Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 85
The road along the quay wall ended at the head of the aircraft carrier’s pier. There was one last gate to pass through, staffed by camouflaged sailors with rifles. Phil kept his eyes on the 70,000 tons of Freedom as he felt his truck in the convoy turn right and continue toward the far end of the pier. The USS Halsey, Phil thought solemnly, once more thinking of his beloved son, Crane. Please be worth my son’s life, whatever your mission is… Phil closed his eyes to talk to his son and ask God for wisdom in what was ahead, if even for only a few seconds. The brakes squealed as the truck clunked to a stop.
Phil reset his below-knee prosthetic back into a hard-suction onto his stump and climbed out of the cab, allowing the Guard soldier to go to the back and start guiding Posse members out of the enclosed bed. The pier was a commotion of vehicles, both military and civilian. Phil could tell some sort of gathering spot was in the middle of it at the far south end, past a long row of dumpsters and forklifts. He started hobbling toward the crowd. A lot of sailors up and about for 0300, he thought, seeing that there were quite a few small huddles of sailors on the ship’s lowered aircraft elevator, observing the militaristic hubbub assembling on their pier.
As he passed the last forklift, he stopped to turn back and look, double-checking that his convoy’s troops were following. Most had their kits donned, a hodge-podge of plate carriers, chest mounted rifle magazine pouches, gun belts and backpacks. Many were working in pairs to carry ammo crates. A few were pulling or pushing small carts filled with water and medical supplies. Is this really happening? Phil was both proud and worried—not so much for his own safety, but for that of the others. He had an idea of what to expect when they hit the beach, but he didn’t know how most of these men and women—kids, a lot of them, he corrected himself—would react to incoming mortars and bullets. But we were all kids, he reminded himself of his own military service. Militaries throughout history had always preferred kids—they’re long on adrenaline for combat and short on the courage needed to question bad orders. He turned back to walk towards the canopy where he recognized several people.
“Mornin’, Sheriff,” Phil greeted Sheriff Ward Raymond. “Shouldn’t you be staying back to guard the county?”
“Shouldn’t you?” the Sheriff quipped back.
Phil just stared at him for a second or three. “Fair enough,” he concluded. “Charlie…Major Matsumoto,” he said, acknowledging them as he walked over for handshakes. “What’s the plan?” He could see a number of National Guard members to the south, standing at ease but in formation. He nodded toward them. “I take it that’s all you can spare without opening up the EOC to marauders?” he asked Adam.
“Let’s just say ‘yes’ and leave it at that,” the Major replied. He was ashamed to admit just how badly depleted his unit had become. If it weren’t for the stored food, he was sure there would be no National Guard at this point.
A small group of naval officers approached from the direction of the USS Halsey’s brow, or gangway, on the southeast side of the pier. Phil could tell it was the Shipyard Commander and a few other higher-level officers. He had just met her for the first time about fourteen hours earlier. Smart…and fair, he assessed. They walked up to the canopy and a couple of them grabbed some coffee out of the urns that were on a table. Phil saw the coffee pot and realized it had been a couple of weeks since he’d had any. Ohhhh, maaann—I wish I hadn’t seen that… “Good mornin’, Captain,” he said to Captain Marie Darnell, as she approached their little huddle. Major Matsumoto offered a crisp salute, which Marie returned.
“Phil,” she said, offering a handshake. “Once again, thank you for coming to see me. This little effort you and Major Matsumoto have thrown together is more important than you realize.” She turned slightly toward the man next to her. “This is Captain Reese, the Commanding Officer of the base, and Captain Carpenter, the Halsey’s CO. Technically we’re on Captain Reese’s pier.”
“Captain,” Phil said to Captain Reese, acknowledging him. “We appreciate the support. Have you heard from our little patriot navy?”
“Yes, Mr. Walker. They’re all bobbing out there past the security fence. It’s hard to see that until you get closer to the pier’s end. When you’re ready, Port Operations will open a section and they can start tying up to the three barges over on the west side of the pier. We’ve set some fuel tanks that have hand pumps to top off boats that need it.”
