John stalked back into the dining room, to resume his seat.  Sylvia and some of the guests shot him inquiring looks, but the lion just forced a smile and shrugged; “got a charter.”  Hank watched the lion over his tea and nodded to himself; he’d seen that look before.  John was deep in thought, obviously planning something.  And normal charters didn’t require that much planning……..

Hank looked the ship over with a critical eye.  Of late, he’d become quite adept at handling the small ship, as he always had, mastering anything he turned his attention to.  John was busy pouring over navigational charts and weather maps, leaving Hank to single up the mooring lines and get them ready for sea.  Padding up behind the lion, Hank looked over his shoulder at the charts; “we’re going way out there?  What kind of a charter do we have?  There isn’t even any good diving out there…… Hell, there’s hardly ANYTHING out there…….”  John smiled and rolled up the charts; “exactly.  We’ll stop at a few of the outermost islands and do some trading with the villages that seldom get visitors, but mostly we’ll just sail.  Well off the trade routes.”  Hank shook his head; “you’re not going to tell me until you have to, are you?”  “No, Sergeant Major, most likely I’m not” the lion said with a grin.  “Now, lets get the radar reflector down from the mainmast…..”

They met the launch in Fairport bay, well off from the town.  The police launch had the look of a naval patrol boat, with its crew wearing body armor under their life vests, their faces grim.  As the boat pulled along side, General Forrest stepped across the gap first, to hug first the Sergeant Major, and then Mosby.  The fox was showing his age, going significantly gray, for a red fox.  But his eyes were still hard, black gems that darted here and there taking in everything.  “Captain, show me what you’ve got planned.  Sergeant Major, see to your guests.”  With that, John led the General aft, talking in a low voice, as Hank turned to help their guests over the side.  One was a rather muscular and somewhat heavyset lady wolverine, in an NBI jacket, obviously wearing body armor, and carrying an assault rifle and pack.  Behind her, was a much slimmer and somewhat younger lady mink, wearing the same sort of clothes, moving stiffly in her body armor.  Before Hank had a chance to remark on either of these two, one of the NBI crew shouted at him, and then started tossing up luggage.  By the time he’d caught the last bag, the ladies had gone below, and Mosby and the General were returning.  “John, with luck, this should be a cake-walk for you.  You’ve got the codes and the scrambler settings for the communications satellite.  No one should be able to trace that.  Stay in touch and don’t hesitate to call, if the situation takes a turn for the worse.”  John nodded, and then the fox stepped across to the police launch, and they pulled away.  Turning to Hank, John rumbled; “lets make sail; for the moment, the faster we go the better.

The land was slipping away behind them.  They’d raised all the sail, and in a brisk breeze, they were screaming across the waves.  Well, screaming for a sailboat.  The impression of speed was great, but they probably weren’t doing more than about 10, maybe 11 knots.  Still John enjoyed the way the deck heeled under his feet, and how the wind made his mane stream to one side.  Hank was sitting on the windward rail, watching the sails, and the horizon.  And the companionway.  When the Wolverine emerged, still wearing the NBI jacket, to look around, Hank was gazing right at her.  The Wolverine stared back challengingly for a moment and then did a quick circuit of the deck house, almost as if looking for hidden assassins.  Hank watched her, waiting patiently, while John studied the flow of air over the sails.  Finally she headed aft, to stand in front of John.  “I’m Richter.  Agent in charge.  You this Mosby I keep hearing about?”  John nodded and then turned to Hank; “Lets trim in the Fisherman a bit.”  Hank nodded and rose, to padd across the swaying deck, to start taking the Fisherman sheet loose from its belaying pin.  Turning to Richter, John looked her up and down; “Lets get one thing straight right from the very start, Agent Richter.  This is MY ship, I’m the Captain, and what I say, goes.  Now you’re the “charter” and you can accordingly give me some direction, but in the end, its only suggestions.  Maritime law.  Got that?”  Richter stared back at him for a minute and nodded; “and you hear this.  If I think you’re putting my witness in harms way, or doing anything to keep her from meeting her date with the grand jury, I’ll shoot you dead, and THEN get her back myself!”  John chuckled and nodded, returning his gaze to the sails, watching as Hank trimmed the Fisherman.

Davies yawned and shook his head as he walked down the dock.  It had been a long day on the police launch, and he hadn’t liked the presence of the overbearing, superior NBI types.  They always thought they were such hot stuff.  Now, he had just one last task to perform, before he could go home to his increasingly bitchy wife.  Stepping up to a payphone, he dropped in a coin and then dialed a number.  The phone on the other end was picked up, but nothing was said.  After a moment of listening to the breathing on the other end of the line, Davies said; “we passed the package to a sailing ship.  No, I don’t know what kind; two masts, two crew that I could see.  The name on the back was “Resurgent.”  They headed Southeast.”  After a moment a voice was heard on the other end of the phone; “you’re reward will be waiting in the usual place.  Good work.”  And then the line went dead.  As Davies resumed his trudge homewards, he wondered if the few extra bucks he’d just “earned” would appease his wife in any way.  He certainly hoped so…..

Hank was just turning from securing the sheet when the mink emerged from below.  Richter stiffened and looked around the horizon, as if expecting immediate trouble, but then, finding nothing amiss, turned to watch her approach.  The mink looked at Richter, and then at John and Hank.  Turning, she moved gracefully to sit on the leading edge of the forward hold hatch cover, just watching the sea and sky.

Hank moved up to the Lion at the wheel, to whisper; “this looks like it’ll be a fun charter.  These two look like loads of laughs.”  John just nodded; “lets hope it’s a QUIET charter……  Now, who’s turn is it to cook dinner?”  Hank looked at the lion, and after a moment the Lion groaned; “its mine, isn’t it?”  Straightening, he stepped aside, letting Hank have the wheel; “very well then, Mr. Schmidt; you have the conn……  And I guess its time we changed course from 135 degrees to 270 degrees.  We should be off anyone’s radar by now……..”

Richter came below as it started to get dark.  John had on an apron that read “Kiss the Captain”, and was just pulling ……… well, it was a large covered dish from the oven.  The smells were tantalizing, but the contents……… well,it looked like chunky mud.  “My version of Boef Stroganoff” the lion grinned.  Setting it on the gymballed table, the Lion turned to fetch the tossed salad bowl.  He knew that Hank wasn’t much for meat dishes, but he’d figured the Wolverine and the Mink might prefer it.  Looking up at Richter, the lion raised an eyebrow; “would you be so kind as to call the others to dinner?”  Richter turned and started up the companionway, and then stopped, to look back over her shoulder; “who’ll steer the ship?  Who’ll keep watch?”  John just smiled; “we have a rather good autopilot, and we also have passive InfraRed sensors that’ll spot any ships or aircraft on the horizon.  We’ve got radar too, but that’d give our position away…..”  Richter nodded and headed up the stairs.

John sat at one end of the table, nearest the galley.  Richter was to his right.  Hank was opposite Richter, nearest the companionway, and the lady mink sat across from John.  The mink watched the table sway, as the boat rocked from side to side, her knife and fork moving to and fro as she tried to intercept her meal.  Finally she sighed; “how can you STAND this?”  Hank chuckled and shrugged; “Takes practice, but it saves so many messes.  If you can’t handle the table, scoot back some and hold your plate in one paw.”  The mink looked at Hank as if she’d never seen him before.  John chuckled and speared a bit of meat as his plate rocked past; “So, I figured we’d head for some of the outer islands.  Folks out there are kinda leery of strangers, and if anyone comes lookin’ for us, they’ll tell us.  Three days travel time there, couple days among the islands, and then three days back.”  Richter paused, to look at the Lion.  She’d taken Hank’s advice and had her plate in one paw, her other paw holding a spoon, as she shoveled the brown goop into her mouth.  “That sounds OK, but how well do you trust these out-islanders?”  John shrugged; “they probably have never heard of the Southside Mob, and could care less.  But they know Hank and me, and appreciate our visits.  Not many ships trade out that way.  I don’t really trust them, but then, I don’t suspect trouble there, either.”  Richter just nodded and took another big spoonful.

Hank sighed and hung his hammock on deck.  It was a warm, clear night, and he’d just as soon be out here, under the stars.  It was the attitude of Richter that had pissed him off; she seemed to think that belowdecks were the private purvey of her and the mink, despite the fact that John had given them each a cabin.  John sat by the wheel, his harness line tied  off to a stanchion, and watched the stars and the sails (and the satnav, and the IR sensor display).  Flopping into his hammock Hank let out a sigh; “wake me at four bells, and I’ll spell you at the wheel.”  The lion just nodded.

Belowdecks, Richter looked around her miniscule cabin.  The bunk was short for her and she wondered how the Lion who owned this tub could possibly stand to be cooped up like this?  And there was no TV.  Not even a radio.  A luxury charter, this wasn’t.  Opening the door, she stepped next door and knocked on Heather’s door.  The mink answered it, a questioning look in her eyes.  Richter sighed; “Heather, how many times do I have to tell you not to open the door without first finding out who’s outside?”  Heather smiled softly; “who else would it be?  There are only four of us on this ship, and I know you chased the crew topside?  Are you afraid that old Jackrabbit is going to come to try and crawl into my bed?”  Heather chuckled; “the way he’s been watching us, I’m sure he’ll try sooner or later.”  Heather chuckled and put her arms around Richter’s neck, to kiss her softly; “well, if he does, and I’m not saying I’d object, I suspect I could handle myself.  Now, tell me, what do you think of our dashing Captain?”  Richter smiled and kissed Heather back softly; “that mangy one-eyed lion?  I think he looks like an animated rug.”  Heather purrrrred and laid her head on the wolverine’s shoulder; “Oh, Mary, this is all going so fast.  Its like my life suddenly dropped into overdrive.  I can’t wait for this to be over.”  Richter smiled and stroked the mink’s head softly, one foot kicking the door closed behind her; “I know, Dear, I know.”  As gently as she could, the wolverine picked up the mink, to lay her on the miniscule bunk, to settle in beside her to cuddle her comfortingly.

John cocked an ear into the wind.  Setting the autopilot, he padded past Hank’s sleeping, softly snoring form, to listen to one of the ventilators.  Smiling at the sounds he heard, he shook his head in amusement and softly padded back to the helm.  “Well, know I know why she’s so VERY protective” he thought to himself.

