by Ray Wench
He motioned with the barrel of the rifle. “Let's go inside and discuss it.”
Tara blew out an angry breath. “We don't have time for that. We have to be airborne before dawn.”
“Don't see you have much choice in the matter.” He leveled the rifle at her midsection. “Now, move, or the next time I pull this trigger, it's gonna result in blood loss.”
Forty-Five
“Okay Lynn, I think we're ready,” Bobby said.
A small group, consisting of Lynn, Lincoln, Bobby, Corporal Ward, Private Menke, and Elijah, had gathered to review the plan. Each member gave input. Not all were in agreement but agreed to follow Lynn's lead.
Lynn turned her eyes upward. Nothing in sight. She tried to focus her hearing, but even though the rain had eased, no helicopter sounds penetrated. She sighed. Regardless, they had to go now or it would be too light by the time they reached the freighter. She took one more look at the sky and said a silent prayer that Tara and Mel were all right.
She turned to Bobby and the other boat captains. “Let's do this. Remember to keep some distance between the other boats and watch for flanking moves. We still don't know what kind of defensive capabilities they have but assume they're deadly. If we make a run at the freighter's cargo net, the other boats have to keep us covered. If it doesn't look good, I'll call it off. I'm not going to lose people to save a few. Questions?”
“Just for the record,” Private Menke said, “we have little chance of getting on board that ship.”
Bobby rushed to the plan's defense. “We won't know that until we try.”
“Stick to the plan,” Corporal Ward said. “They'll send out their patrol boats. We need to capture as many of them as possible. Trading them is the best way to get our people back without bloodshed.”
No one else spoke. “Let's go,” Lynn said.
The small group turned and moved toward their boats. Lynn gave one more hopeful look at the gray sky then followed.
Everyone was already on board. No one spoke. The danger of what they were about to do weighed heavily on the groups. One-by-one they pushed off and made their way through the channel. The flotilla rose and fell over the surging waves. In the distance, thunder pounded in a long drum roll. A slim line of light shone upward on the eastern horizon like an accent light, making the sky a lighter shade of gray.
Lynn scanned the outmanned, outgunned armada and wondered how many of them would return to shore. Would she have enough strength and wisdom to turn around and leave Mark to his fate if it was obvious the attack would fail? She prayed she wouldn't be put in the position of having to choose. But, though her heart would break, she knew she would make the right decision.
“How'd you get out of your cell?” the short, burly man asked. He reached out and grabbed Becca's arm. He didn't bother pulling a weapon, evidently thinking his strength alone and the fact that he was a man and she nothing but a woman, would be enough to control Becca. “You,” he said to Shavonne, “get your skinny ass back in there before I give you a lash.”
Shavonne backed up a step and her cellmate wailed.
“You come with me. Which cell did you escape from? You don't look familiar.” He yanked Becca’s arm and pulled her into the gangway. She pretended to stumble and bumped up against him as he reached with his free hand to close the cell door. As their bodies collided, Becca withdrew her knife. The guard shoved her away and Becca slashed the blade across his stomach. He flinched and grabbed his belly as if stung by a wasp. Surprise registered on his face. Blood seeped between his fingers. As he looked up, Becca delivered the killing blow, thrusting the knife straight into his throat.
Blood bubbled from his mouth. He gurgled, gripped the knife with both hands and slumped to the floor. The body slid from the blade as he fell. Becca wiped the knife and kicked the door open. She grabbed his feet and dragged him inside, where the other woman screamed. From the darkness, the sound of a slap ended the shrieking.
Shavonne stepped forward and helped Becca place the body in a dark corner. “If you're coming, we have to go now.”
She grabbed Becca's arm tight. “Can you tell me about Kendra? Is she safe?”
Becca peeled off Shavonne's fingers. “Yes, my father got her to safety.” She turned to leave.
“What about her?”
