Destiny (6 page)

Chapter
Nine

Location Irlendria / Marcus Tullius Cornisus:

Letting the whistle fall to his chest, Decanus Cornisus bellowed at his bulls. “On my command, clear the walls!” To either side of him, Cornisus saw gladiuses rise in the air. Lifting his blade above his head, Cornisus bellowed again. “Clear the walls!”

As one the legionnaires slashed down in front of their scutas with their razor sharp tinnearlian blades, slicing through the ironidium spears hammering against their shields. Again Cornisus bellowed.

“Advance!” Striding forward, the battle line smashed their scuta into the phalanx, splintering more spearheads. “Clear the walls!”

“Advance!” A blow slammed against Cornisus’ greaves as he felt a dagger skitter off his armor. Lifting his shield up Cornisus eyes widened in shock as he saw a young guard grabbing for his armored hoof. As the guard pulled his dagger back for another strike, Cornisus smashed his scutum at the male.

Ignoring the blood streaming down his ruined face, the guard weakly reached once more for Cornisus’ armored leg.

Cornisus felt his vision blur to red as he began hammering uncontrollably at the male’s ruined face. Again and again he slammed the scutum down with all of his might, but the guard simply ignored the terrible blows as he strained to reach Cornisus with his dagger.

Unbelievably, Cornisus felt more hands clutching at his shield. Stepping back, he ripped his scutum free, quickly assessing the situation with a practiced eye. It didn’t make any sense. Instead of falling back once they’d lost their spears as legionary tactics dictated. The Praetorians had thrown away their shields and were now attacking with only their daggers.

What in Akras name was wrong with them? They were throwing their lives away for no reason!

Hammering at the Praetorians with his scutum, Cornisus waded back into position using his gladius like a scythe. Every sweep of his blade sliced through the grasping hands and arms, but still the guards silently hammered at his shield wall with their bloody stumps as they sought to drag him down.

Heart pounding, Cornisus felt the touch of fear creep into his chest for the first time. Even during the Great War against the Tuonellians Hordes, he’d never witnessed anything as horrifying as this. It was as if they were fighting against the living dead! Bile rose in the back of Cornisus’ throat as he saw the legionnaire next to him go down screaming underneath a bleeding oozing pile of biting guards.

In a fear-driven fury, Cornisus began slamming his gladius into the slack faces pressing in on him as he bellowed in defiance. To his shocked amazement, the mutilated Praetorians began dropping to the ground unmoving. Clearing a space around him, Cornisus began dragging the creatures off of the legionnaire next to him, giving them the same headshot as he’d given the other ones.

A second later, Cornisus was pulling Legionnaire Quinctius Cato back to his unsteady hooves. The younger bull was visibly shaken as his wide-eyes bulged out from fear, but other than being covered in the blood and gore of the guards, he was otherwise unharmed. Breathing heavy, Cornisus pushed Cato back into formation as he took up position next to the younger male. As the entire line began to buckle, Cornisus blew a shrill blast on his whistle.

“Go for the heads, bullocks!” With a renewed fury, his contubernium tore into the guards. Slowly the line steadied once again as Praetorians began dropping to the ground dead around them. As the next rank of Phalanx began hammering against their shield walls, Cornisus blew three shrill blasts on his whistle.

“Clear the walls and fall back!” In one smooth motion, Cornisus’ legionnaires slashed with their gladiuses before falling one rank back, while the second rank moved forward into position. As a new shield wall formed around him, Cornisus blew a quick double blast.

“Advance!” Slamming his shield forward, Cornisus repeatedly struck at the heavy spears as he relentlessly lead his bulls into the teeth of the phalanx. The odds in front of them were manageable in the tight alley, but Cornisus’ blood still ran cold at the strange silence of the Praetorians formation they faced. Closing to melee range, the hackles of Cornisus’ mane rose under his armor as shrill whistle blasts began sounding from the backside of the formation.

Grimacing sourly, Cornisus knew that could only mean one thing. They had incoming from behind.

