by Todd Merer
The patrol boat stopped in deeper water outside the reef and lowered a boat manned by a dozen sailors. The boat navigated the rocks and stopped just short of the beach. Immediately, the sailors splashed ashore and lay prone on the sand, weapons pointed at The White Rose. An officer strode toward us, his holster undone, hand above it.
“My map say no authorization work here,” he called out to me.
As I descended the gangplank toward the officer, Derek appeared, in his uniform and cap with red star looking every inch a Chinese trooper. He saluted the officer. “Humble sir, may I speak in English for the benefit of this gentleman, who is a friend of the People’s Republic of China?”
“Go on,” said the officer.
“There has been a misunderstanding,” said Derek. “We were ordered here. We’ve been attempting to contact our superiors but for some reason their communications are out.”
“Electronics out, true,” said the officer. “Show me your orders.”
The steamer’s captain—a curly-haired Greek—produced a file of documents. I wasn’t surprised that they were seemingly stamped by Chinese officialdom. The captain gave them to me.
Derek and I went down to the beach, and I handed the file to the officer, who frowned as he perused the documents. As he did so, his certainty visibly crumbled. Not trusting his own eyes, he held the papers up to the sun, as if somehow he might gain an x-ray insight into their veracity. Clearly, he was wavering, and for a moment I thought our bluff had not been called; that Dolores’s forged permissions had succeeded—
But then the officer froze—
Staring at Derek’s wrist.
On whose underside a green dragon was tattooed. The officer drew his sidearm and shouted a command—
An arrow skewered the officer’s neck like a kabob.
A silent moment, then all hell broke loose. Leave it to the Logui, Those Who Know More, to be the first to realize what was about to happen. A few had taken their bows and climbed the mast. Others had slipped back ashore and from the ridge unloosed a volley of automatic weapons fire. Sand geysers burst around the contingent of sailors on the beach and the boat.
Christ, it’s starting!
I hit the deck.
Given the loss of their officer, I thought the sailors on the beach might give up, but they’d been trained well and began returning fire, as did their shipmates aboard the patrol boat. They were armed with heavier weapons and grenade launchers, and soon their answering enfilades silenced the Logui guns.
Then it was quiet.
Seemingly, the Chinese had prevailed. I looked around and saw Dolores peering from The White Rose’s wheelhouse, her face a mask of horror.
The Chinese fired another volley that shredded the bush where the Logui were entrenched. Nothing in reply. A Logui lay still, chest bloody.
At the sight, a feeling rose in me, one I’d never experienced before. I’m given to losing my temper, yet normally with a degree of restraint, mindful of the consequences I might provoke. Truth be told, although I think myself tough, when it comes to displaying testicular fortitude, I make myself scarce.
But not this time.
My heart seemed to swell, and I saw things through a red filter of pure fury. I had nothing to lose. Our mission was a failure. I had no future with Dolores. I just wanted to take out as many of the bastards as I could until they dropped me.
Without thinking, I snatched the rifle of a fallen Filipino, fumbled to undo the safety, stood, and squeezed off a full mag until I was out of ammo.
I had no illusions. The fight was lost. And so was all else.
Yet I still raged with the insane passion only violence can produce. I’d felt it before when I’d killed before. The primitive response that’s in all men’s genes. Now it was my turn to be killed, but so what?
I’d already grabbed my share of life.
Wielding my useless rifle like a club, I charged the sailors. I saw their eyes widen at the crazy gweilo rushing toward certain death. I saw the black muzzle of a weapon pointed at me and braced myself, thinking:
So this is how it ends. On an unnamed beach far from anywhere, for reasons unknown but for a single, simple fact . . .
I was a fool for love.
CHAPTER 61
As I prepared to die, another tremendous roar shook the island, and from out of the sun came two silver interceptors, guns strafing the line of Chinese sailors. I mean, stitching the poor bastards. One second they were men, the next blood and gore reduced to bite-size pieces of fly-meat on the sand. Leaving me standing there, watching the Chinese sailors dwindle to specks on the beach.
