by Sawyer, JT
“Eeek—I just cringe at the thought of you planning a mission.”
“I’ve planned plenty of high-stakes ‘missions’ before—just don’t expect me to ever brief you on them.”
Carlie smiled and shook her head. “Yeah, well your knowledge on breaching security systems came in handy back on that freighter. Otherwise we wouldn’t have gleaned the information we did in there and gotten that laptop so quietly.”
“Glad you think so—that means you won’t be pissed that I swapped out the laptop from your pack into mine back at the boathouse,” he said, reaching into his backpack for the encased device.
“You slippery son of a bitch.”
“What? I just needed some insurance in case you changed your mind about our deal.”
Carlie scowled and swung the steering wheel hard to the left, unbalancing Jared momentarily.
“You gonna tell me what’s so important about what you’ve got in your hand?”
Jared stuffed the item in his pocket and then turned his head forward. “Listen, I upheld my end to get you to the freighter and provide info on the city layout. The rest don’t concern you.”
“The hell it doesn’t, especially after that stunt.”
He squinted at the horizon and then slowly turned towards her, his lips forcing out the words. “It belonged to me when I was little, alright.”
Carlie saw Jared tapping on his ear mic. “Hang on, I can hear something coming through on my radio.”
“Boyd, is that you? We are a mile out from your position, over,” he said.
“Everything good,” Carlie said, looking at him intently.
After nodding at the response in his earpiece, he leaned towards Carlie. “They’re headed this way. Sounds like everyone is on board and safe,” he said, looking at the skyline ahead.
She could feel Jared studying her face for a moment. “So, no hard feelings, boss?” he said.
“In case the new reality of our world hasn’t fully taken root inside your brain, I need everyone on my team squared away and thinking about the big picture, not their own petty desires. Pull that shit again and you’ll find yourself adrift for good—you got it?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at the advancing Blackhawk. “Got it.”
As they approached, the helo descended twenty feet above the boat and the side door slid open. Carlie eased the throttle back as the boat slowed. A folding ladder unfurled and dropped within a few feet of the stern. Boyd and Shane were on either side waving them up. Carlie gave the thumbs-up sign after which she motioned Jared to begin his climb.
He swung his arm out and grabbed the rope ladder as the boat gently bobbed back and forth.
Carlie looked back at the river to her rear and at the shoreline. The boat undulating in the current matched her own unsettled mindset. She glanced up at the helo where Jared was nearly on board then back out along the river. She wondered if her brother was still alive in San Diego and how she would risk everything to see him once more. Except that duty called yet again and she found herself pulled along by the invisible thread of responsibility that had always propelled her life forward.
Shane was shouting at her to ascend as the rope ladder dangled beside her. Carlie slung her rifle before grabbing onto the ladder and pushing off the deck, watching the boat drift away in the current.
Chapter 31
Texas, Barksdale AFB
On the flight back to Barksdale Air Force Base, the group debriefed amidst the din of the rotors. Carlie was pleased by Boyd’s diligence but could see he was distraught over the loss of two of his men and kept directing angry glances at her during the return trip.
An hour after returning to the base and relaying the pertinent intel to General Adams, she walked down to the conference room where she told her two teams to meet her. Shane and Amy were sitting on the edge of the table, each finishing off a bowl of rehydrated chicken goulash they had obtained from the commissary.
“So you gonna fill us in on what went on with you and Jared back on your little detour?” said Shane.
“It’s not even worth talking about. Besides, we have more pressing matters—again.”
Carlie saw the rest of the group file in through the doorway and take up chairs around the oval table. She walked around to a large whiteboard and leaned both hands on the table. “I know you’re all in strung-out shape from current events but General Adams needs us for another mission. This time in Cuba.” She paused momentarily, reflecting on the gravity of the location she’d mentioned and allowing for the verbal dallying she expected at the announcement.
“Cuba—are you fucking kidding me?” said Boyd. “I just lost a couple of my men back there in the city because that mission went sideways.”
“Those deaths are…unfortunate,” Carlie said. “I know how difficult it can be losing your fellow team members.”
“I don’t want a eulogy here. I’ve stared down death before. I wanna know what your playbook says about keeping our asses off the line in the future,” he said, slouching in his chair.
Carlie wanted to reach across the table and blast Boyd in the jaw with a right hook. She had seen his type before, when she was working her way up through the Secret Service—the old mentality that women had no place on the front lines. That they should still be subservient to a male boss bent on keeping them in the shadows unless there was a need for other office duties to be performed. Even with the world falling apart she couldn’t believe she was having to deal with such outlandish sexism.
“Boyd, sit at attention,” she said as he corrected his posture. “What’s in my playbook will be discussed when I deem it’s necessary. Now, I don’t have time to hold your hand and walk you through the big-boy rules of how to get along with women which you must’ve learned exclusively from reading Penthouse Magazine or hitting on underage newbies at the local bar who were impressed with your firewatch ribbon and the fact that you could go three months without disciplinary action.” She walked around the table so she was directly across from him.