Dawn found Hank at the wheel, the lion swinging in a hammock, his tail dragging back and forth across the deck.  Richter emerged from the companionway, wearing a tee-shirt, and shorts, her service automatic tucked into her waistband.  She looked at Hank, and then at John, and shook her head, and then turned to scan the horizon.  “Nothin’ there” Hank said.  “The IR’d show me anything warmer than a seabird.  We’re on course, on schedule, and completely alone.”  Richter nodded; “never hurts to be sure.”  Turning to look back down the companionway, she nodded and the mink emerged, wearing a crop top and skimpy jogging shorts.  Turning back to Hank, Richter asked; “So what is there to do on this tub?”  Hank laughed; “well, we’ve got a shuffleboard court painted onto the deck, but considering how the deck pitches and heaves, playing’s a real challenge.  We’ve got a decent library, and can receive shortwave transmissions.  Oh, and there’s always cards, although I suppose it wouldn’t be prudent to ask an officer of the law if you gamble……”   Richter looked at the rabbit and grinned, her fangs apparent………

Heather wandered over from the rail, to look at Hank; “I hate to say it, but I neglected to pack a bathing suit.…….”  Hank chuckled; “don’t worry about it; we don’t exactly have a dress code on this ship.  Wear whatever you please, as little as you please, or nothing at all.  Just don’t complain if we do the same.”  Richter looked the rabbit up and down, and then glanced at the lion and made a sour face, indicating what she thought of the concept.  Heather just smiled.

The day went slowly.  Hank and John swapped off turns at the wheel, doing their best to coax the maximum speed from the small ship.  Heather had spread a blanket on the forward hatchcover and had stripped down to just her fur, to just lay in the bright sunshine.  Richter kept her tee shirt and shorts on, and fidgeted, as if she just didn’t know how to handle inactivity.  As the sun rose, John and Hank stripped down to just shorts, but somehow Richter’s occasional glance kept them from going further.  At lunch, John put together a tray of sandwich fixings, and left it on the aft hatchcover for anyone who was interested in something to eat.  The cold beer went first.  Hank grinned, as the alcohol seemed to loosen Richter’s tongue.  That or the boredom was finally getting to her.  He found out her first name was Mary, and that she’d been with the NBI for 14 years, gradually working her way up the ladder.  By the time each of them were on their fourth beer, they were exchanging war stories, Mary talking about various NBI operations and Hank talking about his military experiences.

Heather wandered back towards the stern of the ship.  After the events of the last few days, she was enjoying just doing nothing.  And enjoying the comparative “security.”  She could see there was nothing on the sea, nothing in the sky.  And she didn’t think the crew of this sailboat were in the employ of the Mob.  That would be just too far-fetched.  For the first time in a long time she was relaxed.  Stopping to fix herself a sandwich, she continued her stroll towards the stern.  Stopping by the lion, she looked back to where Mary and Hank were laughing about something, and shook her head; “I can’t believe how those two are getting on.”  The lion just laughed; “there’s something about the Sergeant Major that inspires most folk to strong drink.  Once you’re drunk, he’s not such a bad fellow.  And I think those two have discovered something in common.”  Heather just nodded.  Looking up at the lion, she noted the eyepatch, and various and sundry other scars in his hide; “so whats your story?”  He just shrugged; “Career Military, until I wound up on the wrong end of a medical discharge.  Now I just kinda bum around.  It’s a bit of a hand-to-mouth existence, my disability pension isn’t much.  Still, it keeps me in beer.  And rust remover.”  Heather nodded; “I kind of got the impression that friend of Inspector Harkness, that General fellow, thought a lot of you.”  John just shrugged; “we do odd jobs for General Forrest from time to time, mostly just to break the monotony.  Personally, I think he’s “impressed” with us only because we’re still alive.  I’m not so sure that’s attributable to skill, as much to luck.  I doubt he cares though, just as long as we succeed at the mission.”  Finishing her sandwich, the mink turned to walk back to the stern of the schooner, to look out over its wake.

Mary was a little tipsy.  She had wondered at the wisdom of having a beer at first, but had finally come to the conclusion that the crew of this tub was mostly harmless, and that there really were no immediate threats.  She smiled to herself as she pretended to be more inebriated than she actually was.  And the rabbit was buying it hook, line, and sinker.  He was such a liar too, he probably couldn’t recognize a lie itself.  If he’d done half the things he’d claimed, he would have been one of the biggest war heroes the Freelands had ever seen.  As long as he just didn't go to pieces and keep out of her way, should the mob find them, she’d be happy.  From the corner of her eye, she watched Heather talk to the lion at the wheel, and then wander off, wondering what they were finding to talk about.

John looked over his shoulder at the mink, wishing she wouldn’t stand so close to the stern rail.  If she fell overboard, Richter’d probably blame him.  If anyone else did that, he’d just have a good laugh, toss them a life ring and bring the ship about.  But for someone to be protected…….  “Hey Heather” he called; “turnabout’s fair play.  What’s YOUR story?”  That brought the wolverine’s ears up, he noticed.  The mink turned from the rail, to move back towards the lion.  “Its kind of a long story…..” she began.  The lion just shrugged; “we got plenty of time, and I’d like to hear it.  You know us felines; curious to a fault.”  Heather actually bit her lip and nodded; “Yes, I know that well……. Too well…..”

“I was working as a prostitute for the Elite Group……”  Heather paused and looked up at the Lion with a wry smile; “does that shock you?”  Before John could answer, Hank piped up; “HELL YES!  Most of the places we frequent, well, that sort of thing is pretty freely given; I’m SHOCKED that someone would actually PAY for it!”  Heather laughed as Mary cuffed the rabbit, and he howled in mock pain and outrage.  John just shook his head and grinned.”  After a moment Heather continued.  The Elite Group provided…… entertainment for a number of…… corporate functions, and it turned out one of them was in actuality the Southside Mob.  One of my friends, a bobcat by the name of Stormy, was assigned to be the entertainment at one of their affairs.  She never came back.  Later, her body was discovered floating in the bay, horribly beaten.  I still don’t know what happened, or why they’d do that to her.  But they did.  About a month later, my manager came to me and asked if I’d be interested in working another one of their parties.  It seemed none of the other girls wanted anything to do with them, and they were offering double the normal fee.  I decided that for Stormy, I’d do it, but not for the money.  I wanted to get something on them, to prove that they’d killed her.  Something I could take to the cops.  I wanted Revenge!

Heather paused, staring out at the horizon, the wind blowing her fine platinum hair out behind her like a banner.  “The party was at a mansion, Very posh.  There must have been two dozen furrs there; most were male, but there were a few females (couldn’t possibly call them ladies) there as well.  I started off the evening by doing a slow strip-tease for them.  They even had a DJ………  I dragged it out as long as I could, pausing in my dance to occasionally tease one of the guys, or caress another.  Finally, though I was nude, but the crowd was by no means about to let me escape….. and that was where things started going sour.  I was teasing the one I thought was the boss.  He certainly acted as if he were Lord of the Manor, with everyone seeming to defer to him.  I found out later that he was Gianconus, the head of the Mob.  I guess I must have teased a little too far, or maybe it was just what they’d had in mind from the beginning……….  I missed the signal, there must have been a signal, as their actions were too well coordinated.  Before I knew it, a guy on either side of me was holding my arms.  They forced me to my knees, while another grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.  Gianconus rose, and dropped his pants, and the next thing I knew, he was shoving his cock down my throat, fucking my face.  The bastard enjoyed tormenting me too; he’d drive his cock down my throat until I couldn’t breathe, and just as I was getting panicky, he’d back off some; but as soon as I’d caught my breath, he’d shove his cock back down my throat…….”  Heather’s eyes remained locked on the horizon as she talked; it was almost as if she were alone, talking to herself…..  “When he was through with me, he handed me over to his lieutenants…..  They never tied me up, but there were always paws holding me.  I lost count of how many of them used me, in pussy, and ass, and mouth, and between my breasts…….”  Hank couldn’t help himself; his gaze drifted to the valley between her breasts and he imagined nestling his hard cock there, amongst her soft fur……..

Heather looked back at the Lion; “Somewhere along the line, I must have passed out.  I awoke on a couch, all sprawled out.  I could hear voices and was in no hurry to let them know I was awake, fearing a resumption of the previous activities……  I’d definitely had enough for the night.  Gianconus was talking, apparently with his lieutenants, and they were discussing the bribing of a judge, and of a city alderman.  The discussion turned to options should the judge not “stay bought.”  From there, they went on to talk about the blackmail of a city attorney, and their police informants.  I listened, trying hard to memorize everything they were saying.  Finally one of the lieutenants wondered aloud if I might be listening, and Gianconus laughed, saying when he fucked ‘em into unconsciousness, they stayed unconscious.  That got them talking about the last girl they’d hired.  Stormy.  Gianconus berated one of his lieutenants, a wolf by the name of Peter, for loosing his temper with her and beating her to death.  The wolf had growled that she deserved it, for letting her teeth graze his cock.  Gianconus just growled; “if you weren’t so useful, I’d kill you myself.  That’s the third whore you’ve killed in the last year.  If you don’t learn to control yourself, I’m going to have to do something, and we both know you won’t like that.”  After a bit, they made noises like they were getting up, and I heard a door open.  From a distance, I heard Gianconus direct one of his lieutenants to get me back to the Elite Group, and to make sure they saw I was returned in “decent condition” and that I’d been well paid.  “Don’t want no more bad rumors ‘bout us” he growled.  After a bit, I heard feet padding back towards me, and then he broke one of those ammonia inhalants under my nose.  Of course, I spluttered and jerked up to a sitting position, and acted half out of it.  He must have bought it, as he just threw my clothes at me and ordered me to get dressed.  They dumped me off at the Elite Group offices, and after I checked in with my manager, I caught a cab to the airport.  Didn’t even go back to my apartment.  Been on the move ever since.”

John nodded; “and your testimony would be enough to convict them of Stormy’s death?”  Richter spoke up at that; “we can use it to get an indictment; from that we can get a court order for DNA samples, and we’ve got a pretty good idea we’ll get a match there.  Besides, we’ve got supportive evidence on some of the other items.  That judge turned up dead a few days later.  Guess he didn’t want to “play.”  John just nodded.  After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, he looked at Heather and smiled; “have you ever gone sailing before?  If not, thought you might want to learn……..”

