by G. R. Carter
“Report!” he shouted.
“They weren’t running away after all, Captain! One’s circled us and is coming in starboard side. Looks like twin fifties mounted foredeck.”
“Engage!”
Noise exploded with the shattering recoil of the autocannons trying to deliver their murderous load into the approaching boat. Their attacker cut hard upstream, blocking the angle of the Firefly’s aft turret with the tug’s superstructure. Another fast attack boat flashed past Oliver’s view, skimming high in the water with amazing speed. The boat’s driver knew his business, cutting back and forth, causing Murdock to try and lead his fire instead of aiming. Surely a few shots got close, but nothing able to disable the craft so far. Meantime a lack of quickness caused Firefly to be an easier target, relying on her armor to hold out for a lucky shot.
Oliver admired the brown and tan mottled boat, barely touching the water at top speed, then pitching over to give her gunners a clean shot before darting and skimming past again. Oliver felt a chill; only one other force on the river had this type of weaponry.
“Shipmate! Message to Captain Lovell, with relay back to ARK HQ: we are engaged with a Mt. Horab squadron, not river pirates. Heavily involved. We need rules of engagement. Strength at least six, armament unknown.”
Then to his own pilot: “Ensign, all ahead full, get us back downstream, now! And raise the forward blast shields. Tell Murdock and Severs to stay down in their cradles until I know what’s going on here.”
“Aye, Captain.” Alston said as the ship trembled with the effort of propellers trying to gain a grip on the water.
Loud crashes struck, filling the wheelhouse with a blast of heat followed by shards of jagged metal and shatterproof glass. Oliver was thrown backward from his chair, suspended in slow motion while sharp slivers dig into his skin until he finally landed on the bridge’s cold hard decking. Piercing pain radiated through his head, blurring his vision for a moment. Force of will cleared his eyes finally allowing him to focus on the face of Ensign Alston, frozen in a look of pain and surprise. The two lay nearly face-to-face, Alston’s boyish look unmarked save for a trickle of blood being pulled to the floor by gravity. One of Oliver’s arms didn’t seem to be working correctly; he compensated and pushed himself up to hands and knees with the functional limb. A deep breath and all his effort brought him to wobbly feet.
His head pounded, bad arm numb then throbbing as he tried to steady himself. Pain helped sharpen his resolve
“Shhhipm…” The words wouldn’t come immediately, he turned away from Alston’s body and spit, sending a mixture of bloody saliva and teeth to bridge decking. He tried again with effort to overcome the pain. “Shipmate! Report!”
No answer came to his ringing ears. For a moment he suspected his hearing was damaged. The sharp cracking of an autocannon disproved that fear and he stumbled up to the viewing window of the bridge. Ahead of him he could see the young Ship’s Mate standing half exposed in the turret, engaged with a shape spraying the murky water from it deep cut hull, bobbing up and down across the current. Oliver couldn’t tell what had happened to his original gunner and decided not to take the time to find out where his aft gunner was.
He darted back to the radio, finding a smoldering wreck of circuitry, tubes and transistors. No time for disgust. He went back to the ship’s wheel and grabbed the throttle. Alston must have reflexively pulled back on the throttle when hit, and Firefly had been drifting down current ever since. He pushed the lever forward to full…but the reassuring jolt of the engines didn’t come. He recycled the start procedure, grabbing the voice tube.
“Engineering, what’s our status?” he shouted into the antiquated receiver.
“I’m working on it, Captain. Give me one minute and we should have power back,” a voice echoed through. Oliver resisted the temptation to shout back but knew that would do no good. McClain knew his engines like his family (and frankly, treated them better). If anyone could bring the power plant back to life, it was his Chief Engineer.
Oliver felt helpless. With no orders to issue and no ship to navigate, he began to run through his mind about what would happen next. He was sure Wasp had received his message and would be here any moment. She was just a little way downstream and Firefly was drifting that way. He took ahold of the wheel, determined to wrestle the rudder manually so that at least he could get the nose pointed towards his destination. Probably not a useful effort, but he at least it would give him something to do.
