When the dinghy came into the lee of the turtle boat that was careened away from the key and Ara held the rail, Willie turned on his side and said, “Get aboard, Henry, and crawl up there with Tom. Ara will hand you your junk. You’ve got Peters’ junk too.”
Henry climbed cautiously up the steep deck on his belly. He took one look at Peters as he crawled by him.
“Hi, Tom,” he said.
Thomas Hudson put his hand on Henry’s arm and said softly, “Get up in the bow and keep absolutely flat. Don’t let anything show over the gunwale.”
“Yes, Tom,” the big man said, and began inching down to crawl up to the bow. He had to crawl over Peters’ legs and he picked up his submachine gun and clips and stuck the clips in his belt. He felt in Peters’ pockets for frags and hung them on his belt. He patted Peters on the legs and holding the two submachine guns by the muzzles he crawled up to his post in the bow.
Thomas Hudson saw him look down into the blasted forward hatch as he crawled up the steep deck over the broken mangroves. His face gave no sign of what he saw there. When he was under the lee of the gunwale, he put the two submachine guns by his right hand and then tested the functioning of Peters’ gun and put in a fresh clip. He laid the other clips along the gunwale and unhooked the grenades from his belt and laid them out within reach. When he saw him in position and looking out at the greenness of the key, Thomas Hudson turned his head and spoke to Willie who was lying in the bottom of the dinghy with his good and his bad eye shut against the sun. He was wearing a faded khaki shirt with sleeves and ragged shorts and he had a pair of sneakers on. Ara was sitting in the stern and Thomas Hudson noticed his thatch of black hair and the way his big hands gripped the gunwale. His legs were still jumping but Thomas Hudson had known for a long time how nervous he always was before action and how beautiful he was once things started.
“Willie,” Thomas Hudson said. “You have anything figured?”
Willie opened his good eye and kept his bad eye closed against the sun.
“I ask permission to go in on the far side of the key and see what the hell gives. We can’t let them get out of here.”
“I’ll go in with you.”
“No, Tommy. I know this shit and it’s my trade.”
“I don’t want you to go in alone.”
“That’s the only way on this. You trust me, Tommy. Ara will come back here and back up your play if I flush them. He can come in and pick me up on the beach if there isn’t any trouble.”
He had both eyes open and he was looking hard at Thomas Hudson the way a man looks who is trying to sell an appliance to someone who should really have it if they can afford it.
“I’d rather go in with you.”
“Too fucking much noise, Tom. I tell you truly I know this shit good. I’m a fucking expert. You’ll never find anybody like me.”
“OK. Go in,” Thomas Hudson said. “But bust up their skiff.”
“What the hell you think I’m going to do? Go in there and jerk off?”
“If you’re going in, you better get in.”
“Tom. Now you’ve got two traps set. The ship and here. Ara makes you mobile. You have one expendable, medically discharged Marine to lose. What’s holding you up?”
“You talking so much,” Thomas Hudson said. “Get the hell in and shit bless you.”
“Drop dead,” Willie told him.
“You sound in good shape,” Thomas Hudson said and explained rapidly in Spanish to Ara what they were going to do.
“Don’t bother,” Willie said. “I can talk to him lying down.”
Ara said, “I’ll be right back, Tom.”
Thomas Hudson watched him yank the motor alive and watched the dinghy move out with Ara’s broad back and black head in the stern and Willie lying in the bottom. He had turned around so that his head was close to Ara’s feet and he could talk to him.