Act III

Kirby slept until the boat engine was started in the middle of the night. Squirrel had fallen asleep, sitting on the floor and leaning against the bed. The engine woke her too and after she had checked on both her patients, she left the room, pulling a shawl around her shoulders. Kirby tried moving one of his arms and instantly regretted it. He heard Saunders grunt beside him and managed to turn his head to see tired blue eyes trying to make sense of the shadows.

"What's goin' on?" Saunders asked.

Kirby muttered, "Dunno."

Saunders pushed his elbows down and levered up until his head cleared the pillow, he stared at Kirby's back for a long time before Kirby saw Saunders' eyes widen with realization. Kirby watched outrage and pain mix on Saunders' face, followed by the determination to seek revenge, and then the realization that he was sorely equipped to do so. Saunders' breath had quickened with the emotions, and Kirby watched him drag control back. Saunders pushed further upright until he was sitting up against the cabin wall, his casted hand resting over the bandages on his thigh. His other hand came to rest lightly against the corners of the gauze, his fingertips tracing the damage.

"Dieter do this?"

"He ordered it." Kirby said. "The girl..and one of Dieter's goons, stopped it."

Saunders forced hard angry breaths through his nose, turning his face away from Kirby. He fought hate and the tears threatening to spill, grateful for the sweat that would mask them if they did. He gritted his teeth until he had control again, and asked, "What does he want?"

Kirby sighed against the blanket, eyes closing. "Revenge. He was in a PW camp when his family was…" Kirby stopped, struggling to get the word and the idea out of his mouth. "Can't blame him." Kirby said instead. "He couldn't protect them, and he blames us for that."

"He told me...back at that farmhouse, that he had failed." Saunders said, his voice rough.

"He couldn't've known about-"

"He was talkin' about his buddies. His loyalty to his country." Saunders said. "He already thought he'd failed then. He gets…repatriated, sent back home to find his family…gone. Maybe somebody tells him it was American troops that did it."

"Americans did those things, Sar-Lieutenant. I mean…nobody wants to talk about it. But they did it." Kirby said, his voice small.

"I know."

"It was wrong." Kirby said.

"I know."

"Well what do we do about it?"

Saunders was quiet for a very long time. Outside they could hear and feel the vibration of the anchor rising onto the ship, then the shift as the weight of the heavy crook was moved into its storage position, and the boat began to plow into the wind.

"I don't know, Kirby." Saunders finally admitted. "I wish I did."

Kirby drifted to sleep and Saunders shifted on the bed so that he could gently pull the lightest blanket in reach over Kirby's back. He waited until the creases of pain had left Kirby's face before settling his hand in place on the crown of the corporal's head. He was tense until he heard the first soft snore.

The night outside was partly cloudy, moonlit and peppered with stars. Saunders ducked his head and watched out the small porthole as they picked up speed, rising higher on the surface of the water. After a time the young nurse appeared on the narrow walkway between the cabin and the outer wall. She had pulled a shawl over her shoulders and released her hair from the tight bun. She stood facing into the wind, and Saunders caught light glinting off tears decorating her face. She stood for a long time, watching the blackness, and Saunders, in turn, watched her.

When she moved to the cabin door he followed her quietly with his eyes. She stood in the opening for a long time, her vision adjusting to the dim interior. She started a little when she realized that Saunders was awake and watching her. She looked to Kirby, then gently closed the cabin door. Her hair settled like a cascade of loose feathers on her shoulders.

"He is asleep?" She asked.

Saunders nodded. "Thank you…for taking care of him."

"It is my duty." she said, her voice soft and exhausted.

"We're taking your bed." Saunders said.

The girl reached behind her and settled into the broad seat of a wicker chair. She brought her legs up, curling into a ball. The wicker creaked softly as she settled, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"Dieter wanted to torture you." She said without preamble. "That was why he brought me. I was to make sure you stayed alive, so that he could get the most out of you that he could before he killed you."

Saunders shifted on the bed, moving his leg and grunting with the pain. The girl watched him passively, until he caught a wince at the corner of her face.

"He thought I would enjoy watching it happen." She continued, turning her face to the window in the cabin door. "He wanted me to take part in it. Exact revenge for what was done to our family." She began to cry softly, and shook her head, wearily. "This is not revenge. In English the word means to inflict harm on someone for a harm caused by their own hands. In German it is Rache." The word ended with a sound that the girl made in the back of her throat. "Vengeance. The act of taking back what was destroyed, wounded, or stolen." The girl looked at him and shook her head.

