Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1)

by Marcus Richardson

  "Well, I'm up, may as well get breakfast going. Ted'll probably be hungry." Erik kept an eye on Ted as he made his way north up the beach, heading towards the boat, anchored about 30 feet offshore in the shallows. Erik noticed the former Marine was keeping a pretty good pace for running on the sand and had been at it for at least the five minutes he had been watching. Ted was known for getting up early and go for a PT run, as he called it, but something was telling Erik this wasn't the case.

  To the south, out of the corner of Erik's eye, he saw a flash. "What was that?" he said as he looked up from the meager breakfast he had prepared. Some beef jerky liberated from a convenience store, some water, and a few pieces of dried candied fruit Brin had slipped in his bag. He had no idea where that fruit had come from but it was a Godsend. The remnants of his dream tried to force itself back on his conscious mind. He closed that door and focused on what he was seeing.

  Erik expected Ted to pause and look south as well, but he hunched his shoulders and went into a full on sprint instead. In a another minute, he had reached the spit of land closest to the boat and slowed to a walk. He passed another minute or so pacing back and forth, hands on hips, a cool down from his run. Ted had missed the event, whatever it was.

  Erik thought he heard a low rumble echo of the water from the south. And another. A weaker flash of light bubbled over the horizon around the bend in land due south. Then nothing. Silence, except for the gentle, ever present cadence of the light surf on the sand. Erik didn't like the feeling he was getting. When he glanced back to the beach, Ted was gone. Erik looked south. Nothing.

  "What the hell?" Erik was suddenly uncomfortable. He set his mind to preparing the boat to get under way and tried to ignore Ted's disappearance. His mind began to race: Maybe he went over the crest and is doing pushups. Maybe you never saw him, a little voice countered mischievously in his head. Maybe you're still dreaming. Erik sighed and looked up. "Maybe I'm going crazy."

  Ted emerged out of the water just off the bow, where it was only chest deep. Erik gasped and stumbled which caused him to land squarely on his rear at the tiller. The little boat rocked as Erik cursed.

  "Really?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You trying to give me a heart attack? Shit!" Erik said, exasperated.

  Ted laughed as he climbed aboard. He shook his head and flung water off onto the deck. "Hey man, remember, I'm a Marine? We do stuff like this all the time.”

  "Running on the beach, disappearing into the water, or scaring the living hell out of people for no good reason?" asked Erik sharply.

  Ted smiled, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "All of the above."

  "But I'm the good guy, remember?" asked Erik. He found it hard not to smile. Ted sat there with a grin on his face so wide, Erik half expected to see canary feathers on his lips.

  The second explosion startled them both pre-dawn darkness.

  "What the hell was that? It's flashing again," asked Erik as he picked himself off the deck.

  "Again? Why didn't you say something?" Ted sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking at the flare of light down the coast. It was already fading by the time Erik got the binoculars on it, way south on the horizon.

  “'Cause you scared the piss out of me, that's why," grumbled Erik.

  "Down by the White Hand camp we saw yesterday, I bet," Ted grunted. The loud report of the explosion finally reached them and rumbled past half a minute later.

  "That was big. That was an explosion. Look—tracers!" Ted exclaimed, pointing.

  "Wow—there's some serious shooting going on," Erik muttered. He focused the binoculars a little more. "Looks like a small scale version of Christmas in Baghdad." He passed the binoculars to Ted.

  The Marine whistled. "I think someone is getting his ass handed to him." Two more explosions blossomed, as if in competition with the faint tinge of color on the eastern horizon. "Whatever the hell is causing all that, I'm glad it's way down there and not up here with us."

  "Yeah, well, whatever the hell is causing that is between us and home, remember?" asked Erik. "I think we need to get ready to go."

  "I agree. Last thing I want is to be caught here next to shore with our pants down. Let's switch spots, you're the sail-master here."

  They carefully swapped positions on the boat, passing the central mast on opposite sides to keep the little vessel level on the water. Ted sat and tried to squeeze some water out of his shirt. He seemed refreshed and a little more relaxed than Erik had seen him in weeks. A flash caught the bigger man's eye.