Hank watched John show Heather how to steer the ship for a moment, watching the big lion stand behind her, showing her how to watch the waves, and the flow of air across the sails.  Sailing is a dangerous thing; if it gets in your blood, you’re addicted for life, and you’re likely to spend incredible amounts of money, just so you can go sailing again.  And from the way the mink looked, she was hooked.  With a wry grin, he turned and headed below, to start working on dinner.  He had a spinach soufflé that he loved, and the lion absolutely hated…….

John watched the satnav carefully, relaying instructions to Heather.  She’d been at the wheel for about three hours, and he just couldn’t get her to release it back to him……..  The place he was heading for wasn’t on any of the charts, not even his.  It was a small uninhabited island he’d stumbled across once, and had earmarked as a “special place.”  It was off the trade routes, with absolutely no reason for anyone to go there.  He figured it should be the perfect place to drop anchor for the night.  Besides, the tropical atoll was high enough to shield the radar return of the schooner, should anyone be looking for them.  “Hold steady at 283, I’m going to climb the mainmast and see if I can spot our destination” he growled, swinging into the windward ratlines, to start climbing.  Richter came on deck, just as the lion started climbing; moving back to Heather, she inquired; “you really know what you’re doing?  And what’s HE doing?”  Heather smiled, and leaned over to nuzzle Mary; “I really think I’m getting the hang of this, and he’s looking for our destination.”  Mary chuffed; “I thought he said it would take three days to get to where we’re going?”  Heather just shrugged.

John made it to the cross-trees, about two-thirds of the way up the mast, and peered at the horizon ahead of them.  The satnavs were wonderful devices, their positional accuracies good to within meters. There, ahead of them, was a smudge on the horizon, just exactly where it was supposed to be.  With a grin, the lion grabbed the spanker’s halyard, and stepping from the cross-trees, did his best pirate impression, sliding down the rope to the deck.

Richter watched the lion hit the deck with a thud and winced, thinking; “that’s gotta hurt…..”

John tried to hide the wince as he walked back to the helm; he’d come down too fast and rope-burned both paws.  And when he had landed, his bad leg had protested.  Vigorously.  “You’re getting too old to be behaving like that” he berated himself.  Forcing a smile he looked at the two ladies; “right where I left it.  A nice uncharted isle perfect for spending the night.  But when we get there, Heather, you’ve GOT to let me take the wheel……..

John watched the reef carfully as they rounded the island.  Like most atolls, this one had a ring shaped reef around it, with a volcanic island in the center.  And there was always an opening in the reef……  He just had to find it.  He knew it was there, but it was hiding from him.  Hank was in the bow, watching for coral heads, those knobs of coral that had sunk many a ship.  Well, many a wooden ship; John had no doubt Rusty’s steel hull would do more damage to the coral head than it did to his ship.  Still, he didn’t want to put it to the test.  They were about three quarters of the way around the island, when Hank cried out, pointing.  John studied the waves and the wind for a moment, and then brought the little ship around, pointing her bows at the opening, and muttering a prayer that the channel was deep enough.  As they watched the line of surf pass by on either side, Hank stood by the anchor windless, ready to let the port anchor go.  John brought the ship into the lagoon, in the lee of the island, and as they drifted to a stop almost at the beach, Hank let the anchor go.

John took a line from the stern, and slipped over the side.  Swimming to the island he crawled up into the jungle, and taking a turn around a convenient palm tree, started pulling the stern of the ship around, parallel to the island.  Fortunately it was low tide, so there wasn’t much chance of the tide going out, leaving them beached.  Nestling the ship against the jungle canopy of the island as best possible, he grinned, and tying off the rope, waded back into the water to return.

Richter looked on curiously as Hank and John opened a locker and started pulling out a camouflage net; “whats THAT for?” she growled.  John just shrugged; “No I don’t think anyone’s looking for us, and No, I don’t think anyone’s going to just happen by here, but just in case I’m wrong, this’ll help break up the outline of the ship.  I’m trying to keep us hidden.  Isn’t that what you want?”  Richter just nodded, and bent to take one corner of the net.

By the time they had the rather skimpy net strung as best possible over the ship, Hank announced dinner was ready.  The lion took one sniff belowdecks and groaned, much to the rabbit’s delight.

John pecked at his dinner, as did Mary Richter.  Heather seemed to find it delightful, however, and spent most of the dinner talking to Hank about how he’d cooked it.  Finally John had eaten as much as he could, and rose to take his plate into the galley.  The Schooner didn’t boast such luxuries as a dishwasher, and it was their custom that whoever hadn’t cooked, did the dishes.  John was truly tempted to send the rest of the soufflé over the side, but knew that Hank would be looking forward to leftovers.  Instead he scooped the stuff into a seal-able container and shoved it into the fridge.  Way in the back of the fridge.  Mary came in with her plate just as he was rising from the fridge, a leftover sausage clenched in his teeth, like a dog with a bone.  “Oooooh” Mary exclaimed; “got any more of that?”  John just nodded and gestured to the fridge.  The Wolverine happily bent over and stuck her head into the fridge, rummaging around for something a little more suitable to eat, and John paused to admire her posterior for a moment.  Although she was fairly heavyset, she carried it well, in a Junoesque fashion, and he couldn’t help but grin as her shorts went tight across her derriere.

John had folded the mainsail atop the boom just so, with the yardarm shifted a little to port.  Getting it just the way he liked it, he hopped up onto the piled canvas, to lean back against the mast, facing astern.  Richter padded over to look up at him, and he grinned down at her; “this is where I like to sleep best.  I get the sea breeze, and the stars above, and I also get to keep an eye on things.”  Richter nodded; “and if something decides to come out of the Jungle?”  John just grinned and from the folds of canvas raised his SMG (submachine gun).  Richter’s eyes went wide; “where in the HELL did you get THAT?”  John smiled and shrugged; “Mary, what in the HELL do you think Hank and I DO for Forrest?”  Richter blinked and then shrugged; “I figured you were high-paid bodyguards; security types…….. but that’s not it, is it?”  John shook his head; “you remember a few years ago, the Ishari Minister of Defense defected?  Hank and I were the ones that got him out.  Perhaps you remember the rescue of President Suharjo?  That too was us.”  Richter looked at the lion for a moment, and then shook her head; “You’re mercenaries then, aren’t you?”  Slowly the lion nodded; “and Damn good ones, too.  That’s why we drew this mission.  Believe me, if anything crawls out of the Jungle, it’ll wish it hadn’t.  Now why don’t you go below.  If nothing else, the insects out here are going to be fierce tonight…..”  Richter nodded slowly, and then turned, to descend the companionway, the door closing, the cover sliding back to lock with a “snick”.  John smiled sadly and raised the bottle of whiskey that also had been hidden in the folds of canvas, to take a long pull.  “loose more friends that way” he sighed.

Heather looked up as Mary squeezed into her tiny cabin; “whats wrong; you’ve got a peculiar look on your face.”  Mary sighed and bent to kiss Heather; “Think I’d better stay a bit closer; seems our heroic crew are actually a bunch of mercenaries.  I guess I’m just worried that they’ll take anyone’s money for anything….”  Heather nodded, and moved to hug Mary; “I’m sure that if they meant us harm, they would have done something by now…….”  Mary sighed; “true.  Quite true.  I guess I’m just worried about them getting a better offer…….”

John was glad when the sun came up.  The bugs had been pretty bad, especially when the wind had died.  And he wasn’t used to the Jungle noises anymore.  Each little noise seemed to have brought him fully awake.  And the noises from belowdecks hadn’t helped either.  He was pretty sure it’d been Richter that had been screaming with delight like that……. But then if Heather was a “pro” he’d pretty well expect her to be capable of eliciting such responses.  Hank had gone forward to sleep in the fo’c’sle, now that the ship was at anchor, and the lion suspected that he’d missed most of the noise.  Sliding down from his perch, he stowed the SMG in its locker, along with the still mostly full bottle of whiskey.  Peering over the side, he wondered about a swim before breakfast…….

Mary was half way out of the companionway when she heard a large splash.  Charging on deck, her pistol seemingly materializing in her hand she looked around, trying to figure out what had happened.  The mangy lion wasn’t on top of the sails like he’d been last night; neither was he anywhere to be seen.  She peered into the Jungle for a moment, as if expecting to see attackers swarming, but that was quiet too.  At least for the few meters she could see into it…….

Hank emerged from the fo’c’sle, and saw Richter with gun drawn.  For a moment he had the wild idea that in her paranoia she’d shot John, but then he dismissed it as too wild……. Still, the lion was nowhere to be seen.  Padding over to her, he smiled and asked; “Whatcha do with the Captain?”

Mary turned to look at the rabbit; “QUIT SNEAKING UP ON ME LIKE THAT!” she growled.  Taking a breath, she looked around again, and then shrugged; “I didn’t do ANYTHING with him; he’s just….. gone.”  At that instant, John, dripping wet, heaved himself over the starboard rail; “who’s gone?”  Richter looked the nude, dripping lion up and down; “Where the HELL have YOU been?”  John looked questioningly at Hank, who merely shrugged; turning back to Richter he gestured to the side of the ship; “I went for an early morning swim.  I do that occasionally to check the bottom of the hull, and in this case, to try and get some of the damn bugs out of my mane.  Why?”  Slowly Richter put her pistol back in the waistband of her shorts; “I heard something, and when I came to investigate, I couldn’t find you.  Thought something had happened to you……”  The lion just nodded, and as he moved past Richter, heading towards where he’d left his shorts, he mumbled quietly; “nice to know you care.”  Hank just laughed.

No one else had felt like a swim, so they’d cast off, raised anchor, and headed for the gap in the reef under auxiliary power.  By the time they’d all had breakfast, the island was receding behind them, the schooner once again heeled over under full sail.

John had dried out some, although Heather had been cracking “drowned rat” jokes about his appearance.  They were on course for their next stop, an island community known simply as “Jack’s Place.”  Heather was in the galley, fixing herself a sandwich while Mary made them something to drink, when the radio came alive.  "SV Resurgent, from KAPN 9430, do you read, Over?”  Mary looked at the radio, and then shook her head; “Huh.  No microphone.”  Heather shrugged and said simply; “better go find the Captain.”

