Life as a New Hire Ch. 32

"Bikini bimbos, or studious college types?" Pamela snickered. It was a given that there would be women onboard. I really do have that kind of luck. We broke out of the woods and narrowly avoided getting stuck in the muddy river bank. Sure enough, a wooden, nine meter long barge rebuilt as a house boat was gently working its way north. Four women were in barely-clad evidence.

I didn't waste a minute. My FN P-90 went to Pamela and my clothes were shed in true horn-dog fashion. Two of the women noticed me by the time I was down to my white boy shorts underwear. My dive was graceful, my strokes strong and my welcome very promising. One girl remained piloting this beast while the other three gained two more friends.

[Hungarian] "What happened to you?" the leader, a girl with thin blonde hair, large sunglasses and a petite build asked. Three of them helped me on board, despite my blade strapped to my forearm. Goddess, you have to love what water does to white fabric and combat arouses me.

[Hungarian] "I'm a contract killer in training," I began weaving my tale.

[Hungarian] "My maternal Grandmother, who I thought was dead since I was a small boy, has come back to teach me the family trade," I embellished. "The people who murdered my family tracked us down to an inn a few kilometer away and they are hot on our trail." The sane response was to call the cops and let me fend for myself.

To counteract that, I was presenting my nearly naked, obviously bruised and scarred body for their feminine perusal. I had also bolstered my masculinity score (I was a hunter of men - hopefully bad men). My concern for a non-threatening (from a sexual standpoint) female friend (thus proving I embraced the concept of loyalty) further elevated my desirability. The hormonal response was to save my life with the near guarantee of some righteous dicking to come.

The women exchanged some hurried glances and came to a consensus.

[Hungarian] "We will help," the leader offered.

[Hungarian] "I need to go back to the bank and get my Grandmother and our gear," I said. Four of the women had on khaki shorts and bikini tops.

Two dropped their shorts to reveal bikini bottoms and the three of us swam back to the shore. Pamela had secured out weapons in the duffels and stripped down to her bra and panties. The four of us divided up the weight and made for the boat. The dogs were getting louder. The girls took our body armor while Pamela and I carried our luggage.

Despite our ironmongery, I could tell the girls weren't totally invested in my story until the first armed men and dogs appeared along the bank. Pamela took a sniper's perch on top of the cabin compartment, concealed by solar panels. I was positioned by pilot's station in the stern. This boat was never designed for speed, plus it was chugging against the weak current, so our progress to the far side of the river was achingly slow.

In our favor was the shape and flora of the banks. The riverside had thick undergrowth right to the water's edge. The first meter into the water was slimly algae over slick mud. The heavy undergrowth went inland over three meters which made nice cover, except that once you fired, we would pin the shooter to that spot because the land was molasses-like muck, which made quick movement difficult.

In contrast to their dubious concealment, Pamela and I had thick, multi-planked wood as hard cover. It was a stalemate - we would catch glimpses of Ajax's troops on the west bank of the river. Well, it was a stalemate until they brought up some machineguns. Those, with a good deal of small arms fire and a few grenades, would chip the boat to splinters and we'd risk being sunk.

Our Hungarian Captain, Jolan, had gone full throttle, which equated to a lightning speed of 13 kph (8 mph). Pamela judged our pursuers could, at best, do 17 kph (10.5 mph) over the rough terrain.

[Hungarian] "How much farther is the west bank covered in forest?" I asked the Skipper. Orsi, the spokeswomen for this college set, answered instead.

[Hungarian] "There is thick woods all the way to Mindszent," she informed me. Since I appeared lost, she added, "Mindszent is on the east bank and it has a ferry, not a bridge."

I kissed - really kissed her. The 'get her heatedly moaning, chest pressed against me while she grinds her crotch into my lap' kind of kiss - I was still kneeling out of fear of being shot.

Katalin, the third Hungarian on the crew, cleared her throat. The crew were college friends who had made the refurbishment of this old barge a group project. Monika, the German, was the architect. Anya, the Bulgarian, was the mechanical engineer who had rebuilt the twin inboard engines that were now propelling us northward against the sluggish current.

Magdalena was a Slovakian Jewish girl and artist; she had been the one to find this old barge. She had also ponied up half the money to make this restoration possible. Hungarian Orsi was the other financier of this project, and a practical electrical engineer, the type that could keep the generators and appliances functioning.

