by John O'Brien
We continue through the sections of Tacoma, residences giving way to businesses and back to residences. Rounding a corner of the highway, the Tacoma Narrows Bridge looms ahead. The light green twin suspension bridges running in a close parallel arch over the deep blue waters of the narrow strait between Tacoma and the Kitsap Peninsula. I radio the others in the convoy that we’ll be stopping just prior to the approaches. Before crossing, I want to scope out the other side. It’s hard to anticipate everything but if we are able to see trouble before it happens, well, when is that ever a bad thing.
I pull into a paved open area before the lanes split to the entrances of each bridge. Two of the Strykers stop behind in tandem and I see their .50 cals swivel to cover the sides. The other Stryker comes to a halt behind covering the rear with Lynn pulling her Humvee up and parking next to mine. The chill of the morning hits as I open the door and walk over to her window. There’s still not a breath of air stirring. The rumble of the Strykers is the only sound. Standing at her window rubbing my arms to ward off the chill, I look to the bridges. Their arch prevents me from seeing the other side nor can I look around them from the sides.
“What’s up?” Lynn asks rolling down her window.
“I want to take a look before we cross. I’ll drive up to the middle and take a peek at the other side. I know there’s a residential area just over the other side and a small airport close by to the left. I just want to make sure it’s clear before we cross,” I answer.
“Yeah, I knew there was an airport close by,” she says.
“You did?” I ask. She merely points to the big green sign by the side of the road which says, ‘Tacoma Narrows Airport, 1 ¼ mile’.
“Yeah, I guess that would be a clue,” I say chuckling.
“Do you want me to come up with you on the second bridge?” She asks.
“Nah. Just hang back here and I’ll radio if it’s clear,” I reply.
She nods and rolls up her window. I walk back to my Humvee still rubbing my arms and looking at the gray clouds overhead. They aren’t moving and it seems as if the world is holding its breath. As I climb back in, I hear the radio crackle with Lynn radioing the others.
“We’re going to the top of the bridge and scope out the other side,” I tell the others with me as I pull into the lanes of the bridge on the right.
“Hooah, sir,” Gonzalez says beside me.
“Damn, do you just wait for the opportunity to say that?” I ask, looking over at her. She is staring straight ahead but I see the corners of her mouth crawl up in a smile.
“My day wouldn’t be complete without saying it to you at least once, sir,” she says. “I like to watch you roll your eyes.”
I hear Robert chuckle in the back seat. We pull onto the bridge and begin driving up the curved arch. The waters below are like the roads we’ve encountered – empty. This part of the waterway was always filled with white streaks of boats heading across the waves. Now, it’s almost glass smooth with the occasional ripple.
We climb higher and just crest the topmost part of the bridge. Crack! A spider web of fractured glass appears on the windshield just on my side of the middle post. In my peripheral, I see Gonzalez’s startled response as she ducks. My heart jumps and I crouch as well slamming on the brakes.
“Fuck! Is everyone around hostile?” I say, throwing the Humvee in reverse.
Adrenaline floods my system as I step on the accelerator and reverse quickly back down the slope of the bridge. My mind makes out that I saw a flash of light at the far end of the bridge just before the impact of the bullet on our windshield. I bring the Humvee to a stop when we are no longer visible over the top of the bridge.
“Everyone okay?” I ask quickly.
“Except for needing a new set of fatigues, I’m just fine, sir,” Gonzalez replies.
“I’m good here,” Robert says. “But I’ll second the needing new fatigues.”
“Good here, sir,” I hear McCafferty, manning the M-240, shout from the open hatch.
“Okay, good, wait here,” I say, grabbing a pair of binoculars, open the door, and step out onto the paved surface of the five-lane bridge.
There is a pedestrian walkway to the right side of the bridge and I run over to it making sure I am far below the line of sight from the far side of the bridge. I hop over the railing and slowly crouch up to a point just short of the top. Apparently seeing me back up hastily and run across the bridge, Lynn calls.
