The Heirs of Babylon by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

caromed into one another as they raced for
    the boats. Kurt, stunned, walked after them, unable to
    hurry. Otto, retaining some presence of mind, snapped off
    random rifle shots as he retreated at Kurt's side.

    Jager bellowed like an indignant dragon defending
    chicks. Three-inch shells racketed over low, with a sound
    like nothing Kurt had ever heard. 40mms added their
    smaller voices to the uproar. The little shells hummed like bumblebees in passing. There were rapid explosions in the
    woods. Kurt saw a large tree suffer a direct hit. Five feet of ancient trunk disintegrated. The rest fell slowly, with
    the stateliness of a wounded giant.

    But there were no more arrows. The Norwegians (or,
    perhaps. Littoral refugees) seemed satisfied with Beck's
    death. This bothered Kurt as he waded through shallow
    water and clambered into his boat. Why Beck alone? And
    why had the Norwegians opened fire so quickly—as if
    waiting? What had Franck been trying to say? Why had
    Beck felt the need to silence him? So many questions.

    He sat in the bow of the boat and stared toward the
    dead men. They were the first he had seen fall to violence.
    He was sickened. Franck lay in a grotesque position, some
    bones bullet-broken. Beck lay on his back, staring at
    cottony cumulus with cold, unseeing eyes. Kurt was cer-
    tain Franck had intentionally baited Beck into his attack,
    but without expecting such sudden reaction—and his mis-
    calculation had been fatal. Why he thought this Kurt was
    not certain, though. Perhaps because the arrows had come
    so swiftly, imply the shooting was planned. But to what
    purpose? He shook his head and stared around.

41
    In the next boat he saw Gregor, pale and stricken.
    From behind him came the sound of warning bells as
    Jager brought more guns to bear. Cordite smells, sour,
    bitter, assailed his nostrils. He saw, on looking back, men at Jager's rails with rifles and machine-pistols. He looked back to the wood. A curl of smoke rose from a small fire
    started by an exploding shell. Shattered trees leaned
    drunkenly in one another's arms. Raw brown wounds,
    shell holes, scarred the meadow. It was all so savage, so
    quickly come and gone. The feast of blood, he thought,
    the curse of Cain. He was grateful when Jager's stem
    interrupted his view of the destruction.

    Later, when his nerves had settled somewhat, Kurt
    eased through a hatch into the after fireroom, which had
    been secured since the damage to the port screw.
    Czyzewski had decided to use the space to store the last
    raftload of fuel, and Kurt's men were to help stow it
    because the gunnery people were all on station.

    After having made certain his men were at their jobs
    and doing them, Kurt began prowling. The engineering
    spaces, with their webs of piping, of electrical cables, and with their huge, looming machinery, oil smells, odd catwalks, and such, had always intrigued him. He did not
    understand why a man would want to work down in the
    heat, stench, and filth of the place, though.

    He climbed a ladder to a high catwalk, to examine a
    control board with a vast array of valves and meters.
    Most were meaningless, as the ship no longer burned fuel
    oil, but he enjoyed trying to puzzle out their ancient
    functions. A short, half-open doorway caught his atten-
    tion. He knew there was a small room behind it, inside
    one of the blower shafts which brought outside air to the
    fireroom. He thought the room might be a good place to
    store wood, if not already filled. He went across and
    opened the door. Empty.

    No, not quite. There was a damp, muddy uniform on
    the floor. He glanced at it, then examined the rest of the
    room. Perhaps by stacking the wood crosswise ...

    His eyes snapped back to the uniform. Pieces of river
    weed clung to it. Something was wrong. He frowned. Why
    was it hidden here, as if someone had changed in secret?
    Then he grunted as if hit. None of the men who had
    gotten wet this morning had as yet had time to change.
    And