Javier had joined me and was taping them. He said, “Little bees with big stingers, those Harriers.”
Harriers? Why would Richard shoot his ally’s people?
The White Rose’s foghorns moaned, dirgelike.
We boarded and quickly got under way.
The atoll receded, and we became just another tramp freighter, except for the wooden crate perched on rollers only feet from the stern and its inexplicably still-lowered flap.
A Filipino woman wearing a plastic cap and medical greens exited a cabin. She glanced at Javier and shook her head.
“Oh no!” said Javier, making for the cabin. I followed him inside.
Dolores sat beside a bed Older Brother lay on, oxygen tubes in his nose, an intravenous line in his arm, blood soaking through his heavily bandaged midsection. It took a moment before Dolores became aware of our presence, her face ravaged with grief. Sobbing, she fell into my arms.
“He’s dying,” she said. “Two others are dead. It’s on me. I asked them to come. But I had no choice . . .”
“I know,” I said. “They knew, too.”
The surviving Logui entered the cabin and gathered around Older Brother. Dolores and Younger Brother amid them, they linked hands. Javier nudged me. I understood: this was a private moment where my presence didn’t belong, so Javier and I left the cabin and stood on deck and stared at the crate dully gleaming in the last light—
Then the image was gone as the sun dipped below the horizon. As the sky began to darken, a sonic boom sounded, followed by another.
Then it was eerily quiet again, but just moments later, fireworks erupted far above where missiles streaked the black sky before bursting into multicolored extravaganzas. Long seconds later, the sounds of explosions reached us across the sea. Half a mile away, a jet fighter tumbled toward the sea like a broken bird.
“No contest,” said Javier. “The Chinese J-Fifteens are copies of a last-generation Russian interceptor. Plenty of speed but not much else. The Harriers have the J-Fifteens locked in before the Chinese even know they’re in range.”
Nice to know for our own safety’s sake, but what about the safety of the rest of the world? This was not the mere braggadocio of competing militaries; this was out-and-out open warfare. For sure, the hostilities would spread across the South China Sea, and the only question was not whether they would spread beyond it but how soon. If The White Rose made it to its rendezvous, would there still be a port of call to return to afterward?
The captain addressed the wheelhouse crew in Tagalog.
Javier said, “Chinese communications are back online.”
Derek joined us. “Much as I’d like to muck up their Net again, can’t do it from aboard the ship. Even if I tried, they’d pinpoint our location.”
“They already have,” said Javier.
We followed his gaze and saw the running lights of several ships. From a distance, they appeared at least frigate-size, meaning they were armed with ship-to-ship missiles. I visualized a Chinese naval officer with his finger poised above a firing button.
Javier said, “Not to worry. They’re just shadowing us.”
“Where?” I asked.
Javier shrugged. “Wherever. But we’re bulletproof. Considering our cargo, they won’t touch us.”
“Why not?”
He raised his chin toward the crate. Atop it, an
object gleamed despite the dimness. It was Lucky’s hat. “They’ve got night vision. They see we’ve confirmed Lucky’s with us.”
I leaned on the railing. The black sea was riven by The White Rose’s wake. Through the warm, salty air, an infinity of stars pinwheeled in the sky. The vastness was humbling. So much of planet Earth I had no knowledge of, nor would I ever. I was just one among seven billion human organisms living and dying in their own small portion of the world. How much longer did I have among the living?
My thoughts were focused on three dimensions: the past I regretted. The future that was no longer. The present that was inescapable, for out in the darkness, predators waited to strike.
Derek and his Dragons had shed their Chinese military garb and were again wearing white jumpsuits, their cargo pockets stuffed with banana clips. Good thinking.
I smelled weed. Then I saw Derek with a joint in his hand, humming an oldie but goodie about this’ll be the day that he died.
I took a deep hit of the joint. “Nice day if it don’t rain.”
