Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (16 page)

“So what then? You set up your own kingdom?” Luke asked. “The regular military is a thousand times stronger, and they have air power. They’ll crush us like bugs if we desert or go rogue.”

Rorke’s face split into a drunken lopsided grin. “But, Captain Kinsey, why would we ever desert or go rogue? Perish the thought! We’ll do everything our FEMA superiors task us with, and they’ll continue to build and support our force. And in two years or so the gas will start going bad, and spare parts will be in short supply …” He stopped and looked at Luke as if sidetracked by a random thought.

“Do you know how many friggin’ spare parts and maintenance people it takes to keep those jets and choppers flying, Kinsey?” Rorke asked, his slur becoming more pronounced.

Luke shook his head.

“Me neither,” Rorke said, whiskey slopping from his glass as he took a drink. “But it’s a load, Kinsey. A SHIT LOAD! In two years, three at the outside, there ain’t gonna be any ‘air power,’ and in ten or fifteen years, we’ll be transitioning to horseback for most of the force.”

“We’ll still be outnumbered by regular troops,” Luke said.

Rorke snorted. “You think so? FEMA’s terrified to use them to do the dirty work, so they keep them close to base. Just sitting there with their dependents, sucking up resources and getting stale and less capable as we siphon more and more troops from them. Sooner or later FEMA’s gonna cut ‘em off, and they’ll just dissolve or ‘go rogue’ themselves. Then we’ll be the government’s only ‘enforcers,’ with no counterbalance.” Rorke smiled, “And we’ll see who really cares about ‘accountability to civilian authorities’ then. Here’s a hint—it won’t be me. Time is on our side, Kinsey, no matter how you slice it.”

“A military coup, then?” Luke asked. “But what if the government’s plan is successful, and FEMA does succeed in a partial restoration of power and gets food production going? Then they can keep supporting the regular forces and there WILL be a counterbalance. What then, civil war?”

Rorke shrugged. “They may have some partial success, but even if they do, so what? It’s a big country, Kinsey, and even if they have some success, they won’t have the resources to control it all without us. If we can’t take over what they manage to build, we’ll just leave and establish our own operation outside of their control. It’s all about options. And as far as civil war goes, that’s inevitable, isn’t it? You don’t seriously think I’m the only ‘ex-private security contractor’ in the SFR who’s figured this out, do you?”

Luke didn’t answer immediately, sobered by the implications of Rorke’s drunken revelations.

“So you’re saying the government and FEMA are essentially creating a whole bunch of warlords,” Luke said at last, “and you figure sooner or later it’s going to be rival warlords fighting over whatever is left.”

Rorke nodded. “For want of a better term, yes. My plan is to grow faster than the rest by becoming FEMA’s fair-haired boy. After all, I’ve already got my own public relations department.” He gave Velasquez a lascivious grin and she melted against him for an open-mouthed kiss.

The pair broke from the kiss, and Rorke turned back to Luke.

“It’s like this, Kinsey,” Rorke said, reaching for his glass. “If you think things are screwed up now, wait a year or two. We’ll be talking medieval Genghis Khan shit, and I plan on being on top of that pile, whatever it takes. Are you with me?”

Luke hesitated and then raised his glass toward Rorke in a toast. “All hail the Great Khan!”

Two hours later, Maria Velasquez lay in bed, propped up on an elbow as she pressed her naked body against Rorke and stroked his chest hair, watching her lover in the moonlight washing in from the window.

“Do you trust him?” she asked.

“Trust is relative, my sweet. No one is trustworthy unless their interests align with my own. In Kinsey’s case, I’m trying to make that happen, because I need him, and men like him.”

“Why not just promote Grogan or any of the others you already know and trust?”

Rorke laughed. “I don’t TRUST Grogan or any of those other idiots any more than I would trust an attack dog. I’ve already promoted the few who possess any leadership skills at all, and the rest are just barbarians—blunt instruments I manage and control. They’re useful enough on the front line, and fine for controlling and terrorizing helpless fools in some Third World backwater, but sooner or later we may have to confront disciplined opposition, and when that happens, I’ll need an officer corps. No, I need Kinsey, and men with his skills.”

“Still, it seems a risk,” she said. “How can you be sure of him, or anyone?”

“By starting slow,” he replied. “I’ll make sure each unit is a mix of my longtime mercenaries and new recruits, and send them out on nearby ‘foraging’ missions. If Kinsey and others like him can rein in the barbarians a bit, I have no problem with that, but my thinking is the influence will be in the opposite direction. Moral standards decline in chaos, and power corrupts—in six months, any high ideals our new recruits may have held will be long gone, and any who haven’t adapted will be obvious and can be ‘honorably discharged’ in accordance with the guidelines our FEMA friends have so thoughtfully provided.”

