As whiskey, it was poor; as simple blood-warmer, it was right on target. Brodski and Van Damm gulped it gratefully.
After dressing, they shook hands. "I'll see you when it's over, Owen," said Brodski.
"Ja, you'll owe me drinks if this doesn't work."
"And I'll pay up, if either of us is still alive."
They parted company in the dark, and went their separate ways.
It was just before dawn when the charges went off.
They blew a large hole in the forward hold of the Last Resort, and one in the aft net stowage. With one hole to port and one to starboard, she sank quickly-and on an even keel-leaving only the wheel-house above water.
Of the troops aboard, half a dozen were knocked into the water by the initial blast. The rest, including the two deckhands, stayed long enough to realize that the Last Resort was sinking fast-then grabbed gear they could reach, and slid off into the chilly water.
Jomo, after a final furious look at the sinking boat, was last to leave. He found the water shallow enough that he could wade, holding his stunner over his head. He shouted at the others to do likewise, keep those precious Enforcers dry, but wasn't sure they heard.
The water ended at a bare rock cliff-face, too steep to climb, especially in the dark.
There was no help for it; the survivors had to wade along the cliff until they came to easier land. Jomo bellowed and chivied them to the left, recalling that the land had sloped sooner toward the east side of the island.
The Simbas groggily complied, struggling through the cold, swift-running water. One of the Last Resort's deckhands tried to sneak off to the right, and Jomo shot him. The rest of the survivors picked up their pace, trying to see rather than feel their way along the steep shore in the dim light. At length the water grew shallower, and the outline of vegetation appeared above the greenthorn.
The survivors clambered up the narrow beach of stones and started pushing into the greenthorn hedge just as Byers' Star peeped over the horizon, silhouetting them against the background of the gleaming river.
Directly ahead of them, half a dozen women stood up behind the greenthorn hedge and fired at them, from less than five meters away, with shotguns.
At least six of the Simbas went down in the first volley, and the second came an instant later. The survivors turned and ran, a few back out into the water, the rest to the left along the narrow pebble-beach. Gunfire followed them.
The Simbas running into deep water started screaming . . . . The River-Jacks had found them . . . . There was a flurry in the water where the "fish" fed . . . . The worrying of the bodies pulled them into deeper water.
Two men raised empty arms and shouted promises to surrender. Jomo, cursing, shot both of them. A shotgun blast tore the ground beside him, narrowly missing his foot. He dropped and rolled under the nearest cover-which was the greenthorn hedge. From where he lay among the thorns, he couldn't see if anyone else followed his example.
On the other side of the hedge he heard a woman's voice snap: "They're running down the east bank! Come on over and help us pick 'em off!" Another female voice replied, distant and staticky from a radio: "Soon as we can, Lou. Keep after 'em 'til then."
Two ideas occurred to Jomo just then: that this island just might be the rumored Land of Women, and that he'd best keep quiet until those shotgun-toting slits ran past him on the other side of the hedge. He muffled his breathing and lay very still.
Jomo, hearing the battle run past him, peered under the hedge. He couldn't see anyone through the thick and thorny foliage . . . but he did note that the hedge was mostly horizontal branches.
He poked experimentally with his stunner barrel, and saw that the branches lifted easily. Damn, this was his way out! He lifted the branch, crawled under it, and came out on the other side of the hedge. Beside the hedge lay a path.
Jomo followed it, going uphill, away from the armed women and the running battle, keeping low. As he ran, he could hear the sounds of his Simbas being slaughtered. Never mind them; all he could think about was finding cover, some safe place to rest. He was cold, wet, and more frightened than he'd been in years. If this was the legendary Land of Women, he no longer wanted any part of it. Dammit, they didn't fight fair!
The last of the Simbas were quickly picked off by the mercs or the women with them . . . . One or two tried the river but the "Jacks" made a quick and messy finish to them.
Jomo studied the greenthorn hedge crossing his path-and the path leading right into it. He poked at the hedge with his boot and a whole section of it lifted. He smiled bitterly, and crawled under the hedge.
A quick look showed the path went further uphill. He chose to follow it, move further away from the snore and all those hunting bitches. There was better cover in this forest, anyway.
The path let him out in a planted field whose crops grew taller than his head. It promised good cover; he started to sneak through it.
He was less than five yards into the field when he noticed the odor and shape of the leaves. He stopped, stared, then burst out laughing.
"It's Ganja! Growing here on Haven . . . ."
Then he realized that "euph-leaf" wasn't a local herb at all. It was nothing but good old marijuana, grass, hemp-growing right here on an island full of women, and from what the sat-map had showed him, there were plenty of cultivated fields around here, maybe most of them growing hemp. What a prize!
If he could only get back to Docktown with the news, he knew he could raise a large enough army to come back and take the island.
Brodski and Van Damm met near the path in the converging hedges above the water.
They'd been giving "last mercy" to the wounded gangsters on the field. They started up, looking at each other-then recognized the lack of expression on each other's faces. Both shared distaste for the business.
"Have you seen Jomo?" Brodski snapped, sounding angry.
"No," Van Damm answered. "How about you?"
"No luck. Let's check the boat; he might still be in the wheel-house."
"Good idea. Big Lou will take care of the rest here."
"Alert her that there might be stragglers from the beach," Van Damm warned.
"Amen." Brodski shivered and turned away. "Their land, their fertilizer . . . . Shit."
As the two mercs plodded to the side of the river, their radios crackled to life.
"Where are you, Se?or Owen?" came the question. "Are you and Se?or Brodski all right?"
"All's secure here, Granny. Tell Jane we're going to check the boat for sign of Jomo. We haven't found him yet. Could you send the Bitch to take us to the wreck?"
"I'll relay Captain Makhno to you. We shall keep watch for Jomo from up here. Se?ora Jane says, do not be too late for breakfast. Granny, out."
"Just like a woman." Van Damm laughed. "The world can be falling apart around them, but their major concern is that you get to the table on time."
"So what's more important than survival? And what's more valuable to survival than food? Let's get a move on, Vanny."
Crouching and creeping along the path beside the second ring-hedge, Jomo worked his way northward. If he could get safely far from the battle, he could maybe swim the river, reach the far bank, hike his way back to Dock-town. One of those squatters along the river had to have a rowboat, or raft, or some damn thing that would float-not to mention supplies for the journey. Or maybe, if there was time, he could chop enough wood from the wreck of the Last Resort to make a raft, find enough food to hold him while the raft floated across river.
In any case, the hunters were least likely to be back at the point.
Little Easter had insisted on following the two mercs, and Makhno had no complaint The Black Bitch, engines roaring wide open, hauled them up to the point in a few minutes' time. Makhno circled the tiny harbor. Nothing was moving.
"Well, that leaves ship and shore," said Brodski, centering his optic on the smoking hulk. "The only man in the wheelhouse is the corpse of the pilot. There's no sign of life aboard."
"Then we should go back to the landing," Van Damm insisted. "We may still have some unfinished business."