  Erik swiveled his head and stared down the beach. "Light's on the beach, by the curve of the point," he called out in an urgent whisper. Sound travels extremely far on a beach with nothing to block it but a few mangrove trees hundreds of yards away. He loosened the main sheets and hauled away. "We need to bail, like now."

  Ted panned over to the lights as Erik, now finished with the mainsail, started to haul the anchor up. Once released from the soft sandy bottom, the Tarpon Whistler began to bob out into the gentle surf.

  "Mmmmm...I see a small group of people with lights, looks like a few may be wounded. They're armed though. Don't look friendly," Ted announced, eyes still on target.

  "Glad to see you're staying calm!" Erik grunted as he stowed the anchor. "You wanna steer or watch them? Let's get the hell out of here and get some distance between us and shore." He watched the sail flutter in the slight pre-dawn breeze that was always there, just off shore. "Hold off on the motor. I think we have enough wind..."

  Erik worked quickly and swung the boom back and forth until the large white sail caught the slight breeze with ease. Once secured, he gave Ted the thumbs up. Ted pushed the tiller hard over and the sailboat slowly but smoothly began to bite the water and turn out into the Gulf.

  "Not much wind," Ted observed as he dropped the keel with an audible thump they felt in the hull.

  "Whatever's here will get us moving. It won't take much for this little thing," replied Erik, never taking his eyes off the group of people close to the horizon.

  "Thank God the moon already set," muttered Ted.

  Erik cursed under his breath. "I didn't even think how this white sail on a white boat would be lit up like a beacon in moonlight."

  "It's all good, man," Ted glanced behind them at the coast. It wasn't receding fast enough for his taste, but their movement was as stealthy as he could hope for. "Besides, I think these guys are more concerned with whatever the hell is going on behind them.” More tracers lit up the night sky. The two men could just barely hear the rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons echo across the glass-smooth water.

  The further they got from shore, the stronger the breeze became so that soon they were about half a mile out and running south, with the wind at their backs and gaining speed. Erik glanced to the east and noticed the first blush of dawn.

  "It's a little choppier out here but the wind is better. We should be even with the action by dawn," Erik remarked.

  "We'll be lit up," Ted nodded to port and the glow from sunrise on the other side of the dark strip of land at the edge of the water. "But maybe they'll be too concerned with the fighting to notice us."

  For the next half hour, neither spoke, preferring to battle their fears in private as they watched the fires and smoke of the suspected battle creep closer. In the east, the sun had crested the horizon and was bathing the world in its early glow.

  Along the coast, the beach was wreathed in smoke from a dozen fires. The once sugar-white beach was a cratered wasteland. Charred debris and a growing pile of bodies marred the north end of the beach. The south end was littered with charred vehicles and a few Humvees.

  "Well, if it ain't our old friends the National Guard," quipped Ted with a smile. He'd be the first person to respect anyone who put on a uniform, even a Coastie. But he was a Marine and a combat veteran to boot. In Ted's mind just the title alone gave him a lot of joshing rights that he fully enjoyed.

  "Looks like the National Guard whooped some ass," c
ommented Erik. He offered a low whistle of admiration. "Kickin' ass and taking names."

  "'Bout damn time! Those White Hand People are getting out of control. Hey, check it out," Ted muttered. He pointed to a particularly active spot on the north end of the beach. "The troopers got 'em penned up in the same spot they had their own prisoners yesterday. Nice." He laughed. "I hope it stinks."

  Erik was about to crack a joke when the forgotten marine radio in the tiny cabin crackled to life as it broke squelch. "Unidentified sailing vessel, this is the Florida National Guard, on the beach to your east. You are in violation of the statewide mandatory dusk till dawn curfew. Identify yourself and come ashore for inspection."

  "Uh, oh," Ted said, binoculars up. A soldier on the beach was looking at them through his own field glasses. He looked away and was obviously saying something to a second soldier.

  "I repeat, sailing vessel, identify yourself and come ashore. If you do not come ashore immediately, you will be deemed hostile and fired upon."

  "Damn! I hate martial law..." muttered Erik as he reached for the radio. Something about the voice triggered a memory in his mind. It was familiar. He spotted a puff of smoke just inside the tree line behind the beach and the mic paused on its way to his mouth. "What was that?"