“Much appreciated, sir,” Phil told him. He looked at the other Unified Posse leaders and received a set of facial expressions and head-nods that said, “Let’s get going.”
“We’re ready, Captain. Based on radio chatter, they needed us yesterday.”
Captain Reese and the Lieutenant Commander following him used a set of hand-held radios as they stepped away from the group. The Sheriff, Major Matsumoto, Charlie, and Phil headed out to go start briefing the militia leaders, including Gary, Skinny Kenny, and some from the two ends of Slaughter Peninsula.
“Uh, Phil,” Marie said quickly. “Just a quick word?” He stopped as the others kept going, looking back and forth at Marie and Captain Carpenter, the aircraft carrier’s CO. “Captain Carpenter, here, wanted to meet you.”
“Oh—sorry, sir, just a bit preoccupied,” Phil said sticking his hand out.
The captain took it, but he didn’t let Phil’s hand go. “Richard, Phil,” the accomplished man said. “I prefer ‘Rich’ when formality isn’t necessary. Listen, I’m not in a position to say too much, but I just felt you should know that your son’s sacrifice was not in vain.”
Boom—instant tears filled Phil’s eyes. He looked down and away as he didn’t want to seem like a cry-baby. “Well, Rich,” he said, trying to choke the words out, “I appreciate that.” He really didn’t at that moment, but he knew he probably would appreciate it one day.
“I mean it, Phil. We have orders. Things are happening to the world dynamic as we speak. If this community didn’t rally after the volcano, to get my ship out of dry-dock…” He paused looking behind Phil at the several hundred community members, soldiers, and police officers who were mobilizing. “…Or tonight, to ensure we can even sail up Puget Sound safely…sooner than you think…we wouldn’t be able to go do our jobs. You’ll find that Team Halsey found some ‘spare’ munitions to donate to the effort. They’re on the barge already.” The old man smiled as he said, “Ah—the barge without the fuel bladder, that is!” His smile turned down to a fond smirk once more. “Thank you for your sacrifice, Phil.” He finally released the grip on Phil’s hand.
Phil was at a loss for words. He just looked at the two Captains for a moment, giving ever-so-slight of a smile, nodded, and walked off to his Posse.
Jennifer looked around as her family’s vessel slipped through the breach in the big, floating security fence under the watchful eyes of two Federal Police Officers in a patrol boat. One of them was standing behind a mounted M-60, ready to install holes into anything that suddenly started acting like a threat. Though Jennifer never saw them, her craft was also being covered by machine gun nests on the pier and carrier’s flight-deck, too. Her father guided the forty-foot Rampage through the waters, following the lead craft, a twenty-foot whale boat operated by the shipyard’s personnel, toward the west side of the pier. I think we’ve picked up some local vessels in our fleet, she thought as she looked back and saw the size of her armada. She and Andy were ready to tie up to a barge at the Navy base in Bartlett and start loading troops.
“What’s the plan, again?” her dad yelled from inside the cabin for the fourth time in three hours.
“We’re tying up first and leaving last!” she yelled back with a tone that said, ‘Quit asking!’ “We’ll probably need to let the smaller craft tie up outboard of us, just to keep the foot traffic moving.”
She had been told there would be two or three large barges which were light enough that they were drafting about five or six feet from the waterline to their decks. Too tall for some of these craft to let the militia members jump down from. Especially with gear, loading ammo…Her plan had been to tie up the larger fishing vessels to those and then all smaller vessels would in-turn tie-up to their craft.
For over an hour, the plan slowly became reality, as vessels in the Patriot Navy began to fill with armed women and men, and supplies. Fishing boats and small cabin cruisers would take on six, eight, sometimes twenty people and then pull out of the way. A line had formed up on both sides of the security fence breach, as full vessels competed for a slot to pass through with empty ones.
Jennifer watched, as the middle-aged red-head and a handsome Native American deputy assigned boats to certain team members. The National Guard members and most of the other deputies and police officers were doing the same thing on the other barges. She could tell by the uniforms that some of the militia members were from the fire department. Maybe the medics? She wondered.
