Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 30
“Where do you suggest we start?” Gary asked coolly.
“I can think of one word that nobody has demonized yet. One word that implies Constitutional legitimacy. This phrase kind of applies to the entire ‘unity of effort’ we’re describing here—that word is ‘posse’. We start by promoting that—the Slaughter Peninsula Posse.”
“The SPP,” Skinny said. “It has a certain ring to it,” he agreed. There was general agreement around the group.
So, it begins, Phil thought.
28
No Greater Love.
Tahoma’s Hammer + 14 Days.
The current rain system had picked up in intensity, making things like standing watch challenging, especially at night. Hind-sight is 20-20, Phil had thought days earlier. If he could go back in time and prepare one item for the range with the foresight that all of this would happen, he would’ve built proper fighting positions with good weather protection, cover, and concealment. The day’s deluge started out heavy and got worse from there. At around ten in the morning, a scant five hours after Phil had managed to get to sleep, Payton came by the tent to get him up.
“Dad…Dad.”
“What? What…” he said throwing his stump and leg off the edge of the cot. “Brrr…” Need to think about moving into the cargo trailer and insulating the walls. “What, honey?”
“Someone’s at the gate. Says he knows you. Tony something.”
Tony… Tony… “I know a few Tonys, Olive,” he said, pulling on his leg and his pants.
“Big black guy. Built like a semi.”
“Oh, Tony! Why didn’t you say so?” Phil missed the eyeroll as Payton left. He finished getting dressed and went out to the latrine bay to take care of business. A few minutes later he was at the front gate. There in a bright yellow safety coat was Tony the water guy. At just over two weeks old, the ordeal often felt like ages to Phil, but at that moment his mind went right back to the first earthquake.
“Let them in!” Phil ordered the gate guards. The gate was opened and then set back down after the Manner’s family strolled through. He grabbed the big handshake that was waiting for him. “Hey, bud! I take it this is the family?” They look like they’ve been through the ringer.
“Hey, bro, good to see ya’. Yes, this is my better half an’ my baby girls!”
Phil was still a bit sleepy and shocked to see them. “Well—come-in! We’ll go to the chow hall and get out of this mess.” He led them to the far end of the parking lot and into the single-wide trailer. Everyone went through the Washington state ritual of shaking off rain gear and hats and draping them over the backs of chairs.
“I’m taking it things aren’t too good, Tony…” Phil invited, after a round of proper introductions had been made.
“No, brothuh, they aren’t. If you got the time, I’d like to tell you our tale.”
Phil listened to his friend patiently for close to an hour and a half, mesmerized by the descriptions of Seattle’s damage, the events of T-Mobile Field, and the bartering system down in Bartlett. It concluded with Tony describing that they had made it about two miles from home the day before, but they had run out of gas due to it being stolen. “Phil, we got no place to go, man. I don’t ask lightly, but here I am. We need your help.”
Phil was shocked that Tony thought it was some sort of application process. It caught him off guard. “What? Yeah! No question. Of course you guys can stay here.” There was a sigh of relief from both Tony and Sheila. “I do have to ask, though, do you guys have anything to feed yourselves with?”
The dejected look returned. “Just what’s in our bags.” Tony said.
“It’s okay. I can cover you guys for quite a while from my own supplies. But there is an expectation that everyone pulls their weight around here. You know—guard duty and the like. Even you,” he said to the twins. “And as this thing rolls on, we’ll probably be more reliant on things like gardening, bartering for meat, or procuring fuel—all things you guys can help with.”
They continued to chat for a while longer with Phil telling Tony that he would talk to a few of the retirees who had bigger travel trailers about sheltering them. “Get your gear back on. I’ll show you all around.”
Tahoma’s Hammer + 15 Days.