Skipper Jolan, the only seasoned sailor, was familiar with the Danube and many of its tributaries - including the Tisza, plus she was an economics major and the team book-keeper. Katalin was the interior designer, and if she was anything like her friends, a damn good one. I hadn't made it inside yet to verify that.

[Hungarian] "I think someone is trying to signal you," Katalin pointed.

Pamela hadn't put a bullet in them yet to avoid reciprocal fire. I looked over the gunwale and there was this one guy holding his gun aloft.

"It is one of those people from last night," Pamela identified him for me. Sure enough, it was that guy, except he had camo paint on his face, high-tech camouflage clothing, body armor, an assault rifle held over his head plus a few other secondary weapons.

I took a chance, stood up and held my P90 over my head.

[OKH] "Pamela, don't forget, Ajax was historically accompanied by his half-brother, Teucer, who was renowned as an archer," I cautioned her. That probably translated over to a modern sniper, or so I feared.

[OKH] "Oh...I hadn't recalled that," Pamela snorted. "The pansy probably uses a DSR-50." That was the modern German equivalent of the tiny .50 BMG caliber, direct-fire cannon.

[Mycenaean Greek] "Hey guy," I shouted. "How are you doing?"

[Mycenaean Greek] "Better than Augewas," he replied (Augewas must have been the machine gunner). "Ajax wishes a parlay."

[Mycenaean Greek] "Sorry about your friend. Such is war. How about we speak a current language? I don't want my hosts to be left out of this conversation."

"English appears to be your native tongue. It will do. Do you agree to the parlay?" the man asked. I looked to Jolan and Orsi.

"We speak okay English," Orsi confirmed.

"I agree to your parlay. Tell Ajax he can swim on over and we'll help him onboard," I said.

"Since we hold the upper hand, I suggest you come to us," the man countered.

"What is your name?" I requested.

"Eruthros," he answered. That meant 'red' in his native tongue.

"Okay, Red, I'm coming over. I'll keep my personal blade," I replied.

Having just re-dressed, I undressed. I rummaged through my duffel for my 'Hail Mary' weapon. It was worth a shot.

"Cáel, normally I accept you doing infantile crap. This time, I'd like to know what you've got planned...beyond defeating the purpose of getting on this boat in the first place," Pamela insisted.

"I'm operating on my pathetic knowledge of Greek hospitality and how this parlay-shit works," I replied. "I'm seeing if I can buy us some time."

"Cáel...I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd come back in one piece," she told me. That was unusual, considering the number of times I'd faced death since we first met.

"I got this covered," I jibed. "After all, I passed every on-line course in the 'Mortal Kombat Conflict Resolution' curriculum, so what could possibly go wrong? By the way, do you think Ajax took that 'bull testicle' thing seriously?"

"I love you," was all Pamela could reply.

I finished stripping down, but before I could dive over the side, both Jolan and Orsi hugged me tightly.

"If I make it back alive, will you two consent to have sex with me? I need something to live for," I grinned pleasantly at them. The 'sexy' would come later.

They looked at one another, over to the other three companions currently visible and finally back to me. They were teary-eyed.

"Yes, if you make it back Cáel, we will ALL have sex with you, if you think that promise will help you stay alive?" Orsi offered.

"Cool. I'll definitely find a way to keep those fifty guys at bay," I kissed Jolan and Orsi on the forehead. Downplay the erotic - elevate my sincerity in the 'life and death' struggle to get back to them. I dove into the cool waters of the Tisza and made to the hostile shore. Red and a buddy were there to help me out. I declined and they didn't seem to mind.

My fingers had barely combed my wet hair out of my eyes when I came face to face with Ajax. He was even more imposing in person than he had been in the vision Tadêfi had imparted to me. He was a few centimeters over two meters (6' 9") and one hundred and forty-five kilograms (320 lbs.) of solid muscle.

He was also a hairy cuss, with long, thick black hair, a trimmed mustache and beard, and body hair evident on every bit of exposed flesh, except his palms. I wasn't certain who would have out arm-wrestled who - him or dead uncle Carrig. He was equipped in a modern style - firearms and body armor similar to his men. On the plus side, he was smiling at me.

What followed was in his native language, Mycenaean Greek.

"I was told you didn't lack courage," he noted.

"I am indeed fearless," I retorted, "but I make up for it by being dumb as a stump." Laughter all around. By that time, the assembled Greeks amounted to over twenty men, Molpadia / Kwenhamai and four large hunting dogs.