Chapter
Ten

Location Earth / Sean MacRory:

Captain Sean MacRory watched the small police boat’s approach from the Ormos side of the lagoon in the predawn light of morning. Inside the flat-bottomed boat, he could see a group of men wearing the starched light blue uniforms and white jackboots of the local police force riding inside.

Thoughtfully, his bright blue eyes narrowed as he took note of the distinctive white broad gun belts and diagonal shoulder straps that each hard faced islander wore. It was something he would have expected from porting in a much larger city like Mumbai or Calcutta, not a small tourist island in the southern Aegean Sea. Either way, Sean knew what was coming next. Without looking away, he spoke in an even voice to the deck cadet at his side.

“Mr. MacSweeney, I need you to find Chief McDougal and have him join me on deck with Hans and Wolfgang at his earliest convenience.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Sean grinned at the young cadet as he came to attention. His name was George MacSweeney, and he was still wet behind the ears. Aunt Harriet had brought George to him the last time they’d dropped anchor in Belfast asking if he’d give the young man a chance to learn the trade. Grudgingly he’d agreed.

The MacRory family was one of the fifty-nine families that made up the Gallowglass Clan. Originally considered the warrior elite among the Gaelic-Norse Clans residing in the Western Isles of Scotland, they had been invited to settle in Ireland by the Irish Nobility. In return for their military service, they were given lordships across Ireland.

The local Irish had called them Gallóglaigh in old Welch because they were considered ‘foreign soldiers’ due to their Irish ancestors intermarrying with Norse settlers. Over the centuries, the Gallóglaigh became known as the Gallowglass Clan and had a major impact on Ireland’s culture and history. Unfortunately, that influence had waned in the last few decades, ever since the Clan had fallen on hard times.

It all started when the Harland and Wolff shipyards were destroyed in the great bombing of 1941 during World War II. In one strike the industrial powerhouse of Ireland was destroyed, setting the entire country back one hundred years and knocking the Gallowglass Clan to its proverbial financial knees. The Clans’ shipping empire had been a major player in the break-bulk cargo industry, shipping goods around the world before the invention of the modern-day container ships that had revolutionized the industry after World War II.

Unfortunately, after the war, Ireland’s shipyards were never rebuilt to their pre-war levels. Primarily due to the Clans terrible financial losses. Still, the families might have rallied their countrymen to the task if the Americans hadn’t taken over the bulk cargo industry almost overnight. Once it had become obvious that Ireland had lost its foothold on the oceans most of the Clans had sought new avenues to regain their wealth. A few of the families still owned their own ships, like the MacRory’s, and continued plying their trade on the oceans after the war.

At first, the shipping business had been good, and the families had prospered, but over the years that began to change. It happened slowly at first, but as the years progressed there were almost no shipping contracts left to be had. More and more the world’s non-bulk cargo was slowly taken over by the container industry, but still the family somehow managed to make ends meet.

Usually, that came in the form of smuggling and over the years the MacRorys had become the de facto experts. In his younger days Sean had run guns to the Congo and Nigeria, diamonds from South Africa and ivory tusks from Tanzania, while fighting off pirates from Somalia on his way to India and beyond. Although, unlike other smugglers, there were some things they didn’t transport. Most notably those exceptions were illegal drugs and human trafficking.

It was a dangerous life, but one that Sean had come to love. They all knew their luck couldn’t hold out forever. Most smugglers didn’t stay in the racket long due to the nature of the cut throat business, but he and his boys weren’t in it for the money so much as for the adrenaline rush. Through it all, his crew had become one tight-knit family.

The end of their run came unexpectedly in the busy South African Port of Durban. One moment, they were tearing up the Maydon Wharf and the next they were being dragged into the local lockup under heavy guard by SARS Customs Officers. Oddly enough they hadn’t even been running contraband at the time.