John squeezed himself through the companionway and moved over to the shortwave.  “SV Resurgent, this is KAPN 9430, do you read, over?”  John listened for a moment and then shook his head; “Ignore it.  If its important, they’ll call me on the satellite cellphone.”  Mary stepped in front of him as he headed for the companionway; “where’s the microphone for the shortwave?”  John shrugged; “its in the drawer just beneath the radio.  I disconnected it, because I didn’t want anyone playing with it.  Shortwave transmissions can be tracked by any radio direction finder.  We transmit and we give our position away.  On the other hand, the satellite cellphone will merely let them figure out which hemisphere we’re in…..  Its much safer.  Why?  You need to make a call?”  Mary shook her head; “just seemed kinda funny that there wasn’t a microphone on the radio, ‘s all.”

John was just about to climb the companionway ladder when the radio spoke again; “SV Resurgent, we know you have them.  You can stay silent, but we’ll still find you.  Why don’t you make it easier on yourself, and just give them to us.  We’ll pay you well……..”  Heather’s eyes went open wide, and she looked at Mary.  Mary for her part, looked accusingly at the lion.  John ignored her, to reach over and switch off the shortwave.  As he climbed the companionway ladder, he shouted; “Sergeant Major!  What’s the transmission distance for a shortwave at this time of day?”

Mary hugged Heather tight; “don’t worry.  We’ll just watch them, and if they try to get in touch with the mob, I’ll stop them.  I promise.  Heather just shuddered and nodded.

Hank watched the two ladies as they sat at the bow end of the ship.  “You know, I don’t think they trust us…….”  John shrugged; “they know we’re mercs; they probably figure we’ll go to the highest bidder.  You KNOW there are plenty of those that would, out there.”  Hank just nodded; “and here I thought I had a shot at……… oh nevermind.  Wonder what would convince them we’re on their side?”  The lion just shrugged.

Jack’s place was a medium sized bump of land amongst  a half dozen or so smaller atolls.  The reefs were complex, and navigation was tricky, but John had made himself a good chart, and knew the way.  The reefs provided good fishing, and the community on the central island catered to the charter fishing and scuba diving clientele.  But it was the off-season right now, and John was not surprised to find the lagoon empty of all but the local’s boats.  As he brought the schooner around into the wind, the sails luffing and flapping, he grinned as a half dozen boats shoved off from the beach, to come visit the newcomer in the island tradition.  Hank released the anchor, the anchor chain rattling down the hawsepipe, to hit the water with a splash.  As the boats approached, the kids didn’t wait for their parents or older siblings to tie up the boats; they just dove over the side, and a few moments later the deck was alive with laughing, dripping folks.  Richter looked like she was going to have a heart attack, as she tried to watch everyone at once.

“No, Jack, I’m not interested in a load of dried fish.  I just can’t turn a profit from that.  Now some of the sponge you’ve got, well, that’s a high volume, low weight cargo, but I CAN get some money for good natural sponges……”  They sat on the porch to Jack’s fishing lodge, and dickered.  John had some things in his standard cargo of trade goods, a portion of his ship having been set aside as a floating general goods store, that the locals wanted.  The only question was how to pay for it…..  Jack nodded; “Yeah, I can’t ship the sponges out by air; the air cargo folks hate the high volume.  Its just the price you’re offering’s lower than I’m happy with……”  Hank watched with amusement; they did this ALL the time; drinking and arguing half the night, and in the end they most often wound up with a simple compromise. Shaking his head, he turned back to the sweet young ferret lass that had taken a shine to him.  Like most of the island folk, she wasn’t wearing a stitch, and like most of the island folk, she seemed more than agreeable to spending the night with someone new…..  Bending to kiss her, Hank whispered in her ear that maybe they should find somewhere a little more private…..  She giggled and took his hand, to lead him off down the beach.

Mary Richter and Heather had also come ashore, to stretch their legs.  John had made a point of asking around if any of the locals had seen any strangers about, freely telling them that they were guarding the lady mink.  The kids had all gone wide-eyed, and when John had offered them some candy to go scour the island for lurking bad guys, they’d all gone whooping off.  The old Ferret, Jack, had laughed and insisted that if ANYONE was on his island, he’d know, and that the place was safe as could be (and on that basis had not objected to sending the kids off on a wild goose chase).  Now Mary found herself leaning against a palm tree, watching as Heather talked to one of the local boys; he was a tiger, and heavily muscled, and obviously fascinated by the glamour of someone who would rate such “protection”.

Jack squinted at the lion; “how come you ain’t drinkin’ tonight?”  John looked out over the peaceful lagoon, the moon shining on the water, his ship resting peacefully at anchor.  “Jack, I admit the chances of trouble are pretty slim, but she IS my responsibility.  Just thought it might be prudent to keep a clear head.”  Turning to grin at the Ferret, he grinned; “besides, it helps with the negotiations.  Now, tell me about the abalone…..”  Jack grinned and shook his head; “now there’s something that air cargo does well on……. Besides, you KNOW you ain’t got no refrigeration on that ship!”

Mary’s head came up when she heard the tiger roar; he’d led Heather off towards a small group of huts a while back, and she’d reluctantly let her go, not wanting to interfere with her pleasure.  She sighed and looked back out over the water……..

John saw Richter just sitting there, and then he heard the Tiger’s roar.  Padding over, making sure he approached from within her sight, he flopped down next to her.  After a moment, he turned to look at her; “you really do care for her, don’t you?”  Richter turned to stare coldly at the lion; “I do, not that its any business of yours.”  John nodded; “you know, I envy her, and you too.”  Richter raised an eyebrow; “Why’s that?”  The lion shrugged; “when I got invalided out of the service, I pretty much lost my purpose in life.  I’ve got my pension, and my ship, and the never-ending struggle for financial…. Well, if not security, then at least independence.  But I don’t really have a clear purpose, or mission in life anymore.  You, you’ve got your work.  Heather’s got her quest for ……. Justice.  And I envy that.  With a sigh the lion rose, to padd off towards the huts; looking back over his shoulder he grinned; “you take the first watch; I’ll relieve you in a few hours.”  After a bit, Mary heard giggling, and then feminine moans coupled with a lion’s roar, and she wondered if the lion actually get around to relieving her.

Mary awoke with a start.  Looking around, she found that she was laying on the beach, next to the palm tree she’d been leaning against last night.  The lion was curled up on the sand a half dozen feet away, softly snoring.  And Hank was sitting on an overturned boat, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, watching her.  Looking around, Mary demanded; “where’s Heather?”  Hank chuckled; “she’s in Tom’s hut.  You know, the Tiger.  She’s fine.  Mary rose with a growl, and moving stiffly, headed towards the cabins to check for herself.  Hank chuckled and walked over to nudge the lion.  John for his part just moaned; “Aw come on, Ma, just another hour….”  Hank chuckled and nudged him again; “Come on, John, wake up.  I’m told we have to figure out how to load a couple hundred cubic meters of sponges……”

Mary and Heather had decided to go swimming in the lagoon, as the locals ferried boatload after boatload of sponges out to the schooner.  Things rapidly degenerated into a free-for-all, with laughing kids throwing sponges at each other, only a fraction going into the hold where they were supposed to.  After a while, even Hank and John got into the act, and as they climbed aboard, Heather and Mary were pelted with a dozen or so sponges.  That of course led to diving contests to retrieve the sponges that had gone overboard.  In the end, it was after lunch before the hatches were battened, the goodbyes said, and the anchor weighed.

The ladies were huddled in the bow, still giggling amongst themselves, Heather obviously relating all the delicious details of her exploits with Tom the Tiger that afternoon, when John’s eyes narrowed, as he looked at the IR display.  After a moment, he put the helm over hard and roared; ‘SERGEANT MAJOR! Air Contact!  55 degrees Relative, and closing!”  Hank had been mending a sail by the aft hatch cover, but that was pushed aside in an instant.  Crossing to one corner of the deckhouse, the rabbit bent, to shove in a certain place, two of the boards popping loose.  Richter watched in amazement as the rabbit withdrew a long tube and then a small box.  The box was clipped to the tube, and as he hoisted it to his shoulder, Richter gasped as she recognized an SA-28 shoulder launched surface to air missile launcher!  Looking over at the lion she found he’d kicked in the windvane autopilot, and was wrestling with what looked to be the tripod for….. something.  Catching her eye he growled; “get her BELOW.  NOW!  Don’t come up until I say its clear!”

John watched as the light aircraft circled the schooner.  It was a not-uncommon civilian aircraft, but one that had also been used by the military years ago.  It was a high wing monoplane, with the tail supported by twin booms.  The cabin supported a propeller at either end.  Underneath were twin floats that would enable it to land in sheltered waters, like a lagoon.  For a light civilian aircraft, it was powerful and reliable……. A good choice to search the seas for the schooner….. or for some rich citizen to take his family on a trip to the pristine beauty of the undeveloped out islands.  And just because it was circling, didn’t mean they were hostile.  The schooner was just a bit unusual, in this day of container freight, and supertankers…. They might just be curious.  However, by the time the aircraft had circled for the sixth time, John was beginning to have his doubts that it was just mom and the kiddies looking…………  He was relieved when it finally straightened out and flew away, even if it was straight towards Fairport.  Even if it was climbing to a much more reasonable altitude………

Hank stuck his head down the companionway hatch, to come face to face with Richter’s pistol; “Uh, ladies, I think its safe to come on deck now……..” he mumbled.  When Richter emerged she marched straight over to John, who was in the process of disassembling a rather large belt fed machine gun.  “Well?” she demanded.  John shrugged; “I don’t know.  Somehow I don’t think that was tourists returning from the out-islands.  The aircraft approached from over the open ocean, and headed back pretty much the way it came from.  On the other hand, we’ve been at sea for about three days.  There’s no way they could know when, or if we’ve stopped.  Three days, at an average speed of eight knots is 576 knots, or 654 statute miles.  That would give the Mob about 1.3 MILLION square miles to search.  The odds of even the Freelands military finding us in that time would be chancy.  I just don’t know…….”  Besides, how would they know to look for Heather on this ship in the first place.”  Richter chuffed; “that’s simple; someone in my organization, or yours talked.  We know the mob’s got informants all through the police.  Question is, if we have been spotted, what do we do about it?  Do we sail on into the middle of the ocean?  Head back early?”  John shrugged; “I think we stick to our plan.  The next area I was heading towards has a couple of dozen islands, and at least four settlements.  If they wanted to, how could the Mob get assassins out here within the next 24 hours?  Somehow I don’t think they’ve got a strike force standing by, to hit every island we might stop at…..

