Renegade 25

by Lou Cameron

  He didn’t answer. He heard movement next door and knew Antigone had come back from her snit. He didn’t want Herta sounding off again. So he got above and behind her, spit on two fingers to lubricate her anal opening, and eased it in the naughty way as Herta groaned and said, “Gross Gott!”

  “Hush! Do you want me to stop?”

  “Nein, it feels … interesting, now that I have gotten used to it and, ach, ja, do it do it do it!”

  He didn’t have to do much, and now he knew she was full of shit, as well as cock, about never having done it that way before. Nobody moved like that unless they liked it a lot, and he had it on good authority, albeit all female, that nobody liked it that much back there the first time.

  But what the hell, he’d known she was a cheat from the beginning, and it was sure a change, so… Then the skipper pounded on the door and yelled at them in Greek, which was all Greek to Captain Gringo, save for the name, Socrates, which old Venezis seemed to be cussing hell out of.

  Captain Gringo knew he was in a hell of a mess whether he answered or not. So he just kept buggering Herta to get at least a last good orgasm out of an otherwise dismal mess. Then someone else shouted in Greek, farther away, and Venezis shouted something that must have meant “Just you wait!” before he ran off down the companionway. Captain Gringo smiled in pleased surprise and ejaculated in Herta as, next door, Antigone tore out of her own quarters again. Herta pleaded, “More, more, deeper, Dick!” But he said, “Save it for a rainy day, Doll. We’re never going to get a better chance to get out of here now. I’ll hit the light and go first. Haul on your duds and don’t follow me unless the companionway is clear. It should be. Everyone seems to be up on deck for some reason. So that’s where I’m going, too!”

  He pulled up his pants, put out the lamp, and cracked the door to see if he was right about the companionway being empty. It was. So all he had to do was find the nearest ladder and go up on deck. When he did so, he saw that everyone was crowded in the stem. So that’s where he went, too, calling out, “Hey, Gang, what’s up?”

  Antigone grabbed his bare arm and hauled him closer to the taffrail, saying, “There, back along our wake. Where in the devil have you been, Dick? I just looked for you in your stateroom but Gaston said you’d just left.”

  “Had to go potty. Let’s not worry about that now. I have to get the tarp off that Maxim, dammit!”

  He elbowed his way through to the stem gun, shouting, “Everybody but the helm forward and take cover, dammit! Don’t any of you know a coastal pirate when you see one?”

  As the others at least started giving him some elbow room, Venezis said, “My lookout’s been watching it for some time, Captain Gringo. It just began to move closer a few minutes ago.”

  Captain Gringo stripped off the tarp and armed the Maxim, growling as he said, “He should have given a holler sooner. Vessels in these waters are supposed to show running lights, unless they’re up to something sneaky.”

  “We are not showing our running lights, Captain Gringo.”

  “That’s what I just said. Get everybody forward, dammit! They’re closing fast and you’re not supposed to wait until you’re in range before you duck, see?”

  “We are cruising at reduced speed and they are not closing too fast. What if I ordered full speed ahead, Captain Gringo?”

  “In the dark, in uncharted waters off a lee shore? No thanks, I’d rather take my chances with the dangers I can see. Hey, Forsythe, you anywhere in this crowd?”

  The big Jamaican joined him at the taffrail to ask what he wanted. Captain Gringo pointed the way the jacket of his Maxim was aimed and said, “You know these waters. What the fuck is that chasing us?”

  Forsythe squinted and replied, “Hard to tell in this light, Mon. But it’s too small for a gunboat and coming up our wake too fast for a sailing craft.”

  The mystery vessel bounced over a wave through a patch of brighter moonlight and the Jamaican said, “Hey, you know what that is, Mon? That’s a sea sled, that’s what that is, Mon!”

  Captain Gringo almost asked a dumb question. Then he remembered seeing something about sea sleds in some magazine and said, “I thought those newfangled speedboats only raced in quiet waters.”

  The Jamaican nodded and said, “They supposed to. I saw one flip like a flapjack in Kingston harbor when they had a race there last year. But till it flipped it was beating every other craft in the water, Mon. I suppose a mighty good helmsman, in a mighty good hurry for some mighty good reason, could skip a sea sled across the high seas did he have to. That boy coming up our wake must be either crazy or good, Mon!”

