“I spent most of my life with the legions,” answered Isaac, pride ringing in his words. Then his voice grew harsh. “But then, one day, I recognized the error of my ways.”
The big man turned away before Bowie could follow with another question. After that, it was time for action.
“Surrender!” bellowed the captain of one of the triremes, now less than a hundred yards away. “Surrender and you won’t be harmed.”
“The hell we won’t,” said Bowie with a snort. He looked over at Bill Mason, waiting for orders by the ballista. The history teacher, to everyone’s surprise, was an excellent shot with the giant crossbow. He attributed his skill to a cryptic organization named the SCA. Bowie assumed the group was related in some way to TV, the AM A, and IRS, all mentioned in passing by the often unintelligible man from the future.
“You ready, Bill?” he asked, a terrible calmness descending upon him. Bowie recognized the feeling. It was the same icy madness that possessed him back on Earth during his many duels. Rezin, his brother, called it a killing rage. “Let’s burn those bastards out of the water. Fire!”
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Mason fired. With a shriek, a fiery crossbow bolt hurtled across the water at the nearest boat. The historian had added several unique touches to the giant arrow. Hollow chambers made it scream, while a mixture of grease, mulch, and gunpowder set it ablaze with an explosive fire. Mason called his special arrows “Molotov cocktails,” and he promised deadly results.
The first arrow missed. It flew over the nearer trireme’s sail and landed harmlessly in the water. Still, it alerted the ship’s captain of the potential deadly danger to his ship. On the deck of the Unfinished Business, they could see the Roman sailors scrambling to the mast. But not in time.
With a roar, the second ballista bolt slammed into the pirate’s sail. Instantly, a dozen tongues of fire licked at the wood frame and dragonfish membrane. Black smoke billowed as the ship’s deck ignited.
Screaming in fear, the Roman sailors dove off the burning boat and into the River. Valiantly, a few men remained and tried to fight the fire, but with little success. The trireme drifted helplessly out of control, no longer a threat.
” ‘Ware the second ship!” yelled Crockett, clambering down from the mast. “It’s moving up fast.”
Masked by the black smoke from the first trireme, the other ship hurtled forward over the water like a shark sensing blood. It was less than a hundred feet from the Unfinished Business and closing fast, its bow headed directly at theirs. They were on a collision course that would destroy both boats. •
“Pull in your oars!” Lysander shouted to the Spartans. “Before they are snapped to kindling!”
Grunting with effort, Thorberg wrenched at the rudder with all of his strength. Shuddering, the longboat swerved
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to the right. At the same time, the captain of the trireme angled his boat to the left.
With a crunch of colliding wood, the bows of the two ships met, sending the crews of both tumbling to the deck. But the force of the blow had been muted by the sudden shifts in direction. Neither boat was badly damaged. Instead, they floated only yards away from each other, as the sailors on board scrambled for their weapons.
The Romans recovered first. With a roar of triumph, they slammed a portable bridge onto the deck of the Unfinished Business. A metal spike embedded in the far end of the gangplank held the ships together. In seconds, troops poured over the plank and onto the longboat.
The first two soldiers died as their feet touched the deck. Socrates, his face devoid of emotion, thrust his sword into one man’s eye, killing him instantly. Without pausing, the Greek whirled about and caught the second boarder with a backhand blow to the head. The man staggered off balance, letting down his guard. Socrates’ blade caught him in the throat, ripping it to shreds. For all of his reputation as a philosopher, the Athenian had served in three campaigns and was known throughout Greece as a ruthless, deadly fighter.