Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (12 page)

Luke nodded, and when the old man disengaged his left hand from his wife’s grip in order to accept his cane from Washington, Luke notice the man’s baseball cap for the first time. It bore a Screaming Eagles patch over the logo 101st Airborne, with a small enamel pin depicting sergeant’s stripes. Another small circular pin said “Charter Member” in the center, with script around the outside reading “The Battered Bastards of Bastogne.” Luke saw Washington do a double take when he noticed the cap. On the front of the old man’s shirt was a temporary name tag, likely one he’d neglected to remove after some previous shipboard gathering. Written in a spidery, old man’s hand was the name Frank Hastings.

“Sergeant Washington,” Luke said, “would you and Private Long be good enough to escort Sergeant Hastings and his lady to the end of the gangway?”

“It would be our honor and privilege, sir,” Washington said, and motioned Long over to help.

Luke watched them start down the gangway, his men pushing the wheelchairs abreast as the old couple held hands and the attending seamen trailed along, as if unsure what to do. He turned and walked the few steps back to the ship where Grogan waited. As soon as he stepped off the gangway, Grogan motioned the waiting passengers forward.

“Disregard that,” Luke said to the waiting passengers, raising his hand. Then he turned to Grogan. “Let’s let them get far enough along that people aren’t breathing down their necks.”

“But the captain said—”

“As you were, PRIVATE,” Luke said, and Grogan glared at him.

When the couple was halfway down the gangway, Luke nodded at Grogan and motioned the waiting passengers forward. As they passed him, the other veterans who’d seen the incident on the gangway favored him with nods or murmured words of approval, making him feel even guiltier given his role in the con job. He took some comfort in the fact at least they were getting the people to their homes, however bad the situations might be when they got there.

He kept a watch down the gangway and saw Washington and Long release the Hastings into the care of the Filipino seamen at the bottom of the gangway, and watched the couple roll out of sight, still hand in hand. Via hand signals, he directed Washington and Long to remain at the bottom of the gangway.

The rest of the disembarkation went without incident, and his other men trailed the shrinking crowd to the gangway, so when the last of the passengers moved off the ship, Luke had all his troops together with the exception of Washington and Long. Rorke made a brief appearance and indicated he had ‘matters to attend to on board’ and Luke should take the rest of the men and wait for him at the chopper.

At the chopper, Luke put the men at ease, and they broke into groups of two or three to talk, segregating themselves based on past friendships or shared experiences, with Washington and Long together near him. Not good, thought Luke, knowing if they were to develop any sort of unit identity they had to start integrating themselves on all levels. He saw Grogan wander even further afield to bum a smoke from one of the FEMA drivers, and Luke watched as the two chatted like old friends while passengers boarded the last bus. The FEMA driver dropped his cigarette and ground it out underfoot, to board the bus himself just as Luke got a radio call from Rorke, directing him to board the chopper and have the pilots start their preflight checks for departure in ten minutes.

Washington and Long sat near him in the chopper, looking subdued as the pilots ran through their preflights.

“It’s a bad situation,” Luke said, “but at least they’re headed home.”

Washington and Long nodded as across the chopper, Grogan tried unsuccessfully to stifle a snort.

“You got something to say, Grogan?” Washington asked.

“Seriously? You didn’t buy all that happy horseshit she was spouting, did you?”

“What are you getting at? It sounded legit to me,” Washington said.

“Except there ain’t no flights, man, and there hasn’t been a hotel with emergency power in Miami in three or four days, except the ones currently occupied by bunches of gangbangers,” Grogan said. “And you might not have noticed, but things are frigging grim, and I’m thinking FEMA’s not wasting any food on those people. I mean, let’s face it, they’re all likely to be dead in a month no matter what happens.”

“Bullshit,” Long snorted. “How could you know that? Does FEMA consult you about their relief plans?”

“Because my cousin’s driving one of those FEMA buses, genius,” Grogan said, “and he says they’re only pumping out bullshit to get the passengers away from the dock and out of the way. Randy told me this was his second trip today, and his orders are to ride at least twenty minutes and then pick out someplace that looks reasonable from the outside. He just dumps them in front of whatever hotel he wants, and by the time the old farts hobble into the lobby and find it deserted, or maybe full of gangbangers, he’s already hauled ass back here to the terminal.”

