Erik looked at the well worn satchel. "Nice throw. What's this?" he asked and passed the bag to Ted.
"A lil' gift to repay the kindness y'all showed me and my men the other day. Yours was the only place we didn't get yelled at...or worse, that whole day. Made a big impression on the men. We lost a corporal the next day. Drove into a neighborhood and before we could even say hello, some asshole popped off a round and took out MacKenzie." The man looked furuious. "Our own damn citizens were attacking us. The gangs attack us. Now the U.N. is attacking us." He shrugged and seemed to resign himself to his fate.
"Anyway, there's a short-range radio in there, some MREs, nothing much. You can reach me on the frequency it's set to if you're in range. We're moving out soon so I doubt you'll be able to catch me but you never know."
"Where to?" asked Ted.
Captain Williams thought about it for a second. Finally he decided to speak up. He shrugged again, as if to say, What the hell does it matter, anyway?
"Miami is my guess. Orlando-Tampa seems to be the dividing line. All units south are redirecting to Miami to stop the foreigners down there. I guess they got enough manpower further north to deal with Jacksonville for the time being. We're getting stretched thin, though. If rioting gets out of hand in Tampa..." Captain Williams shrugged. "Hell of a mess."
Ted recognized the man's fatigue. "How long?" he asked with a knowing look. It was clear the soldier had been up more than 24 hours.
"Three days now...I think. Long stretch rounding up as many people as possible to relocate, then chase these assholes," he said with a casual wave of a gloved hand at the fresh bodies. "Only to get surprised in the middle of the night by a buncha juiced up crackheads with AKs." He shook his head. "Well, I gotta get the men ready to hit the road to catch the convoy south."
"Here's hoping you can catch some sleep, Captain," Ted said solemnly.
Captain William's eyes had a haunted look about them. "Thanks, I hope so too." He stifled a yawn. "Be on the lookout for the good guys, y'hear? Some of the Regulars were flying in and got mixed up with the invasion." He shook his helmeted head again. "Freakin' chaos, I swear."
"I hope you and your men make it back to your families, soon," said Erik sincerely. "I think we're all going to be in for a rough ride and your place is by their side."
The Captain nodded. "Thank you." He squared his shoulders, no longer Jonas Williams, but The Captain. "Now you get on back to your families or at least try to get the hell out of Dodge," he waved them off. "Good luck, gentlemen. There's dark days ahead for us all."
Erik was already weighing anchor. Ted called out to the retreating form of the soldier, "Hey, what about McDill? Why didn't they shoot down those transports we saw?"
"Don't know," replied Captain Williams. He waved again, "Keep your head down, Marine!"
"Keep your powder dry, soldier!" replied Ted. He began to dig through the satchel. "Some good...sort-of food in here, man. I can't believe how hungry I am...MREs are actually lookin' tasty. Damn."
They sailed south in silence, seeing not a single other soul for nearly two hours along the beach. Ted would later recall it to be the longest few hours of his life. Both men wanted desperately to be back with their families, to protect them from the shadow threat made suddenly real in the early morning light. The invasion they had speculated on and debated and worried over was finally here. America had foreign troops on her soil for the first time since the War of 1812. Erik felt dirty, violated.
They were just about out of sight of the smoke from previous night's beach battle when the Tarpon Whistler rounded the last jut of land north of Sarasota Bay. That was when they heard the gunshots.
It sounded like random pot shots from small weapons, echoing off the water only to be replied by the deeper rat-tat-tat of military weaponry. As they sailed past the point and came in sight of their home Bay, they saw smoke billowing up out of the marina. The pier looked like an anthill that had been kicked over by a child. Soldiers in full gear ran from quay to quay, ducking behind ruined boats, shooting and hauling supplies and wounded towards the end of the long main pier.
Ted needed only a second to assess the situation. "They're trapped." He pointed to the marina office, blazing away and belching smoke up into the air. "Something in front of the office is on fire...a car I think."
Erik took a hard look. "That's Brin's car! That's our ride, man!" Erik wailed. "They turned it into a barrier to seal off the pier...that's just great!" He looked through the binoculars as the boat turned to run with the wind into the bay.