Becca started for the door. “I don't care if she comes or not, but if so, she has to come now and has to keep her mouth shut.” She peered out the door in both directions, noted the blood smear on the floor and frowned. Nothing she could do about it. She stepped out. Behind her, she heard the murmur of discussion. Becca didn't care what they decided; finding her father was the only thing that mattered.
They were marched at gun point into the base HQ. Their captor motioned with his M-16 for them to sit. From down the hall came a voice. “Harold, is that you?”
“Yeah, Ike and I brought some intruders. Told you I saw a light out there.”
“You okay, or you need me to come out there?”
“Nah, man, you stay right where you are. I got this.”
“What were they trying to steal?”
“Man, you'll never guess. The Black Hawk.”
The unseen man snorted. “Seriously? What'd they say they were gonna do with it?”
“Well, one says she can fly it.”
“Say what?” A groan and the sound of someone moving on a bed or worn sofa reached them. A few moments and a few more grunts later, a tall, bald black man hobbled down the hall. He stopped and leaned against the corner and studied the two women. “Huh! Two women.” His eyes wandered up and down their bodies; as if coming out of a trance, he shook his head and blinked hard.
“I'm Lieutenant Stevens. Right now, I'm in charge of this base.” He pushed away from the wall, winced, and limped to a chair, where he lowered his lean frame slowly. Settled, he said, “That there's Corporal Levine. We're the only two remaining members of this once proud base. And you are …?”
As if waiting for a cue, Tara said, “I'm Captain Tara Lewis of the 180th Air National Guard, just west of Toledo, under the command of General Ralph West. This is Mel, civilian.”
Stevens steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. “I'm familiar with the 180th, but not with General West. I once knew Lieutenant Ralph West from down around Fort Campbell, Kentucky.”
Tara tried to smile, but with the M-16 still pointed at her, it felt tight on her face. “One and the same.”
“He got promoted fast.”
“I believe most of it's self-promotion.”
“Huh! The West I knew was a pompous ass and full of himself.”
“Still is, but he's proved an able leader.”
“Is that so? But to raise himself to General ...?” He shrugged his disapproval.
“I think it's what you call a battlefield promotion.”
“Battle? What battles could he have fought?”
“It was before I arrived, but it is my understanding that several months back, they were in quite a fierce battle.”
This got Stevens’ attention. He leaned forward placing his elbows on his thighs. “The devil you say. Is this real or just one of his stories?”
“General West has never discussed it with me, but the troops that survived the encounter have all told the same story. Although under intense fire, soldiers can exaggerate the event, I do believe the battle happened.”
He sat back, his face displayed astonishment. “You hear that, Harold? They had a war and didn't invite us.” To Tara, he said, “Does this mean we've been invaded?”
“There is some speculation about that being the case, but we have no proof, as yet.” She nodded her head toward the window. “However, if we had a bird to do recon, we'd know a lot more.”
Stevens nodded considering her words. “Is that why you were trying to steal the copter?”
Tara hesitated, deciding truth was best. “No. Right now, I need that bird to help rescue some friends.”
Stevens eyed her. “And wher
e are these friends?”
“They're prisoners on a freighter on the lake.”
Stevens leaned forward again and cast a furtive glance at Levine. “A freighter?”
She nodded, looking from one man to the other. “Why? You know them?”
Stevens sat back. “If it's the same people, they're responsible for the bullet hole in my leg. A group of them came ashore to rob the base. They killed the other two members of our squad. They got away with half our food and water stores.”
Sensing an ally with a common foe, Tara said, “If you help us, we'll help you.”
Stevens snorted a derisive laugh. “And what can you do for me, other than try to rob me of more of our dwindling supplies?”
“We have a doctor.”
Forty-Six
Becca, Shavonne and Doreen made their way down the corridor, checking other doors as they went. In one they found a man and a woman, both skeletal, with little strength to stand. Shavonne helped the man, but Becca discovered the woman was dead.