“You may not like having me as your CO and, frankly, I don’t give a shit, but you will follow my orders or I’ll leave your ass here to sweep out the flight hangars.”
Boyd was tapping his fingers on his pant leg and his face was tense.
Carlie leaned in close. “The next time I want your opinion, Sergeant Boyd, I’ll give it to you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it’s clear,” he mumbled, his face turned slightly away from her.
“Is that clear!” she said, resting her hands on the table and keeping her gazed fixed on him.
“Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear,” he said slowly, lowering his eyes.
She walked back around the table, noticing that the rest of the room sat upright at attention despite their fatigue. Boyd’s three remaining men held her in polite focus and everyone else was silent.
“Now let’s get back to the matters at hand, for crying out loud.”
As Carlie went back in front of the whiteboard, she grabbed a dry-erase pen and let out a silent exhale then began inscribing images and geographic markers on the board.
“Here’s what I know so far from speaking with General Adams and Doctor Efron. The island of Nuevo Gerona off the coast of Cuba was rumored to once be the temporary containment site for an early Soviet bioweapons program. The good doctor has suggested that someone may have located a remnant weapons cache. We need to get boots on the ground there and locate any clues that may point us to who is responsible for this outbreak and obtain any leads on a possible cure.”
Carlie continued drawing out a diagram of the island and surrounding points of entry.
“We will fly from here to the USS Farragut, a Destroyer in the Gulf of Mexico that will link up with us off the coast near Galveston. They will get us within range of the island after which we will insert with Zodiac inflatable rafts to the beach or possibly helos. By the time we arrive near Cuban shores, we should have intel from General Adams about potential sites on th
e island.”
She turned towards the group. “What questions do you have?”
“Do we have any resource intel on numbers of creatures or hostile patrols in the region?” said Matias.
“At present, there are low numbers of creatures on the island as there wasn’t much of a population there to begin with. And if Jared is correct on that place being the center of the Santa Ria smugglers, then any existing patrols will be heavily armed.”
“If the Santa Ria goons are the delivery boys then who is pulling their strings—who orchestrated this whole thing since it was beyond the smugglers’ capabilities?” said Shane.
“Well, the presence of those Russkie medals kinda points the finger in the right direction, doesn’t it?” said Jared.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Carlie, pacing back and forth at the front of the large table. “After Cuba established diplomatic ties with the Soviet Union in ’59, they became increasingly dependent on their new benefactors to supply them with funding and military support during the Cold War.”
“Well, as much as I hate to set foot on Cuban soil, it’s good that we’re going because I don’t think we’re gonna get any answers here with what little we have,” said Shane.
“I know that things have changed around the world, but what are the rules of engagement with local resistance, since this is Cuba?” said Matias.
“We have the green light to remove any resistance we encounter.”
The group all shot stares at each other and then back up at Carlie. “This is an intel recovery so let’s keep things low profile while we are there and hopefully it won’t come to personnel elimination.”
Matias leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the table. “Has there been any information recovered yet from that laptop that was obtained on the freighter?”
“No, it’s encrypted. Interestingly enough it’s an OGA encryption,” Carlie said.
Jared looked around at the others who seemed unfazed at the expression. “OK, I give; what the hell is OGA?”
“Other Governmental Agency, which is another term for the CIA,” said Shane.
“So, zombies, Russians, smugglers, and now spooks—that’s great. Excuse my ignorance but don’t you feds all work together and fall under the same umbrella? Can’t you just dial up your agency contacts in their secret lairs and get this laptop cracked open?”
“First tip, hillbilly, is to never lump the special operations community together with the CIA,” said Matias. “Second, they don’t ever do intel sharing unless it’s about something that could bite them in their own ass. They’re a closed agency who rarely share intel with other operational groups outside of their own, and then only begrudgingly.”
Jared leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, getting ready to respond, but was interrupted by Amy who was sitting beside him. She leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, “This is the part where you skip the smart-ass comeback and just shut up.”
Carlie folded her arms and looked at Shane. “You’re in charge of weapons prep. Anything you suggest we bring beyond the norm?”
“Rocket launchers, pistol and rifle suppressors, plenty of C4, claymores, and, of course, our new silent partner—machetes. I’ll have it all assembled in the hangar before we pull out. And don’t forget to grab a headnet and plenty of insect repellent from the supply depot here. The jungle has some unforgiving ‘wildlife.’”
“If there aren’t any further questions, I want everyone ready to depart at the rear hangar in four hours,” Carlie said, looking at each member before they dispersed. When they were all gone, she turned her back to the door and sat back in a chair, massaging her temples. Why couldn’t this have ended in New Orleans? How many more legs of this search will there be? She continued rubbing her forehead, trying to release the tension and wondering when they would be back on U.S. soil again.
Chapter 32
The flight over the Gulf of Mexico was uneventful as they rendezvoused with the USS Farragut which was ninety-seven miles from Galveston, Texas. The DDG99 Destroyer had been stationed in Florida prior to the outbreak. Most of the crew had been on shore leave when the pandemic struck but a portion of them made it back in time to retreat to a safe distance out at sea.