Sean had realized his mistake almost immediately. The last time they were in port he had refused a shipment of human cargo at the demands of the International Chinese Mafia that “taxed” all smuggling operations passing through their port. He and his crew were facing twenty years to life and the loss of everything they owned. If it hadn’t been for Larissa Evans timely arrival on that fateful day they might not have ever seen the light of day again.

Thinking of the past always brought a smile to Sean’s lips. While some things had dramatically changed over the years, others had stubbornly stayed the same. On the one hand, although they weren’t technically smugglers they still found themselves in some very unique situations as they assisted Larissa on her many archeological digs around the world. On the other hand, even after all of these years, the Clan still took care of their own. Hiring the lad had turned out to be a good decision. Over the last eight months, the hard working youth had earned his place amongst Triumph’s crew and was well on his way to becoming a Ukkodian.

“Sir, what should I say if he asks why, Sir?”

Pushing away from the boat's railing, Sean cracked his bony knuckles as he looked down at the cadet with a fierce grin. “Tell him it looks like Johannesburg all over again.”

The young man’s eyes slightly widened as he took a long look at the approaching boat full of men. Even now the crew still talked about the Malapa dig, and that was over ten years ago.

“Sir, yes, Sir!”

Before the cadet could turn around, Sean stopped the young man with one large hand. “Once you’ve talked to the Chief, find Doctor Evans. Let her know we have company coming.”

“Yes, Sir!”

This time, when Sean let go of the excited cadet, he took off like a bolt of lightning. With his shoes ringing on the metal stairs, Mr. MacSweeney took the steps two at a time heading down into the bowels of the ship. Keeping an eye on the police boat docking next to them, Sean picked up the weather deck’s voice powered phone. Punching in a two digit code, he held the receiver to his ear waiting. On the second ring, a strong baritone answered.

“Bridge here.”

Hearing his First Officer’s voice, Sean spoke quickly into the phone. “Mr. Dudek, we have trouble heading our way.”

“Where at Captain?”

“Directly starboard, approaching the docks.”

Sean heard a rustling of cloth as Adam adjusted his position. A second later the tall man’s crisp English was suddenly laden with a heavy Polish accent.

“How do you want to handle this Kaptain?”

Thinking quickly, Sean laid out the plan forming in his head. “I want you and Mr. Crosslander to pull the AK-47’s from the armory for the non-Ukkodians, but I want them kept out of sight. We’ll only pull them out if we need to get their attention. I’d rather keep the Islanders on their toes for the wrong reasons for as long as possible.”

“Yes, Kaptain.”

“Mr. MacSweeney should have found the Chief by now. I expect he’ll be heading up with his lads anytime now.”

“Give us five minutes to get into position, Kaptain.”

Eyeing the approaching boat once more, Sean spoke sharply into the handset. “You’d better get moving then Mr. Dudek.”

“Aye aye, Sir!”

Swing by his cabin, Sean grabbed his charging two-way radio and a pair of brass knuckles before making his way to the Triumph’s gangplank. If Sean was going to play the game, he might as well play it to the hilt. He made it to the railing just as the locals pulled up to the far side of the dock.

The clear night’s sky gave off enough light for Sean to get a solid count of the dark skinned men jumping off the small craft. There were eight including the driver, which was probably the entire police force for Fira and Ormos combined.

As he watched the Islanders rushing for his boat, Sean heard the approaching footsteps of men behind him. A second later, the gruff voice of his Chief Engineer, Kane McDougal, called out behind him.

“Captain, it looks like we’ll be introducing these lads to the South Limerick jig.”

Sean didn’t have to turn around to picture the Chief’s gapped toothed grin or to know that he had brought most of the crew with him. The small man was a scrapper. At one time or another, he’d been kicked out of every known port between Limerick and Shanghai. Actually, that was how he’d originally met the old seadog.

Without saying a word, Sean folded his thick biceps across his broad chest as he watched the men charge up the gangplank. As the lead officer reached the deck, the man came to a sudden stop as he saw Sean’s stern face for the first time, while his men bunched up precariously on the small gangplank behind him. Grinning menacingly, Sean stepped up close to the Lieutenant, forcing the smaller man to crane his neck to look up at him. Projecting his voice, Sean addressed the Islanders gruffly.

