Battleground

4

Gunner's Mate First Class Pete Vuylsteke woke up first. His back hurt where he had slept on the hard floor. He poked Perez beside him, and looked around for Tretter. "Where the hell's the black kid?" Vuylsteke whispered.

Doc Perez rubbed his eyes. "Last time I saw him he was snoring over there. He sure ain't there now."

Vuylsteke looked through the broken window. "Damn near daylight outside. We gonna be safe in here? Where the hell is Tretter?"

They heard something at the edge of the broken-down building, and both dropped flat on the floor. The sound came closer, then Tretter stepped around the crumbling wall and waved.

"Hey, the two sleeping beauties have awakened. I should give you a medal already. Gents, I've been out and about on this fine day, and I bring back food.

"Had one hell of a hard time out there faking it. Nothing is open yet. Went down one street and looked in every small shop. Got to another street and saw a woman in an alley. She came my way. I waited and talked to her. She pegged me right away as an American. Clothes, she said. She pulled me into a doorway and we talked. Turns out she was looking for her milk delivery somebody forgot to bring.

"She said she wasn't at all sympathetic to the new military rule. She knew about our ship getting hijacked. She said the U.S. Navy would blow up half the town in two days to get the ship back.

"I asked her if she could help hide three of us. She frowned and said maybe. If I could help her. Hell, I said anything, we'd help her do whatever she wanted.

"So I found this fine little mama who says she'll help hide us, but, like, we have to play the game with her."

Tretter put down two plastic sacks. Inside were two loaves of bread, a small jar of jam, a dozen hot dogs, and three bananas. He pulled out another jar, a larger one, that contained some dark brown strips.

"Kippered fish, gents. A real delicacy. I didn't ask her what kind of fish. You dig?"

Already Perez had eaten one of the bananas. Vuylsteke had pushed two of the hot dogs inside a cut-off strip of the round loaf of bread, and had his mouth full.

"What's our security?" Perez asked as he broke off a chunk of the bread.

"This mama has a small place and neighbors. Nobody moving around when I was there. She says she can help us, but we got to help her."

"I smells me some trouble," Perez said.

"Oh, she said she heard the word last night. If any of the soldiers occupying Mombasa spot any U.S. sailors running around, they have orders to shoot to kill."

Vuylsteke waved his sandwich. "Yeah, figures. What does this broad want?"

"First she said I had to smuggle her on board our ship when we get it out of here. I told her not a chance. Then she said we had to get her a visa to come to the U.S. where she can be a recording star. She's a singer."

"Evidently," Vuylsteke said.

"I said easy. Just apply at the embassy in Nairobi."

"That do it?" Perez asked.

Vuylsteke waved his hand and pointed to the far end of the building. They could hear voices. Then somebody pushed over some boards and they clattered on the floor.

The three sailors gathered up their food, and edged behind a half-torn-down wall. The voices came closer. A few moments later they could see two black policemen in khaki uniforms. Neither one had a gun. Both had nightsticks. Now the sailors could hear the English words.

"They tell us to search the place so we search," the taller one said. "Otherwise we get shot. These guys have no brains."

"How long will this coup last?" the shorter one asked.

"Who knows. We be careful until then. Maybe the United States will come in to rescue their ship. Who knows?" The two policemen stood there a moment, then turned, and walked back the way they had come.

"We searched it. We tell them we searched the whole building and didn't find a thing except rat droppings."

"Yeah, that's good. Rat droppings." The smaller man shook his head. "Only, you can tell them, not me."

The sailors breathed easier as the two policemen went out the way they had come in.

Silently Tretter motioned for the other two sailors to follow him. They went to the near end of the building and Tretter looked out. It was daylight. Tretter rummaged around near a broken door until he found what he had left there. Straw hats, large and floppy.

"Put these on to cover those American heads. Keep your hands in your pockets and maybe we can fake it up two blocks. Hope not a lot of folks are awake yet."

They put on the hats and Tretter nodded. "For God's sake don't rush. We're almost on the equator here and it's gonna be hot as hell in an hour or two. Just mosey along. I've got the peashooter in my pocket if we need it."

They ambled across the dusty street to the alley and moved up it. A door banged somewhere ahead, but no one was there by the time they reached the spot. They saw no one along a second garbage-filled dirt alley that showed the backs of a few old buildings on both sides. They went across a wider dirt street to an alley, and paused inside in some shadows.

"Halfway up the alley," Tretter said. He scowled at them. "Don't gawk at this lady. She's half Arab and half Kenyan. She talks in English and sometimes Arabic, and some Swahili thrown in. Just take it easy."

"Hey, she can speak Hindustani for all I care," Vuylsteke said. "Can she save our swabby asses from that wigged-out crazy colonel?"

"Yeah, I think she can. The Army killed her brother. A lot of the Kenyan people look down on the Arabs and the Arab mixtures. She's not a happy camper."

"She got a big place?" Perez asked.

Tretter gave him a snort for an answer, and they meandered on up the alley. Then in a blink they were gone. All three had stepped into a dark doorway that opened to a knock. They went up wooden stairs to the third floor, and then down a hallway. The person who led them was a small woman, no more than five feet tall, with long straight black hair and dark clothes.

She opened the door at the end of the hallway and slipped inside. Tretter waved the other sailors in. The woman closed the door and faced them. She was tiny and slender and had a creamy brown complexion. She wore no makeup, but her eyes glowed a deep brown. She wore a long black skirt and black blouse. Her face was grim.

"So, United States Navy sailors. I help you, you help me, no?"

They nodded.

"The Army kill my brother. I want you kill three Kenyan Army soldiers for me. Three for one, my family tradition."

"I don't know, lady," Vuylsteke said. "We do that, and the whole fuc — the whole damn Kenyan Army gonna be down here looking for us." He was the senior man. It was his call.

She shrugged. "You think about. I live alone. Have two rooms. No close friends. Work at place across town. You stay here. Be quiet. Tonight I show you how to kill Army soldiers and not get caught."

"Oh, guys, this lady's name is Pita," Tretter said. "It means the fourth-born, but she says she was only the second-born. Pita, this is Vuylsteke and Perez."

"Am pleased to meeting you. Now must go see my mother."

"Pita, is there anything to drink?" Tretter asked. "Water, coffee. We're all dry as hell."

Pita frowned for a moment, then brightened. "Yes, I have Coca-Cola. You like?"