The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc

by Blake, Russell

  “Opportunity?” Bill asked.

  “It could get us to Seattle in a day instead of weeks.”

  “Who said anything about going to Seattle?” Sam asked.

  Lucas shook his head. “It took some hits during the fight. Grenades tore it up pretty bad.”

  “Assuming we could repair it sufficiently to take it to Seattle, we could be there before the Chinese smelled a rat, and could surprise them on their own turf.”

  Lucas sighed. “We have no idea how many men they have there, or what their defenses are like. Or even the layout of the city. There’s a hell of a difference between rousting some bikers or taking on a couple of hundred newly arrived infantry versus facing a dug-in army.”

  Art nodded. “Lucas is right. But the men are flying high after three victories, and morale is a big part of any fight. That ship could easily haul us all north, and we could land wherever we decided. Think about it. Instead of wearing ourselves out traveling all the way across the state by horse or on foot, we could be in Seattle tomorrow.”

  “No rush getting us all killed,” Lucas grumbled.

  “We wouldn’t have to attack. We could reconnoiter, like we did here. If it doesn’t look good, we could always retreat.”

  “They’re going to know something went wrong here soon enough,” Sam said.

  “How would they?” Bill asked.

  “Nobody answers the radio, that would be one tip-off,” Lucas said.

  “Ah.”

  “How’s your wife?” Sam asked Bill.

  “Fine. A little shaken up, but the Chinese didn’t…they didn’t mistreat her.”

  “We don’t know if we could even get the engines to start,” Lucas said.

  “That’s a yes or no, right?” Art asked. “Let’s assume it’s a yes. Seems to me the choices are either wait here for the Chinese to send another boatload of soldiers from China, or take the fight to them and make it so expensive to try to take over the country they decide they’d rather not.”

  “Assumes they don’t have another boat in Seattle,” Lucas said.

  “You mentioned one of the prisoners speaks some English? We should interrogate him.”

  “Do whatever you like,” Lucas said. “But a whole lot of things would have to go right for us to make it to Seattle and crush the Chinese. Only reason we succeeded in Astoria was because the radiation got most of them first.”

  “True,” Art agreed. “Not saying it would be easy. But if we could pull it off…we’d have saved the country.”

  “For now. There’ll always be someone. If it isn’t the Chinese, it’s the Illuminati. Not them, the Mexicans. Or the Russians.”

  “We got to start somewhere,” Art said. “It’s worth taking a hard look at the ship and figuring out what we would need to do to cruise it to Seattle.”

  “How many miles is that?” Sam asked.

  “Maybe…four hundred or so by water,” Art answered. He looked at the boat again. “That thing should do an easy twenty knots if it’s like the ships I’ve been on. We could be there in a day.”

  “Assuming it still runs,” Lucas corrected. “And that we could find someone to operate it.”

  “Kirk and Gary were in the navy. I’m sure we have others. After all, Astoria was a fishing port.”

  “It’s the size of a skyscraper,” Lucas said. “Different scale.”

  “A boat’s a boat. Let’s head over there and check it out.”

  Lucas looked to Sam. “You okay with this?”

  Sam shrugged. “Always loved a boat ride.”

  “You?” he asked Bill. “Your wife okay with you taking off again…possibly forever?”

  Bill grinned. “Don’t get her hopes up.”

  “Lucas, it can’t hurt to look,” Art said.

  “Ruby and Rosemary are still up with the horses,” Lucas said.

  “I’ll go bring everyone into town. Don’t let that keep you,” Sam assured him.

  Lucas threw up his hands. “Fine. Let’s go see what the story is. Need to bring some men to spell the others anyway. And we need to figure out what to do with the prisoners.”

  “They’re navy, right?” Art asked.

  “That’s right. Crew.”

  “They could be helpful with the ship.”

  “Don’t bet on it. Likely to sabotage it as anything.”

  “Not if they have a man shadowing them at all times.”

  Lucas frowned again. “Every plan sounds easy till it all goes to hell.”

  Art patted his shoulder. “Come on. Ease up. You have to admit we’re on a roll.”

  “A smart man knows when to walk away from the table.”

  “No question. But…do the math. This looks like the same kind of ship they sent to Astoria, doesn’t it?”

  “Roughly. That one had more guns.”

  “But the point is they’re roughly the same size.”

  “Sure.”

  “Which means they probably sent around the same number of men, right?”