  Captain Gringo squinted through his machine-gun sights as he frowned and said, “It’s a sea sled all right, but it’s not going full speed. It’s just cruising, not planning, and Venezis is right that we could outdistance it easy.”

  Forsythe said, “Not did it open up full throttle, Mon. That fool back there is playing some sort of game with us. You mean to shoot it up?”

  “I can’t, yet. It’s just out of range and, yeah, hanging there, the son of a bitch. How many passengers could you cram in a sea sled, with guns?”

  The big black shrugged and said, “Six or seven at the most. I don’t see nobody aboard that funny notion. Unless they’re all down on the duckboards. Mon, that sure is a crazy way to go to sea!”

  Above and behind them, they heard the masthead lookout shout in Greek. Captain Gringo called out to anyone who was listening to tell him what that was all about, and Antigone came over to kneel at his side and explain, “Nikos, aloft, says he thinks there is yet another vessel on the horizon, astern. He makes it a topsail schooner and it, too, shows no running lights. Oh, look, the funny little boat is gaining on us now!” Captain Gringo swore and snapped, “Forsythe^ grab the wheel and heel us as close to a right angle as you can get!”

  “Which way, Mon, windward or alee?”

  “Just do it! That son of a bitch coming up our wake isn’t full of guys, it’s full of dynamite!”

  Forsythe could take a hint. The big Jamaican made the helm in two bounds, took the wheel with one good shove that put the startled Greek crewman on his duff, and gave the Peirene hard right rudder to use the trade winds as well as the engine to whip her bows to the west as, up the wake, now doing at least thirty-five or forty knots, came the light sea sled some wise-ass out of range was steering by Marconi control!

  “Skata!” Antigone gasped. “You’ve put us broadside to that thing!”

  Captain Gringo snapped, “Hit the deck and stay there,” as he opened up with the machine gun. He didn’t aim directly at the guided missile. It was skipping wildly across the chop at the very limit of its stability now, as its distant controller opened its throttle to full speed. So he fired at an angle for it to cross while, up in the bows, Gaston at the other Maxim did the same, drawing an X of white water for the sea sled to cross.

  It didn’t. As its scowlike plywood bows entered the crossfire they were treated to a moment of mock sunrise as the explosives-laden craft evaporated in a big ball of fire. Then they all got wet as the explosion lashed the Peirene with salt spray and soggy splinters.

  Antigone laughed incredulously and asked, “How did you know Gaston was manning the other Maxim, Dick?”

  He said, “He had to be someplace and he wasn’t here. Stay down. The sons of bitches are sending another one at us!”

  He held his fire as he watched a second sea sled tear out of the darkness toward them like an enraged water beetle. It was moving even faster as the wise-ass manning its Marconi controls steered it zigzag in an attempt to outwit his aim. But, as Forsythe had observed, a flat-bottomed sea sled could only press its luck so far on the open sea. Just as it got within maximum range it hit a whitecap wrong, bounced high in the sky, and roiled over twice in the air before landing upright on its flat bottom with a mighty splash; then it tore off to the west across the curved wake of the Peirene as Captain Gringo put some plunging fire into it for luck.

  Th
en, as the sea sled began to act like a water beetle indeed, he laughed and called out, “Forsythe! Hard right rudder and full speed ahead. We’d better get out of here poco tiempo!”

  Antigone said, “It seems to be circling out of control now!”

  He said, “Yeah, so let it circle all it wants. That other vessel’s not about to come any closer with that toy as likely to hit them as us!”

  The big Jamaican at the helm didn’t want to discuss it. He just signaled the engine room full speed and, as the schooner’s powerful screw began to churn green fire in the phosphorescent sea, swung her bows north to put some distance between them and the mystery ship on the southern horizon.

  So in less than an hour they seemed to have the moonlit Caribbean all to themselves again. But Captain Gringo stayed at the stem gun anyway until Antigone whispered, “You’re soaked to the skin, darling. Would you like to come to my cubby and get warm? I don’t think anyone will notice in all this confusion.”