Luke sat in shock as Washington and Long turned to him, seeking assurances he didn’t have.

Finally Washington spoke.

“This is messed up, LT! Like REALLY messed up!”

Luke could only nod.

Chapter Eight

M/V
Pecos Trader

Main Deck

Day 9, 4:00 p.m.

“That was fast,” Hughes said, standing on the deck with Howell and Gowan staring downstream at the approaching flotilla.

There were two of the forty-five-foot patrol boats they’d seen earlier as well as two smaller boats that appeared to be semirigid inflatables, each about twenty-five feet long, and all carried the distinctive markings of the US Coast Guard. Following them, and setting the somewhat sedate pace of the flotilla, was a much larger barge-shaped vessel with a cube-like deckhouse and a large flat deck dominated by a large crane near the bow. Numerous people were visible on both the larger patrol boats and the barge.

True to his word, Kinsey had left at first light and raced downriver. He’d radioed back to the ship that he’d be returning with his group of volunteers the same day, as soon as he’d ‘arranged a few things.’ Hughes glanced at his watch and then looked to the west. The early spring day promised at least four more hours of daylight. His only concern was the noise and activity might invite unwelcome attention.

“More people than we figured,” Georgia Howell said. “We might be hard-pressed to accommodate them.”

“We’ll make it work,” Hughes said somewhat absently as he gazed downstream. “Why in the hell did they bring a buoy tender barge?”

“Beats me,” Dan Gowan responded, squinting downriver himself. “There’s a pile of stuff on deck. Maybe they brought us a present.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Hughes said, turning to Georgia Howell. “Mate, that’s a lot of folks and they’ll probably all have baggage, so the pilot ladder will be a bottleneck. Would you please deploy the accommodation ladder?”

“Right away, Captain,” she said, “and I’ll get some lines out over the side so the boats can tie off while they wait to unload. No point in having them waste fuel holding station against the current.”

“Good idea, Georgia,” Hughes said, and she started across the deck, calling for the bosun as she did so.

***

Kinsey was first aboard, followed up the accommodation ladder by six other men in Coast Guard coveralls. He waved to Georgia Howell where she was supervising the welcome of his little flotilla, then looked around and moved toward Hughes and Gowan, his men following close behind.

“Welcome aboard,” Hughes said as Gowan nodded his concurrence. “That’s quite a crew. They all signing on?”

Kinsey grinned and shook his head. “No, some are just here to help. However, these guys”—he inclined his head toward the men with him—”are your new shipmates. They’re from Corpus Christi to Mobile, and all of them want to get a bit closer to home.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Hughes said. “I’m Jordan Hughes, the captain, and this is Dan Gowan, the chief engineer.”

The men all nodded and Kinsey introduced each along with their occupational specialties. When the group turned out to be all petty officers, including two machinery technicians and one electrician’s mate, Gowan’s face split into a wide grin.

“Out-fucking-standing!” Gowan said, and Kinsey cocked his head at Hughes.

“It takes so little to make engineers happy,” Hughes deadpanned, “and apparently new playmates are high on the list.” He grinned. “Seriously, gentlemen, we’re pleased to have you all, and as soon as you’ve settled in, we can surely use your help.” He glanced over at Gowan. “Though for those of you unfortunate enough to be engineers, I’m not sure the chief here is willing to wait that long.”

One of the men, a petty officer second class whose name Hughes hadn’t yet committed to memory, spoke directly to Dan Gowan. “We’re ready to turn to right away if you need us, Chief.” He shifted his gaze to Kinsey. “That is, presuming Chief Kinsey can get by without us and see our gear and families get aboard okay.”

“Done,” Kinsey said. “Go help Chief Gowan.”

“REALLY out-fucking-standing!” Gowan said.

“And I assure you,” Hughes added, “he really does have a much larger vocabulary.”

Gowan turned red, grinned as everyone else laughed, motioned for the newest members of his engine gang to follow and headed toward the deckhouse. Kinsey detailed the remaining Coasties to assist with the boarding of the families and loading of gear, then turned back to Hughes.

“How many altogether?” Hughes asked.

“Seven men, counting myself, five wives, and nine kids. Twenty-one in all,” Kinsey said.