"Man, they're really getting backed into a corner. There's more of those White Hand guys coming in from the east, down the main road. They're all in the trees..."
"What I wouldn't give for a fifty-cal right now...." muttered Ted. He gripped the railing with white knuckles. A single flash of light and two soldiers went down screaming.
"They're throwing Molotov cocktails...we gotta do something!" Ted fumed, eyes still on the desperate fight. "They're out-numbered..."
Erik paused, watching the fight. The soldiers were infinitely better trained and equipped—they were holding their own for the moment but...there were just so many attackers. He could only count about seven or eight troopers moving on the pier. A quick glance towards shore showed at least twenty bad guys. He thought he could see more moving across the parking lot, drawn to the battle like ants to a picnic.
"That's no remnant. That's a damn army," said Erik through gritted teeth. "I hope Captain Williams knows that he's walking into a hornets' nest." He frowned. "There's no way these guys are just street thugs. Someone's helping them out.”
The long rumored war had suddenly arrived on their doorstp and it stood between him and his wife. The two men looked at each other. The pain on Ted's face showed he came to the same conclusion.
"Brin, Susan, the kids..." said Erik. "Maybe we can swing south..." the thought died in his mouth. He didn't like the idea as he said it out loud.
Ted sighed, a deep shuddering movement. "I know. But I can't stand by and do nothing." He pointed at the pier. "Those are brothers in arms—I have to help if I can." Another fireball caught a wounded soldier in the chest on the dock. His screams made it faintly across the water to their sailboat. The soldier jumped into the water to extinguish himself. Two more scrambled to try and pull him out. The gunfire around them intensified. They made easy targets.
Erik frowned, his mind made up. These men and women are dying to protect people they don't even know. Our families. Brin.
"You're right...Well, we could sail in, load up any wounded and..." Erik looked around to get the lay of the land. He pointed a little to the north. "We can take them around the point of land there and off-load. At least it'll get them off the pier."
"Sounds good. Let's do it," replied Ted. He set his face and gripped the tiller.
"Alright, steer us in towards the pier and I'll let 'em know we're coming," said Erik, his voice deep with resolve. He ducked down into the cabin.
Ted tried the radio Captain Williams had given them. "National Guard on the pier, this is sailing vessel Tarpon Whistler on your six. Turn around!"
No response. Ted tried again as they grew incrementally closer to the pier. A bullet punched a hole through the mainsail with a faint slap sound. Ted looked up and frowned. "Back in the shit again, Marine," he muttered to himself. He tried yelling but his voice was drowned out in the noise of the firefight.
Erik reappeared from below with a bright orange emergency flare gun. "Look what I found." He waved it at Ted. "Might get their attention with this." He hoped it would work—who knows how long it had been forgotten in the bottom of that locker. "I've never shot one of these things before," he mumbled by way of advance apology for failure.
"Point n' shoot, man," grinned Ted from the stern. A bullet slapped the water about ten feet to the starboard side. "Just do it quick before the wrong people see we're here. I'd like a little cover fire for this slow cow."
Erik aimed
a little high of the pier, hoping the noise would alert one of the soldiers. He pulled the trigger and flinched when he heard a loud pop. The two men waited a few seconds. The firefight continued unabated.
"Nothing happened," observed Ted with a frown.
Erik looked at the side flare gun and slapped it in his hand. "What the hell? I primed it, pulled the trigger...it popped. It had to—"
A flash of light and smoke erupted out of one of the partially sunk powerboats collapsed in the water by the pier. One of the soldiers noticed but his alarm was ignored as a rain of bullets poured down on the beleaguered Guardsmen.
"Hah! Hole in one!" barked Ted.
Erik opened his mouth, ready with a quick retort when the smoke and light expanded in an audible WHOOOSH of fire. The oil and fuel leaking from the boat, placidly floating on the surface of the bay had ignited from sparks cast off by the flare. A quick burst of a short-lived fireball and suddenly the water around the pier was a ghostly orange-yellow conflagration. The soldiers shouted in alarm and backed away from the docks. The attackers cheered and poured more fire on the pier.