"You do not hold my mother's life, my sisters' lives, in your hands. You never did. You can not repair what was done to our family." As the tears continued her accent deepened. "One of my sisters was whipped with a belt. That is why your friend was whipped. My mother had the fingers of her hands broken. Dieter wishes to do that to you. If I would let him, he would do worse to you both. Because worse was done to them."

"Kirby didn't whip anybody." Saunders said.

The girl covered her face with her hands, wrapped tightly in the cloth of the shawl and wept, shuddering so badly that the wicker chair creaked with each sob. She struggled to get control of her lungs, and her emotions. When she had, she aimed an angry, razor sharp question at the lieutenant.

"If you knew the names of the men who had done this…would you reveal it?"

Saunders swallowed the question like it was the key to a pair of cuffs that he was prepared to trap himself in. He wanted to say yes. A bastard who couldn't tell the difference between the enemy and a civilian, who couldn't tell the difference between fighting as a soldier, and punishing the enemy as a judge and jury, who took pleasure in causing pain, he deserved what he got. Saunders hoped with every fiber of his being that whoever had done those atrocities had been caught, held and punished by someone.

But could he turn anyone over to a kid like Dieter, whose moral compass had gone horribly askew, and who only knew pain, and the pain he wanted to inflict? Saunders pursed his lips and dropped his gaze, shaking his head.

"Then Dieter will kill you, both of you. Unless he has another target for his rage, you will be dealt the brunt of it." The girl sagged in the chair, too tired to deal with the emotions. "When we dock, I will be leaving. I have told Dieter that I will not be a party to this any longer. I will take Annette with me. She should not see this. She is far too young."

"You could take us with you." Saunders said.

"No."

"Why?"

The girl had moved to the edge of the chair, preparing to stand, but she paused. Her eyes trailed to Kirby who was moaning softly in his sleep.

"Is he a good man?" She asked. "Kind to women? Kind to his fellow soldiers?"

Kirby was Kirby. He could be kind, and he could be self-centered. He had a short temper and little in the way of tact, but he had a good heart. When he loved, he loved completely. And when he realized he was wrong he was capable of admitting to it. Kirby might not have been 'kind', but he was a good man.

"Why?"

"He thanked me." The girl said, a curious note to her voice. "Not even Dieter has thanked me."

"He said you stopped the beating. You and another man."

The girl nodded. "William. He is young. Dieter made him hold Kirby's head, so that he could not escape through unconsciousness. William could not stand to watch the pain."

The fury returned and Saunders left the bed, crossing the tiny space and yanking the girl to her feet. "Help us get off this boat." He growled. "Don't just stand by. Other women and men had to have stood by when those men hurt your family. American men, German men and women. It wouldn't have happened if someone had made a stand. If you leave you'll be no better than the men that whipped your sister. And the men that stood by, looked the other way and let it happen."

"Men like you." The girl hissed at him.

"No." Saunders felt his knuckles crack, realized how hard he was squeezing her wrists, and let her go. "I wasn't there, and if I had been I'd have stopped it."

He realized he was towering over her when his leg began to complain and he collapsed back onto the end of the bed, clamping a hand down against the reawakening pain. He wanted to lay back on the bed, but he resisted, trying to think around the pressure and heat in his leg.

"I don't expect you or Dieter to believe me. I can't change what other men did to your family and countless others. I can't bring them back. But if you let him continue. If you let him kill us, he will never stop. He will kill and he will be killed and the cycle will continue and the hate will never end."

"I can't stop him."

"You can!"

"I can't!"

"Why?"

The girl wrapped her arms around herself, and stared at the blanket covering Kirby's back. Before she could answer a horn sounded on the water. She thrust to her feet and braced the door jamb with her arms, staring out at the green and red running lights of an approaching ship, easily bigger than the yacht.

"This is the Coast Guard. We received a distress signal from this vessel. Turn off your engine and drop your anchor. If you are armed, drop your weapons over the side of the boat. Prepare to be boarded."

"Distress signal?" Saunders asked.

"William. He is the radio operator. Dieter will kill him for this betrayal."