Oh crap, they sympathized with me. I remained optimistic in the face of death and that resonated with them - these ancient warriors.

"I am here to kill you," Ajax stated.

"Yes, that was my view of the situation as well - one of us having to gak the other," I corrected.

"Are you prepared to die then?" he regarded me with a certain kinship.

"It depends on how I die," I grinned. "If it is 'death by zug zug'...well, I ain't going out like that. Be prepared to shoot me as I run away." More laughter.

"I like you," he patted my shoulder. "You have a knife. We can knife fight?"

"I'm not 100% up on the rules for parlay, but I was thinking that we would be working out arrangements for a fight at some set time in the future," I said.

"You would be wrong," Ajax shook his head. "Your people, the Amazons, used dishonorable means to kill me and my men, so I am not obligated to treat you as an equal."

That was Ajax being an asshole. The Amazons poisoned him because he'd lured the Amazons to a dinner, then drugged, raped and enslaved them. Bringing that up would be pointless. History had painted him to be a misogynist and Molpadia / Kwenhamai - I was going to start calling her Kwen - was screwed if she was hoping Ajax would restore her mother's honor.

There was an upside to all of this. I really hadn't expected Ajax to confer safe passage with his offer of parlay anyway. I thought he and his men actually understood that was my expectation coming into this. For whatever reason, they didn't translate my actions to be anything but assisted suicide. Their bad. My Hail Mary was really just my opening gambit. Life finds a way.

"I will meet you half way," I offered. "You have chosen the time and the place of this parlay, so it is only fair to allow me the choice of weapons."

"Out of respect for your personal courage, I will agree. How do you wish to perish?" Ajax nodded. I presented my 'secret weapon' - a bag of knucklebones.

"You are wagering your life on a game?" Ajax scoffed.

"As opposed to a whole series of martial contests I have no chance at? Yeah, I'm staking my life on my hand-eye coordination," I grinned. Knucklebones is the granddaddy of modern day Jacks and was played at the time of the Trojan Wars.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that any scion of the Amazons would choose to go out like a man," Ajax muttered. I hit him. I hit him hard enough to rock him back a half step. The group mirth quieted down.

"Beware Greek," I growled. "I am Cáel Wakko Ishara and my people left your body buried in the soil of Troy. We have survived all these centuries while the remnants of your children are nothing more than curiosities in museums. I will banter over my life. My kin are not to be mocked."

"Your kin are cowardly women," Ajax laughed. "It seems you wish to die at my hands. So be it."

"You know much of cowardice and nothing of men," I snidely responded. "There is nothing terribly honorable about killing people anyway." Why wasn't the crowd rushing in to pummel me? Smack-talking was the martial norm for these guys.

In a way, they accepted that Ajax had that hit coming for his insult to my people. And Yes ..., they hated the Amazons too. But that didn't mean any of them would get a bye when insulting them in my presence. Had I denigrated all the men of Salamis, Ajax's kingdom, I could have expected the punch I gave him.

"I'm sure you and your gang disagree, except all of you ended dead because you were lousy hosts and pathetic jailors, so your opinion can't be all that useful, now can it?" I dredged up our common history. "Ajax, you remain a bully, a thug and an insult to true masculinity. Let's dance, Brony," I defied him.

"You remain amusing to the bitter end. Are those your last words?" Ajax was getting ready to rip me to pieces. I wasn't going down without a fight.

"On second thought," I fell into my Brazilian jujutsu stance, "it might as well be 'Where there is Valor there is Hope'."

"You have valor without merit, Cáel...Wakko...Ishara...Nyilas...whoever you are," he mocked me. "Die knowing I will send everyone you love to the Black Sands...including your 'daughter'," Ajax chuckled. If he thought threatening Aya was going to unsettle me, it only showed he had no idea who Katrina was. Aya had far more effective guardians than me. I was still going to make sure he died with as much extra pain as I could pack on for daring to bring her up.

Three blows. It took him three pulverizing blows to put me where I wanted to be. Being a martial legend apparently had its downside. He may have been one of the most epic warriors who ever lived, but now, fighting the sexiest male doofus to have ever challenged him, he neglected to keep an eye on the terrain we were fighting on, or more accurately, he disregarded my stratagem - which included me not dying.

Two blocked punches drove me back.