While Doreen and Shavonne walked the man between them, Becca led the way. They came to stairs leading up and took them. The ship was huge. It would be easy to get lost. Becca feared discovery long before finding her father. The ship's inhabitants were stirring, telling her it was time to go, at least for now. She wanted to get the three to the surface and possibly overboard, before it was too late. With them safe, she could hide and search the ship the next night.
They reached the top deck as the sun was making a move to create day. Becca ran from one shipping bin to another until she reached the massive anchor chain. She helped the three of them scoot underneath the heavy links and out the other side. At least there they had some cover.
The rain slackened, now falling in a steady drizzle. She crawled to the edge of the ship and peered over. To her surprise and relief, the boat was still there. Becca glanced back. Of the three, only Shavonne had a fair chance of climbing down the chains. If Doreen kept her wits about her, she might make it, but the man? No way. She didn't feel good about leaving him, but she didn't want to risk the others, or herself. Becca crawled back and explained the situation.
True to her nature, Doreen went into instant panic mode. The man, though understanding his chances, said, “I'll try anything to get off this ship. Dying in the water is no different than dying in that cell. Dead is dead, no matter which way.”
Becca pulled them all in close. “It's like climbing down a big ladder. There are footholds and places for your hands. It will also be slippery and in some places, the rust will abrade your hands. If you fall, don't go crazy and scream. Keep calm and remember, it's only water. It might sting a bit on contact but won't kill you. Just surface and swim to the boat. If you can't climb up, wait, one of us will help you.”
She turned to Shavonne. “Maybe you should go first.” Shavonne nodded. Doreen whimpered but covered her mouth. Becca ignored her and pulled Shavonne close. She whispered. “I'm not going. I have to find my father.” The woman pulled back, her eyes wide with concern. “Take the boat and get them to safety. My friends are on shore. They will help you and get you to Kendra. Tell them I'm here and will try to signal when I need a ride.”
The two women locked eyes. Shavonne nodded. She moved toward the chain, but the sound of approaching footsteps came closer. A group of five people emerged from the closest shipping container. Three men and two women. They stretched and chatted. One man walked to within ten feet of the chain and relieved himself overboard. A minute later they walked toward mid-ship.
“Go now!” said Becca.
Shavonne crawled to the chain, put a leg over the side and disappeared from view.
They came for him, expecting trouble. As soon as the door opened, Mark made his move. He slammed the tray into the jailer's face, staggered him backward and cleared the doorway for his escape. But, no sooner had he stepped into the corridor than three men fell on him and pummeled him into submission. The first man recovered and delivered a savage blow to Mark's face sending him into Lights Out Land.
He was jostled awake. As his vision cleared and he no longer saw double, he identified the figure in front of him as the captain. He was on the bridge in daylight. “I'm glad you still alive. We haven't had hanging on board in long time. Should be good show.” He nodded at his men, who hauled Mark by his bound hands to his feet.
A team of men escorted him down the stairs to the deck. A short distance away stood a group of about forty spectators. Hanging from somewhere he couldn't see, was a rope. No, not a rope, a noose. His body stiffened and he fought his progress, but the men merely lifted and carried him. At the hanging spot, they widened the noose but instead of placing it around his neck, they slid it under his arms and tightened it. They hoisted him to the top of a storage container, where another group rearranged the rope to its proper location around his neck.
The small boats bounced as the waves struck them in a steady rhythmic pattern. The rain had almost ceased, but the storm's aftermath left the water choppy. Lynn's radio crackled. “Say again.”
“There's something happening on deck,” Ward reported.
Lynn steadied herself and lifted the glasses to her eyes. A fine mist rose over the bow with each rise and fall of the hull. After a frustrating delay, she managed to keep the lens clear enough to focus. Slowly she swept right to left until she found the source of Ward's call. A second later, what she saw hit her like a punch to the gut. She gasped, stepped forward as if she could run to the rescue. The boat dipped and Lynn went flying, the binoculars sailing over the side.