“What if they just leave?”

“Ahh, but that’s the beauty of it,” he said. “They have nowhere to go, now do they? They’re all far from any support network and the FEMA guidelines ensure no organized command still functioning will take them in. If they strike out on their own, they’ll be branded rogues and deserters and cut off completely, without a continuing source of food and water, to say nothing of ammunition and fuel—unless they scavenge and steal from the civilian/refugee population. So, they’re going to be ‘takers’ in any event, because there isn’t any other way they can survive. The intelligent ones like Kinsey will realize that, whether they like it or not. As much as they may be repelled by the idea, they will also come to realize if they’re going to be ‘marauders,’ doing so with ‘official’ sanction is the least objectionable option.”

Chapter Eleven

Bridge of M/V
Pecos Trader

Atlantic Ocean—Southbound

East of Mayport Naval Station

Jacksonville, Florida

Day 12, 11:00 a.m.

“Are you sure disabling the AIS was a good move?” asked Hughes, staring westward through the binoculars. “Won’t it look kind of suspicious if anyone sees us and we aren’t transmitting a signal?”

Hughes lowered the glasses and turned toward Kinsey, who stood beside him on the bridge wing. The Coastie shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. The solar storm did weird and unpredictable things, so knocking out your Automatic Identification System transmitter isn’t that far-fetched. At least, it won’t be dismissed as an immediate lie. Given our cargo, it’s best to keep a low profile.”

“You think the government would commandeer the ship?” Hughes asked.

Kinsey shrugged again. “Right now a tanker full of fuel will be mighty tempting. We might find ourselves drafted into becoming floating storage for the navy or FEMA. That may happen in Texas anyway, but at least we’ll all be closer to home. We won’t have a problem if we can just get past Jacksonville and Key West.

“Mayport Naval Station at Jacksonville is home port for more than a dozen navy ships, and I’m sure they can use the fuel. If they pick us up, we can probably expect a visit. But we’re well offshore, so we have at least a shot at slipping past. I’m more worried about Coast Guard Station Key West. We’ll have to come close inshore to transit the Florida Strait, and our cover story is a bit thin.”

Kinsey had just finished speaking when they heard a familiar drone. They scanned the skies, searching for an approaching aircraft.

“And speaking of our navy friends at Jacksonville,” Kinsey said, “apparently we aren’t quite far enough offshore. I believe that will be them now.”

“Will they board?” Hughes asked.

Kinsey shook his head. “Doubtful, at least for now. It’s a fixed wing so they’ll circle and take pictures, or maybe hail us and report back. If they’re interested, they’ll send a chopper for a closer look, but we’re at extreme chopper range, so they won’t be able to hang around. If they decide to board, we’re screwed anyway.”

Both men stared as the P-3 Orion dropped lower into a long looping orbit above the ship. On the third pass, the VHF squawked.

“Southbound tanker, southbound tanker, this is the US Navy aircraft over you. Do you copy? Over.”

Hughes stepped inside and lifted the mike.

“US Navy, this is the tanker
Pecos Trader
. We copy, go ahead. Over.”

“
Pecos Trader
, state your destination and cargo. Over.”

“We are bound for Beaumont, Texas, under command and control of the US Coast Guard. I repeat our destination is Beaumont, Texas, and we are under command and control of the US Coast Guard. Do you copy? Over.”

“
Pecos Trader
, we copy. What is your cargo? Over.”

“Off specification diesel rejected by receiving facility to be pumped to slops and reclaimed. Over.”

“
Pecos Trader
, say again. Over.”

“Off spec diesel, repeat, off spec diesel. We experienced an internal pipeline leak and our entire cargo was contaminated with gasoline and rejected by the receiver in Wilmington, North Carolina. Our last orders prior to the blackout were to return the cargo to the refinery for reclamation. Over.”

“Affirmative,
Pecos Trader
, we copy. Please let me speak to senior Coast Guard officer aboard. Over.”

Hughes passed the mike to Matt Kinsey.

“US Navy, this is Senior Chief Petty Officer Matt Kinsey, US Coast Guard. Over.”

“Chief, we have no information on your vessel, please state your mission. Over.”

“We are transferring personnel and equipment from Oak Island Station, North Carolina, to the Coast Guard MSU in Port Arthur, Texas. Our orders are to proceed by most expeditious means.
Pecos Trader
was the only ride available. You can see our patrol boat on deck. Over.”

