Mason chuckled. “I’d be pissed too.”
“Well, King Philo goes and assembles this great big fleet and sets sail for England to give the Brits a good spanking. On the way, they stopped at Calais, northern France, where they waited up for more ships to join them before crossing the English Channel. Only thing was, the crafty Brits knew they were coming. They crossed the channel first and floated fire ships downwind into where the Spanish galleons were anchored. You got to remember, back then boats were made of wood. Nothing scared a captain more than a blazing ship heading straight for them.”
“So what happened?” Mason asked, transfixed by Jonah’s story. “Did they set fire to the fleet?”
Jonah shook his head. “Nope, but they rattled the Spaniards good. Ye’ve probably heard the term ‘cut and run’, haven’t yis?”
“Sure,” Gatto replied. “It’s when you got to beat it from somewhere fast.” He grinned. “Just like the Bentons did last night.”
Inwardly, Jonah winced. “Exactamundo, Gat. It’s a naval expression that goes back to those very times. See, in order to escape the fire ships, the Spaniards had to cut their anchor lines to get away from the danger. And when they scattered, the English picked them off. Bleedin’ slaughtered them. So badly, in fact, that what was left of the fleet scarpered back to Spain with their tails between their legs, and that was the end of King Philo’s invasion of England.” Jonah put on a glum face. “More’s the pity, too. If they’d succeeded, maybe it wouldn’t have taken us Irish another three hundred years to get the Brits off our backs.”
Mason frowned. “It’s a good story, but I still don’t see what it’s got to do with Ireland.”
Jonah looked at him approvingly. “Now get this…” He leaned forward at the table and slid Gatto’s empty plate close to his. “Say these two plates here are England and Ireland.” He stuck a finger between them and traced it around the back of one of them. “In order to escape the English, what remained of the expedition force sailed north around Scotland and entered the Atlantic Ocean. Their plan was to head west into the safety of the open seas.” Jonah stretched his finger farther out, then swung it back toward the side of the plate. “But as luck would have it, they sailed into a fierce storm that forced them back along the west coast of Ireland.” He paused a moment, hovering his finger next to the plate. “Ordinarily that wouldn’t have been a problem. They would have just waited out the storm, then headed west again. But on this occasion, they couldn’t. Any guesses why not?”
He looked around the table at the blank faces. “I’ll give yis a clue. It was something to do with what happened back in Calais.”
Mason and Gatto stared at each other, frowning. Then Mason thumped his fist down on the table. “Goddammit…the anchors!” he said, laughing hard.
Jonah grinned. “Good man!” He looked over at Gatto. “That’s why this man here is the boss. See Gat, without their anchors, the Spanish couldn’t secure a position and wait out the storm.” He rammed his hand into the side of the plate. “They were washed up onto the rocks along the west coast of Ireland, shipwrecked in places such as what is now called Spanish Point in remembrance of the occasion. The very town your great grandfather hailed from, Mason, before coming to America to make his fortune.”
Mason looked at Jonah appreciatively. “Helluva story, Murph.” He shook his head wistfully. “I always meant to go to Ireland and check out my ancestry. Just never got around to it.”
Jonah nodded. “Back home, they used to do great tours for the Yanks…err…youse lot. Not much chance of that now.”
“True enough. Still, it’s good to have an Irishman at my camp. Makes me feel lucky.”
“Hey, I found him first. Murph’s with me,” Gatto said, half-frowning. Seeing the ferocious glare Mason turned to him with, even the brash Gatto was taken aback. “’Course, neither of us would be here if it wasn’t for you,” he hastily conceded.
“Damn straight,” Mason growled. “You’re staying at the lodge at my invitation. Don’t ever forget that.” He swilled down the last of his coffee and stood up from the table. “Murph, come see me tonight after you settle in at the lodge. We’ll talk more about the old country over a drink. Nobody here can keep up with my drinking. Let’s see how you fare.” With that, he headed back over to Tania and, after speaking with her briefly, exited the dining hall.
After he left, Gatto turned to Jonah. “Can’t say I know Mason well, but that’s the first time I’ve seen him laugh. Looks like he’s taken a shine to you, Murph.”