Hank growled; “I’m concerned about something like that aircraft returning with rockets or missiles.  During the last war, they used that model as an observation aircraft, and they DID mount rocket pods on them.  And that could be nasty, if we’re at sea……  John chuckled and nodded; “Unless Forrest can whistle up a fleet ballistic missile submarine to transfer you two to…… I think we’re going to just find a nice quiet little place to stop at for the night.  And hope that the number of possible hiding places will help defend us.”

 “John, the reception’s terrible!” Forrest’s voice was scratchy and faint, and John tried to hold the satellite cellphone so the antenna received a better signal, and made a face at those watching him.  “Did you say you were potted by a crane?”  John groaned; “No, sir, we have been spotted by a pl… an aircraft!  We think the Mob might know where we are!  What resources can we access in case of an attack?"” For a moment, the static cleared, and John could hear Forrest’s sigh clearly.  Then it picked up again and he had to struggle to make out the words.  “Not much.  The Military has nothing in your area.  You’re too far out for a helicopter to go pick them up, and none of the longer range tilt-rotors are available.”  John sighed and thought to himself “hoist on my own petard.  Should have left them at Waterwings and taken the ship out like we WERE guarding them………”  Moving to adjust the antenna position again, the lion growled; “OK General, we’ll just continue with the plan, and hope they can’t find us again.”  “What was that about sand?  John, the conne…… fad………all…ck……ter.”  John lowered the phone and sighed as he was disconnected.  “Damn sunspots ……” the lion growled; looking up at the others he sighed; “I think we’re on our own…..”

Things were fairly quiet for the rest of the afternoon.  Hank unpacked an M903 assault rifle he’d had squirreled away, and spent some time showing Mary its intricacies.  That particular model had never been popular, as it was large, and heavy, and consumed ammo at a prodigious rate; however it had significantly more stopping power than what was currently in use, and the Wolverine seemed to be delighted with it.  John had retrieved an automatic shotgun he’d acquired somewhere along the way, and had kept for the occasional skeet shooting he did.  This too had been cleaned and loaded and given to Heather, who seemed quite comfortable with it.  And John and Hank had unpacked their battle dress…….

John stood at the wheel as they approached the atoll.  This one was a bit larger than the last, the break in the reef more pronounced, the lagoon broader, the volcanic island higher.  He was wearing an old pair of BDU camouflage pants, the suspenders supporting pouches of ammunition, and on one side, a pistol in a shoulder holster, and on the other side, a fighting knife, handle down, for easy extraction.  His SMG was slung across his back.  Hank was similarly attired, his weapon of choice a combination of assault rifle over, and grenade launcher under.  As the sun approached the horizon, John guided the ship through the gap in the reef, and across the lagoon, towards the shore.

Mary watched nervously from the bows.  John was approaching the shore rather fast….. in fact he didn’t seem to be stopping at all.  Then she gasped as the rabbit threw first one, and then a second anchor off the stern!  With a crash of breaking branches, and a collective scream from the local avians, the schooner plowed into the jungle at the water’s edge.  John left the wheel and dashed forward, to look over the bows.  After a minute, he straighened and turning, he grinned at the others.  “Perfect if I do say so myself.  Right in the notch where that small stream entered the lagoon.  Now we’ve got some foliage to cover us!  Hank came forward to look over the side; “I just hope the high tide lifts us off, or we’re gonna be here a while……”

John ran lines from the crosstrees of the masts to palm trees in the jungle, and then used the winch to pull the schooner over on its side.  Hank winced as the ship groaned, but by the time the lion was through, the mast tops weren’t a whole lot higher than the rest of the jungle canopy.  “Oh, don’t worry, Hank!  I’ve done this before so I could scrape the bottom.  It kinda makes a mess of the galley, but that’s survivable.”  The rabbit looked at the sharply canted deck and shook his head.  They spread the camouflage net, and decorated it with chopped palm fronds, and by the time it was dark, the Schooner was no longer completely recognizable.

John helped Heather down from the bow of the schooner, to stand calf deep in the muddy stream; “we’ll walk upstream for about a half a klick, and then head inland” he rumbled.  “I want to find a spot on the volcanic cone that we can watch the sky from.”  They set off, with Hank in the lead, the muzzle of his assault rifle swinging back and forth as he moved slowly up the stream.  The night vision goggles the rabbit wore made him look like some sort of weird insect.  Mary came next, and then Heather.  John brought up the rear, wearing night vision goggles and watching behind them carefully.  After a while, they came to a small waterfall, rocky banks providing an excellent place to leave the little stream.  Once on dry land, they moved a bit faster, working their way upwards, until they found a rocky patch on the side of the little peak that was the remnant of the atoll’s volcanic origin.  There, they had cover behind some rocks, and a view of the sky that covered almost the whole horizon.

Hank kept watch while the ladies got comfortable.  John slipped off to set some booby traps, but was back shortly thereafter.  Settling down behind a rock, he looked up at the stars and sighed; “you know, when you get far enough out from civilization, and the light pollution is reduced, it never ceases to amaze me how beautiful the night sky can be.”  Mary tilted her head up and looked for a moment, and then nodded; “Somehow we seldom seem to have time for things like that; time to appreciate just how beautiful it can all be.”  John smiled as Mary and Heather cuddled, both of their heads tilted back, as they gazed into the infinite depths of the night sky.

It must have been four in the morning when the rabbit’s ears twitched.  Standing, Hank turned his head slowly, his ears twitching like some bizarre’ insect’s antennae.  A moment later the others heard it; a high pitched whine.  John brought up his night vision goggles and started searching, and after a moment, he let out a grunt.  “Hydrofoil.  Looks like a civilian make, coming in fast from the SouthEast.  That’d be the bearing to the next nearest island……”  They watched as the hydrofoil made a circuit of the island, and then slowly lowered itself into the ocean, to idle through the gap in the reef.  John never saw any sign that they’d spotted the schooner, but the hydrofoil nosed up to the beach and a half a dozen dark forms leapt from its bows.

John looked at the rabbit for a moment and then sighed.  “Come on, Sergeant Major, this is where we earn our pay.  Mary, you stay here.  You’ve got a clear field of fire down the hill; don’t hesitate to shoot.  Just try not to shoot us if we’re successful.”  Before Mary could nod, they’d slipped away into the night.

Travitz was pissed.  This was the third worthless chunk of rock they’d investigated, and aside from the bugs, it looked as deserted as the others.  He was convinced their quarry was still at sea, trying to hide in the vastness of the ocean.  He grinned to himself; “as if that’ll save them!”  Still, he was being paid to search the island and that’s what he was going to do.  As he moved through the jungle, something thrashed over to his right, where Sammits was.  Turning, he hissed; “Sammits, you clod!  What are you doing?”  Only the silence of a jungle suddenly gone quiet was heard.  Signalling to Horvath on the other side of him, the wolf turned and moved as slowly and as quietly through the jungle as he could.

Hank wiped the blade of his fighting knife on the puma’s fur and slipped it back into its sheath.  His night vision goggles showed him the Wolf and the coyote approaching from the side.  And they too had night vision goggles……  He crouched and brought his assault rifle around, wondering where John was, until something leapt through the night to crash into the Coyote.  The wolf whirled, his weapon stuttering aimlessly.  Hank raised his weapon and dropped the wolf with a single shot.

On the side of the volcanic cone, Mary and Heather exchanged looks as they heard the shooting.  Wordlessly they both turned to stare down slope, Mary quietly easing the safety of her rifle off.

Fazalio grabbed Gunther and pulled him down.  Somewhere to the left, where Travitz had gone, there was gunfire.  “More likely than not, that idiot Travitz just shot Sammits, but just in case there ARE hostiles here, we’ll stick together.  Now follow me and watch our back!”  Gunther nodded, and as the bear moved off, he followed, turning periodically to look behind him.

John growled at the rabbit; “Damn near nailed ME with that last shot; you blew his brains out all OVER me!”  Hank just chuckled; “you take North, I’ll take East and we’ll try and nail them when they come to see what happened.”  John just nodded and slipped off into the brush.

Fazalio moved carefully.  He’d learned his trade during the war, and was well familiar with jungles, and the hazards they contained.  He just wished Gunther was something more than just another gun-toting street punk.  He also wished he’d brought that kid, the one they left to guard the boat.  He could use another gun at his back, no matter how inexperienced he was, nor how uneasy the bat made him feel.

John picked up the motion of the buffalo first.  They were moving around him, circling the spot where they’d taken out the others, checking the perimeter before moving in.  That was good.  Very good.  Sound tactics, and that meant another professional.  Still, the way the Buffalo moved, he wasn’t used to the Jungle.  John watched him for a moment, and tried to figure out where they were going.  Would Hank spot them in time, or would they sneak up behind the rabbit.  “After all these years”, John thought to himself; “There is still cause to think the Sergeant Major has eyes in the back of his head.”  Moving off, the Lion paralleled the course of the Buffalo, watching and waiting for his chance.

Fazalio stopped, that idiot Gunther almost bumping into him from behind.  Something just didn’t feel right.  Dammit, the NBI bodyguard shouldn’t have been able to have taken out three of his men, and the crew of the schooner were both too old for this kind of shit.  What DID he have here?  Lowering himself to the ground, he crawled forward slowly.

Hank had heard them coming.  He’d heard John moving too.  Figuring he’d let John take the hindmost, the rabbit again pulled his combat knife and crouched, gathering his legs under him, waiting for them to come to him.

Fazalio saw the motion from the corner of his eye; something was moving at him from the side, from under a palmetto bush.  His gun came around, and had stuttered twice when the form collided with him and he went down.

Gunther saw the motion, and stood, to take a shot at the darting form.  That was when John cut him down with a burst from his SMG.

Hank grunted in pain as one of the rounds from the bear’s weapon hit his left leg.  His thrust with his fighting knife had skittered across the bear’s ribs, and then the bear shoved him away, and with a grunt, crawled off into the brush.  John’s SMG stuttered in his wake, shredding brush, but it was a clean miss.