More metal struck the superstructure, causing him to involuntarily flinch at the death just on the other side. He forced himself to stay at the wheel, fearing if he let go he might just head below decks and join McClain in the relative safety there. Movement from the fore turret and the eruption of fire from the autocannon’s barrel reminded him Firefly was still in the fight, not completely helpless just yet. Oliver’s resolve returned, he would fight the ship, link up with Wasp and return to avenge his men and his honor.
Firefly’s nose swung south giving Oliver a full view of downstream through the missing window. He felt his heart sink again. Up ahead, grounded along the muddy banks, plumes of flame and a pillar of black smoke billowed up from a ship the same size, shape and color as his own. He immediately recognized his boat’s sister ship, the pride of the ARK brown water navy.
Fury now overcame any other emotions “Bisso!” Oliver shouted out the window. “Stay down under cover until I can figure out what’s going on up there. I’ll call bogies!” His blood boiled, wishing suddenly to hit something, anything, with a gun, a fist, or even with the ship herself. He needed power, to be able to maneuver and fight, not just sit here like a fat target drifting back towards the big river’s main channel.
The clock in his head was ticking as the voice tube rang out. “Bridge! Engines available!”
He recycled the start procedure, feeling the ship vibrate back to life. He checked to make sure Bisso was below cover, then slammed the throttles forward. He rocked backwards as propeller thrust joined the swift current to urge Firefly forward. He estimated about a mile to reach the stricken Wasp, leaving him a moment to quiz his surviving topside crewman.
“Where are Murdock and Severs?” he shouted down to Bisso.
The man turned his head toward him while still crouched down behind the protective collar. “I pulled what was left of Murdock out of here, felt like I had to fight back. He’s on the deck in front of me. I’m pretty sure I heard Severs go overboard, well I heard a scream and the aft cannon stopped firing. I only looked briefly. I’m sorry, skipper,” he shouted in reply.
Oliver tried to catch his breath. A man overboard? No captain would leave a man behind; that was a hard and fast rule of life on the water. He fought the urge to look back. If Severs had gone into the swirling water there would be no saving him at this point, especially if he was wounded before taking the fall. Incredible sadness nearly overwhelmed him. Only once had he lost a man, a hungover sailor losing his balance in front of a coal barge nearly two decades ago. That accident weighed on his mind for years despite knowing nothing Oliver could have done would have saved the foolish drunkard.
Murdock and Severs had been with him since Firefly was commissioned, when ARK Premier Tony Diamante determined to sweep any river pirates off their water highways once and for good. Alston was a more recent addition; a good boy and a success story from a family working their way up to ARK Citizenship from a humble beginning. He was participating in a rotating internship designed to get young officers prepared to take over for the quickly aging men and women with pre-Reset experience on the water. Wasp class assignments were rare, and the chance to be aboard in the same squadron with Captain Lovell was a tremendous chance for advancement, future command and ultimately Citizenship.
Lovell was one of the most experienced skippers in all of ARK, using his long career in the Coast Guard to build Diamante’s dream into something tangible. Twenty-three converted river tugs were already patrolling the northern Mississippi
and western Missouri rivers, along with their many navigable tributaries. The armored and armed ships were tough, had a shallow draught and their engines were easily converted to fuels available to ARK from allied refineries. Each ship was supposed to be nearly indestructible in this post-Reset world, impossible to sink and more than a match for anything river pirates could stitch together.
Indestructible until fifteen minutes ago, he thought bitterly. Oliver’s world had changed drastically in that quarter of an hour. His own ship was down half its crew; normally he’d have four Peacekeepers with him to help with close combat situations but they had been let off at Prairie du Rocher to help the ARK colony there reinforce their defenses. Wasp and Firefly had intended to pick up their respective groups on the return trip. The two sister ships were on a hunt and kill mission to flush out a nest of pirates operating near the mouth of the Kaskaskia River. The very same outlaws he thought he had trapped here today. Getting rid of them was the first step in Diamante’s long-range plan to bring the Kaskaskia River and all of the resources along the southern Mississippi under ARK influence.