Jonah managed a weak smile. “Talk about the luck of the Irish, eh?”
CHAPTER 22
By now, everyone at Camp Eastwood was aware of the calamitous events that had taken place the previous night, and all understood the reason for the Benton group’s pale, shell-shocked faces. That included the “Georgians”, as the recently-arrived recruits from Gainesville were known, though the term amused Simone somewhat, seeing as she was from North Carolina.
The unexpected influx of people forced a change in the camp’s sleeping arrangements. Three of the farmhouse bedrooms had been designated for the Georgians - one for Simone and Marcie, another for Laura and Jenny, and the tiny bedroom at the end of the hall for Billy Bingham. Given the circumstances, none objected to camping outside until the Bentons’ situation was resolved. It was summertime, and all were content to sleep in tents, pitched under a stand of apple trees in the field adjacent to the farmhouse.
Fred and Eric’s situation was different though, and the two had already moved into a utility room next to the kitchen. With easy wheelchair access down the hall, it suited their needs perfectly.
What alarmed everyone far more than any inconvenience was Mason’s brutal attack at Lake Ocoee. It served to underscore the reality of their situation. Even for a large group such as the Bentons, danger and menace still lurked. Nowhere was safe in the world anymore.
***
Despite the disruptions, Marcie and Billy were determined to continue with the work at the farm. Billy in particular was anxious to make sure that everything that had been hauled from Willow Spring was put to good use.
That morning, Marcie arranged a scavenge run to Dalton City, Pete having suggested it as her best bet on finding the supplies she needed. None of the men at the camp were available to accompany them, however, as they were all either on defensive duty or undergoing weapons training. Undaunted, Marcie took it upon herself to arrange a security detail, and after breakfast, a heavily-armed group of five women – Marcie and Simone, along with their three new friends, Maya, Emma, and Greta – headed out of the camp in Fred’s shot-up station wagon, trailer attached.
The trip took several hours, but was worth it. Thanks to Pete’s directions, they found everything they needed.
On their return, Billy ran out to meet them in the front yard, and rooted through the trailer. He was delighted to find, among other items, a kiddie pool, several sheets of plywood, tarpaper, and a stack of wooden roof shingles. The ducks would soon have a new home, and a proper pool to wade in.
The five women, along with Billy, Jenny, and Laura, got to work. They began by bringing in the tiny herb pots Billy had been carefully tending and placing them along the windowsill behind the kitchen sink. Billy instructed Laura on how often they should be watered, and told her that she was now in charge of them.
They then went out into the backyard and over to the vegetable garden, where Marcie handed Greta and Emma two new weeding forks, courtesy of Walmart. Though Emma knew practically nothing about gardening, Greta had grown vegetables in her backyard in Knoxville and made sure that Emma pulled up weeds, not vegetables.
The herb garden was in good shape, and after a few brief instructions, Marcie left Jenny and Laura there to tidy it up. Then Marcie, Billy, and Simone walked through the garden to the old plastic container the ducks were using as their temporary wading pool. Nearby was a galvanized steel pot that Billy had filled with fresh drinking water that morning.
; Only a single duck was in sight. After a frantic search, Billy found the rest of them. They’d escaped out the back gate, which someone had left open, and were happily waddling around in the long grasses of the next field.
They dumped the old plastic container and replaced it with the kiddie pool. Then the three took several trips to fetch water from the river, and filled it up. Billy herded the wayward ducks back through the gate, and soon they were all splashing happily in and out of their new pool.
The next task on the list was to make them a shelter. The previous night, they had been kept in the back of Fred’s station wagon. While keeping them safe from predators, it was only a short-term solution.
The design of the duck house was simple, identical to the one Billy’s father had made back at Willow Spring Farm.
Billy sawed a long sheet of half-inch plywood in two, after which he tacked tarpaper onto both pieces, then nailed on the five-inch cedar shingles. When both pieces were ready, he leaned them up against each other to form an A-framed shape while Simone and Marcie screwed them together.