John helped Hank tie a field dressing around his leg; it was a clean wound, neither bone nor arteries hit.  Hank hissed in pain and frustration.  “Hank, you get yourself back to the ladies; we’ve only got two left, and one of them’s hurt.  I’m going to go take care of the Hydrofoil, and then I’ll see if I can track down that bear.”  Hank nodded and moving with a very pronounced limp, moved off as quietly as he could.  John watched for a while, to see if the bear would try and follow, but when no motion was forthcoming, he turned and headed for the beach.

Fazalio panted hard.  The knife had slashed him deeply; in the moonlight he could see the white of his own ribs and he was bleeding like a stuck pig.  The rabbit that had hit him had been either very good or very lucky, or maybe both.  As he wadded up his shirt, to try and staunch the bleeding, he looked around.  “Go after the target, or get back to the boat?” he thought to himself.  “Aw, screw the bitch, I can’t spend the money if I’m dead.”  Turning, he winced at the pain the movement brought, and headed for the lagoon.

Dolphus had a unique view of the situation; everything was upside-down.  But that only made sense, as he was hanging by his feet from a tree branch, some ten meters above the ground.  Easy for a bat to do.  The bear had told him to guard the boat and watch for those they were after.  Their prey.  He’d gotten used to the others shunning him; not many folks cared much for bats; that was OK, he didn’t much care for them either.  He hung there quietly, his eyes scanning the jungle, his gyrojet pistol at the ready.  The shooting earlier had brought him to a full alertness, and he wondered who he’d spot first; their prey, or his so-called comrades returning.

John took a look around carefully.  He could see the bow of the hydrofoil, about ten meters off the beach, through the brush, and he KNEW there was someone left to guard it; but dang if he could spot him.  One part of his brain told him to just dash for the boat, and that’d bring whomever was waiting into the open, but another part insisted that was a great way to get killed.  Besides, they might have rigged booby-traps.  Hard to spot a trip-wire when running.  Stifling a sigh, he took another look around, determined that the guard would move before he did.

Dolphus had spotted the lion when  he’d crept towards the boat.  The cat was good; if he hadn’t had an altitude advantage he never would have seen him.  Confident that he could take the lion unawares if need be, any time he wanted, he stayed as quiet as he could, and just watched.

Fazalio grunted with each step.  The shirt he’d used as an impromptu bandage was soaking wet, and didn’t seem to be doing much to stop the bleeding.  Cursing quietly, he staggered down through the jungle towards the beach.

John heard the movement in the jungle, and froze.  He knew it wasn’t Hank, so it would have to be the other “hunter.”  Patiently, he waited.

Dolphus recognized Fazalio and sighed; of all the ones to have survived, it would have to be the one most disagreeable.  Smiling to himself, he decided he’d let the lion kill the bear, and then he’d kill the lion.  And then he could go after the others.  After all, that NBI agent wouldn’t be expecting an air assault, and the mink, well, maybe he’d have some fun with her first…. But ultimately he’d collect the ransom all by himself.

The bear staggered past John as he headed for the boat, his only thoughts on the aid kit.  Silently, John slipped his SMG behind his back, in its patrol sling, and drew his fighting knife, to follow the bear.

Fazalio slowed and then stopped; he could see the boat, but where was Dolphus?  Had he been killed too?  Was there an ambush by the boat, just waiting for him to come back?  Crouching, looking around, he searched for the bat.

John froze when he saw the bear crouch.  Dropping to a crouch, watching intently, he saw the bear look around, and then look around again, his gaze directed upwards.

Dolphus saw his plans start to evaporate, when the bear’s gaze locked on him.  A quick look at the Lion showed him partially behind a palm tree trunk; NOT a clear shot.  Dammit, the future had looked so bright there for a moment.  With a sigh, he gestured back behind Fazalio, trying to indicate that he was being followed.

John caught the motion of the bat, and grinned.  “Dammit, I’m getting old not to have thought of that” he thought to himself.  Sometimes plans go awry, and sometimes you have to make do with what’s available.  John knew his SMG would be the better weapon, given the new situation, but it was slung behind his back, and his fighting knife was in his paw.  As the bear turned to look in his direction, he leapt, knocking the bear back, his fighting knife stabbing upwards under the bear’s ribs.

Dolphus grinned; “this might work after all” and sighted in on the Lion with his pistol.

John saw the eyes of the bear go wide, saw blood foam on his lips as his lungs were punctured, felt him convulse as the point of his knife speared the bear’s heart; and then he grabbed the body and rolled, just as the bat fired from above.

Gyrojets are interesting weapons.  The weapon itself looks like a child’s toy, stamped from cheap tin.  The key is in the rocket.  The rounds are huge, about 0.54 caliber; in the back, in the center is a percussion cap, with three small rocket nozzles around it, angled to provide spin stabilization in flight.  The hammer of the weapon comes up into the launch chamber and strikes the round on the nose, pushing it back into the firing pin, which ignites the rocket.  As the round leaves the chamber, it pushes the hammer back down, ready for the next round.  The rocket accelerates steadily for about 2000 feet until the motor burns out, and when at its maximum speed, it delivers a massive blow.  The weapon is cheap, but the individual rounds are expensive. And as it’s a rocket, it has no recoil, perfect for a flying creature.

John saw the flash of the bat’s weapon and grunted as the massive round slammed into the bear’s body.  Fortunately, the bat was only about 30 meters away, and the round was nowhere near its maximum velocity.  As two more rounds slammed into the bear, John struggled to retrieve the bear’s weapon, his own SMG trapped beneath him.

The bat saw the motion and shook his head; “Why don’t you DIE?” he screamed as he fired another round, swaying slightly in his perch, his aim growing poorer with each successive shot.

John grunted as he felt something puncture his shoulder.  Clumsily bringing the bear’s assault rifle up, he pulled the trigger, spraying rounds wildly at the bat, emptying the entire clip in one long burst.

Dolphus screamed as he felt three rounds puncture the sensitive membranes of his wings.  Dropping his pistol, which was on a lanyard around his neck, he let go with his feet and whimpering, flapped away from the gunfire.

John heaved the remains of the bear off him; the poor sod was literally in pieces, and his blood, guts, viscera, and fecal matter was all over the lion.  Rising, John pulled his SMG around and looked in the direction the bat had gone.  Not a trace of him.  Turning, he staggered to the edge of the ocean, to look left and right along the edge of the jungle, and then sweeping his gaze through the sky.  Taking his tactical radio from a pocket in his combat vest, he rinsed it in the ocean and then switched it on; whispering he said; “Sergeant Major, you there?”

Hank grunted.  A sound neither of approval or relief.  Keying his own microphone, he whispered “of course.”  The voice of the lion came over the earphone; “Keep a lookout for a bat armed with a Gyrojet pistol.  He got away.”  Hank scanned the night sky around him and double clicked his mike in acknowledgement.  He’d had increasing problems moving through the jungle, his leg wanting to give out under him, and it had been a relief when he’d finally made it to where the ladies were crouched, convinced that ANYONE in the jungle could have tracked him there.  But they were safe, and no one had come out of the jungle in pursuit.

John waded over to the side of the hydrofoil.  It was a trim little craft, obviously expensive, and he hated to destroy it; for a moment he thought about trying to use it to get the ladies back, but then he thought it wouldn’t be beyond the mob to have a tracer on the boat…..  And the rooster-tail that hydrofoils threw up made for a great radar return.  With a sigh he pulled the pin on a grenade, and tossed it over the side.

Hank heard the WHUMP! And a moment later saw the flames rise above the edge of the jungle.

Dolphus heard the noise, as he crouched at the edge of the ocean on the other side of the island and had a sudden sinking feeling.  He had two neat holes in one wing, and one in the other; it had been a miracle that the rounds had passed on either side of his body.  Flying had been risky and painful, but luckily his wings hadn’t torn.  He’d pretty much gotten the wounds cleaned, and bandaged.  With a snarl he turned, to stalk off into the jungle, determined to find and KILL that damn lion.

John could see the wide eyes as he trudged up the mountainside.  He’d taken a quick dip in the ocean after destroying the hydrofoil, but he still looked a mess.  Perhaps it was the fact that his shoulder was still bleeding……..  Heather just stared, and Mary gasped “what happened?”  The lion just shrugged; “Rough day at the office.  C’mon, lets get out of here; considering the only one of them left can fly, this place is MUCH too exposed.  Helping the Sergeant Major to his feet, they moved off down the mountainside.

Dolphus looked at the smoldering remains of the hydrofoil.  Just as he’d feared.  Now he HAD to kill the prey, in order to get their boat.  Otherwise, he’d have a LONG flight back to the mainland.

Hank watched while John and the girls stripped the camouflage from the schooner, leaving it piled in a heap on the deck.  Then John slacked the lines, letting the small ship right itself, and recovered his tackle.  Climbing up onto the deck, he started the donkey engine, and engaged the winch, the lines to the anchors off the stern going tight.  As the ship started to inch from the little cove it was hidden in, Mary and Heather reached over the side to haul a grumbling Hank over the rail.

Bats have excellent hearing, and Dolphus heard the engine cough to life.  If he’d risked flying, he could have been there in moments, but by the time he’d forced his way through the jungle, the schooner was already fifty meters out into the lagoon and growing more distant with every instant.  He raised his pistol to shoot….. and then saw the rabbit sitting in the bows, an automatic weapon of some sort across his lap, the fat tube of a grenade launcher prominent under its barrel.  With a sigh he lowered his pistol, and shook his head.  Glumly, he watched the schooner turn in the lagoon, and then motor off towards the gap in the reef.

Heather held the wheel, while the schooner sailed into the dawn under main and jibs.  Mary had cleaned and bandaged the Sergeant Major’s wound, leaving him to sit on the deck house.  John had shoved the camouflage nets into the forward hold, on top of the sponges, just to clear the deck, and now it was his turn under Mary’s “gentle” ministrations.

Dolphus sighed.  He'd gotten some sleep, had a drink of water, finished the field rations he'd had in his pocket, hung his compass around his neck on its lanyard, and stripped off all his clothes.  Stretching, he crouched and then sprung into the air, his wings beating hard.  Circling for a moment, he glanced at the sun, and then turned towards where the next island in the chain should be.  It was going to be a long flight, but if he was careful, and if the weather held, he should be to where there was a phone in a day or two.  The boss wasn't going to be pleased, either.