“Affirmative, Chief. Why have you disabled the vessel AIS? Over.”

“Negative, Navy. I say again, negative. We did not disable the AIS. Captain reports it malfunctioned during the solar storm, exact cause and extent of damage unknown.”

“We copy
Pecos Trader
. Wait one. Over.”

“What now?” Hughes asked.

“They’ll run this all by Jacksonville for orders,” Kinsey said. “If they order us in, I hope that contaminated diesel story holds up.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Hughes said. “It can’t be confirmed one way or another. I doubt any testing labs are operational these days, so it’s just my word against anyone else’s opinion. It’s like putting a poison sign on a water hole; no one’s likely to want to take a drink to check it out.”

Kinsey nodded but looked uneasy.

“What’s the matter, Chief?” Hughes asked.

“I’ve spent thirty years following orders, so this ‘make stuff up as you go along’ operation is pretty stressful.”

“I understand,” Hughes said, “but there’s no shortage of people needing help, and you can help just as many people where we’re going as you could where you were, and
Pecos Trader
is our only ride home. After we get there, we can decide what to do with the fuel.”

Kinsey was about to reply when the VHF radio cut him off.

“
Pecos Trader
,
Pecos Trader
, this transmission is for Chief Kinsey. Do you copy? Over.”

“We copy, Navy. This is Kinsey, go ahead. Over.”

“Chief, when did you receive orders to deploy to Texas, and is your chain of command aware you are en route? Over.”

“Four days ago, repeat, four days ago. My chain of command is aware of transit plan, but we lost comms prior to departure, so they do not know current status. Over.”

“
Pecos Trader
, we copy and you are cleared to proceed as we have no orders to supersede your current ones. However, be advised two days ago, the US Coast Guard was subordinated to FEMA for the duration of the current emergency and is now the cognizant authority controlling coastal and inland marine traffic. When you transit the Florida Strait, please check in with US Coast Guard Station Key West for any updates to current orders. We will alert them to expect you. God speed,
Pecos Trader
. US Navy out!”

“Thank you, Navy,” Kinsey said into the mike. “
Pecos Trader
out.”

He cradled the mike, looking as if he’d just been slapped.

“What’s the problem, Chief?” Hughes asked.

“The problem is the Coasties in Key West now have over twenty-four hours to check out my little fairy tale, and they know we’re coming. A bigger problem is there are several patrol boats and a cutter at Station Key West, and a balloon-borne radar at Cudjoe Key covering the entire strait and its approaches. I’ve no doubt they’ll want to have a little chat ‘up close and personal,’ all of which boils down to us being screwed.”

Terminal Office Building

Wilmington Container Terminal

Wilmington, North Carolina

Day 12, 12 Noon

The battered office chair squeaked as Levi shifted his weight, the high-pitched noise filling the small office he and his father-in-law shared as quarters since the
Pecos Trader
sailed.

“We’ve got to get back to the river camp today, Anthony,” Levi said. “We’ve been here five days now, which is three days longer than I told Celia we’d be gone. Despite radio updates, I’m sure she’s fit to be tied.”

The older man nodded. “I expect Jo’s right there with her, holding the rope. Like as not it’ll be us that’s tied when we get back to the river.” He paused. “What about the others? Who’s going with us?”

“I think just Bill Wiggins and Tex.” Levi said, “Jimmy the Pumpman decided to stay here in Wilmington now that the Coasties and National Guard guys are setting up shop. I’d been counting on him to join us, but I don’t feel too bad about it, considering the possibilities of them making a go of it here in the terminal. Anyway, he’ll be close by and we can invite him to join us if things go to hell here.”

“What about Singletary?”

Levi shook his head. “I promised Captain Hughes I’d get him started to Baltimore, but that was when he’d have no place to go when the ship sailed. Now that we’re not leaving him on his own, I have no intention of taking him to our place. Anyway, his best chance of getting back to Baltimore is grabbing an abandoned boat from one of the marinas and heading up the inland waterway. That’s what I’ll advise him to do, though what he’s likely to find in Baltimore is anyone’s guess. I doubt it’s going to be pretty.”

“That’s a fact,” Anthony said, “and I’m glad you said that. There’s something off about the guy. I don’t trust him any further than I could throw him. Maybe not that far.”

“Me neither,” Levi said. “I’ll go get Bill and Tex, and I think we need to keep the Coasties in the loop because we need their help. Will you see if you can find Chief Butler and then meet us in that little conference room down the hall?”