  "Mortar!" Ted announced. "Incoming!" He swung the tiller hard to starboard so the sailboat turned towards the shore with a lurch. She was a little daysailer, but her size made the little boat nimble. Ted had to grip the rails to keep from sliding as the boat heeled in the water, picking up speed. "Hang on!"

  A heartbeat later, Erik heard a high faint whistle grow louder before it disappeared. A sudden splash and explosion of water to starboard, exactly in their previous path. It nearly made him jump out of his skin.

  "They shot at us!" Erik dove for the dropped radio and wiped the water from his face as the spray from the warning shot rained down on their little boat. "Hold your fire! National Guard, hold your fire! This is sailing vessel Tarpon Whistler, out of Sarasota. We're coming ashore, we're coming ashore!"

  "Wise decision, Tarpon Whistler." The voice sounded even more familiar.

  "Captain Williams?" asked Erik on a hunch. To Ted he said, "I think that's him, man, from the gate the other day?" There was a pause on the other end of the conversation. Ted could see through the binoculars the speaker conversing with other soldiers, acting quite animated.

  "That stirred 'em up," grinned Ted.

  "Who is this?" asked the voice. "How do you know me?"

  "Captain, this is Erik Larsson, from the Freehold—I mean, Colonial Gardens. Over on Bee Ridge? You stopped by..."

  "Mr. Larsson, what the hell are you doing out there?" the voice sounded relieved and irritated at the same time.

  "Well, we were fishing before we had to do some evasive maneuvers."

  "Sorry about that...the men are still a little keyed up from the fight. But you are in violation of the curfew."

  The Tarpon Whistler was nearly within hailing distance from the shore before anyone spoke again. When the little daysailer was about 30 feet out, Ted turned her into the wind and Erik dropped anchor with a small splash. The small boat did not require anything more than about 15 pounds to hold it still in the water.

  "Bring it on in, sir," one of the soldiers said. The black trooper held his M-4 in a sling over his right shoulder and was waving with his left hand. His helmet looked a little too big for his head. Erik noticed the weapon wasn't pointed at them, at least. That was a good sign. There were three others, all watching with hooded expressions. All fully armed with rifles.

  "Sorry, but this things got a keel that sticks down about three feet. This is as close to shore as I get without a dock," Erik called back. It was a lie and he knew it, but he also didn't want to get trapped on shore. Ted, for his part, said nothing and merely watched. They were both playing things by ear.

  "It's alright, sergeant, I'll handle this. Go help Lieutenant Walsh with the prisoner transfer," said Captain Jonas Williams as he walked up to the beach from the command center over the first dune.

  "Yes, sir," snapped the soldier. He saluted and moved off towards the tree line. "You three, with me. Let's go round up some trash." The three other soldiers moved off without comment. In a moment, Captain Williams was alone on his particular stretch of the beach with Ted and Erik.

  Erik stood on the bow and held onto some rigging. "Haven't seen you and your men in about a week now...how are you all doing? I take it you won?" Erik asked, motioning with a free hand to include the cluttered beach. The smell was incredible.

  Captain Williams put his hands on his hips and pushed his helmet up on his forehead a little to let the cool morning air calm his skin. "Yeah, CO had my men tooling up with Delta Company in prep for taking out the hostile band that was gutting Sarasota. Looks like they were an offshoot of those 'Brotherhood' guys up near Tampa. Sick bastards, too," he said and motioned to the bodies stacked up like cordwood further north on the beach. "There's practically a whole neighborhood in there."

  "White Hand People?" asked Ted, who showed almost no outward concern for the hundreds of people who had been killed.

  Innocent families wiped out and God knows what done to them, Erik thought with horror.

  "The same," nodded Captain Williams. "They mark up every building or house they go into, paint it on cars, hell some of 'em even have the white hand painted on their chests. Freaky." He scanned the smoking ruined beach and all the debris and rotting bodies. A whole new batch had been added to the pile just hours earlier. It seemed a shame to lump the bad guys in with the dead civilians but Erik supposed they didn't have the manpower or the time to worry about niceties.

  "Helluva mess your men made here, Captain. It does this Marine good to see some indiscriminate justice heaped on the bad guys," called out Ted.