“Benn, the wisenheimer,” said Derek. “Another reason I couldn’t figure you. Then again, what did I know back then? I was Scar, killer and all-around bad kid. If it means anything, I truly didn’t know better at the time. My father was a drunk; my mother worked double shifts in a steam laundry. I slept on the floor of a one-room flat. So when there was money to be made, I went for it, and small crimes led to bigger crimes, and . . . well, you know the rest. I never did thank you. But now I will. Thank you, Benn.”
“No thanks required. Uncle paid me well.”
“Asshole. How about, ‘You’re welcome’?”
“You’re welcome. And I’m glad as hell I beat your case. You made something of yourself, kid.”
“Sometimes I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Half my old boys are dead or doing life, the rest struggling to get along, but I was fortunate enough to have a good lawyer.”
I held in a hit, exhaled a cloud. “No, a great lawyer.”
The moon slid between clouds. In the changeable light, a tear glittered in the corner of Derek’s eye. He said, “I want to help my boys. One thing I learned in the can? If you can make it through with your beliefs intact, you’re a better person for the experience. Funny, apart from my girl, the only people I trust are ex-cons.”
“Guess that leaves me out.”
Derek laughed some more. “Nah. You’re an ex-con who happened to avoid doing time inside. You served your sentence outside.”
I was high enough to understand what he meant. It was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the brutal truth. I’d been in a self-imposed cell since I’d made a certain hard-right turn. The one that threw my ex-wife, Mady, from my car while I raced off to my career as a drug lawyer.
I sensed Derek was thinking something similar, the way we’d lapsed into silence and were staring at the dark sea—
The cabin door opened.
Dolores and the Logui appeared, carrying three shrouded bodies. They gathered at the railing, slid the shrouds into the sea, stood watching as they floated a moment, then left when they sank into the depths. Alone, Dolores remained.
I went to her.
I put my arm around her, and she leaned against me. “Older Brother’s not dead,” I said. “He’s waiting for us.”
Dolores gave me a teary smile. “My man,” she said. “The One Who’s Beginning to Know.”
CHAPTER 62
Javier said, “And the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay.”
Javier was an educated man. He knew his Kipling, the poetic genius of blood and guts. Pa’s favorite poet. And mine.
But this sun came up a pale-red disk behind gauzy clouds that merged sky and sea to a borderless leaden gray. Derek and Javier and I were still on the bridge after a long night of smoking dope and shooting the shit. The things we’d done and the opportunities we’d missed. The sad state and sadder future of mankind. Women we’d loved and lost.
Javier’s lament was of his lovers and wife he hadn’t seen during the fifteen years he’d been on the run. Derek had gone on a long rant of the virtues of the only woman he’d ever loved but feared losing. He didn’t mention her name, but I knew it was Stella, although I didn’t understand why he feared losing her. Considering our current situation, it was Stella who should fear losing Derek. When they finished emoting, they looked at me, and I told them how I’d loved and lost my ex-wife.
“Another way we’re alike,” said Derek. “One-woman men.”
Javier smiled. “You’re really a one-woman man, Benn?”
I’d knew he’d picked up on my omitting Dolores.
I’d nodded, thinking: I am now.
“Typhoon,” said Javier studying the dim horizon.
Oh shit. I pictured The White Rose struggling to crest a twenty-foot wave, then capsizing and spilling us into the sea. The thing I dreaded most was drowning. Holding my breath as I sank, daylight diminishing above, the final inevitable clogging swallow of saltwater. Please, not that way.
Javier laughed. “Relax, Benn, you’ll get worry lines. That storm’s eye is three hundred miles distant, heading away from us—”
A door slammed open somewhere behind the bridge. Stella appeared.
“Eff you, Derek,” she said. “This is my show. When is it starting?”
“Uh-oh,” said Derek, quietly. “Excuse me, guys.”
Stella’s hair was disheveled, her face flushed with anger. She started down from the bridge, but Derek blocked the stairway. He said, “Slow and easy, baby. When the time comes, I promise you’ll be there.”