Today, Marie thought. We run out of juice today. She had a feeling of foreboding deep in the pit of her stomach. She was standing in the dry-dock, watching one team of workers scrambling to get the last piece of shaft into its proper place—bolted to the piece ahead of it and within the confines of its strut. Up forward on that same shaft, a different team was finishing the bolting sequence of the seals with four-foot-long wrenches, something not unlike bolting a car’s lug-nuts but with more technical precision and on a much grander scale. Those seals had to be done perfectly or they wouldn’t keep the ocean out of the ship.
There were a couple of small fiberglass boats staged in the dock ready to take on the last dozen or so workers if it really came down to it. The cranes had stopped installing the propellers and rudders and shifted to pulling out various pieces of large equipment. Marie knew that the floating crane and divers could handle the props later, but she couldn’t replace the equipment. Not in the new world. She glanced south toward the caisson, spying about forty shipwrights and riggers. Their sledgehammers and wedges were staged on top of spare blocks, waiting to be slammed into the deluge once the pumps stopped running. The men and women were waiting for their moment, some sitting on blocks… others leaning against the dry-dock wall. She made her way to the stairs at the southwest corner of the dock and began the long ascent to the topside.
It was dark and rainy, which meant normal. In Cascadia, it was always fully past dusk by early evening in autumn and winter. People were settling into their tents and trailers after eating. Phil, Payton, and Savannah were settling into eating bowls of soup coupled with small-talk in the club’s office when the duress signal whispered through the radios like the voice of a ghost—“Dakota, Dakota, Dakota.” Phil had honored his dog’s memory by turning her name into the code word for their brand-new observation post, buried close to one hundred meters into the woods on the far side of the highway. That word was meant only for letting the range know that a threat was approaching from the west.
Phil was the first to react, hopping out of the chair with his rifle. “Grab her and get to the school box!” Phil commanded as he poured himself out of the small trailer as quickly as he could. He rounded the corner off the deck to go down to bench “one” on the rifle line. That’s where he kept his Minuteman Kit. When he got to it, he picked up a pre-staged disposable air horn—like the kind used at ball games—and gave three two-second blasts. He then threw on his battle belt, not worrying about aligning the Velcro hooks with the inner belt he used to hold up his pants. He had staged his plate carrier loosely intact so that he could don it by holding it over his head and dropping it down his arms. Next came the bump-helmet. He was buckling it as he sprinted down the rifle line. He opted to approach the gate from the far side of the line versus going up to the parking lot via either set of stairs.
“Let’s go!” Billy yelled to all of the shipwrights and riggers. The dry-dock’s lights had gone out, leaving only the big spotlights topside of the dock, powered by portable generators. The background noise of the de-flooding pumps was conspicuously absent, making the rushing saltwater seem louder and more ominous. “Yardbirds” began to scramble to their positions, taking the big wedges and hammers and slamming them into the flooding gap. Fall-protection-clad shipwrights scrambled up the ringed-legs of the scaffold like chimpanzees, the prefabricated stairs having been removed to lessen the surface area for the rushing water to slam into.
From the top, Marie looked down at the team members sloshing through the water to their critical jobs. I’m so proud to call you my team! she thought. Next to her, the dock master was issuing frantic orders into the radio, as almost two-hundred shipyard workers were scrambling to staff the ten mooring lines tethering each side of the behemoth ship to the topside cleats.
She spied the water’s edge as it moved past the now-filled pump intakes in the dry-dock’s floor. She couldn’t contain the nerves on her face as it filled with frantic worry, watching the machinist and riggers rushing to correctly finish the shaft-sealing process. She could hear the rhythmic cracking of hammers on wood, which caused her once again to look south. She watched the forty shipwrights and riggers pounding giant four-foot-long wedges into the gaps, over and over again. Each one would pound a wedge and move to the next, continuously beating on the same three or four wedges in their area. Each wedge would work itself loose from the force of the inlet behind it. They were all soaked to the bone. Rain gear didn’t matter on a job like this. Moving in it just tired a person out. Some of them had actually taken it off.