"Oops," said Erik.
"Nice," laughed Ted. "Now that's what I call a hot LZ."
The little boat began taking fire from the shore. Bullets splashed into the water all around them and more than a few punched holes in the sail or took bits of wood and fiberglass out of the cabin. "Shit!" Erik ignored Ted's laughter and ducked when a bullet popped through the mainsail a few feet above his head.
Ted stood up and screamed, "Oh sure, shoot at the slow moving target you pussies! Give me a gun and let me get on shore and—"
"What are you doing!?" a soldier yelled from the end of the pier. "Get the hell out of here you fools!" He waved them off and ducked as a chunk of concrete exploded next to his head. Erik saw him readjust his helmet and curse before speaking again. "Can't you see what's going on? The damn Marina's closed!"
"Figured y'all could use hand," said Erik. "I see you got wounded—load 'em on and we'll get them to safety. You guys are trapped here." The boat continued to sail closer. They were about a hundred yards out.
"This thing ain't a powerboat, soldier. Make up your mind! You guys were sent down here by Captain Williams, right?" asked Ted. He leaned over the side of the boat to get a better view of the dock. Smoke was starting to obscure the shoreline from burning vehicles in the parking lot. He saw a lot of movement.
The soldier froze, his face clearly registering his surprise. "Captain Williams? What?"
"We left the Captain up the shore a ways a while back—he's meeting up with a convoy heading south. Get your wounded ready for evac!" barked Ted with voice that demanded obedience.
The soldier considered this new development for a second and looked at the USMC shirt Ted wore. He glanced over his shoulder and peered around the make-shift barricade his squad had erected halfway down the pier. They were still trying to drag the wounded further back but the attackers on shore had started get fire in from the flanks. Pretty soon it was going to get real ugly.
As the boat drew within 20 feet Erik loosened the lines on the mainsail and prepared for docking. He grabbed a rope and called out to the soldier, "Catch this, wrap it around that cleat and throw it back, this is gonna hurt."
The Guardsman let his rifle hang by his side on the sling, caught the rope tossed by Erik and latched it on to the cleat mounted on the pier. He tossed the remainder back to Erik and shook his head, "Y'all gonna get killed!" A spray of bullets, as if in confirmation of his fears, peppered the port side of the Tarpon Whistler.
Erik cursed and ducked again. He reached out and took hold of the rope laying on the deck where it landed. The noise was almost overpowering: small arms and a few AK-47s rattling from the shore, answered by the loud, sharp bark of the troopers M-4 carbines. Casings plinked off concrete pillars and the pier. Soldiers called out targets and yelled orders. The wounded screamed and others did their best to pull them to safety while staying low. It took every ounce of courage Erik had to keep himself from diving into the cabin and hiding. It was the scariest experience of his life.
Ted manned the tiller and gamely steered the little boat into a gut wrenching stop, partly crushing the starboard side against the heavy main pier. He grunted and barely held on to the tiller. "Oops!"
The mast shook on impact and one of the wire rigging lines snapped. Ted flinched as it whipped inches past his face. He could feel the wind as it passed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erik trying to man up and face the battle with some courage, not knowing what he should do. Ted took a dangerous second to be impressed—he figured most civilians would have wet their pants by now.
"That was some entrance," the soldier said with a grin. He ducked as a bullet produced a cloud of concrete dust next to his right shoulder.
Another bullet ricocheted of the railing next to him and Ted snapped back to the fight. He glanced at the soldier on the pier, who was trying to yell something to him.
"Corporal, get your wounded over here—how many?"
The young man crouched behind a pillar and glanced around, taking a quick head count. "Seven or eight."
"Alright," Ted replied and ducked as a bullet soared overhead with a faint whistle. "Load up the critical ones first—walking wounded last! Move!" he roared.
The corporal sprung into action. "Hicks! Garcia!" he yelled to the men in front of him. “I don’t know who that big guy on the boat is, but the other one is a Marine and an officer from the sound of it. That’s good enough for me!”
“So what’s the plan?” asked Hicks as he adjusted his helmet.
The man Erik assumed was Garcia struggled to reload his weapon. "It's jammed!" the other man replied.