As the barge was finally emptying of people, the last thirty or so were boarding her Rampage. “Permission to come aboard?” Phil asked with slight amusement. The former Marine wondered if anyone would get it.
“Granted,” Jennifer said. “I’m Jennifer. I’m guessing you may be the ‘Phil’ our radio operator told us to look for.”
“That I am,” Phil said. “These are Charlie, Nick, and Josh,” he said pointing to his three comrades-in-arms. “We’re some of the leadership for the Posse. Bear in mind, there are Posses and militias from at least two other counties here tonight, along with the soldiers. It can get a bit confusing.”
“I get it, Phil,” Jennifer said. “This redneck flotilla isn’t exactly an organized unit itself,” she joked. She turned to Andy and ordered a cast-off from the barge. As her father guided one of the last craft back out of the Navy base’s security perimeter, she finally took a moment to gaze at the giant aircraft carrier. There were generators on the pier and the ship itself that allowed her to see it—and the gawking sailors. Is that…is that a cell phone? She couldn’t believe her eyes. Sailors were on the end of the flight-deck, waving and saluting as they filmed the Patriot Navy. Jennifer immediately defaulted to her natural sarcasm in her thoughts. You act like you’ve never seen a Howdy Doody, rag-tag flotilla sail off for war before…
“You look like George Washington crossing the Delaware River!” Charlie cracked, laughing at Phil. The huge moon hung in the eastern sky like a beacon of hope.
Phil had been deep in thought and didn’t realize he was standing as far forward on the fishing vessel’s bow as he could. He had subconsciously put his half leg up on a cleat, using his hand to hold the ship’s hull, which was a little shy of four feet high.
He had been watching the procession slowly make its way through the snake-shaped inlet, past the landslide on the south end of Russell island, and start plying toward Seattle. The vessels were slowly spreading out to make the wakes between them not churn up too much rocking action. Phil guessed they were doing about ten knots, so that they could travel as a pack.
He turned and looked at his closest friend. He pulled the fake foot off the cleat he was leaning on and took the two steps down the deck toward Charlie, careful not to step on Joe’s legs in the process. Everyone was sitting for the ride over. He looked around. Some were carrying on quiet conversations, others looked like they were praying or trying to catch a quick catnap. God bless anyone who can sleep right now. He reached for his buddy, and the two friends embraced for a ‘bro-hug.’
“Try to keep your head down, brother,” Phil said worriedly.
“You’re telling me?” Charlie joked with fake exasperation. “I’m one of like sixty brown or black dudes in this shin-dig, and most of us are in Army uniforms. You just make sure people know I’m not part of the cartel!”
“Don’t worry, Charlie!” the two men heard Big Tony call out. He was sitting on the deck, just below the windows to the cabin. “I got your back!”
That made all three of them bust a gut laughing, releasing some stress in the process. Phil glanced at Tony and said, “I don’t think I told you how glad I was you and your awesome family made it out to the range, Tony.”
“Feelin’s mutual, Phil. It’s all good.” With that Tony, closed his eyes and Phil started scanning faces. He saw Jerry creeping up the port side of the boat, trying to reach Phil past the feet and legs of napping or praying people.
“So, I was able to link up with the radio operators from the other Posses while we were staging,” Jerry said.
“Oh?” Phil replied. “What’d ya get?” he said, spying the toy in Jerry’s hand.
“I figure you’d be best to decide where to use this!” Jerry said with the excitement of a nerd who just received a new Star Wars toy. “Man, I wish I’d thought of this! It’s a homemade FLIR periscope!”
“A what?” Phil knew that FLIR was an infrared scope, but he was confused—basically looking at a cellphone on a selfie-stick.
“One of the other HAMs put a bunch of these together! It’s a phone with a FLIR camera plugged into the charging port. Only they were able to use a cable and camera stick to provide some separation between the two. See?” Jerry said. He raised the stick and camera about six-feet into the air over his full arm’s-reach. Phil could see the heat-images of various bodies on the deck at the stern of the vessel. They were looking over the trawler’s cabin.