“Everything okay, Jack?” I hear her voice in my earpiece.
Hitting the push-to-talk, I answer, “Just peachy. Someone took a shot at us and I want to get eyes on the bastard.”
“Is there another way around?” She asks.
“Not unless you or anyone here knows how to drive a ferry,” I reply.
“African or European?” Lynn asks.
Great! I’m surrounded by comedians today. “Bravo, Mike,” I respond.
“Awww…. you do care. What about just rolling the Strykers up?”
“We may just do that. Standby,” I answer.
I lie down and crawl the rest of the way on the hard surface. The cold seeps through my sleeves and pant legs as I make my way to the crest. Ready to slide back down the crest in case someone sees me and wants to take a shot, I bring the binoculars up.
Down the curved arched roadway, on the far side of the bridge, I see a line of cars and trucks spanning across the lanes of both bridges. The magnified view brings everything into a sharp focus. Behind the cars blocking the lanes, I count twelve people lined up across the hoods, roofs, and trunks. All of them have rifles of some sort aimed toward where we appeared. Seven are aiming across the vehicles toward the bridge I am on and five have their weapons pointed up the span adjacent to me on the left.
I watch as several more cars enter the highway from a nearby ramp and park. Ten more people exit the vehicles, extract rifles and join the others behind the roadblock. I’m thinking they must have some form of communication and have a fortification somewhere near to be alive with the night runners about. How many more may be there is open to question. However, they’ve shown their intentions and I don’t mean to stick around and jabber with them.
“Lynn, run a scan on the UHF frequencies. Pay particular attention to the four-sixty megahertz range,” I say using my throat mic. “Let me know what you hear.”
“Wilco, standby,” I hear her response.
I’m thinking if they are communicating with radios, they’ll be using the FRS channels common to most two-way radios. I am about to put the binoculars down and inch back when I spot another pickup truck appear from farther up the highway. It comes to a stop behind the blockade. A man exits and walks to the front of the truck. One of the people at the cars sees him and trots over. There’s a lot of hand pointing toward our position and an obvious conversation is taking place. I zoom in closer on the two.
The one who trotted over, holding his rifle casually in one hand, appears to be doing the most talking with more hand gesturing. The driver of the truck shakes his head and, although I can’t tell clearly from this distance, appears to start yelling at the other one. His body language indicates he is not happy. I don’t think I would be either if one of my guys just plinked a round at a military vehicle from behind a flimsy roadblock. The driver pushes the other one toward the line of vehicles. Shaking his head again, he then stomps back to the truck. Swinging the door open, he reaches inside and brings something to his mouth.
“Jack, Lynn, over,” I hear.
“Yeah, I’m here, go ahead,” I respond.
“I just picked something up on four sixty-two dot seventy-one twenty-five,” she says.
Bingo. “What did you hear?” I ask.
“Well, someone named Sam talking to Roger and he didn’t sound too pleased. He told Roger to round up the troops and then get aloft to report what he sees because, and I quote, ‘Numbnuts here just fired on a military vehicle’,” Lynn answers.
“Okay, lock in that freq and monito
r it,” I say.
“Will do,” Lynn responds.
Well, that’s enough for me. We don’t have time to play ‘let’s get to know one another’ as we have to get up to Bangor. I also don’t know what type of aircraft they have that they’re sending aloft. I’m guessing some single-engine civilian type but I really don’t want to find out they have an A-10 stashed away or some World War Two fighter that’s armed. I’ll give the communication with them one shot but I’m not dilly-dallying around. If they want to play games, we’ll roll through them and be on our merry way. I take another quick look around to see if they have mines or some IED’s on the ground. I don’t see any and inch backwards out of the line of sight, rise, and trot to the Humvee. Turning the vehicle around, I drive back to the end of the bridge and pull up next to Lynn. I gather the team leaders around detailing what waits for us over the rise of the bridge.