They used some two-by-two lengths of wood to hold the structure in place, nailed on the back wall, then a front door, complete with a simple latch. Dropping his tools, Billy ran off to the barn and came back with some hay for bedding.
“They’ll be happy here,” he said, standing up with satisfaction. “Whoever gets up first can let them out each morning.”
Marcie smiled. “Let’s go fetch Fred and Eric, and start digging the area for the hoop houses. Brace yourselves, it’s going to be backbreaking work. We’d better get the rest of the girls on it too.”
CHAPTER 23
Jonah woke up from a long nap. Opening his eyes, it took him a moment to remember where he was. In Chickasaw, the cabin he and Colleen had been living in prior to Mason’s invasion of the camp.
Earlier, at the dining hall, he had made his excuses with Don Gatto and ambled over to it. When he got there, he was thankful to see no one had claimed the cabin yet. He’d quickly stuffed Colleen’s things into her backpack, then stashed it in the forest around the back of the cabin. The last thing he wanted was any of Mason’s people getting hold of her possessions.
He wasn’t due to meet Gatto at the lodge until that afternoon, so he’d headed back to the cabin and taken a quick lie down to work off the effects of his hangover. Nothing soothed an alcohol-ravaged brain better than sleep.
His nap turned out to be longer than he’d intended, however. Checking his watch, he saw it was 12:20 p.m.
“Jaypers!” he yelped, jumping out of the bed in a panic. The previous night, he’d arranged to make radio contact with Bert Olvan at noon that day. He couldn’t afford to miss the call.
He hurriedly put on his boots and left the cabin. Checking no one was around, he went around the back of the cabin to where an overgrown footpath led him into the forest. After fifty yards, he stepped off the trail and ducked around the back of a large birch tree.
He pulled out the tiny radio set Olvan had given him and powered it up, making sure the volume was down low. “Bert…you there?” he whispered, then released the Talk button and pressed the radio up to his ear.
There was a slight fizzle, then, “Yes, Jonah. I’m here. I was getting worried about you, over.”
Jonah breathed a sigh of relief. “Bertie, great to hear yer voice again. Sorry I’m late. I…eh…ran into a spot of bother, that’s all.”
“What happened? Over.”
“I…eh…got held up with Mason. Geezer wouldn’t stop yapping to me.” Jonah figured it was a close enough version of the truth. Better than admitting he’d been fast asleep with a stinking hangover. “Listen, tell me this and tell me no more…have yeh seen Colleen yet? Is she all right, over?”
Jonah closed his eyes, awaiting Olvan’s response.
“Colleen is fine. She’s at Camp Eastwood with the rest of our group, over.”
Jonah looked up to the heavens and whispered his thanks. “Eastwood? That’s that geezer Walter’s camp, isn’t it?” Other than hearing that it had been down to Walter that Mason had come to the Cohutta, he didn’t know much else about the group.
“Correct. They’re good people. Any news at your end, over?”
“You better believe it,” Jonah replied urgently. “Tomorrow morning, Mason is heading out to look for the Bentons. If he finds yeh, he plans on finishing yis off, over.”
There was a brief pause before Olvan spoke again. “Jonah, this is exactly the kind of information we need from you. It may help us end this situation quickly. You think you can get us more details on his plans tomorrow, over?”
“I’ll try. Like what?”
“Such as what time he’ll leave camp. The color and model of the vehicle he’ll be driving. Whether he’ll be behind the wheel or not. Things like that. Over.”
Jonah frowned. “What do yis need to know all that for?”
“We’re planning an ambush to take him out. Without Mason in charge, it’ll make taking back the camp a lot easier.”
Jonah’s eyes widened, surprised by how fast the Bentons were moving. Thinking about it, though, it made sense. In football, a team was always the most vulnerable to conceding a goal directly after scoring one themselves. In some respects, this wasn’t any different.
“We’re only going to get one shot at this,” Olvan continued, “so we’ll need accurate intel. Over.”
Jonah cast his mind back to his conversation with Mason that morning, and how he was going to meet him again that evening. Perhaps his little prayer had been answered after all. “All right, I’ll do me best. Tell me, Bertie, can I skedaddle the hell out of here after that? I need to get back to Colleen pronto, over.”
