Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(133)

“We have a couple extra Blitzers for you ladies, if you like,” Stuart Brassey said, his young voice cracking in an attempt to sound mature and gallant.

“Thank you . . .” Sandra peered at the bars sewn to his collar. “Captain Brassey! Congratulations. And your troops?”

“The First North Borno, ma’am, under Major I’joorka—which, along with Chack’s Brigade, is landing in the south as we speak.”

Sandra and Diania took the offered weapons and they started to move.

“Hey,” Silva asked. “Where’s ol’ Adar, an’ the other ’Cat? We sneaked up close enough to see ’em yesterday evenin’.”

“Dead,” Sandra replied hollowly. “That’s why your timing could’ve been better. Ten minutes earlier . . .” She shook her head and patted Silva’s arm. “Thank you.”

Silva hung back with Horn just a moment while Brassey led their team and the prisoners toward the trail, Lawrence, with Pokey trailing, already casting ahead. Dennis would bring up the rear in case of pursuit, but for a moment he stared at the compound. “In there, huh?”

Horn nodded, unseen. “Yeah.”

“We heard a shot. I should’a known you’d make a barehanded break, like a dumb-ass, when you of all people should’a known we’d come get you when the time was right.”

“It was Lady Sandra’s idea.”

“No shit?” Dennis sounded offended. “She should’a known, even more than you!”

Horn snapped back. “Yeah? Well we didn’t know, see? How could we? You don’t know what it’s been like.”

“Okay, okay,” Silva said, looking back at the compound. When he spoke again, his voice was . . . different, rougher somehow. “I’ll swan. Ol’ Adar now too. I’ll swan,” he repeated, then seemed to shake himself. “Let’s go. It’s a damn bad start to a busy day—an’ it ain’t even started yet!”

“What’s the plan?” Horn asked as they turned and jogged after the others.

“It’s a doozy. You’ll love it,” Dennis replied, giving Horn a handful of ship’s biscuits to munch on. Horn stuffed one in his face.

“So, as usual,” he mumbled, spilling crumbs, “you’re making it up as you go?”

“Kinda.”

“Works for me,” Horn agreed, swallowing. Then he chased the dry food with a swig from Silva’s canteen. “Especially since I may have an idea or two you haven’t thought of. Call them pre-considerations to the inexpressible.”

“You an’ your weird words,” Dennis complained. “Okay, spill ’em.”

“At least my weird words are real,” Horn retorted.

Eventually they caught up with the others and jogged with Brassey, Sandra, Diania, and Lange, who’d hung back with the Khonashi rear guard. Lange was already gasping, taking deep gulps from a canteen someone gave him, but the rest were bearing up. Of course, they’d only just begun a near-five-mile run.

“What’s the plan?” Sandra asked, echoing Horn’s earlier question.

“It’s a doozy. You’ll love it,” Silva repeated.

Horn snorted. “I’m going for Savoie—and that goddamn frog admiral, Laborde. He’ll be on her, guaranteed.”

“I don’t think . . .” Brassey began.

“What for?” Dennis interrupted.

“I assume Captain Reddy intends to lure her out?” Horn asked. “Well, even if he has a plan to deal with her, she’s an iron bitch. Literally. She’ll kill a lot of our guys. I think in the confusion, with help from some of Captain Brassey’s Khonashis, I can get aboard.”

“Then what?” Brassey demanded, suddenly intrigued.

“Get in one of her gun houses. There’s no way they can pry us out.” Horn shrugged. “Then maybe blow her up.”

“Shit!” Dennis grinned. “Sounds fun, if you can pull it off—then get off her.”

“I agree,” Brassey said between breaths. “Horn and I can try to pass ourselves as Japanese. We’ll make the attempt, along with half the Khonashis, and perhaps Pokey. He speaks the language.”

“And I,” Becher Lange said on a gasp, “have my own score to settle with Laborde. But we needn’t pass as Japanese. A few of her original crew remained, and I speak excellent French.”

“Okay. Sounds like a good pre-consideration,” Dennis agreed.

“What about us?” Sandra demanded.

“You, Lady Sandra, an’ Miss Diania too, are gonna find a nice, safe, hidey-hole while me an’ Larry, our Shee-Ree kitties, an’ what Khonashis Cap’n Brassey leaves us, raise as much hell as we can.” He patted the satchel bouncing at his side. “I got a whole poke full o’ grenades—my very favorite kind o’ fun! Who knows? Maybe we’ll catch Kurokawwy before he boards Savoie.”

“As good a plan as any, I suppose,” Sandra agreed. She was also starting to breathe heavily, weakened by lack of food and the unaccustomed weight she carried in her abdomen. “Except for one detail,” she added. “I’m not sitting this out.”

“Nor I,” snapped Diania.

“But . . .”