  He smiled wistfully and said, “We would, if another sea sled exploded against the hull while we were, ah, getting warm. I thought you said we had to be discreet, honey.”

  “I know, but I’m feeling weak again. I should be ashamed of myself, but that damned little Socrates has a man in his cubby next to mine and I just know I’ll never get any sleep tonight anyway!”

  He smiled innocently and said, “That does sound disgusting. Do you know who’s in there with him?” She said, “No. I thought he was the only one like that aboard, now that Papadakis has, ah, fallen overboard. But we’ve been at sea for some time and, well, I know how I feel right now!”

  He said, “Me too. Maybe later, when things settle down. We shouldn’t have our heads together like this, if you really want to be discreet. Now that we seem to be in the clear, people are starting to pick themselves up off the deck and, oops, heads up, here comes Venezis.”

  She quickly rose and moved away as the new skipper joined Captain Gringo at the taffrail and said, “The lookout says that other vessel has vanished. Should we slow down to leave less of an illuminated wake?”

  Captain Gringo said, “Not just yet. The phosphorescence fades pretty fast.” Then he called to Forsythe, “Hey, Jamaica, do you think you could swing us shorewards into the mangroves without running us aground?”

  Forsythe swung the wheel as directed and called for reduced engine speed as he said, “The odds are fifty-fifty with the seas on fire tonight. The Good Lord has lit a lamp unto my feet and I ought to see the shallows before I hit ’em. It’s dangerous ahead no matter which way we steers now. We should be just south of the Mosquito Keys by now. So we’ll likely run aground before morning anyways!”

  Captain Gringo grimaced and said, “You’re a cheerful son of a bitch!” Then he turned to Venezis and added, “It’s your ship, Captain. Any objections?” Venezis said, “Of course not. Between you, you seem to have saved us from a watery grave. But would you mind telling me what in the devil we are doing now?”

  Captain Gringo said, “We can’t risk full speed ahead at night in waters like these, phosphorescence or not, and those sea sleds move like spit across a hot stove. The last time those other guys saw us we were heading up the coast. If we put in and duck our masts behind some mangroves—”

  “Ah, I see the plan, and I like it. But I heard the Indians along the Mosquito Coast are, ah …”

  “Savage is the word you’re groping for, Skipper. They are. They have good reason to be. But they probably won’t bother us if we don’t bother them.”

  “What if they do?”

  “That’s why Hakim sent Gaston and me along. They probably won’t. The Mosquito Indians don’t go looking for trouble like Caribs. They just don’t much like to work on sugar plantations for no pay. So they tend to shoot and run. But how deep in solid ship’s timbers can a reed arrow penetrate, right?”

  Venezis said he was sure a cheerful son of a bitch and moved forward to herd everyone who didn’t have good reason to be on deck below, out of the way.

  Gaston thought he had good reason to be on deck as he moved aft to consult his younger comrade. He said, “Eh bien, since only our adorable ass end is exposed to danger at the moment, I put a fresh belt in the bow gun and came back to see if you have any idea at all what is going on, my noisy youth.”

  “Did you put the tarp back on?”

  “Mais non, I thought the hot Maxim would enjoy salt spray. Who do we think launched that dramatique whatever at us back there, Dick?”

  Captain Gringo frowned and said, “I’m still working on that. I can think of lots of people who might not want us looking for that sub.”

  Gaston spat over the stem and said, “In that case my money is on the Boche. They have always loved surprises. The Prussian needle gun came as a trés dismal surprise to us back in seventy.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and replied, “I hope that was a German getting cute back there. It makes me feel better about the square heads we have on board.”

  Gaston shrugged and said, “Keller’s the only real Boche aboard and he’s half-American as well as queer, non?”

  “How did you find out about him and the rosy-cheeked Greek boy?”

  “Socrates came running out of Keller’s stateroom as I popped out of ours. We were both buttoning our pants at the time. I think he was more embarrassed than me. But he was lucky as well. Keller’s wife just missed the show, coming along the companionway just a moment later. I still haven’t figured out who she was screwing when things got so exciting. I feel a little jealous.”