The third blow, the kick, sent me flying into the river. It took every ounce of willpower I had left to force myself back to my feet. I half-lunged back at Ajax, prepped my lungs for a long, underwater sojourn, then turned and lunged into the current. With the most powerful strokes I could muster, I swam deeper and deeper.

My progress startled a Starry Sturgeon that bolted in a slightly higher, nearly parallel path to me. That poor bastard must have lived 60 years to get to his 2.3 meter (7' 6"), 80 kg. (176 lbs.) size. The critical factor at the moment was that, in the muddy waters of the Tisza, his wake was far more visible than mine.

Ten assault rifles opened up on what they thought was yours truly. I owed my life to that one tough fish. He must have soaked up fifty rounds before finally going belly up. I swore by Dot Ishara that if I survived scenic Central Europe, I was going to sponsor a Starry Sturgeon reintroduction program. I had thought the Starry were extinct on the Tisza...and now they probably were.

What I didn't know was the gamble Pamela was engaged in. How stupid of me was it to give her sniping advice? Pamela borrowed one of the girl's iPads, recorded herself looking into it for ten seconds then looped the footage. She placed the iPad far enough in her primitive blind so that it could be confused for her actual face.

Pamela then settled in beside her rifle with her own spotter's scope and went looking for her opposition. She couldn't simply move to a secondary location because odds were my P-90 might not have the range to reach ole Teucer. When I leapt beneath the water, Teucer blew the iPad to pieces. Pamela spotted the shot, rolled over to her gun and returned fire.

Teucer must have realized that human heads don't explode like that - he was firing a .50 BMG - and understood that he was on the wrong side of the sniper/counter-sniper equation. Upstream, he was busy throwing himself out of the tree he'd been using to shoot from when Pamela put a bullet through his left collarbone where it intersected his throat.

Had he not been diving deeper into the forest she would have killed him by severing his spinal cord between the C2 and C3 vertebrae. As it was, he got to live, but he would be convalescing for quite a while. Now with Teucer dealt with, it was time for Ajax and company to feel her wrath. She put three of them down - one definitely dead (a human head doesn't expand like that and survive).

She would have put a bullet into Ajax, except one of his men tackled him to the ground. Killing the SOB would have made her Christmas, but stopping the Mycenaeans from shooting at me (aka Mr. Starry Sturgeon) was her primary concern. My lungs were on fire by the time I clawed my way under the vessel and came up on the far side. Jolan had slowed and moved toward the west bank when I swam to meet Ajax.

The engines were roaring to full power again. Orsi and Monika, shielded by the mass of the main cabin, helped me up. This time it took an extreme effort because I was even more bruised and completely exhausted from my extra-long underwater swim and generally having my ass-kicked. I didn't have much time to recover. As soon as Ajax's group had made themselves scarce, they began taking pot-shots at the boat.

It was a harassment tactic. They could shoot at us while using the trees trunks as cover. Even if a limb, or piece of underbrush deflected, or slow downed the round, we still had to keep crouched down and on edge. The 'race' was on for Mindszent. Ajax's crew had to get back to their vehicles, then race to the ferry landing.

If they could get people on both banks, it was pretty much over for Pamela and me. A long history of equivocating during my college years, plus my incarceration at Havenstone, helped me formulate a plan. I borrowed Jolan's phone and called the United States. I was dialing in a bomb threat from a source everyone would believe - the CIA. Don't laugh.

I had finally found a use for Senior Field Officer George Cresky, after all. It took four rings. The poor bastard was probably sleeping in on...early Saturday morning. He was probably curious how I /Katrina found out his mobile number as well. That would wait.

"Wa...huh..." George mumbled. He didn't recognize the number calling him.

"George! Wake the fuck up," I raised my voice. "This is Nyilas and I have a problem."

"Nyilas...how the fuck do you have my personal number?" old George bolted awake.

"Funny story - I'll get to it later. Right now I need for you to fabricate a bomb threat against the ferry at Mindszent, Hungary.

Get that ferry to the east - I repeat EAST - bank of the Tisza River," I explained.

"Is there a bomb on the ferry?" he questioned.

"Of course there isn't a bomb on board the damn boat. I'm being chased by fifty mercenaries and bad shit is going to happen to me and six hot chicks if they reach that ferry," I related.

"So you want me to send a false terrorist bomb threat to a NATO ally in order to save your ass?" George was drawing this out.