The shipwrights up on the scaffold were taking the worst of it. In addition to the stairs, they had removed most of the plank and guardrails to lessen the amount of shaking the scaffold suffered from the pounding water. Yet there they are, in fall gear, swinging those big hammers over and over again… Marie began to feel a pit of despair grow in her stomach.
Phil heard Jerry repeating the code word from his perch up on the hill, just in case anyone hadn’t heard it the first time. The protocol is working, Phil thought. “Ben Franklin,” he said as he approached the main gate watches, another part of their new protocol. They would establish a new word after every incident, or once a week. He flipped down the night-vision monocular on his helmet and scanned the parking lot berm for intruders. “You guys see anything?” he asked Vic and Donna Gladstone.
“Nothing,” Vic whispered.
His PVS-14 allowed him to clearly see other range members reacting. He saw one or two people at the far end of the parking area running north to reinforce the northwest fighting position. He could also see that Payton, Savannah, and several of the older members—children, men, and women—were heading east from the chow hall to the kid’s school-room conex box.
He heard footsteps from behind and looked back, seeing all three Bryant men running across the rifle line. Eli and Jeff were running to back up the southwest corner, and Josh was coming up to the gate.
“Keep behind the sandbags,” he told Vic and Donna. Josh, on me,” Phil ordered and started to move around the gate’s bearing post and electric motor housing to head back toward the office and chow hall. That’s when he heard the first shot. KA-KROWWW! The north west corner! He hit the dirt flat, as he was already about ten feet out in the open.
“Contact northwest,” he heard Fred yell into the radio.
C’mon! C’mon! He was waiting impatiently for the newly-formed Quick Reaction Force to mobilize itself in Bay 1. They were supposed to call out on the radio when at least four of them were geared up and ready. BOOM! Southwest! Sounds like a hunting rifle. Organized attack on both corners! Phil started to worry about the wide-open east perimeter on the far side of the property. Past that were several thousand acres with an intermittent house here and there.
“Contact southwest!” someone else keyed up.
“QRF ready with six,” he heard Craig Wageman say. About then the sounds of firefights were starting to pick up speed at both western corners of the property.
‘Bout dang time. “QRF, form two squads and back up the west corners. Go. All hands, there are two friendlies in the parking area. Make sure you ID your targets!” Phil got back to his knees. “Moving,” he told Josh.
“Move,” came the experienced acknowledgment.
Phil kept his body, head, and rifle scanning the west, his body turned like a tank-turret as he slowly walked north toward the far corner of the office trailer. He parked himself on his left knee while continuing to scan the Canal Vista highway berm. He gave a quick scan to Josh, just in case he couldn’t tell that Phil was set. Josh wasn’t moving. No night vision, Phil remembered. Phil knew that several of the members had a night-vision scope on at least one rifle. Need to make sure some of those get lent to the Josh and the QRF from now on. He pulled the red-filtered flashlight off his battle belt and sent two quick strobes toward his battle buddy. Josh started the low crouching walk to Phil.
The firefight sounds were picking up on both corners. Phil dropped the flashlight into his dump pouch and started re-scanning the highway-berm. The night-vision made positive ID a cinch. Before him were two men, one of whom he’d arrested in that very parking lot two weeks earlier. They had low crawled through the salal and fir trees at the top of the berm and were now rolling down the ten-foot embankment to the parking lot.
“Contact west!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
He lit up the target to the right at the exact same moment that Josh’s rifle-mounted flashlight came on, illuminating the other target as he was destroyed. Phil closed his left eye to preserve his night vision as he rhythmically pumped five shots into his target, flipping his safety back on instinctively when he was done. He kept the rifle trained up and re-opened his left eye, scanning the berm once more. Both contacts were still and quiet. Dead quiet. He continued to look around for new threats.
The sounds of the firefight slowed dramatically. They must be retreating. “Medic!” he heard a panicked voice through the radio. He couldn’t tell whose. “We need medical to the northwest!”
He heard Alice acknowledge. She was a retired geriatric nurse, and though most of her experience was not related to trauma, she was still the most qualified.