Bobby's strong hands lifted her to her feet. The look on her face gave him pause. “Lynn! What?”
She pointed and stammered, “Your-your father – they're going to hang him.”
Bobby pivoted and lifted his rifle scope to his eye. He scanned and stopped. “Oh, God!”
An excited, unrecognizable voice, shouted over the radio, “Here they come!” From around both sides of the freighter came a swarm of small, fast-moving boats. They moved with choreographed precision in four lines. A line from each direction swung in their path, forming a blockade. The other two lines ran along each side in a flanking move.
Voices filled the radio asking for direction but though Lynn heard, she was unable to respond, or take her gaze from the scene before her. She felt Bobby take her radio and heard him say, “Follow the plan! I repeat, follow the plan!” He shook Lynn, forcing her to look at him. “Lynn, snap out of it. We can't help him if you freeze up.”
She blinked a rapid sequence to clear her mind and vision. She sucked in a deep breath and took the radio. “Move into formation as discussed, but do not get too close or engage yet. Let them close in and think we'll be an easy conquest.”
She lowered the radio, gave one last look at the freighter and went to get her rifle.
After a long and strained effort, Shavonne reached the boat and clambered aboard, exhausted. The boat pitched to meet her, the sudden contact with the deck driving the air from her lungs. She lay there unable to move and gasped for breath. She closed her eyes wanting sleep, having never before been so fatigued, but the scream shook her into action.
She climbed back across the bow and searched the water. A head bobbed. Doreen. Quickly, she reversed course and ran to look for a life preserver. In truth, she had expected the woman to fall long ago. Maybe she hadn't given the frightened, whiny woman enough credit.
On hands and knees, fearing she’d get tossed into the water, Shavonne crept to the edge, saw Doreen's struggling form and flung the life preserver toward her. The ring fell short, she hadn't allowed enough of the rope tied to it to play out. She dragged it back, aware that Doreen's struggles were growing weaker.
The sudden roar of engines made her jump. She fumbled the ring and almost lost it overboard. Fearing she had been discovered, Shavonne scampered across the bow and dove to the deck, slamming her knee on the surface. She pulled the injured limb to her chest and bit her lip against the cry of pain that fought to
escape. The engine noise rose in volume. Unable to prevent herself from doing so, Shavonne peeked above the side and saw multiple boats speeding past. None of them gave her or their boat any notice. They continued away from the freighter. She wondered where they were going, but, though thankful they were not after them, was well aware that their freedom might be short lived. She rose and made her way back to the bow, hoping Doreen was still afloat.
Tying the rope's end on the guide rail, she gripped the dripping life saver, rose to her knees and hurled it as far as she could. The ring landed right where Doreen's head had been a second before. However, now, she was no longer in sight.
“Oh, no!” Shavonne said. She thought for a moment, stood to dive in after her, knowing the act may be her last, but before her feet left the boat, Doreen's waterlogged head broke the surface, and her hand snatched the ring in desperation. She clung to it but went under again.
Knowing the woman's strength was long ago on borrowed time, Shavonne snatched up the rope and hauled it in. She hoped that by the time she got it to the boat, Doreen would still be attached.
Forty-Seven
Becca watched as Doreen crawled over the side and after a terrified glance back at the deck, disappeared from sight. Becca hoped the woman had the fortitude to make the descent, but after a second gave her no more thought.
She watched as the frail man extended his legs over the side. Their eyes locked for a moment and he smiled and winked, before letting go of the guideline and sinking below deck level. He didn't look as though he had the strength to climb down, but people could surprise you with their determination and fortitude when their life was on the line.
She surveyed the deck, plotting her next move. The ship was active now. Each passing minute increased the amount of movement. Becca judged stealth was no longer an option, so decided to wait for a large group to move and attempt to blend in with them. Her hand flexed and relaxed wanting the knife to be there, but knowing that might arouse suspicion. Still, she fingered the handle while she watched the ever-growing mob.