The Savage Horde

Chapter 41

Natalia shivered in the sail. She was cold, and the gunfire she now heard from the height of the rocks above the darkened beach chilled her more—was Rourke alive? Paul? There had been sporadic gunfire, then heavier gunfire—a firefight.

She felt—it was a man's word and she smiled at it—impotent. She could do nothing trapped on the sail in her damned robe, the blanket around her like an Indian squaw, her bones shivering, her teeth chattering.

She looked beside her—a young man, almost equally as cold, she guessed, his cheeks and the edges of his ears red tinged in the wind that blew across them both.

She looked at the M-the young man held, not to guard her but to guard the sail, to secure the submarine from possible boarders. There were nearly a dozen more men on the deck, bundled in peacoats, white sailors caps tucked down on their heads, M-rifles in their hands.

"Sailor—what did Commander Gundersen instruct you to do if the shore party couldn't get back?"

"He told the exec to pull out, ma'am—least that's what I hear, ma'am."

"What if the shore party is coming back, but under fire?"

"We're to guard the deck, ma'am—that's it."

"Not return fire to cover them."

"Against orders, ma'am," and he smiled.

She smiled at him, too, judging his height, his weight—if he fell, how could she best keep his head from cracking against the rail or on the steel plating of the sail's deck?

She edged slightly closer to him, her eyes watching the rocks, flashes of gunfire visible there in the darkness and flashes of—she couldn't tell what.

There was a dull sounding roar, like the waves against the beach, but more indistinct—like a human chant.

Natalia shivered again, waiting.