  Captain Williams flashed a lopsided grin. "Yeah, well, we taught these assholes a lesson. Rest of my men are headed south chasing the remnants down the coast. Should have 'em all wrapped up today." He glanced up at the brightening sky.

  "Any casualties?" asked Ted softly.

  Another trooper huffed it over a sand dune and presented an olive drab pouch to the Captain. He saluted and moved off, poking through the bodies looking for wounded. Erik was surprised to see it was a woman. She wore a red-cross arm band. It was a sobering moment.

  Captain Williams looked at the bag he held in both hands. "A few wounded. Three killed, including the CO. That's why I'm here instead of with my men." He looked at the sky again, as if searching for something. "They got through our lines and surprised us. We were going to hit them at first light but somehow they got the drop on us." He shook his head. Erik saw the crease in the side of the helmet cover that marked where a bullet had tried to find the Captain's head.

  "They were pretty well armed, then?" asked Ted respectfully.

  "Surprisingly, yes. Mostly handguns, but there were enough of 'em with AKs or carbines and the know-how to use 'em right that gave us a few hairy moments at first. After we caught on, it was all over." He glanced up at the sky again, looking.

  That motion reminded Erik of something. "Did you see those planes last night?" he asked.

  “Yeah." The Captain shook his head sadly. "Cryin' shame. Never thought to see that..." he mumbled.

  Erik and Ted shared a look. "Ours?" asked Ted hopefully.

  "You haven't heard?" asked Captain Williams after his head snapped up in surprise. A look of shock crossed his face. "How long you been at sea? Nevermind," he waved off the reply. "No, they weren't ours."

  "You're shitting me!" exclaimed Ted. "How—"

  "They're what's left of the U.N.'s first wave. Headed for safety in Cuba, I guess."

  "What's left? That was a lot of planes we saw last night!" sputtered Erik.

  "The first wave? They already started the invasion!?" exclaimed Ted, suddenly very anxious to get back to his family.

  Captain Williams shook his head sadly. "I'm not supposed to be spreading this ar
ound...but you guys are running that apartment complex, so you're classified as 'Local Leader' as far as I'm concerned. Anyway, from what I can gather—mind you, I'm pretty low on the totem pole right now," he shook his head again. "The Eurotrash were able to trick us by sending their assault troops in jetliners, pretending to be our soldiers. Someone put the word out that they were friendly. Someone on our side."

  "Holy shit...." muttered Erik.

  "Yeah," said the Guardsman. "Someone's feeding intel to the enemy..." he let that thought trail off. "Those bastards paid for it though. Heard up north the flyboys shot down most of the inbounds before Russian bombers crossed Canadian airspace to draw 'em off. They hit damn near the whole seaboard: Boston, New York, Philly, D.C. Savannah and Jacksonville got it last night just before sunset. The planes you saw last night were their rides. A lot of 'em didn't make it, but they still dropped hundreds, maybe thousands of paratroopers at each city. We lost all contact with Jacksonville about an hour ago," he said sadly.

  "The first wave," Ted said quietly. He nodded to himself. "Recon, secure, expand." He glanced at Erik. "There'll be more. A lot more. They're following the book so far. Same thing we did in the sandbox."

  "That's my thinking, too," said Captain Williams with a nod of respect for Ted's assessment of the situation.

  "I don't believe it," said Erik. His mind was in free-fall, trying to think of what it was like in the occupied cities. How could this happen? This is America!

  "I heard in some of the bigger ones like New York and Philly, they even landed safely. Can you believe that? People on the ground were cheering." Captain Williams shook his head again. "I just don't understand it."

  "Have you heard anything about the west coast? California?" Erik asked, hoping for something he could take back to Brin. Her family was still out there. He hoped.

  "Sorry...I haven't gotten anything west of the Appalachians."

  "This is unreal..." said Erik.

  "Roger that," replied Captain Williams. "Gentlemen, the shit has officially hit the fan. We haven't seen anything around here other than the gangs and rioting. Not until these White Hand People showed up. But I know Jacksonville and probably Miami by now got enemy airborne on the ground." He swung the satchel around his head and launched it over the calm water of the Gulf. Erik caught it with a grunt.