As the Blackhawk landed on the rear deck, Carlie and both of her teams exited and were met by the XO, Darrell Young, who was well over six foot four and two hundred ten pounds with a low crop of sandy hair under his blue hat. Next to him was his Master-At-Arms, Matt Richards, whose short-limbed figure was dwarfed by the commander. Both were clad in white uniforms and had the faraway look of men who spend their careers gazing at the horizon for a living.
“Welcome aboard the Farragut, Ms. Simmons,” Commander Young said, extending his shovel-like hand. “General Adams informed us of your arrival and destination. Let’s get below so we can talk out of this choppy wind and I don’t completely kill my vocal cords.”
As they shouldered their gear bags, weapons, and mission-critical items Carlie walked alongside the commander as the rest of her team followed. They strode past a CIWS Gatling gun that was mounted on a rotating platform, a massive chain link for the anchor, and a 20 mm canon, two of which were perched on either side of the deck.
Shane moved up alongside Carlie and whispered in her ear, “I remember this dude. This is the same commander whose ship provided maritime security in the Gulf of Oman in 2008 and during anti-piracy work me and my SEAL team were doing near Somalia.”
“The world has gotten even smaller, it seems,” said Carlie. “Looks like you’ll be right at home being amongst your fellow swabbies.”
“Yeah, only this time we won’t be intercepting illegal weapons caches of RPGs but whackin’ toad-faced mutants.”
“You mean ‘TFMs’ for short?” she said, laughing.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Jared Jr.”
As they descended into the ship, the hatchway behind them was closed and the only sound was that of machinery, sonar pings, and messages over the intercom.
“How many crew do you have on board?” said Carlie as she followed Young.
“Normally, we have 290 officers and enlisted but we’re operating with a skeleton crew due to the losses we suffered while our crew was ashore during the outbreak and then, of course, there were a few deserters. We had just finished doing a month of surface warfare training maneuvers when we headed back to port in Florida for a few days of R & R.”
“Is this a typical size for a Destroyer?” said Amy, whose head kept swiveling at the all the sights.
“Pretty close. Our vessel is a little better equipped than some of the older ones out there. The Farragut’s combat capability centers around the Aegis Weapon System which is composed of a multi-function phased array radar and the Tomahawk Weapon System,” the XO said, waving his hand around the room in a speech that was clearly well-rehearsed but delivered with enthusiasm. “When its gas turbine propulsion system is operating at maximum capacity, the Destroyer is capable of achieving 30 plus knot speeds in open seas. You may have noticed that a pair of two SH-60 Sea Hawk helicopters whose frames are secured to the deck with heavy cables allows us to provide limited air support as well.”
When he was done speaking, Young looked back at the group, who were still trying to process the blur of information he had spouted.
“My Master-At-Arms will give you a tour of the essential areas and show you to your racks,” said the commander. “We will get underway for Cuba and keep you apprised of our ETA. In the meantime, get settled in as it will be two days of choppy conditions and seaspray as we are heading into a storm front. I need to attend to some duties on the bridge but I welcome you all to join me and my officers for dinner at 1730 so we can share intel and cover our first briefing.”
As Master-At-Arms Richards took charge, he led Carlie and her group down to the second level. “A ship this size is like a small town at sea and we have everything from a recreation area, vending machines, computer center, doctor’s o
ffice, chow hall, fitness center, and even a library.”
“What about a dentist?” said Jared. “I’ve got a bum tooth that has been layin’ me low.”
“One deck below is medical and dental, though we lost our dentist so you’ll be seeing his assistant.”
Young took them into the chow hall, which was empty, its blue chairs and blue vinyl-covered tables still wet from being sanitized after the last meal. Large framed pictures of the Farragut in action, its canons ablaze, adorned the walls, and two flat-screen TVs were anchored in the corners farthest from the entrance. Beneath these were two artificial trees bolted to the floor.
“You always remove your hat in the chow hall; it shows respect for the wounded and the dead as this room serves as a medical ward during emergencies, with bodies laid on tables, hence the vinyl covers. Meals are at 0630, 1230, and 1730. Reveille is at 0600. Monday through Friday.”
“What day is it?” said Matias.
Young shifted his eyes for a second as if puzzled by the question. “It’s Friday…yes, Friday.” He continued walking, turning his head back periodically to shout out instructions or important times in the schedule as if he were on autopilot.
“After breakfast are the department head meetings, so don’t drop into the chow hall then.”
He led them down the hall for five more minutes, stepping through several round hatchways until they arrived at their berthing area. “At night, the lights inside the ship are turned red,” he said as he turned right into a small sleeping area which held a row of bunks three high on each side.
“Each sleeping area has a sliding blue curtain hanging off the top and a storage cabinet below—that is the only personal space you will find on this entire ship. It will be your slice of private heaven for eight hours each night so enjoy it. Life in a confining space can make people edgy so relish your brief solitude.”
Jared poked his head inside the room, which was seven feet wide and designed to sleep twelve people and all of their personal belongings. “Geez, there’s barely enough room to change my mind in here.”