“Of course. By the way, you reminded me of one other thing. Colleen has a message for you. Let me see if I remember it correctly… ‘Jonah, stay sharp, watch your gob, and get back to me in one piece. PS…I love you very much.’” Olvan chuckled. “I think that was everything…over.”
Jonah felt his emotions rising, and he choked up. “Thanks, Bertie. Tell her I love her very much too.”
“Roger that. All right, that’s enough for now. You need to conserve your battery. Jonah, we’re real serious about this plan. Kit and I are going to take turns manning the radio until midnight. You can call us any time until then. Soon as you have any news, you inform us. And stay safe. Got that?”
“Got it. Trust me, Bertie boy, I’m all over this like a bad rash. I can’t bleedin’ wait to get out of here. Talk to yeh soon. Over and out.”
Jonah switched off his radio, shoved it back in his shorts, then headed back toward his cabin, a jaunt in his step. Things were looking up. His wife was safe and the Bentons had a plan to kill Mason. The sooner the skanger was offed, the sooner he would be back with Colleen. That moment couldn’t arrive soon enough for him.
CHAPTER 24
With the news from Jonah Murphy that Mason would soon come looking for the Bentons, Camp Eastwood went on high alert. Under Walter, Ned, and Mary’s supervision, its inhabitants worked feverishly all afternoon to bolster the camp’s defenses even further. There was no guarantee their ambush plan would succeed, and everyone knew only too well what he and his men were capable of.
As well as fortifying the camp itself, extra observation posts were set up, including one that overlooked the concrete bridge separating Georgia from Tennessee. Whether Mason would travel as far south as the Alaculsy Valley was debatable, but coming from Lake Ocoee, it was the most likely route by which he would arrive.
Once the work was finished, Walter and Ned began planning the “Snake’s Head” operation. Unlike last time, they hoped they would strike first.
Both men agreed that an L-shaped ambush would be the most effective, and they planned on deploying the majority of the hit team along the long edge of the “L” as Mason’s vehicles drove into the trap. Ahead, along the short edge, a smaller group would be in position to provide an interlocking field of fire without endangering their own
men, as well as ensuring that Mason could neither go forward nor retreat.
Six men were assigned to the team. Cody, Clete, Ralph, and Jim Wharton would take up positions along the long edge of the “L”, the main kill zone. Cody and Clete would fire 5.56 mm fifty-grain jacketed hollow points. Aimed at Mason’s head and upper body, the rounds would mushroom on impact to devastating effect. Alongside them, Ralph and Jim Wharton would simultaneously fire 62-grain steel core, full metal jacket rounds, capable of piercing the door of Mason’s vehicle in case he managed to duck below the window in time.
At the short edge of the “L”, the crossfire position, Rollins and a man named Sam Kirby would also fire jacketed hollow points through the front window, targeting Mason’s head and chest.
The initial planning over, Walter and Granger needed to find the best location for the ambush site. After scouting the area, they decided that the junction of Cookson and Card Spur would be ideal. Two miles south of Camp Benton, there were no turnoffs beforehand that Mason might take, and being a T-shaped junction, it meant he would be forced to slow down as he approached it. It also offered a spiderweb of nearby forestry roads that would allow the team to escape easily.
“It might not appear too complex, but there’s a lot of moving parts to this operation,” Granger warned the assembled hit team on their return to Camp Eastwood as they sat around the table outside Walter’s trailer. Using the detailed sketches the two had drawn, he and Walter had been going through the plan for the past twenty minutes. “Plenty that can go wrong here, trust me.”
Walter agreed. “You’d be surprised how one unplanned glitch can turn a simple operation like this into a total clusterfuck.”
“Like what?” Cody asked.
“Poor communications, for a start,” Walter replied. “We can’t afford any misunderstandings. Speaking of which, I will be your spotter on this mission. I’ll be in the forest outside the camp’s entranceway and will radio you when Mason exits the camp. You’ll need to understand my instructions clearly.”
On The Edge: Book Three in The No Direction Home Series Page 9