But it wasn’t pirates who had wrecked his boat and killed half his crew.
Firefly was now close enough for Oliver to see two Mt. Horab boats approach Wasp, coming alongside to tie up to the stricken ship. He glanced back over at the radio, knowing he had a decision to make with no guidance. He was down to one usable weapon and outnumbered at least seven to one. The Buckles clearly possessed something capable of taking out the toughest boat ARK had, something probably already aimed at his own ship. He wasn’t a coward, but he also wasn’t a warrior by trade and these weren’t half crazed wild men he was facing. Decision made, he yelled out to his lone gunner.
“Turn that cannon away from Wasp, Bisso. I don’t want you to fire unless I give the direct order, understood?”
A simple nod of acknowledgement came as the Ship’s Mate swung the barrel towards the far bank.
He grabbed the tube again. “McClain get up to the sleeping quarters and get a bedsheet, a pillow case, something all white,” he shouted into the tube as he pulled back on the throttles again. Oliver could sense confusion in the silence. “We’ve got to see if any of our men are still alive, and whatever knocked out Wasp is ready to do the same to this boat. I don’t see how us dying right now is any way helpful to ARK.”
“Aye, skipper,” the reply crackled.
Oliver reached over and pulled a cord letting loose a series of ragged noises through the damaged horn. He heard a door to below decks open; McClain bypassed the pilot’s chair climbing straight up to the forecastle with a white sheet tied to the end of a broom handle. He waved it back and forth while Oliver continued to blare the horn, finally acknowledged by a wave from one of the Horab vessels. A third vessel surprised him, pulling up alongside from the port side, tossing a rope onto the deck next to McClain, who grabbed the line and tied off. He could see Bisso straining to turn around and watch, but wary to keep the cannon pointed away from the visitors.
With the two ships attached, Oliver watched as McClain offered a greasy hand to a gray-clad soldier carrying an assault rifle slung across his back. He was tall and lean with the sleeves of his uniform rolled all the way up to well-defined biceps. The two exchange some sort of words Oliver couldn’t hear and the soldier turned to look at him. Quite young, couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. Against the gray uniform was stitched a patch with a silver sword, pommel end up with two long stem roses intertwining the long double-edged blade, a symbol matching the flags fluttering above each of the Horab vessels. A quick but respectful nod came from the soldier who walked up to the bridge. As he entered, he saluted, clearly nervous and not used to boarding a ship he considered hostile.
“Relax, son,” Oliver said, mustering his most fatherly tone. “I don’t want any more violence today. I just want to see about any survivors on that ship,” he said with a nod towards Wasp.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’ve been asked to escort you over to the Wasp; my commanding officer figured you’d want to speak with your men. Thankfully there were only two casualties onboard, but unfortunately both were fatalities.”
“Captain Lovell?” Oliver asked.
“I’m sorry, sir. Your ship took a direct hit to the bridge. Neither he nor the pilot survived.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you do that?” Oliver asked, suddenly shaking with a welling rage.
“With all due respect, sir, you fired on us first. We’ve got three critically wounded of our own. And you put one of our boats completely out of commission.”
“We thought you were pirates. What’s Mt. Horab doing this far north? You’re not supposed to be this side of Grand Tower Island.” Oliver said, feeling rage being replaced by exhaustion. At least five men dead over a simple case of mistaken identity? he wondered to himself. Just doesn’t make any sense.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not authorized to talk about those things. Above my pay grade, I’m told,” the soldier said with a kind smile. “But I’m sure Senior Elector Huffman will be happy to answer those questions. You’ll really like him, I think he knows every person in Mt. Horab. Rest assured, sir, you will be treated with all the hospitality and compassion befitting your rank. Your men, also, I’ve been told to relay to you that they all fought with skill and bravery. They’re a credit to your people,” he said.
Oliver felt nausea creep in with the realization he had been trapped. “I’m sorry, son. What do you mean about meeting your Elector Huffman? Is he on board your ship?”