Before Saunders could stop her the girl had yanked the door open and run out of the cabin. Saunders pushed up from the bed and managed two steps before his leg refused to cooperate. He was attached to an IV, and he ripped the needle from his arm before he grabbed the tripod stand the bottle had been dangling from. He tossed the bottle onto the bed and used the stand to get out of the cabin and onto the bow of the boat.

He waited for the Coast Guard vessel to swing around the front of the boat, then became the focus of the high power search light.

"I'm Lieutenant Saunders, US Army." He shouted as loud as he could. He drew in a breath to repeat the shout when a gun exploded behind him. He felt the round hit his right shoulder, grazing across the muscle, and saw a spray of his own blood burst into the air then drift on the wind. He ducked and scrambled back to the shelter of the cabin. More gunshots followed, peppered with automatic fire that the Coast Guard answered. Windows began to shatter above and around him, and Saunders scrambled to his knees, grabbed Kirby off the bed and dragged him into the narrow closet offering the only shelter in the cabin.

The movement woke Kirby, and he went from confusion to panic. The noise, the training that had taught him to seek cover, and then fight back, and the pain he hadn't felt in his sleep conspired to completely overwhelm the higher thinking part of his mind. Saunders struggled to keep himself and Kirby in the closet, and was terrified that he would have to knock the corporal out. Seconds before Saunders drew his right fist back, Kirby sagged against him. Saunders gasped for air and breathlessly thanked the higher powers for small mercies.

The fire fight didn't last much longer. The sound of the bigger and more powerful Coast Guard boat drifted away, out of range of the bullets, and the engine on the yacht died gradually. The Coast Guard continued to call instructions to the men on the yacht and Saunders was certain they were being ignored.

He made sure Kirby was secure before he crawled out of the closet. He stuck to the floor, picking his way through the glass and splinters of wood littering the floor. At the door to the cabin he paused and listened. German voices quested out into the night, some of them in pain, some of them in fear. He heard a female voice sobbing, but couldn't tell if it was their nurse or the younger Annette.

Saunders found the IV pole and used it to push to his feet. He stepped out onto the deck and went as far forward as he could before he stared up at the pilot house. Most of the windows were gone. The white washed room had been the primary focus of fire and it showed.

Chip braced himself on the wall and supported his weak leg with the IV pole. He managed to get around to the stairs that lead up to the pilot house. At the base of the stairs he found one of Dieter's goons. He was barely alive, lying in a pool of his own blood. Saunders took the gun the man carried, a modified, short barrel Schmiezer. There were still some rounds in the clip. Chip slung the gun over his shoulder and bent at the waist to do something about the wounded man.

He'd barely found the source of blood before the man died. Saunders closed his right fist in the man's shirt and dragged him from the steps before he started up them, leaving the IV pole down on the deck. Halfway up he adjusted the gun so that it was in reach.

His leg throbbed like it was broken by the time he reached the top step. Saunders sat on the landing, pulled his legs up into the narrow space, braced his right foot on the corner of the door, then shoved it open hard and fast. The door swung a few inches then was stopped by something.

Saunders heard a faint groan, then only the sound of the sea. He shifted forward and put his shoulder to the door, shoving against the weight of at least one body until he could get into the pilot house. He regretted it, instantly. All that remained of Dieter's men had been in the pilot house. One man had died in a firing position by the window. Saunders judged that the man on the radio was William. The third had died at the wheel. Dieter wasn't in sight.

Chip forced himself to his feet to avoid crawling through the blood and gore on the floor. He reached the radio, found it still working and called to the Coast Guard ship.

"My name is Saunders, I'm a lieutenant in the United States Army. I was taken aboard this boat as a hostage. Do you copy?"

"This is the Coast Guard vessel CG803445. Did you fire on us, over?"

"Negative. The men who fired on you are dead. I'm in the pilot house. I'm the only one alive up here."

"Give us your serial number, name, and rank. Over."

Saunders repeated the information.

"Turn off your engine and hold. We will confirm your identity with the Army. Hold and prepare to be boarded."

"Roger. Out."

Thirty minutes later Saunders and figured out how to turn off the engine. The Coast Guard radioed to tell him they believed him and the boat approached. Men younger than Saunders secured the boats together with buoys between the two hulls and scrambled up to the pilot house. Saunders surrendered his weapon happily and was helped down to the deck where he met the commanding officer of the vessel.