“I don’t remember giving anyone permission to board my ship.”

Sean had to hold back a smile as he heard his men chuckle behind him. Hate burned in the man’s dark eyes as he fought to catch his breath while clutching at the gangplank’s thin chain railing. Carefully, the Lieutenant stood to his full height. Tilting his head back, he placed a hand on his gun holster’s flap, while looked down his nose at Sean.

“Under the order of the Mayor of Santorini, your ship is to be confiscated and your crew arrested for trespassing on Nea Kameni without a permit. You will move this boat to Port Ormos under our direction where your boat will be impounded until further notice.”

The gangplank shook suddenly, making the Lieutenant clutch once more at the thin chain railing as he struggled not to fall into the lagoon as Sean slid his hands into his cargo pants pockets. Slipping his meaty hands into the solid brass knuckles, Sean smiled menacingly.

“I don’t think so lad.”

As the Lieutenant’s eyes widened fearfully, a woman’s commanding voice called out behind them.

“What’s going on here?”

For a long second, the tension could have been cut with a knife as the Lieutenant tried to stare Sean down, but he quickly looked away as soon as Doctor Evans walked up.

“The Mayor is under the impression that we are trespassing without a permit and has sent the Lieutenant here to arrest us.” Exasperated, Doctor Evans turned her focus on the angry dark-skinned man on the gangplank.

“Is that what this is all about? You’re interrupting my dig for this nonsense?” Sean almost laughed out loud at the stunned look on the islander’s face as Doctor Evans slapped a sheaf of papers into the small man’s chest as she laid into him. “Ioannis told me he would explain everything to Major Aixi.” Seeing the man’s startled look, she gave the Lieutenant a big smile as she asked innocently. “You do know who Ioannis Machairidis is?”

The small man choked for a second as he tried to get the next words out. “You mean Regional Governor Machairidis on Syros?”

Sean had to choke back a bark of laughter as Doctor Evans played him for a patsy. He knew as well as she did that the Mayor had no idea they were coming. The ink had barely dried on the papers by the time they’d arrived in port yesterday afternoon.

“Oh yes, that’s him.” Doctor Evans paused thoughtfully, breathing in deeply as her large breasts strained the fabric of her spaghetti-string halter top.

“You know, Ioannis personally signed the permits himself. He said something about wanting to make sure there was no confusion about his orders.”

The Lieutenant seemed to shrink in on himself as his face turned a greenish hue. Regional Governors in these remote locations had much more direct power over the people they governed than typical western countries. Enjoying the show, Sean slipped his brass knuckles back into his pockets as Doctor Evans smiled broadly at the Islander.

“I’m glad to see this simple misunderstanding was straightened out so easily. Please feel free to keep those copies if you’d like.” Smiling sweetly, she continued laying it on thick. “Ioannis said that if there were any questions that Major Aixi could contact him directly.”

Sean clearly saw the seething rage in the officer’s hooded eyes as Doctor Evans patted the Lieutenant’s shoulder in a friendly manner. There were few things worse for a small time bully with a little bit of power then being suddenly shot down by a beautiful woman.

“Now if you would excuse me, I really must be getting back to my dig. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask Captain MacRory here.”

For a second, the small Greek man froze at Doctor Evans’ casual dismissal, but as she turned to go. His hand shot out, roughly grabbing her by the upper arm. “Excuse me, M … M … Doctor..”

Seeing Doctor Evans’ gray-blue eyes instantly turn into hardened steel, the Lieutenant released her arm like it was on fire. Before he could pull away, Doctor Evans caught his hand in her steel grip as she tilted her voice into perfect Oxford English. “Professor Larissa Evans.” With an icy smile, her stormy eyes bore into him. “Was there something further you wanted to say, Lieutenant?”