  Captain Gringo muttered, “Heads up,” as Keller himself moved back to join them. Captain Gringo said, “Evening, Keller. Didn’t the skipper order everyone below just now?”

  Keller said, “He did. I’m still in command of this expedition. What in the hell is going on? I was still getting dressed when I heard that huge explosion.”

  Captain Gringo said, “Marconi-controlled sea sled, converted to a fast floating bomb. Were they working on anything like that when you were working in Germany, Keller?”

  “Not exactly. But of course they were experimenting with wireless. The idea was invented in Germany just a few short years ago and … You say they, were steering explosives at us with it? That’s crazy. Not even Marconi can send radio waves more than a few miles yet.”

  “I know. That’s why we have to stay a few miles away from those pricks. You’d better stay below with your wife, Keller. The next thing that comes out of the dark at us could be a reed arrow, poison tipped.”

  That seemed to do it. As Keller left, muttering to himself, Gaston sighed and said, “Such a waste. All that blond femininity to enjoy and he prefers sissy derrieres. Who do you suppose could be getting some of that real stuff, Dick?”

  “Jesus, don’t you ever think of anything but pussy?”

  “Mais non, I told you I didn’t go in for sissy boys. At least, not up to now. But sacre goddamn, if I don’t get some of the real thing soon … Oh well, I see Socrates is taken. I wonder if he’s the only one like that aboard.”

  “Don’t try to find out. Despite the jokes about Greek boys, most of them are just as likely to bust your head for stealing a feel as anyone else.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Where there is smoke there should be fire, and we know at least one Greek boy aboard lives up to the reputation, non?”

  “One’s about average in any crowd this size. The poor Greeks are stuck with all that garbage Plato wrote. They tell me Plato’s required reading at a lot of boys’ schools all over. So behave yourself.”

  Before Gaston could reply, Forsythe called from the helm, “Mangroves ahead!” and signaled dead slow. The two soldiers of fortune leaned over the starboard rail to see what looked like a line of fuzzy inkblots with their roots in green fire as Venezis rejoined them and told the Jamaican he was running them aground, God damn it. Forsythe laughed and said, “I know what I’m doing, Mon. But I don’t talk Greek. So stick around and have your boys drop anchor when I gives the word, hear?”
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  They were still arguing about it when Forsythe steered the schooner between two clumps of mangrove and snapped, “Now!”

  So a few seconds, later they were swinging about on the anchor chain as Forsythe cut the engine and the Peirene came to a dead stop with her stem shoreward and her bows aimed seaward between the mangrove clumps. Captain Gringo said, “Nice going. You’re a pretty good seaman, Jamaica,” and Forsythe said, “Good? Hell, I’m the best, Mon!”

  *

  The rest of the night passed uneventfully. They were too far out to really have to worry about natives on shore, but they kept a deck watch anyway. Captain Gringo didn’t take Antigone up on her invitation, even when most of the ship turned in before morning. For one thing, it wouldn’t have been delicate until he’d had a bath. For another, he was up the mainmast for the next few hours, trying to see if he could spot that other vessel out to sea.

  He couldn’t. So as the empty seaward horizon began to turn pearl gray he turned the lookout over to one of the crew members to slide down the stays and enjoy an early-morning skinny dip before turning in to catch a few winks, alone, as Gaston watched the shoreline.

  It seemed he’d barely dropped off before the little Frenchman woke him to report they were standing out to sea again and ask if he wanted to do anything about it. So he got up and went on deck as Gaston turned in. There wasn’t much to see. The trades were blowing a fog bank in off the open sea, and the Greek who’d relieved Forsythe at the helm didn’t speak English or Spanish. So he went to the ship’s mess to see if there was anything to eat.

  There was. Most of the others were sitting at the table as Socrates served them, looking sort of shy. When someone called out Captain Gringo’s name, Antigone stuck her head out of the galley, looking hurt. Herta Keller sat sipping her coffee as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  As he sat down, Fitzke, the Swiss, asked if they were out of danger now, and Captain Gringo said, “No. We won’t be out of danger until this job is over. But if we don’t run aground amid the Mosquito Keys this morning, we ought to be okay until this fog lifts.”