“On me,” he told Josh, and made his way to the flagpole at the top of the stairs by the office. When Alice had reached them from the safety of the conex boxes at mid-property, Phil was waiting to escort her. “Stay behind us,” he ordered.
Phil ran ahead and planted himself past the deck and chow hall across the parking lot. He “sliced the pie” around the corner and walked back for several seconds, calling clear when he came back out. Josh and Alice followed suit while he covered their rear. He fell back in directly behind Alice. They could hear moaning and gasping as they approached the dug in position. They passed the three members of the QRF who were covering the west and north directions from the safety of trees.
As Alice dropped into the hole, Phil and Josh took cover behind trees. He wanted to scan the entire area with his night-vision. He could tell by the activity in the hole that they were working on Fred. The firefight on this corner had come to a stop. Can’t lose focus. “Moving,” he whispered quietly.
“Move,” Josh ordered.
Phil moved toward a tree just a few meters from the shoulder of the highway. He was continuously scanning left and right on both sides of the road. He could see at least three bodies nearby. Probably more down south, too. He knelt and listened for two solid minutes, hearing Alice and Fred’s two battle buddies—Joe and another person he couldn’t remember—working on Fred.
He finally fell back, fairly certain they had just repelled an overconfident attacker. He took cover behind the tree next to Josh and said into his radio, “Southwest, what’s your LACE report?”
“Our what?” came the puzzled reply.
Need to conduct training! Phil scolded himself. “Ammo and casualties. Status?”
“Oh, good on both.”
“Roger that. Send your QRF unit up the south road and have them patrol the east border. All stations, friendlies moving through the parking lot to the infirmary shortly. Hold your fire.” Phil then hopped down into the fighting position. “What we got, Alice?” He was worried about his friend.
“It’s dark, Phil.” She was trying to work by the light of a chem-lite. It emitted yellowish-green light, and it was easy to see that they had cut Fred’s shirt open right up the middle. He had an entry wound with a steady flow of blood coming out the area between his heart and left clavicle. “We need to get him inside so I can see if this is a pneumothorax and start an IV. I’m sorry, Phil! I’m just not a doctor!”
Litters! Why the hell didn’t you think about those before now! “Alright.”
Phil unslung his rifle and handed it to Joe. He hopped out of the hole and sprint-wobbled as best as he could to the chow hall seventy meters away. He went inside, thankful someone had left a candle burning when they evacuated. He shoved the plates and cups off the nearest folding table and threw it onto its side. He folded in the legs and hightailed it back to the hole. He shoved the table down to Joe, who with the assistance of Alice and the other man managed to get Fred onto it. They lifted the table up, and Phil took feet end to drag it away enough for them to climb out. The three men picked up the table with Alice and Josh trailing, making their way to the infirmary at the far end of the rifle line.
Once they got inside, Alice went to work by the light of a LED lantern and a flashlight that had been pre-hung over the cot. Phil turned around, and Sheila and Tony Manners were running up. “I’m a medical assistant. How can I help?”
“Gunshot to the chest. Get in there!” Phil said, pointing toward the room.
“Brothuh, that’s the last time I sit that out,” Tony said. “I may’ve been a Navy supply guy, but I can still man a foxhole.” He looked around and could see the old man’s blood, even in the dark. “The thought that he may die protecting my babies…”
“I know,” Phil said putting his hand on the big man’s shoulder for a moment before walking away.
Crane looked back for a quick glance. “We’re losing it!” he yelled down to Billy.
The water was at least two feet deep down at the bottom of the scaffold. The riggers and shipwrights down there were still trying to hammer, but the water was outpacing them. They were having to plow the maul through the water just to hit where they thought the ends of the wedges were. He could tell that the leading edge of the flood had finally reached where the shaft-seal team was finishing their complex torque pattern. They were torquing sixty-four giant nuts over and over again, to specific values and in a specific pattern, all while testing the seals for quality. It was slow going.