“So, what’s the plan?” Lynn asks, stomping one boot on the ground to shake out the chill.
“Well, let’s try this communication thing once and see if they won’t open the pearly gates for us. If we get ‘entrance denied’, then we’ll roll up and over them,” I answer. I reach in the Humvee and grab the mic.
“Sam, this is Captain Walker on channel seven,” I say. Silence.
“Sam, I know you can hear me and it’s in your best interest to respond,” I say, staring at the empty bridge ahead.
“This is Sam,” I finally hear his words crackle over the speaker in the cab.
“Would you like to explain why I have a broken windshield?” I ask.
“Sorry for firing on you, Captain. The boys are a little trigger happy,” Sam answers.
“Yeah, you might want to get a handle on that,” I say.
“Are you with the military?” He asks.
“Is that a serious question?” I ask in response. “And you shot without provocation.”
“I do apologize but we can’t just have anyone coming through,” he replies.
“Look, we just want to pass through. We’re not looking for anything other than that and we’re not just anybody,” I say, getting irritated. Time is elapsing and we need to be moving on.
“I’d like to do that, Captain, but we can’t let you just go through. If we did that, then others would see and think they could try as well. They’d come in and try to take our supplies,” Sam says.
“What others?” I ask.
“There are others in the area looking for any weakness and we can’t afford for that to happen,” he answers.
“Look, we have a safe place and you and your group can join under us,” I say as a way or reconciling this situation.
“Thanks, Captain, but we have our own safe place here,” he responds.
“Well, Sam, this is the only route and we’re coming through,” I say.
“Sorry, sir. We can’t let you do that military or not,” Sam replies.
I hear the sound of a prop engine revving up across the water. At least it’s a prop, I think getting more irritated by the minute. I don’t really want to unleash the .50 cals on them as they are only trying to protect their own as well but we need to push through. I look up at the unmoving gray clouds overhead seeking an answer. They have none to give. I’m getting tired of this little tete-a-tete. It’s getting us nowhere and I can’t for the life of me figure out why they would want to stop us. Surely they know they have little chance. If that aircraft gets aloft, they’ll know for sure. I ponder over whether to just let it describe what we have on this side but I’m not a fan of just letting an aircraft roam overhead.
“Last chance, Sam,” I say.
“I’m sorry, sir. You can go around to the south. There’s a route to the north from there,” he responds.
“Yeah, that’s not happening. You either let us through or we’re coming through,” I say.
“Again, sorry, sir,” Sam responds.
“It’s your funeral, Sam,” I reply, sighing and shaking my head in resignation.
Stubbornness is going to get him and lot of others killed. We could radio the sub to let them know that we’re running late but to go all of the way around would take us a couple of additional hours each way. Who knows how long our meeting is going to take and we just don’t have that kind of time before the sun hits the western horizon. I look again to the empty lanes of the bridge stretching across, sigh, and reach into the Humvee to replace the mic. I look over at Lynn who gives me a shrug of her shoulders as if to say ‘we tried’.
“That could have gone better,” I say in response to Lynn’s shrug.
“It’s not like we didn’t give them a chance,” Lynn says.
I still don’t get it. We are on the very brink and need to pull together rather than play games. I can understand Sam’s position though. I’m not certain I would let anyone roll through our area at will but neither would I jeopardize our group with stubbornness. But given the option of strengthening our group with numbers to give us a better chance at survival, I would take it provided our safety and cohesiveness remained. But here we are, facing yet another group of people that we’ll have to fight our way through.
This is different from out other situations though. This isn’t a group of marauders or bandits. This group across the span from us is just trying to protect their people and resources. Much like we are. If we roll through them, are we any better than marauders seeking their own gain regardless of others? I mean, we could radio Captain Leonard and head on the other route around the Puget Sound tomorrow. That will take us through a few small towns which could be blockaded as well. Either solution doesn’t sit well with me. Well, fuck. We did give them a chance and we are pressed for time. And they did fire upon us without provocation, accident or not. I’m not happy with it but we’re proceeding along our route as planned.