He went to hug her, but she pushed him away. He grabbed her arms and gently pulled her to him. After a moment, she stopped resisting and put her arms around him. He led her back to her cabin.
“More company,” said Javier.
The morning mist had lifted, and there was a virtual fleet of warships within a few miles of us, ranging from patrols to frigates to destroyers. All dwarfed by the length and superstructure of Richard’s amphibious assault ship, its decks bristling with helicopters and Harriers.
I raised my binoculars and saw that, to my surprise, the flags on other ships were not the Chinese red-and-gold banner but flags of countries I didn’t recognize, excepting the Australian Union Jack.
“Friendlies,” said Javier. “Come to support the cause.”
“Regular BFFs,” I said. “Exactly what is the cause?”
He shrugged. “No one told me anything except to get as much footage as possible on that crate we dredged up.”
I heard the distant sound of jet engines and looked up. High above, glinting in the sunlight, a pair of J-15s painted contrails in the sky.
“Not to worry,” said Javier. “After the mauling they just took, they won’t dare come down to the deck. The Harriers are our air umbrella.”
“Unfortunately,” said Derek, who had suddenly reappeared, “there are holes in the umbrella.”
I followed his gaze above, where half a dozen drones hovered. Three were close by the crate.
“Or maybe not,” said Derek. He and a Dragon were fiddling with a device that looked like an oversize hair blower. Wires dangled from it to electronics still in their cases. He pointed the device at the drones. “Maybe we can blind those babies.”
He pressed a button, waited, then shook his head. “Can’t.”
On deck, the Logui sat cross-legged in an unbroken circle of flesh touching flesh. Lean, bronzed men, not quite hard-looking but capable. Their beatific expressions brought to mind acid freaks doing group meditations fifty years ago. A generation who’d thought they’d found something but ended up losing themselves and, to a large degree, their country.
I hoped their prayers were realized.
Yet I couldn’t help but wonder: Had Dolores gone too far trusting Richard? Were we now in a no-exit situation? Was Dolores following her nature and refusing to go down without a fight?
“The Chinese won’t ha
rm us,” said Dolores. I hadn’t noticed her join us, or that Javier and Derek had discreetly distanced themselves, allowing us privacy. “They’re pragmatists; they play the long game.”
“Unlike Richard, who’s on the one-yard line.”
“Richard thinks he’s exempted from history repeating itself. The same mistake the Japanese made. Trying to conquer a billion people scattered over half a continent. Look at what that led to. This time it will be worse. Far worse. Supposing Richard’s rogue op sinks half a dozen of their frigates? They’ll send their big boy in. Their carrier.”
“One half-assed refurbished Chinese carrier against Richard’s Harriers? The Chinese carrier will be gone in a flash. Literally.”
Dolores smiled. “The Chinese carrier cost a fiftieth of an American carrier. They built it for prestige purposes only. For face. The Chinese aren’t afraid of the American carriers because they have carrier-killing missiles. Takes but one to sink an American carrier. If that happens, the tipping point falls. In retaliation for the carrier, the Americans nuke the Three Gorges Dam, flooding half of China’s industry. Then the Chinese take out Hoover Dam, maybe add in the Hanford nuclear complex for the hell of it.”
“It won’t come to that. It can’t.”
“Think, Benn. While this is happening, the American president will be hiding in a bunker, paranoid, his advisors urging him to go to the silos and nuke subs. An hour later, Shanghai’s a memory. Followed by New York. Peking goes, then Washington, then a thousand more mushroom clouds. Inevitably someone lobs a bomb at Israel, and the hell spreads worldwide. France, England, India, Pakistan, and North Korea. In three days, civilization as we know it is gone.”
“So we’re on a one-way track to eternity?”
“Not necessarily. If they solve their Lucky problem—”
“Solve? You mean once they have him.”
Dolores shrugged, and again I felt as if she were dissembling, hiding something from me. She said, “Afterward, things will revert to the way they were. The Chinese will build their islands while the Americans vocally oppose their claim to the South China Sea. Behind the scenes things will be negotiated. Give and take.”