“Holy schnikies!” Phil said. “That’s pretty cool. Tell you what—hold onto it with your gear-bag. I’ll find you when we need it.” As Jerry made his way to the stern again, Phil started scanning faces once more. Josh, Nick, Eli, Tony, Charlie…thank you, Lord, for these people. Please watch out for them.
He looked back to the east, the ‘Space Needle-less’ skyline of Seattle slowly becoming more visible with the slightest hints of late-fall dawn. They were still far enough out that the sounds of waves lapping the hull and the diesel engine’s rumble was all he heard. But the lights of gunfire flickering off of buildings in multiple spots was unmistakable. He could see the occasional muzzle flash and tracer rounds, which worked with the moon and the growing dawn to reveal the windowless skyscrapers and leaning hulks of ships that had partially submerged, pulled into the sound by their sunken piers.
The seed of anxiety planted itself in Phil’s gut. He scanned south and north, seeing nothing less than fifty boats in the Patriot Navy carve the black water of Puget Sound. They bobbed up and down as they plied through the salty brine, carrying over five-hundred men and women who were headed to defend the thin-line between America and the Cartel.
27
The Battle for Seattle.
Tahoma’s Hammer Plus 40 Days.
“How the hell are we going to move eighty-three wounded and deceased?” Natalie yelled at the guard. “And where would you advise we go?!”
“Look!” said Stan, the old Viet Nam vet. “There’s about fifteen gang members marching down 16th Avenue! There’s not enough of us to fight them!”
Janet, one of the other people helping bandage the wounded, ran over to the northeast corner of the parking structure. Her view was mostly obscured by the rubble of the next structure to the north, which had crumbled in the massive earthquake. She ducked when the sight of gang members, mostly decked out in black clothing with red undertones, came into view. They were running from car to car to cover their advance. She came running back over to the center of the facility at about the same time loud gunfire started echoing loudly throughout the concrete walls. “They’re practically here! Grab a gun! It’s too late!”
Where on Earth is Conner?! Natalie yelled in her head as she felt the heft of her .357 in the waist pack she’d been wearing on her hips. What she didn’t know was that he and one other of the five-man contingent had begun to snipe at the encroaching enemy, drawing their fire to the top of the structure. Natalie ran to the tables they’d started piling the tactical gear from the wounded on and dug through it—a shotgun! I know how to shoot one of these!
Stan had rejoined the other two guards on the ground floor, shooting out of the structure at anything that moved. “They’re going to try to flank us from the west!” he yelled. “I can feel it in my bones!”
One of the other two, who was about half of Stan’s age, began sprinting, dodging the wounded and dead who were lying on the tarps in the middle of the garage. He made his way over to the western side. “He’s right!” He started firing, trying to shoot back and forth at two different angles. Twenty seconds later, the young man took a bullet in the side of the head and crumpled to the floor.
Natalie was flipping tables up on edge, trying to place them in front of her wounded. I have to try! She then placed the gear behind the tables, hoping that it may provide some form of ballistic protection for the people she’d assumed charge over. The car-entrance to the ground floor was about fifty meters south and on the east side. Stan and his comrade moved over to it to begin covering any invaders that tried to penetrate it. Not ten feet from it, a hand reached over through the gap that made a breezeway at the top of the first floor and dropped a grenade in. Clack-clack-clack it said as it bounced on the concrete floor behind the two guards. KA-BOOM! Smoke and noise spread throughout the place, sending a shockwave that made people’s ears ring.
“Conner!” Natalie yelled at the air, wondering if he’d already died on the roof. As the smoke cleared, she could tell that both of the remaining guards had been killed by the blast. She looked left and right. Janet was holding an AR-15 while their other teammate, a retired psychiatrist, was holding a smaller caliber Ruger pistol. All three of the team had taken up positions behind load bearing columns. The doctor cried out in agony as he was shot in the back. None of them had thought to keep an eye on the west side of the garage after the young guard had been killed a minute earlier. Janet spun and started shooting at the face that had shot the doctor. Natalie wasn’t sure if Janet got the invader, but he had disappeared from view and stopped trying to shoot them. “Just keep watching the west!” Natalie ordered.