“Will do,” Anthony said.

A half hour later, Levi had most of the attendees gathered in the conference room, awaiting the arrival of Anthony and Chief Mike Butler. The group awaiting Butler was larger than Levi had intended. With lodging space tight, Bill Wiggins was sharing an office turned bedroom with Jimmy Barrios and Jerome Singletary. The two had tagged along to the meeting, and Levi could think of no graceful way to ‘uninvite’ them. He looked up as Anthony entered the room with a haggard Mike Butler.

“Thanks for joining us, Chief Butler,” Levi said. “I know you’re busy. I’ll try to make this quick.”

“No problem, Mr. Jenkins,” Butler replied, “you’ve been a big help to us and I’m glad to return the favor. What do you need?”

“Maybe just some extra fuel and some logistical support if you can handle it,” Levi said, “but I’ll get to that in a minute. Right now I need to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Butler nodded, and Levi turned to the others.

“Bill, Tex, first off, Anthony and I have stayed here as long as we can. I’m assuming you’re both anxious to get headed back to your folks, and if you want our help, now is the time.”

They both nodded, and Levi spread a road map on the table.

“Okay then, we need to take you both to our place on the river by boat and you can leave from there. That’ll let you bypass any possible problems getting out of Wilmington. Anthony and I’ve been talking it over, and our family has four cars between us, which is about three more than we need now. We left a later model SUV in our barn at home. It runs, or it did when we left it, anyway. We can let you have that, and with the help of our Coast Guard friends here, enough gas to get you pretty far along your way, if not all the way to your destinations.”

Wiggins and Tex looked shocked.

“I don’t know what to say, Levi,” Bill Wiggins said, “that’s incredibly generous.” Tex nodded agreement.

Levi shrugged. “Given how hard it’s likely to be to get fuel and parts from now on, automobiles are back to being a luxury used only when necessary. Having four is an extravagance no one’s likely to be able to afford, and the newer cars will only last until something goes wrong with the computers, then they’re toast. We’re keeping the old, reliable vehicles that are easy to work on, so it’s really not all that generous—just realistic. We’re not likely to use the car, so I got no problem helping shipmates get home.”

“Still, thank you,” Tex said.

Levi and Anthony seemed embarrassed by the thanks, so Bill Wiggins moved to break the uncomfortable silence.

“You said the car was in your barn, is that on the river too?” he asked.

Levi shook his head and bent over to point out a spot on the map. “No, the barn’s at our old place, just outside of Currie. Anthony and I will take you to it in my old truck and you can leave from there.”

“Look’s good,” Wiggins said. “We can cut across on secondary roads to I-40 and that’ll take us right into I-95 North.”

“Negative,” Levi said, “way too many big cities and people along the I-95 corridor. You’ll never make it through unharmed.”

“I’m with Bill on this one, Levi,” Shyla Texeira said, “95 North’s the most direct route to both my folks’ place in New Jersey and Bill’s home in Maine. We can circle the cities.”

Levi shook his head. “Even the suburbs have way too many people, and by now they’re all starving. I’m sure the interstates are all jammed with abandoned cars as well, because by all reports, folks are fleeing the cities, and maybe not thinking too clearly. If you’re running AWAY from a city on the interstate system, it means you’re running TOWARD another one. If they abandoned their cars on the interstate when they ran out of gas, or just realized their error and moved off onto nearby secondary roads, there’s likely a huge mass of desperate, hungry people not only in the cities, but spread out within corridors several miles wide along both sides of the interstate system. If you’re driving by, winding your way through stalled cars, you might as well be carrying a big sign reading ‘we got gas, we got food.’ Trust me, you’ll never make your destinations along major roads.”

“How, then?” Wiggins asked, gesturing to the map. “The kind of roads you’re talking about don’t show up on a road map of the Eastern US, and we sure can’t be stopping to ask directions.”

Levi smiled and reached down into a backpack on the floor at his feet and produced a small paperback book and a thick stack of maps bound with a rubber band. He laid both on the table.

“The book’s a guide to the Appalachian Trail, and the bundle contains state and local maps from here to Canada,” he said.

“But how did you …” Tex began, looking confused, and Levi laughed.

“I’m one of those crazy preppers, remember,” he said, “and one who spent half of each year far from home, mostly traveling up and down the East Coast.” He nodded down at the backpack. “I kept my ‘getting home’ bag with me on the ship at all times, and I have a route home planned out in my head from every port between Corpus Christi, Texas and St. Johns, Newfoundland. You just reverse one of my planned routes.”