Crux

60 WAR STORIES

Wednesday October 31st

In a cramped submarine beneath the waters of the Andaman Sea, Kevin Nakamura laughed as Feng gesticulated with his cuffed hands.

“So I throw the butter knife, yeah?” the Chinese soldier was saying. “Boom! Right through the eye.” Feng shook his head. “But he gets me with cleaver first. That’s how I get this one.” Feng gestured at the scar across one forearm.

“So that was Almaty?” Nakamura asked.

“Yeah,” Feng replied. “In ’37. You there?”

Nakamura nodded, rolled up one pant leg, showed the scar below his knee.

Feng peered at it and frowned. “Sniper?” he asked.

Nakamura laughed. “Farmer. With a pitchfork.”

“Pitchfork!” Feng laughed in return. “You see action at Astana too?”

Nakamura shook his head. “Not me. But I had friends who were there.” He cocked his head. “Were you at Mashadd, in ’35? Or what about Maymana, back in ’26?”

Feng’s expression turned puzzled. “In ’26… I was eight.”

Nakamura frowned.

“You old, man,” Feng said.

Nakamura glared at the pup, then snorted and turned back to the sub’s controls. Two more days to Apyar Kyun.

Two hundred miles off the coast of the southeastern United States, Zoe raged. Beneath her, the October seas were hot, hotter than they’d been this late in the year in millennia. The currents of the Gulf Stream dragged warm water north from the equator and into the mid-Atlantic, adding energy to seas already heated from a record summer.

The Atlantic gave off that excess heat now, evaporating it as water vapor into the air above.

Zoe gorged on that warm vapor-filled air, absorbing its energy and its moisture. They added to her, strengthened her, fueling her winds, driving them ever faster and more furiously about her calm center until she whirled about at a fifth the speed of sound.

North Zoe went. And chaos went with her.