"Screw it! Help me get the wounded on that boat!" the corporal said over the din of the battle and gestured to the sailboat. Erik ducked out of sight again as some more holes appeared in the sail.
"Hurry up, man!" Erik called out, his voice strained. "This thing isn't a battleship!"
"Popping smoke!" called out the corporal. He pulled a canister off his tactical harness and yanked the pin, then tossed it towards the barricade at the middle of the pier. It rolled to a stop, began to hiss and in seconds a vast plume of obscuring smoke billowed out over the water and all around the Guardsmen. "That'll buy us some time...move, move, move!" he ordered.
As the survivors worked in fire-chain fashion to load the groaning and wounded men, Ted asked the corporal, "You in command here?"
A random shot fired into the smoke caused more than one soldier to curse. The smoke was drifting out on the slight breeze and began to obscure everything now. The corporal squatted on the pier and shook his head. "CO was Sergeant Oxford. Took a round to the forehead at the beginning of this mess. Some lucky bastard got 'im." He spat into the water.
Ted nodded. "Ammo?"
"Got enough to last until backup gets here," he said, and slapped his rifle. "Not like we can run anymore, right? We'll make 'em pay for every inch."
"So you got the word out?" asked Ted. They could hear shouting and taunts now that the gunfire had slacked. It sounded as if someone had a car stereo on full blast too. The loud bass rhythm made Ted grind his teeth in anger.
"I don't think so...most of our comm gear ended up down there," the corporal replied and pointed a gloved hand towards the water. "One of the downsides to a running retreat on a pier."
"Lay them out length wise, here, here and here," ordered Erik. "No, put him up front. This thing isn't a yacht, people," he cautioned the over-zealous soldiers. "Make 'em comfortable but don't over balance one side or the other or we'll all end up in the drink."
The incoming fire had slackened considerably during the smoke screen. It grew almost quiet, except for the taunting and the music. It was an eerie sensation for Erik. "I don't like this...come on, let's get him on. Careful!" Erik cautioned. The boat rocked dangerously but not quite enough to capsize. The last soldier off cursed and dove for cover.
"Smoke's fading!"
he reported. The fire from shore started up again as targets emerged in the smoke.
"Y'all get out of here," said the corporal. "Thanks," he said to Ted. He unwound the rope from the cleat on the dock and tossed it to Erik.
"Casting off," Erik said and gave the pier a hard shove and the little sailboat slowly began to drift away. "And we're away."
"Here's the last of our meds. Try an' keep 'em comfortable!" called out the corporal. He tossed Erik a bag of supplies.
"What's your name, soldier?" asked Ted as the Tarpon Whistler turn about. A few more bullets whined past. She made a nice slow target. Ted was relieved most of the scum on the shore was either too stoned, drunk, or stupid to hit them.
"Stillman."
"Hold out—we'll get word to Williams for you. If your call didn't make it through, we will."
The soldier waved and turned back for round two of the firefight.
Ted ripped the little outboard engine to life—-not much more than a lawnmower really—as Erik tightened the rigging. The bullet riddled sail snapped taut and they began to pick up steam. "Yo, ho ho and a bottle of rum," Ted hummed with a smile as he watched the sail fill.
"You a Marine?" grunted the young man in front of Ted, shot in the side and smeared with blood and grime. The man's skin was dark by nature but nearly jet black on his hands and abdomen where his clothing had been cut away. He was bandaged and in obvious pain, leaning against the mast facing aft.
Ted grinned down at him. "What gave it away?" he asked and pointed at the shirt.
"'Cause you're fuckin' crazy," the soldier grunted with a smile. His white teeth were in sharp contrast to his swarthy skin and filthy face. He winced in pain and closed his eyes in an attempt to rest. "But thanks, just the same."
With the wind at their backs and the little outboard wide open, the sailboat seemed to be going even slower than it had coming down the coast. Ted frowned. It was all the extra weight. He fought the wave of nausea that swept over him suddenly when he got a glimpse of the clear water slapping the chewed up side of the boat. It was only a few inches below the deck line. "She's ridin' low, Erik!" he called out.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 59