"Lieutenant Saunders?" Chip shook the man's hand, judging him to be about the same age as he was. He had short cropped blonde hair, the tan of a man spending most of his days outside and the calloused grip of a lifelong seaman. "Ensign Merriweather. Make fun of the name and you'll regret it."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ensign." Saunders said, wearily.

"You told us there was a fifth man on board?" Merriweather said, nodding to the four bodies that were being arranged on the deck.

"Younger man by the name of Dieter Holn. Former German infantry. There are also two girls on board. One of them is a nurse. And I have a corporal of my own in the forward cabin."

"Any chance this Holn is armed?"

Saunders sighed and nodded. "Good chance."

Merriweather turned and addressed a few of his men, ordering them to search the boat stem to stern with caution. Merriweather took the ship's medic with him to the forward cabin and they returned after a bit with Kirby, delirious but on his feet between them. They put a stretcher on the deck and lowered Kirby to his belly where he passed out promptly.

After a half hour Merriweather and his number two returned. By then Saunders had had his leg rewrapped, his shoulder graze covered with gauze, and had convinced the medic that once they boarded the Coast Guard vessel, the next to useless cast on Saunders' hand should come off.

"We found Mr. Holn. He's holed up in the lower cabin. He has the two women with him. One of them sounds like she's there willingly, and she's the one doing most of the talking. The other one is hysterical. We'd like to transfer you and your corporal to 445. We'll put the yacht on a towline and pull her to shallower water."

"Is Dieter armed?"

"The young lady, she calls herself Bette, says that he is. Sounds like Holn is in a lavatory at the back of the cabin with the other girl, Annette. Bette is in the front of the cabin. She says she's been tied up but we can't get a visual to confirm." Merriweather stood for a long moment then turned to start addressing his men. When he started to walk away, Saunders thrust a hand out.

"Wait…let me talk to him."

Merriweather studied him for a moment. "Let me understand the situation with you, Lieutenant. You're dead on your feet. Your corporal there has been badly beaten, and you've been through hell at the hands of this Holn-guy. And now you're suggesting to me that the wisest course of action is to let you down there with him?"

Saunders grabbed the railings of the staircase and levered to his feet. "Listen, I talked this kid down once before. He and a squad of kids were holed up in a farmhouse. They thought they were soldiers. They thought they were defending their country, but they were just scared boys. I talked them down then, I can do it again."

Merriweather studied him for a long moment then looked down to the mess of bloodied gauze covering Kirby's back. "You're not dealing with the same kid, Lieutenant. That's no kid, down there, that's a grown man. A repatriated German. A man without much of a country left to return to. There's no talking him down. I'm going to remove my men from danger and we'll wait him out."

"Where did you serve?" Saunders asked.

"The Solomon's." Merriweather said.

It was as if he had said "Battle of the Bulge" or "Normandy".

"If any of your guys stays on this boat, I'm staying with him." Saunders said.

Merriweather looked down at the bloodied pant leg, the shoulder wound and the bruised and abused fingers jutting out of a blood spattered cast. He gave Saunders a doubt-filled glance. "You'll submit to treatment first and I want it on the record that I object to this. We're in for a very long night, Lieutenant, and I don't think you're up for it."

Saunders let the ghost of a smirk pass his lips before Merriweather called one of his men over to help the lieutenant to the front cabin. Saunders was halfway there when Merriweather called, "Where did you serve?"

"Everywhere else." Saunders called back.

The boats were tied together by a towline. Kirby was taken to the Coast Guard vessel. Merriweather's men secured the bodies of Dieter's men in canvas but left them onboard the yacht.

In the forward cabin the cast came off and the medic secured gauze wrapped splints to his hand, cleaned the shoulder wound and gave Saunders a handful of aspirins. After he'd been given food and coffee, Saunders parked himself at the top of the steps that lead down to the lower cabin. Merriweather stood just behind him, armed with a radio, a side-arm and a canvas bag that contained food and medical supplies. Their first goal, Merriweather said, was to gain the trust of the hostage taker by providing him with necessities.

Traveling at a little over 25 knots, the Coast Guard vessel maintained a distance of 150 yards, pulling the yacht behind it.

"Bette, this is Saunders. Can you hear me?"

"Yes. I can hear you."

"Are you injured?"

"No."

"Are you still tied?"

There was a pause before Bette said, "Yes. I am still tied."