Hughes nodded. “We’re tight on accommodations. I can double up some crew, use the hospital and the owner’s room, and probably put some cots in the public spaces like the officers’ lounge. It won’t be the most comfortable accommodations, but you’ll all have a place to sleep, access to toilet and showers, and three meals a day.” He paused. “But speaking of food, did you bring any with you? This more than doubles our head count and effectively cuts our rations in half. We’re probably all right for eight to ten weeks, but after that, we got nothing.”

Kinsey shook his head. “The accommodations are no problem, and we have inflatable mattresses if they’re needed, but the food’s a different story. I’m leaving over thirty people here, without much food to start with, so I didn’t feel right taking any. Our leaving will double their food supply, but that’s maybe three weeks at most.” He hesitated. “Besides, I’ve got an idea regarding provisions, which may solve everyone’s problems, but I’d like to hold off discussing it for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

Hughes raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic,” he said, gesturing at the various vessels alongside. “Does it have anything to do with your little fleet here? If you’re just bringing people and baggage, I figure you could have crammed them into the two bigger patrol boats and saved a lot of fuel.”

“I didn’t say we came empty-handed.” Kinsey pointed past the accommodation ladder where Georgia Howell was greeting new arrivals and sending them with crewmen to get settled.

Hughes followed Kinsey’s finger to the buoy tender barge. Stacked on the open deck were boxes and cases of various sizes along with an empty boat trailer. Hughes looked back at Kinsey, obviously confused.

“Okay, I see a boat trailer and some boxes. What’s in the boxes and what good is a trailer going to do us?”

“The trailer by itself, nothing,” Kinsey said. “But we’re going to hoist it on board, tie it down securely, and use it as a transport cradle for THAT!”

Again Hughes followed Kinsey’s pointing finger to one of the smaller patrol boats.

“Which is not, as you might think, a nice little inflatable boat, but a Defender-class Response Boat, with an aluminum hull and a rigid foam-filled flotation collar, and with a range of one hundred seventy-five nautical miles and a speed of forty-six knots,” Kinsey said. “And we’re taking her.”

Hughes seemed stunned and Kinsey continued. “And those boxes contain, among other things, two M240 machine guns, along with ten M4 carbines, and of course, ammunition for all of the above.”

Hughes just stared at Kinsey, wide-eyed.

“Well, say something, dammit! You look like you’re about to have a stroke,” Kinsey said.

Hughes burst out laughing. “All I can think of,” he said when he’d recovered, “is out-fucking-standing! I guess … guess I’ve been sailing with Dan too long.”

Then Hughes cast an appraising eye at the stack of boxes down on the barge.

“But all those boxes can’t be just guns and ammunition,” he said.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Kinsey said, “the big boxes are solar panels.”

“All of them? There must be a dozen boxes there?”

“Fifteen, actually,” Kinsey said. “Station Oak Island is, or was, I guess now, home to an Aids to Navigation Team maintaining buoys and lights up and down a sector of the Intracoastal Waterway. Most of those navaids are solar powered, and we received a big shipment of the latest model solar panels right before the blackout.” He paused. “Given the situation, I suspect navaid maintenance isn’t going to be very high on anyone’s list of priorities anytime soon.”

“What are we going to do with them?” Hughes asked.

Kinsey shrugged. “I don’t know, but something tells me they’ll come in handy. They’re reliable as hell and meant to work unattended in the salt air and in the middle of nowhere, to say nothing of being covered with seagull droppings—that stuff is corrosive as hell, you know.”

“I’ll say one thing, Kinsey, when you commit, you go all in,” Hughes said. “The guys you’re leaving behind all right with you taking all this stuff? You know if things start getting back to normal in a few months, this is all going to look like a very bad idea.”

“If things get back to normal, I’ll take the heat for any decisions I make, and be thankful to do it,” Kinsey said, shaking his head, “but I honestly can’t see that happening. And as far as the other guys, they agreed to a fifty-fifty split on resources, as long as they kept the food and we documented everything.” He smiled. “I haven’t been in the service this long without learning how to cover my ass when necessary. Mike Butler is the chief in charge of the Aids to Navigation Team, and he’s taking over as CO of the Oak Island Station. We filled out the paperwork and had a short ‘change of command’ ceremony this morning. Me and the other guys going with you all officially requested transfers to the Marine Safety Unit in Port Arthur, Texas, which in his role of commanding officer, Mike provisionally approved since we aren’t in contact with anyone to say no. We followed the time-honored concept it’s better to apologize than ask permission.”

