Wellington swerved the car again, more shots rang out, and Napoleon lost his balance. He reached behind, caught himself on the dashboard, his hand pressed firmly on a large flat button beneath it.
"God, Napoleon!" Wellington yelled. "What did you do?"
"What did I do what?" Napoleon answered, shoving himself away from the dashboard.
"Look behind!"
Napoleon looked. The car following immediately to the rear was fishtailing back and. forth on the street as if floating on ice; It veered off to one side, straightened, then turned completely around.
"Oil! You hit the release for oil!" Wellington crowed.
The other car just managed to avoid running into the first, but in doing so skidded off the road and into the brush by the edge of the Park. A volley of shots came from the darkened undergrowth.
"The Cong!" Napoleon whispered. "Damn! The Cong have got them!"
"Bully for them!" Wellington replied. "The other fellow's got his car under control now."
"How dose are we to where we're to make the drop?"
"A few more turns of the road."
The car behind was gaining speed again. Napoleon flipped the safety off the Uzi, and gently leaned out the window.
"For God's sake. Napoleon, be careful!" Marie said.
"Huhn." He braced his knees against the seatback and the door, hoped it was locked tightly, and tried to get a good aim.
Wellington swerved violently as shots came from the pursuing-car. Thrown off balance again. Napoleon squeezed off a round into the night.
"Shit, Wellington! Let's not overdo it!"
Wellington cursed, "The devil with the drop spot! I'm headed for the armory!"
And possible Roman assistance. Napoleon remembered his own trip there, clad in the khaki uniform of a legionary. It was not much farther to the armory and, if Attila had not been seriously hurt, he should have gotten a message through that events had deteriorated beyond control.
Wellington turned the car sharply to the right, skidded on gravel, and sped down the armory parking lot. Napoleon leaned out the window again, the Uzi steady in his hands, as the pursuing car followed, its occupants shooting as they came.
"Merde!" Napoleon jerked back inside. "That was too damned close for comfort.
I heard the bullets go by my ear." He reached behind and pushed on the large button again.
Nothing happened. The, oil was obviously used up.
And just as Wellington took another quick turn down between a wide row of parked vehicles, a large truck rolled out of the night behind the Mercedes.
The car following slammed on its brakes, skidded and plowed head-on into the truck.
The explosion that followed shook the Mercedes. Napoleon ducked, pushed Wellington's head down, and thought briefly of Marie, squashed on the seat.
Easing on the brakes, Wellington brought the car to a halt.
The glare of flames lit up the parking lot and something exploded again, showering burning pieces of metal in all directions. One clunked off the roof of the Mercedes and rattled into the darkness.
"My God!" Wellington breathed, looking over his shoulder. "That truck -- it must have been filled with explosives."
Napoleon nodded, turned around in his seat, -and reached down for Marie.
"Are you all right?" he asked, snapping the safety on the Uzi and slipping it back under the seat.
"I think so." Her hair was mussed, her face drawn, but she tried to smile.
"O God, Marie." Napoleon hugged her tight.
"Napoleon." Wellington touched his shoulder. "We're getting company."
He lifted his head and looked: a jeep drove toward them around the burning truck and car, garishly limned against the hellish background. The occupants were faceless, but Napoleon thought he knew the stocky man sitting next to the driver.
"It's Attila. I'd recognize that set of shoulders anywhere."
He let go of Marie, smoothed her hair back from her eyes, and opened the door.
His knees were shaking but they steadied as he stood up. Wellington had gotten out of the other side of the car and stood with his hands behind his back, the .45 held ready just in case.
The jeep stopped with a squeal of brakes and Attila jumped out.
"By the Sky, Napoleon!" he grinned, striding forward. He slapped Napoleon's shoulder. "That was some chase!"
Napoleon felt relieved that he had left his gun in the car: the temptation might have been too strong.
"Where were you?" he grated.
"Some fool sneaked up on me in the dark," Attila said, rubbing the back of his head. "Nearly brained me, he did. Fortunately, I was carrying a field phone and was able to get the message out that things had gone wrong."
"You're a master of understatement," Wellington said, coming around the car to stand by Napoleon.
"Why, thank you. I try." Attila looked back at Napoleon. "Do you have them?"
Napoleon glanced at the driver of the jeep, a young Roman clad in fatigues.
"Who's he?"
"He's all right; The courier. The papers should be in Caesar's hands within the half hour."
"Huhn." Napoleon reached under his vest and withdrew the papers. By now, they were limp with sweat. Let Caesar worry about that. "Here. I hope I never see them again."
Attila grinned, trotted over to the jeep, and handed the papers to the young Roman. The man stuffed them down the front of his shirt, saluted Attila, and drove out of the parking lot in a shower of kicked-up gravel.
"Don't worry about him," Attila said, coming back to Napoleon's side. "He'll have support all the way to Augustus' villa."
"Damn sight more than we had," Napoleon growled. Attila managed to look highly offended.
"You mean the Cong didn't help?"
"The Cong?" Wellington asked. "What the hell has the Cong got to do with this?"
"More than you suspect," Attila said, his slanted eyes crinkling in a smile.
"And if you don't know-"
"We won't ask," Napoleon inserted. "God knows we won't ask."
Marie had gotten out of the car and now stood by Napoleon, brushing the dirt and wrinkles from her gown. Attila nodded to her, then turned to the Mercedes.
"I see they managed to wing you several times," he said, running a blunt fingertip down a scratch across the trunk. "I wonder what Papa Doc's going to say about this?"
"Let Caesar explain it." Napoleon walked to the car, opened the back door, and retrieved Marie's shawl, Wellington's hat, and his own. "You're driving this, then?"
"I'm sure as shit not going to walk," Attila grinned.
"A Hun on foot? Never."
"Huhn. Where's my car?"
"Over behind the trucks." Attila pointed off to his left. "I'm going. Still on duty, I'll see you people later."
Napoleon bit down on his lip to avoid saying anything else as the King of the Huns got into Papa Doc's car, threw it in gear, and drove out of the parking lot. "Well, I'm certainly glad that's over," Wellington said, as Napoleon and Marie started toward the car. "And it's so good to see you dressed up and getting out again."
Napoleon glared. "Three, Wellington. That's three!"
THE GOD OF THE GAPS
Gregory Benford
Courage will not save you; but it will show that, your souls are still alive.
-George Bernard Shaw
The dirt road had turned to mud long ago beneath the slow gray drizzle and the tramping of feet. Gregory Markham watched the straggling line of men and women. They moved steadily but without obvious fear, as if fleeing a customary and sluggish foe. They were a herd, bothered but basically docile, moving on.
Some who had horses rode them along in the ditch, which was firmer, than the road now. Others had hitched them to lumbering, poorly made wooden carts.
Markham saw a lumbering water buffalo, head down and huffing as it pulled a long wagon. Its owner had piled furniture and mattresses, lumpy bundles and wooden boxes into the wagon-even his family, too. The buffalo had to drag all that and the wheels kept clogging with mud. The owner would climb down and shave the mud off the spokes and rim with a short shovel and then kick the animal to get it started again. Markham didn't think the buffalo had long to go.