waiting for a final decision.
“I’ll gladly give up my bachelor party,” I offered.
Sir Haughty said, “Too late. This was it, mate. Pirate theme. Bloke with the parrot ran late and missed the boat. Party on.” He pumped a fist in the air awkwardly.
Avis reached and retook my hand, returning my eye-to-eye gaze. “Lover lips, getting married here won’t change any of that. It’s a marriage certificate, not a flotation device or a suit of chain mail. We planned to share the day with our family and we will.” She turned to Captain Dergunderhoeven. “Sorry for the inconvenience, but no thank you.”
Dergunderhoeven tilted his head. “It’s just as well. I’m not authorized to do it anyway. I’m not ordained. All that stuff about getting married at sea is just a bunch of romantic claptrap. You’d have to get a special maritime license.”
“Our license is only good in D.C.,” Avis reminded me. “And we paid good money for it.” She sounded thankful for another argument against my idea.
“But the Ike does have a chaplain,” Dergunderhoeven went on. “We could contact a clerk on shore by radio, maybe chopper one in. I imagine you’d have to sign it in person. There are other preparations. It wouldn’t be immediate, but you could possibly be married by the end of the week.” I remembered it was Sunday, so that was a fairly broad estimate, but it gave me a little hope. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
I looked at Avis and Agnes one last time, but their facial expressions told me I didn’t have a chance. Again, I caught her exchanging a look with Badger, one of relief? What was that all about?
The next day I went through the formality of my Section Two final with Bobby, who whistled at the rope burns on my hands and the jagged scrapes on my thighs. After that, I changed back into my usual clothes, welcoming the comfort of well-worn blue jeans. I did pack the shorts in my bag, but I wasn’t sure when I’d wear them again. Even in hotter climes, shorts were not our usual attire. I’m not sure if my passing certificate was provided out of sympathy or merit, but I was told by both Bobby and the Captain to assume it was the latter. I collected my things, feeling far more comfortable once I had put on my old, familiar, sub-shoulder pack of my mother’s ashes. At least for flying lessons, I should be able to keep her with me. I didn’t enjoy leaving her in my cabin every day. I departed the Ike for the last time. My next stop was to be Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center, from whence the questionable moon rocks had come a million years ago.
The Coast Guard Cutter docked at the Port of Miami and we were met by Dinny, holding up a handmade sign that said, “CURDS Team A Plus One.” Our bedraggled troops greeted her and she oohed and aahed at all our injuries. I looked around the port. “Where’s my ride to the Space Center?”
“We’re your ride to the Space Center,�
� she replied with an ‘aren’t you silly’ wave of her hand. She walked us to a row of taxicabs. “Lesson One on take-offs will be taught by yours truly.” She pointed a decisive finger at my head. “And I intend to be a very harsh taskmaster.”
“Yeah, right,” I smiled at her, climbing into the bench seat of a cab with the twins as Dinny and the others divided themselves into two more right behind it. We buckled in. “Miami International, please,” I told the driver. And to the twins, I added, “See how nicely I arranged land transportation? I studied for two weeks to do that.”
Avis stomped on my foot, and jabbed my ribs with an elbow. “We studied for three years in Tibet to do that.”
“It didn’t even hurt,” I lied, rubbing one foot with the other inconspicuously as I shifted my torso to accommodate bruised ribs.
Avis smiled sideways. “You’re lucky I love you. I could have broken at least eight bones if I really wanted to.”
The CURDS1 was waiting for us on the tarmac and the plane had never looked more beautiful to me. Objectively, it barely looked airworthy. Several plates on the fuselage were noticeably different, having been replaced over the years. There were scrapes and dings and scratches that were easily seen as we went through the doorway. But I didn’t care. It felt like coming home to go through the locker room and into the cabin. I think even Mom’s ashes under my arm were happy to be here. I started to go to my usual seat, but Dinny stopped me. The others edged around me. “Ah ah,” she said. “Cockpit. Take the navigator’s seat, behind the co-pilot. Watch and learn, Billings.”
I went into the cockpit, strapping into the swiveling chair. It was a little strange, and I was both excited about the new experience and disappointed to be kept away from the team. We had catching up to do. Kevin Butz, the pilot, was already in his seat. “You after my job?” he asked with a grin.