The hesitation in her voice, and the phrasing, told Saunders it was a lie, probably for the benefit of Dieter. He glanced up to Merriweather and saw that he had alerted to it as well.

"Can you open the door to the cabin?"

"I can. But I won't." Bette said.

"We have food and medical supplies." Merriweather called.

"I…" Bette's voice dropped in volume, then rallied. "I can not take them. Dieter says you must leave the boat. If you do not, he will blow us all away."

"Does Holn have access to explosives?" Merriweather asked Saunders, dropping his voice.

"First I've heard of it. But it wouldn't surprise me. He's been planning this for some time. He left explosives in my apartment."

Merriweather snapped his glare to Saunders. "You couldn't have told me that before!?"

"I forgot." Saunders shrugged.

Merriweather took a moment to digest how much the man had to have been through to forget discovering bombs in his home, then stepped away to talk to his men on the radio. A few minutes later their speed dropped.

"What's going on?"

"They're extending the tow line."

Saunders stared at Merriweather who protested, "I don't want my boat blown up."

The Coast Guard vessel had come to a stop while it played out the line. When the motor on the winch stopped 445 started moving forward again, slowly taking up the slack before both boats once more picked up speed.

"How close did you get to those bombs?" Merriweather asked him after they were once more underway.

"Close. Kirby, the corporal, took one apart in my driveway."

Merriweather told himself that he needed to stop letting Saunders' surprise him. "What did Kirby find?"

"Simple mechanics, black powder explosives and a friction primer."

Merriweather thought for a moment then asked, "Bette. Can you smell any gasoline in the cabin?"

"Yes." She said after a moment.

"Gasoline and black powder, a mechanical trigger. If we can get eyes on it, maybe we spot the trigger and prevent him from using it." Merriweather was mostly speaking to himself. "Why isn't he talking?"

"Dieter and Bette are siblings." Saunders said. "And Dieter was wounded. Maybe he can't talk."

"Maybe Bette is protecting him?" Merriweather asked.

Saunders nodded.

"Keep her talking." Merriweather walked away, putting distance between himself and the cabin as he talked to his men on the radio.

"Bette, how is Dieter?"

"I don't know. I can't see him."

"You're lying."

The girl was quiet for a moment before she said. "I think he…he might be dying."

"Then why don't you let us help him?" Saunders asked.

"Would you take help from the enemy?" Bette returned.

Saunders wanted to say that he wasn't the enemy, but in Dieter's eyes, and in the eyes of every defeated German, he was.

"If Dieter doesn't give himself up, he will die. You know that Bette."

"If he does, he will die. He intends to die."

"What about you?"

"He is my brother. He is all I have left." Bette said, and Saunders could hear her moving around the cabin.

"He's all that is left of your past, not your future."

After a long silence filled with the waves slapping against the hull Bette laughed. "What is this future? There is no future. The future ended when the Russians reached Berlin."

"That was Hitler's future." Saunders said, turning so that he could rest his wounded leg on the flat boards of the deck. He waited until his breathing had calmed again before he said, "You finally have the chance to break free of one man's twisted idea of the future. Why don't you take it?"

"You don't understand. No one but a German could understand."

"Understand what?"

"The German family. Every member has a purpose. A place. To fulfill that purpose is to fulfill everything. Every need and desire. My purpose, as the oldest child, is to look after my siblings. I became a nurse to look after my brothers and my pay went to my family, so that I could look after my sisters. I took care of the soldiers, knowing that once one of them chose me, and we had approval from the government, I would become a wife and mother. My purpose would be to serve the Reich by making strong future children.

I grew up this way, Lieutenant. There was no other future but the success of our mission. Failure was impossible. And now…we have only the impossible."

Saunders sat for a long time listening to the waves, the distant patter of Merriweather making arrangements on his radio, the engine of the Coast Guard boat droning distantly. What a bleak world. What a terrible world. What if America had fallen and been brainwashed into that ideology? Where the individual disappeared and there was only the collective, the country as one single, living and breathing entity.

Saunders grabbed the bag that held the food and medical supplies and turned once more so that his legs were in the stairwell. He forced his way up to his feet then descended slowly until he had reached the cabin door. It was locked.

Saunders rattled the handle, then gently said, "Unlock the door, Bette."

"I…I can't. I am tied."