Hughes grinned appreciatively. “Pretty slick, but what about all the stuff?”

“We’re one of the first units to receive our allotment of the new solar panels, and it would be selfish of us not to share them with our unit in Port Arthur during this time of scarcity,” Kinsey said piously. “Nor can we in good conscience see valuable government property or, for that matter, this private vessel, which we have an obligation to safeguard, sail unprotected in this increasingly lawless environment. Therefore, we have drawn sufficient armaments and resources to execute that protective mission. Further to the execution of the mission, and in the US Coast Guard’s best tradition of making maximum use of limited resources, we are pursuing those multiple missions efficiently, by cost effectively transporting personnel, equipment, and dependents to their new duty station while simultaneously conducting said protective mission.”

Hughes shook his head, still grinning. “I gotta hand it to you, Chief, you’re full of surprises.”

Kinsey grinned back. “Oh, you haven’t seen them all yet, Captain. Matter of fact, I think we can expect visitors any time—”

Kenny Nunez, the bosun, shouted across the deck from where he was standing at the ship side next to the terminal. “Captain, there’s some sort of armored car with a machine gun on top coming this way through the terminal!”

“I was getting to that,” Kinsey said. “Now about those provisions…”

M/V
Pecos Trader

Conference Room

Day 9, 5:00 p.m.

Hughes’ chair squeaked a bit as he leaned to his left and whispered to Georgia Howell, “Any word from Tex?”

She shook her head and whispered back, “No, but it shouldn’t be long. She’ll either find something or she won’t, and I told her to call me on the radio, either way.”

Hughes nodded and turned his attention to the group crowded elbow to elbow around the rectangular table that nearly filled the small conference room. He sat at the head, nominal host to the impromptu meeting, and opposite him at the far end sat a man of early middle age with chestnut hair shot with streaks of gray Hughes suspected weren’t there a week earlier. Dark circles under the man’s eyes gave testimony to lack of sleep. His ACUs bore the insignia of a major, and he was flanked on one side by a younger black man wearing lieutenant’s bars and on the other by a sergeant.

On Hughes’ end of the table sat his three senior officers, and in the middle on either side were the two senior Coast Guardsmen, Kinsey representing the group sailing with the ship, and Chief Boatswain’s Mate Mike Butler as the new CO of Station Oak Island. Also summoned to the meeting at the suggestion of Dan Gowan (and looking decidedly ill at ease) was Levi Jenkins.

Major Douglas Hunnicutt shook his head. “It’s a good location, but there’s no way we have enough people to secure it. We’re down to fifty combat effectives, maybe seventy-five if we multitask support people, and between the container terminal and oil terminal, there’s just too much perimeter fence. And we’ve still got over three hundred civilians depending on us.” He sighed. “I’d like to save those people at least. I’m thinking the wisest course of action is to get out of the city while we still have the means, and hope FEMA resupplies us.”

“But we don’t really have to defend it all, sir,” Sergeant Josh Wright countered. “It’s ten feet high topped with razor wire, so we just have to control the gates and patrol the rest, while we use the containers to build an interior strong point if we need to fall back. If the Coasties move up and join us like Chief Kinsey and I discussed,” he added, warming to the argument, “we’ll have our back to the river and they’ll be protecting that. Besides, I’d rather take a chance on whatever is in these containers than FEMA. There must be a thousand containers here, and there’s BOUND to be some food in some of them.”

“You don’t know WHAT’S in those containers, Sergeant,” the major countered, “and we don’t have the manpower to start a treasure hunt. And as far as moving the containers, we don’t even know if any of the equipment in the terminal is operable or if we have anyone who can operate it even if it—”

“Sorry to interrupt, Major,” Hughes said, “but there are at least SEVERAL thousand containers in the terminal, and I suspect the sergeant’s right about the food. The US imports a lot, and it just makes sense some percentage of these boxes contain canned goods.” The major glared at him for interrupting and was about to cut him off when Hughes raised a hand. “But we’ll know soon enough. Our Coast Guard friends here were kind enough to ferry our third mate to the terminal. She’s sailed container ships and she’ll search the terminal offices for cargo manifests. We should know pretty quickly what’s in each box and exactly where it’s located in the terminal. There won’t be any need for a treasure hunt.”