Mary shook her head as she picked another piece of what looked like bone out of the lion’s left shoulder.  “Yeah,” the lion rumbled, “that bat’s gyrojet sure tore him up.  I’d think that bone fragment’s more likely his than mine.”  Mary just clucked in disapproval; “That’s going to make for an excellent path for infection; you’re going to have to see a doctor soon.”  John just shrugged and took another swig from the bottle of brandy as Mary again probed with the tweezers.

The rest of the day was calm.  No ships or aircraft were sighted.  Mostly they slept, exhausted after their rough night.  Mary tried hard to stay alert, but she too had been up all night, and again and again she caught herself nodding.  John had plotted a round-about course to their rendezvous, and the windvane autopilot was set for the first leg.

Heather awoke from her nap, and looked around the deck.  The lion was curled up by the wheel, twitching every once in a while, as if disturbed by dreams, or possibly nightmares.  The Sergeant Major was flat on his back on the deckhouse, snoring softly, his mouth hanging open.  Mary was standing by the foremast, staring out to sea, or so it seemed; when Heather walked up to her, her eyes were closed…. Touching her on the shoulder, Mary came awake with a start; “Oh, hello, Dear; everything OK?”  Heather nodded; “why don’t you go lay down for a while, I’ll keep lookout.”  Mary just shook her head; “No, I’m OK, really.”  Heather looked out across the ocean, and shook her head; “well, I guess now we know……”  Mary raised an eyebrow; “Know what?  That the Mob’s actually out to get you, to keep you from testifying?”  Heather smiled softly; “no, we knew that; that we can trust these guys.  If the Mob had bought them off, we never would have survived last night.  They both got hurt fighting for us.”  Mary nodded slowly, turning to look over her shoulder; quietly she murmured; “yeah, who would have ever thought…….”

John was awake by the time the sun approached the horizon, some inner alarm clock bringing him awake as the schooner approached its waypoint.  Checking the SatNav, he brought the schooner around to a new course, and after resetting the windvane autopilot he went below to try and rustle up something for dinner.  Heather followed him down, thinking he might need some help, and sure enough, he was struggling to lift a platter from the refrigerator using only one hand.  “Shoulder giving you trouble?” she asked as lightly as she could.  The lion just nodded; “its been stiffening up all day.  I think Mary’s right; I think its getting infected.  Of course, in the jungle, that happens to every scratch.”  Mary smiled and moved to help him gather the makings for sandwiches, putting together a smorgasboard.  As they worked, John found her “accidentally” bumping into him several times; the galley was tight, but he was convinced they bumped more than was necessary…….  He was just about to pick up the platter, to head for the companionway, when she put a paw in the middle of his chest, stopping him.  “I just wanted to thank you for all you did back there.  I know it would have been much easier to just let them have Mary and me, maybe even more profitable, and I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”  John grinned; “Don’t thank me yet, Heather; we’re not home safe yet….. but don’t worry, we won’t sell you out to the Mob.”  Heather just smiled, a devilish look coming into her eyes; falling to her knees before the lion she nuzzled his crotch for a moment and then whispered; “I’m sure you won’t”….. Then her fingers were on his belt buckle, and the button underneath…….., sliding his pants down, to lick gently at him…..

Mary looked back at the deckhouse and wondered what was taking Heather and the Lion so long getting dinner together; she was hungry…….  Padding over towards the companionway, she was stopped by the rabbit; ‘Uh, don’t think you want to go down there right now…”  When Mary raised an eyebrow in a silent question, Hank flicked an ear towards one of the ventilators on the deckhouse roof.  Padding over, Mary cocked an ear to it, and her eyes went wide at the unmistakable sounds.  Hank chuckled; “I would say Heather’s being a bit appreciative……..”  The wolverine gave the rabbit a glare; “well, I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Mister; as far as I’m concerned you don’t need to be rewarded for just doing your job!”  Turning, she stalked back towards the bow.

Hank watched her go and grinned, wondering if she’d have a change of heart before it was all over.  And then he went to thinking how he might contrive to be alone with Heather, to see if she would be appreciative with him as well……”

John and Heather appeared a bit later, laying out the fixings for a cold dinner on the deckhouse roof.  After she’d fixed a plate for Mary and herself, Heather went forward, to sit by the Wolverine.  John sat down by Hank, his plate balanced on his lap, as he ate quietly.  After a while, Hank looked over and grinned; “she any good?”  John turned to look at the rabbit and then grinned; “we that loud?”  Hank chuckled and nodded; “loud enough to give a play by play.”  John chuckled and shook his head; ‘Yeah, she has a most talented tongue.  ‘Course, after she’d finished with me, I just HAD to sit her up on the counter and return the favor……..”  Hank chuckled, and nodded; “So that’s what those squealing noises were.”

Mary looked at Heather with a sigh as she gathered up the dirty dishes; “So how was the Lion?”  Heather grinned; “He was pretty good; more tender and considerate than I would have expected.  And he reciprocated veeeeeerrrrrrry nicely……  You mad at me for doing that?”  Mary sighed and leaned forward to kiss Heather on the forehead; “no, not really.  It was your choice, your call…. But I think you should know that the rabbit seems to think quid pro quo is coming his way too…..”  Heather just laughed, and shrugged; “You know, Mary, when we return, when I go to testify, the danger won’t end.  I could be dead soon…..  And I’d just as soon, well, live a little while I can, should it come to that…...”  Mary looked at her, and slowly nodded, words escaping her for the moment.

The next day the small ship sailed across a peaceful ocean undisturbed.  John, and Heather took turns at the wheel, Hank having trouble standing on his injured leg.  Mostly everyone kept to themselves, lost in their own thoughts.  Gradually, their destination drew closer.

Night had fallen, and the sky was filled with stars.  So far they still hadn't seen a single ship, or plane, which was fine with John.  The wind was brisk, they were making good time, the wake rushing under the stern as the Schooner moved through the night.  John was standing by the wheel, just watching as the windvane autopilot held the ship to its course.  Hank shifted on the deckhouse roof, and then staggered to his feet.  Using a crutch, the rabbit slowly made his way towards the companionway hatch, muttering curses as he tried to negotiate the steep steps.  After a few minutes, Heather arose from where she was sitting with Mary, and also headed towards the companionway, and below, giving John a wink just before descending into the ship.

Hank had always found the ship's Head (water closet) ridiculously small, and having as much trouble moving as he was, he found it damn near impossible.  Finally he'd relieved himself, and grunting with the pain in his leg, managed to make his way through the door.  He was a little surprised to find Heather leaning against the wall in the corridor, a smile on her face.  She looked the rabbit up and down and then purrrrred; "Hey, sailor, wanna have a good time?"

Hank looked around, as if thinking, and then grinned widely; crooking a finger at Heather, he stumped off down the corridor, his crutch swinging as he moved perhaps a little more energetically.  Hank led her through the cargo holds, and into the fo'c'sle in the bows of the ship.  As they moved forward the motion of the ship became more apparent, the bows rising and falling as they moved through the ocean swells.  The Fo'c'sle is the traditional crew's quarters on a sailing ship, and Hank's quarters of choice in port, when the ship wasn't moving.  Now, the floor heaved under them every few seconds.  Heather looked about, wondering why Hank had brought her here.  Hank grinned and dropped his crutch, hugging Heather close, to fall backwards onto his bed.  As he kissed her, Heather understood, as the bed seemed to move up under her, and then fall back; the motions of their lovemaking would be powered by the motion of the ship's bows through the waves…… Purrring, Heather kissed Hank back, as her paws fumbled with his pants.

Mary could hear them, from where she sat in the bows.  There were a couple of those funny stovepipe ventilators, and the noises coming through them were unmistakable.  After a while, she sighed and rose, to wander back towards the stern, Heather's words about wanting to live a little, and about how, even having survived so far, life still might be short.  Stopping by the mainmast she looked at the lion, clad in ragged shorts and a bandage, as he stood by the wheel.  After a moment she shrugged, saying to herself; "If I live through this, I'll probably regret it……."

John looked up from the IR screen set in a recess in the deck, by the wheel.  There was still nothing on, or above the horizon, and somehow, he seriously doubted even the mob could afford a submarine.  Mary stopped a few feet away, her hands in her pockets, looking at him.  John grinned in the darkness, his teeth showing whitely; "I take it Heather's spending some time with the Sergeant Major."  Mary looked out at the horizon and nodded; "We were talking about how even if we get off this ship, how even if we make it into court for the deposition, that we still might not live too long.  Heather wanted to….. live a little, while she still could."  John nodded; "A sensation I'm well aware of."

They stood in silence for a while, watching the wind and the water, and the sails.  Finally Mary turned to the lion and sighed; "I can't get what Heather said about living a little, about how there may not be many more chances……. out of my mind….."  John smiled softly as his eyes roved over the sails.  Dropping his gaze to Mary he smiled a bit wider; "If you would care to indulge in some of the…… pleasures that Heather has been enjoying, I'd be delighted to help."  Mary blushed, and almost turned away, but after a moment's hesitation, she nodded shyly.

Heather was giggling.  The rabbit was nude, and flat on his back on the bed.  She was also nude, and astride his hips, his cock buried quite nicely in her pussy.  Her hands were holding onto a rope that swung from the ceiling, and she was using it to pull herself up and down, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy.  The motions of the ship, the bow rising and falling, their course adding a slight rocking from side to side, the combination yielding a bit of a corkscrewing effect, was adding to her motions.  Overall the combined effect was quite sensuous.  The Rabbit seemed to be in no hurry, his paws teasing her nipples as her breasts bounced and swayed with her motions, his motions slow and gentle.  Heather purrrrred quietly and grinned…….

Mary gasped as the Lion's rough tongue rasped over her clitty; he'd laid her back on the deckhouse, her ass at its edge, her feet on the deck.  After sliding off her pants, he'd knelt between her feet, his muzzle resting on the edge of the deckhouse, his tongue stroking her sex.  He'd started by teasing the periphery of her sex, licking gently at the insides of her thighs, across her mons, only slowly circling in on her sex…. His motions were slow, and measured, as if he had all the time in the world.  And by the time his tongue did graze her labia, she was wet, and eager…….  By the time his tongue parted her labia, for the first tentative lick inside her, she was moaning softly, her paws caressing his ears.  And by the time he started swirling the tip of his tongue around inside her, corkcrewing it in and out, alternating the smooth and rough sides of his tongue against her most sensitive places, the night was filled with her cries.  And when his tongue danced across her clitty, she clutched his head tight to her crotch, pulling on his ears, howling as her climax blossomed deep within her.