"I'm not buyin' it. Unlock the door."

"I can not."

"Your job is to protect your siblings. You still have a sibling alive. Until he's dead, your job is the same. If you don't unlock the door I'll break it down. Dieter will blow us all up and you will have failed to do your job. So do your job, Bette. Open the door."

The door opened. In the gloom Suanders could see that Bette had taken a beating. She had a black eye, bloodied lip and nose and her clothes were badly torn, showing bruises and cuts underneath. Her hands had been tied and the lengths of rope still dangled from her wrists, but she had since cut herself free.

Saunders grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the cabin, dragging her up the stairs. She fought him, trying to pull free but he tightened his grip and gritted his teeth. They made it halfway up the stairs before Saunders had to stop. He collapsed onto the steps, maintaining his hold on Bette, but clutching at his wounded leg with his free hand.

It simply hurt too much to drag himself and a struggling girl up the stairs. He felt blood leaking through the gaps between his fingers, and soaking into the gauze holding the splint to his broken hand. He tried and failed to force his hand down harder against the wounds. A few drops landed on the steps below him and he finally had to let go of Bette, and use both hands to control the bleeding.

Bette didn't run. Her attention was focused on the blood and she tore one of her tattered sleeves free of her arm, balling the fabric up and stuffing it under the bandages. She did the same with the other sleeve, compacting the cloth and forcing it over the second wound. Silently they worked together to get out of the stairway and onto the deck.

"Don't go back down there. Stay up here." Saunders whispered harshly, trying to block the stairway with his body.

"Dieter is bleeding. If I do nothing for him he will die. You implored me to do my job. My job is to keep him alive." Bette said, loosening and retying the bandages on Saunders' leg, the knots so tight he could see his pulse beating against the cloth.

"Wait." Saunders forced air into and out of his lungs, struggling desperately to get past the renewed pain. "Wait. Who takes care of you? Whose job is that?"

"There isn't time." Bette said, wincing at the pressure of Saunders' fingers on her arm.

"The rest of your life, Bette." Saunders said, shaking her. "The rest of your life, my life. You've got eternity to answer my question, now answer it!"

Bette stopped struggling, her fingers prying at his. Saunders let her go and she closed her eyes, rubbing at the abused flesh.

"Who takes care of you?"

"My mother." Bette said, tears falling, her teeth gritted. "But she is dead."

"What about a husband? An American husband?"

Bette shook her head and got up from her knees, taking a few steps down toward the cabin.

"You could have that here, Bette. Any man would marry you in a heartbeat."

"Are you proposing, Lieutenant?" Bette asked, her tone angry. "Is this part of the American fairytale? The Cinderella story, over the rainbow? Does everyone live happily ever after?" Bette demanded, her voice rising in volume. "Let us die in peace, American. Tell the Coast Guard that we will not surrender. If you wish to live, you will leave this boat."

"What about Annette?"

"She is dead." Bette said, squaring her shoulders. "Dieter killed her because she was afraid."

"Why would you return to a man like that? A man who would kill a young, defenseless woman? Who forces his sister to care for their enemy?"

"He is my brother." Bette hissed at him. "I hate his very soul, but he is all…all I have left."

Before Bette could take another step the specter himself appeared in the doorway of the cabin. He was covered in blood, only some of it his own. He had an electrical-tape wrapped box in one hand, and a Luger in the other. He was barely standing on his own and Saunders could see blood dripping from his soaked shirt and pants, forming a bubble of crimson at the site of the wound itself.

Bette's voice dropped in volume and she spoke to Dieter in German, reaching her hands out toward him. Dieter bit a denial at her, turning the Luger on her and pulling the trigger.

Bette shrieked, her hands flying to the point on her shoulder where the bullet had gone through. Dieter stared at her, the gun still pointed, waiting as her knees weakened, and she crumbled into the corner of the landing.

Saunders moved before Dieter could point the gun at him. He crawled desperately in the direction Merriweather had disappeared. The ensign met him halfway there, dragging him upright and toward the bow of the boat.

"What happened?"

"Dieter came out. He's hurt bad. He shot Bette. He's got a bomb in one hand and a Luger in the other."

"Can you walk?" Merriweather asked.

Saunders clung to the outer wall of the upper cabin and shook his head.

Merriweather edged to the side wall of the bow looking down. "I've got a life raft below with some of my guys. I'm going to lower you down, then go after Bette."