The soldier looked at Oliver with a confused face, then realization. “Oh no, sir. I don’t think you understand. My orders are to escort you to our base on Grand Tower. Your ships will be docked there, then you'll be transported back to Mt. Horab. I’m afraid you’re going to remain our guests for a little while.”
*****
Oliver felt the boat rock back and forth, making him doze off periodically. The muffled engine vibration told him they weren’t in a big hurry to get where they were going, so he allowed the pain medication to ease his mind into dozing. The meds seemed to dull the busted shoulder and cuts all over his body, but left him chilled despite the warmth of the engines just on the other side of the firewall. Through droopy eyes he looked at his men, huddled under a blanket and staring out with blank eyes. A range of emotions went through his head: embarrassment at losing his boat, sadness at the loss of his men, worry at what might happen to the ones that still lived.
So far, they had all been treated with perfect dignity. He had never heard anything about the Buckles torturing anyone. Not that this situation had ever happened to his knowledge, either. They weren’t at war with Mt. Horab, even though there had been a few tense run-ins.
A brief stop at Grand Tower Island—a Buckle pilot had brought his ship into dock there while he was blindfolded, a precaution against seeing their facilities—allowed Oliver to see to the dead and prepare the ships for an indeterminate stay. No one had asked him to divulge secrets of the craft, just a simple understanding of how to care for the engines while they were gone. McClain gave a Buckle sailor the tour of the power plants while the base medic tended to the wounded.
The blindfold returned until they were placed down here, surrounded by warm blankets and plenty of food and water. It would still be a couple hours at least before they reached their next destination, hopefully not their last.
Bisso caught his stare with a surprising look of resolve that struck Oliver. They’d be okay. He wasn’t a praying man, but he sent a little note up above. He let his mind drift back to drowsy, no sense in worrying about what was out of his control right now. He’d wait, get a good look at the situation, and then make a plan. With any luck the only thing he’d lose after today was his commission in the ARK Navy.
Chapter Four
Mt. Horab
Former City of Cape Girardeau, Missouri
The smell of human activity and river mud struck Oliver’s nose as he stepped off the boat
onto a solid wood dock. His leather-soled boots held tight to some sort of grip material attached, but his legs didn’t return to normal until the second or third step he had taken on solid ground for the first time in almost two days. A strong hand gripped his arm, not with ill intention but to help stabilize his walk.
“Thank you, soldier,” Oliver said. “My balance seems to be thrown off without use of my eyes.”
“I’m sorry for the blindfold, Captain. I’m afraid we can’t let you see everything we’ve got going here. I promise it will be off in just a moment. Once we’ve stepped up past the floodwall you’ll get a chance to see the City of Roses.”
“I hope you won’t take this as an insult, but a flower wasn’t the first smell that came to mind,” Oliver said.
A brief chuckle came from the guide. The laugh suggested the voice was older, definitely not the young soldier who escorted him onto Grand Island. “No offense taken, Captain. This time of year brings out the worst in human smells without the cover of Nature’s perfume.”
The wood path turned to stone, or concrete, then he stumbled a bit as his boot caught on a railroad track sitting nearly flush to the path below. They stopped and Oliver’s blindfold was removed. His eyes adjusted for a moment, he finally realized it was nighttime, the second-worst day of his life finally coming to a close. He stared up a long-sloped street ascending to a twenty-foot-high clock tower in the first intersection ahead. Well past that loomed a large building, with a tower that stretched up above. Lights shining up on the building made it seem to hover in the sky, though a series of lampposts showed that there must be some stairway capable of reaching it. Yellow light drifted out from windows all along the street ahead, illuminating the faces of a large crowd of people gathered along sidewalks.
A man standing on a platform raised his hand, quieting the crowd. Then in unison they all began to sing, a harmonious tune that reverberated off the paved street and then from building to building. Oliver had seldom heard such a chorus, not even the professional symphony he once attended as part of an ARK anniversary party. No one sang from a book or a sheet, each seemed to know every word and note by heart and sang with the earnestness of belief.