“Jack, are you with us?” Lynn asks. I shake out of my thoughts and look at the others gathered around in the chill under the gray skies.
“Yeah, I’m here. Okay, here’s what I’m thinking but I’m open to suggestions. We take two Strykers in parallel up the bridge on the right with the other Stryker and the two Humvees astride on the left. We’ll crest and fire into the road block creating a lane to pass through. Our field of fire will be limited due to the bridge superstructure. Make sure to keep our rounds away from the suspension wires. I’m not all that keen on bringing the bridge down with us parked on it. That belongs on the unfavorable situation list. You dump me in the water and I’m going to be a little upset. We open a lane through on each side and push through. Any questions?” I ask.
“What do you want to do about the aircraft?” Greg asks.
The Strykers idling nearby are blocking other sounds but I still faintly hear the props of the aircraft in the distance carrying over the waters. It won’t be long before it powers down the runway and gets aloft. I’m nervous about what they’re about to put aloft but, by the sound of the engine, it isn’t overly large. If it was an old World War Two bird, there would be a definite roar instead of the motor boat sound coming to us.
“I’m not a fan of letting it roam freely and give them free intel but this should be over quickly. Lynn, you keep an eye on it and if it comes at us, call out and we motor forward quickly and through. We can’t shoot at it without taking out guide wires so let’s push forward to the other side. If it continues to come at us in a threatening manner, we take it out. I’m guessing there’s another road block farther up the highway. If it follows at a distance, there’s not much we can do but keep an eye on it,” I answer. Heads nod in response.
“Anything else?” I ask, looking at each to see if there are any further questions or issues. No one says anything.
“Alright, if there’s nothing else, then let’s mount up,” I say.
* * * * * *
McCafferty stands in the open turret of the Humvee gripping the M-240. She feels the cold through her gloves as they motor up the Interstate. Turning and looking behind her, she sees the nose of the Stryker behind as they make
their way through the line of cars in the lanes beside them. The balaclava she has wrapped around her head and the goggles do little to stop the chill from seeping through. The Humvee rocks as they drive over an object in the road. Her splayed feet on the gunners stand helps to keep her balanced but her arm still knocks into the cold steel of the roof opening. Regaining her equilibrium, her thoughts wander.
She thinks of her parents and is filled with mixed emotions. There is joy at finding her dad alive and having him up here with her, but there is a tremendous sadness that settles in her heart thinking of her mom. The sorrow and grief threatens to overwhelm her and she feels warm tears fill her eyes. Keeping most of her attention focused on the area around her, images of her mom form in McCafferty’s mind.
She remembers her mom puttering around the kitchen with flour covering her hands and in her hair from some baking project. She always had fresh pies and bread ready to deliver to neighbors or to take to church, the smell of fresh bread permeating the house. Her mom standing over the kitchen counter humming while kneading the dough. Memories surface of her mom tirelessly roaming about doing laundry, sweeping, and changing bed linens. She remembers her mom putting on her favorite dress for church and helping McCafferty with hers when she was young. There were the times when her mom took her out with her new bicycle and taught her to ride, picking her up the many times when she fell in the their dusty yard. Always dusting her off and giving her words of encouragement. Clapping when she managed to make it down the entire driveway on her own. The twinkle that always shone in her mother’s eye. The memories of her mom waking early and herself waking to the aroma of breakfast wafting through the house. The peace and contentment McCafferty felt waking to the smell of bacon as it drifted in her room.
Although her dad felt he ruled the house and made the decisions, McCafferty always knew her mom actually did but with a softer touch. Her mom never had a bad thing to say about anyone and would admonish her dad gently when he would make critical comments. McCafferty remembers going to the grocery store and her mom chatting with anyone and everyone in line. Now she is gone like so many others, just another on the long list of those lying in the emptiness of the world. McCafferty reaches under her goggles and wipes away the tears that are running down her cheeks.