Heather purrrred as Hank released one of her breasts, to stroke his paw down her tummy….. as his fingers found her clitty she shuddered, a quick, powerful climax ripping through her……. And still he moved within her, riding out her frenzied motions, obviously controlling himself for her, making sure she had received as much pleasure as he could give her, before succumbing to the pleasures himself.

Mary gasped and moaned; "Enough, ENOUGH!  Oh, please, stop!  I can't take any more!"  The lion's tongue was insatiable, ravaging her, driving her to delight after delight, but now she was spent, exhausted, her chest heaving….. The lion rose from where he was kneeling, and grinned down at her.  Reaching down, he gently rolled her over, sliding her back some, until she was on her knees,  torso resting horizontally on the top of the deckhouse.  Kneeling again behind her, he took his cock in one hand, to slowly rub its head back and forth along her dripping pussy; "are you SURE you've had enough?"  Mary panted and shook her head, and after a moment, she grinned; "well…… maybe ONE more……."  The lion purrrred and slowly pushed his hips forward, driving his cock into her wetness……"

By the time Heather and the Sergeant Major emerged from the Fo'c'sle, the Lion was again standing by the wheel, watching the IR display, and the sails.  Mary was sitting on the deckhouse, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms around her legs and her chin on her knees.  She smiled at Heather as she wandered over to her; "been living a little?"  Heather sat down beside her and nodded, looking up at the stars; "whats the saying?  Sieze the day?"  Mary nodded and just smiled.

With the rising sun, the rabbit and the lion seemed to become more watchful, as if the night no longer concealed them.  As they grew closer to the Happenstance islands, the chance of their being detected increased, and as the day wore on, it was obvious that they both were becoming more and more tense.  However, there were no interruptions; none of the passing aircraft or ships gave them a second look, and it was in the wee hours of the following morning that they made their rendezvous with the Police launch.  Again General Forrest was aboard, with a crew of determined looking NBI agents.  Taking Forrest towards the stern, Mosby gave him a quick rundown of their experiences, while Hank did his best to get the luggage over the side, his stiff leg drawing some curious glances.

And then it was time for them to depart.  Hank gave Heather a hug goodbye and then turned to Mary; "Mary, I'd be pleased if you kept the M903.  Its not doing much good here, and I suspect you might find it useful.  Mary smiled, her face lighting up, for a brief instant, and then again she was all seriousness.  "Ah, yes, Thank You, Sergeant Major, I'd appreciate that."  Stepping over the gunwale and into the police launch, she turned to watch.  Heather gave John a kiss goodbye, chastely on the cheek, and then gave Hank a hug and a kiss goodbye as well; "Thanks, I appreciate all you guys did for us.  Whatever comes, know that I'll always remember you."  Hank nodded solemnly, and then John rumbled; "When its over, come visit us; I know some islands that would be perfect for recovering from an ordeal such as this."  Heather just nodded and bit her lip, and slipped over the gunwale and into Mary's waiting arms.  Forrest looked at John, and then at Hank; "I'll call ahead to the Physician you guys normally use and let him know you're coming.  The fee for your services will be deposited to your accounts."  And then he too was over the side, and gone.

As the police launch accelerated, heading towards the Southeast, Heather and Mary stood in the stern and watched as the schooner slowly disappeared into the night.

John sighed, and shook his head; "Fairport's only about 30 miles, and I'm too tired to hoist sail.  Lets just motor in.  Hank nodded and turned, to make his way to the mainmast, to hoist the radar detector to its usual position.  John coaxed the auxiliary into life, and after a few minutes to let the police launch get well clear, flipped on the running lights.  Turning the ship to the west, he settled down at the wheel.

Sylvia watched as they docked the schooner.  Neither of them were moving correctly, and it wasn't until she walked out onto the dock that she saw the bandages.  "What HAPPENED to you two?" she gasped.  Hank just shrugged, and John mumbled something about occupational hazards.  Sylvia shook her head and sighed.  Finishing with the spring line, John sat on the gunwale; "Sylvia, I think we're going to be out of the charter business for at least a week, unless we can get customers that'll help us sail Rusty.  We'll be by for dinner at the usual time, but in the meantime, I hope you'll excuse us both if we just collapse and get some sleep.  This hasn't been the easiest cruise we've had."  Sylvia nodded; "I'll send Rale to get you for dinner.  But I expect to hear the FULL story at that time!"  John just smiled and nodded.

Hank was moving stiffly; he'd slept the afternoon away, and now that it was time for dinner, he was having even more trouble with his leg.  "Limping worse than that mangy lion" he grumbled to himself as he made his way into the main lodge.  John was somewhere behind him, having gotten stuck as he tried to pull on a Tee shirt, his shoulder just as stiff and painful as Hank's leg.  The rabbit was about to go into the dining room when the sound of the TV over the bar drew his attention.  "….. And again, our top story tonight is the gangland murder of the star witness in the Gianconus inditement, on the courthouse steps………"  Hank stared for a moment, open mouthed, and then turned, his sore leg forgotten.  Slamming open the door of the main lodge, he howled at the top of his lungs; "CAPTAIN MOSBY!  WE HAVE A SITUATION!"

John stood and watched the TV over the bar, and growled low in his throat.  Sylvia had come over from the dining room, to watch, and to listen, but she knew better than to interfere.  As the news station started to repeat the lead story, describing again how at least four mob gunmen had mowed down a half dozen NBI agents and the witness they were trying to protect, the lion turned, his face set, his eyes cold.  Without a word  he edged past Sylvia, down the hall, and out the front door, followed closely by the Sergeant Major.  Twenty minutes later the schooner was standing out to sea.

Gianconus smiled to himself as he sipped his brandy.  With the violent murder of that bitch mink, the grand jury hadn't had enough evidence to indite him, no matter what they suspected.  His lawyers had painstakingly filed the necessary motions and briefs, and now, three days later, here he was headed back to his estate.  He'd beaten them once again, although he was angry that his minions hadn't been able to find the bitch while she was at sea.  It would have been much better if she'd quietly vanished there.  Hell, he probably could have shifted the blame onto the mercenaries they'd hired to protect her.  He smiled and nodded to himself; those mercs were just doing a job, but still, they'd thwarted him.  It would only be good business to show that anyone who thwarted Gianconus paid the price.

John watched the road carefully from the edge of the woods, the detonator in his hand.  Sure enough, right on schedule, the three armored limousines came around the bend.  He chuckled to himself, thinking that Gianconus was taking on airs, using the same tactic the President of the Freelands used; multiple limousines so you never knew which vehicle he was in.  "Won't save him this time though" the Lion thought to himself.  As the lead limousine crossed the culvert, the Lion twisted the handle on the detonator, and the 300 kilos of plastique he'd packed into the culvert exploded, flipping the limousine completely off the road.  The second car screeched its brakes as it tried to keep from going into the crater in the road, sliding off onto the muddy shoulder, the third car coming to a hard stop just behind it.

Hank watched as the rearmost car's backup lights came on, and its rear tires smoked as it tried to escape.  Clicking the safety off the tripod mounted heavy machine gun he'd set up at the edge of the woods, he took careful aim and pushed down the butterfly trigger.

Gianconus watched in horror as the car in front of his was lifted into the air on a billow of yellow-orange flame.  As the driver swerved to one side, he was thrown against the left-hand door of the limo.  Glancing out the back window he watched as glowing balls of light seemed to float lazily out of the tree line, to slam into the limo behind him.

Hank grinned wickedly; the limos were armored, but they were never designed to stand up against punishment like this.  The AP rounds from his HMG were slowly turning the car into swiss cheese.  As the first hundred round belt ran out, he calmly shoved another ammo can into the feed tray, threated the belt into the gun, and resumed shooting.

John snapped the weather cover off the back of the disposable antitank rocket launcher as he listened to Hank hammer away at the rearmost limo.  It wasn't good practice to hold the trigger down on any automatic weapon; the barrel would soften and melt.  But they weren't planning on retrieving this weapon, so it didn't matter much.  Lifting the rocket launcher to his shoulder, he took aim on the middle limo, now stuck in the mud on the shoulder of the road.  The rocket impacted on the door post, just forward of the rearmost door.  An instant later, the car exploded, as the high explosive anti-tank warhead, sufficient to destroy a modern main battle tank, detonated.  John dropped the tube and turned, to walk along the treeline towards Hank's position.

Hank looked at the lion as he approached.  There was no emotion on his face, or in his voice as he muttered; "Any need to check for survivors, Captain?"  John turned to look at the burning vehicles, and shook his head; "I don't think so, Sergeant Major.  Lets move back to where we left our vehicle."  Turning, the two vanished into the woods.

General Nathan Forrest (ret.) looked at the NBI inspector; "There's no doubt about it.  This is the work of Barovian terrorists.  That machine gun, the anti-tank rocket launcher, and I'll wager even the explosives used, are all of their manufacture, as were their tactics.  The NBI inspector, an ursine by the name of Connor, narrowed his eyes; "why in the world would the Barovians assassinate a crime lord?"  Forrest shrugged; "I'd look for some deal gone bad.  Perhaps Gianconus was doing some spying on the side, and decided to cheat them?  Heck, maybe they mistook his security precautions for those of the President.  You know he liked to mimic him."  Connor nodded slowly, looking down at the machine gun, and the shell casings littering the field.  "Well, we certainly didn't get any fingerprints off of any of this stuff.  It'd all been wiped clean.  Unless we turn up anything to the contrary, I guess I'll have to accept your explanation, General."

John sat in the bows of the schooner, once again tied up at the WaterWings resort, watching the sun set.  Hank limped up, and handed him a fresh beer.  The lion took a long pull and sighed.  "Thinking about them, aren't you?" the rabbit asked.  John nodded; "It makes no sense.  Those two had everything to live for, they had purpose in their lives, and here WE sit, while they're dead."  Hank just shrugged and nodded, and took a drink from his bottle of beer.   "Don't try to figure it out, Captain.  There's no rhyme or reason to it.  Its just life."  John just sighed and shook his head, as the last trace of the sun disappeared below the horizon.