"No."

"You don't have a choice, Lieutenant."

"I'm no good to you down there."

"You're a liability up here."

Saunders' arm launched out and he grabbed the ensign's sleeve. "Listen to me. Dieter won't last long. He's bleeding bad, worse than me. Bette is at the bottom of the stairs. To get her you have to get past him and he's hanging on by a hairsbreadth. All we gotta do is wait him out."

"What about the bomb?"

"It's a box…just a box."

"What about the trigger?"

Saunders gritted his teeth and admitted. "I don't know."

"You are getting on that boat, Saunders, willingly. Or I'll knock you out and dump you overboard."

A second later Dieter opened fire. Saunders and Merriweather ducked back behind the walls of the cabin, until the Luger ran dry. Merriweather pointed emphatically over the side then ran down the narrow walkway.

Saunders took the other side of the cabin and proved himself wrong, managing a stumbling walk that brought him out on the aft deck, seconds after Merriweather had taken Dieter down in a flying tackle. The bomb went flying and Saunders went after it.

Out in the open on the deck he had no support. After three steps his leg collapsed under him and Saunders crossed the rest of the open boards dragging himself by his elbows. The box had come to rest against the railing that separated the rear deck from the roof of the lower cabin. It teetered with every swell and dip of the waves, taunting Saunders as he dragged tired, bloodied and pain filled bones past the point of no return.

Somehow Dieter was still putting up a fight. Merriweather had his hands full, leaving Saunders the duty of bomb disposal. He reached the box, stopping it from falling in the last second, the very tips of the fingers on his broken hand keeping the box on the deck.

Saunders could barely breathe, knowing that everything hung on the strength of bruised and busted fingers. His leg was threatening to fall off and he was prepared to let it. The boat rose in the water, the box slid towards him a few centimeters and Saunders let go of it to switch hands and get a better grip. He dragged the box into his arms, then rolled gently onto his back, then onto his stomach again, his shoulders coming to rest against the side wall of the boat.

With the absolute last of his energy, Saunders lifted his right arm up to the railing, dragged his body upright and beached himself over the side of the boat. He palmed the box in his right hand and tossed it as far away from the boat as he could manage, watching it sail through the air and land with a distant splash in the rising waves. Seconds later the bomb made a beautiful arch of flame and smoke, exploding harmlessly on the surface of the sea.

Saunders turned and sank to the deck, clamping his hand down on his leg above the forest fire that had taken root there. On the other side of the deck he could see Merriweather bent over Dieter. The young man was still, eyes closed, but to Saunders' astonishment, he was still alive.

Merriweather stripped the young man of weapons, then called commands into his radio and Saunders heard the life boat traveling the length of the yacht. Merriweather helped another man climb aboard, then they worked together to lower Dieter to the lifeboat. More of his men climbed on board and two were assigned to get Saunders upright, while another two went to the lower cabin to collect Bette.

The transfer to the smaller boat was excruciating but Merriweather's men did it with the greatest of care. Saunders was given a tan, woolen blanket with the number of the Coast Guard vessel dyed into the wool. They waited on the waves for Bette to be lowered. Merriweather was the last to leave. He ordered his men to return back to the Coast Guard boat and sat panting by Saunders, watching one of his men give first aid care to the wounded girl.

"Annette was dead. Someone slit her throat." Merriweather said, then straightened and showed Saunders a gash on his left side. "Dieter got his hands on a straight razor. I'll wager it was him."

Saunders let his gaze rest on the man in question. He had every reason to hate Dieter. For his own sake, for Kirby's, for Bette's and Annette's. Later he would find he had even more reason for Hanley's sake. Alive or dead, through Bette's words, he knew that Dieter had already suffered more than Saunders could ever do to him. He was a man broken by his own fatherland. So twisted inside, that life itself was a torture. Hating Dieter was a waste of time. Dieter hated himself too much.

Saunders was dragged onto the Coast Guard vessel and laid on a stretcher before they carried him to the medical bay. They stripped his clothes off him entirely, cleaned the blood, sweat and dirt away, bandaged what was still bleeding, and covered him in a sheet and blanket. He was placed near Kirby on a bunk that was bolted to the floor. They gave him something for the pain and he felt like he was sinking into the mattress. He stared at the swaying ceiling until sleep claimed him.