  “This one’s got more space than that one did.”

  “Humor me, Lucas.”

  He shrugged. “It’s your story.”

  “We just took out a couple of hundred here. If they sent about the same number of troops in both ships, that would leave them with maybe…five or six hundred, tops, assuming they didn’t lose any taking Seattle.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “We have over six hundred men.”

  “They’d be defending fortified positions they picked. That’s a bad scenario.”

  “Agreed. But we wouldn’t necessarily have to go at them hard. We could do it differently than we have so far.”

  Lucas’s right eyebrow rose. “How’s that?”

  “We can talk on the way. I’ll round up some men. How many you figure we’ll need to relieve the others?”

  “Maybe…a dozen or so.”

  “I’ll bring twenty.”

  When they arrived at the ship, Kirk had the Chinese crew washing the blood off the gangplank at gunpoint. When Kirk saw the reinforcements arrive, he signaled the Chinese back onto the deck and pointed them to a spot in front of the superstructure, where the rest of the militia sat with their weapons in their laps.

  “We brought company to spell you,” Art said, once on deck.

  “Great.”

  “Where’s Gary?” Lucas asked.

  “On the bridge, trying to figure out how bad the damage is.”

  “Where’s the prisoner who speaks English?” Art asked.

  Kirk laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. He knows a few words, but he can’t carry on a conversation or anything.”

  “He might be playing dumb. It would make sense anyone they sent would have at least a decent grasp of the language.”

  “Maybe not the crew. They wouldn’t interact with the locals,” Kirk said.

  “Fair point.”

  Art motioned to the gunmen he’d brought. “Tell the men what you want them to do,” he said. “Consider yourself in command of them until further notice.”

  Kirk brightened. “Mostly guard duty.”

  “Tell them,” Art said.

  Lucas showed Art the way to the bridge, where Gary was studying the instruments with a sour expression. The Chinese crewman was seated at the end of the console, watching Gary.

  Gary looked up at them when they entered, and shook his head. “The explosions messed up some wire runs and steering stuff. A shame.”

  “Do the engines work?” Lucas asked.

  “Haven’t tried them yet.”

  “Try them.”

  Gary scanned the console and zeroed in on a section with a pair of throttles and transmissions. He regarded the controls and tried a toggle. Lights blinked to life, and he turned to the crewman.

  “Engine,” he said, pointing at the array of buttons and switches.

  The crewman gave him a puzzled look, and then understanding registered in his eyes. He stood, walked to the console, and pointed at an array of swi
tches. Gary nodded and flipped them on.

  “I think those are the blowers. I’m not entirely sure, but if it’s like an American ship, it would make sense,” he said.

  “What if they’re not?”

  Gary shrugged. “Then we’re all going to die.” He flashed a grin. “Kidding.”

  Lucas’s expression didn’t change.

  Gary pointed to the back of the boat and made an engine vrooming sound. The crewman pointed at two buttons with plastic covers over them to prevent them from being inadvertently pushed. He raised the covers and depressed one. A vibration shivered beneath their feet, and a cloud of black smoke rose into the air from the stern. Gary tapped a large dial and smiled. “It runs.”

  “Try the other one.”

  He repeated the process, and the other motor started. The crewman stepped forward and adjusted the throttles, and the revs settled at eight hundred rpm.

  Gary turned to Art and Lucas. “The engines may run, but most of the electrical equipment doesn’t. The GPS is dead, which doesn’t surprise me, but so’s the radar, the depth finder, sonar, you name it. The grenades must have shredded the wiring. And I have no idea whether the steering works. You saw the pipes that were destroyed. If one of those is a hydraulic line for the rudders…” He stopped. “I’m guessing you’re interested because you want to know if the ship’s seaworthy, right?”

  Art nodded. “Good guess. How long would it take you to check all the emergency systems? Bilge pumps, fire, fuel, steering?”

  “I…I don’t know. Couple of hours, at least.”

  “Then get started. Pull anyone you need from the men.”

  “Repairs could take ten times longer,” he warned. “Depending on what they are.”

  “I’m guessing they have a machine shop on a boat this size,” Art said. “And I’ll bet they have machinists on the crew. Make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

  Gary swallowed hard. “Tall order.”

  “I want to know if we can be steaming for Seattle by this afternoon with our entire force on board,” Art said.

  Gary stared at him like he was nuts. “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. If this thing can run up the coast, we’re going along for the ride and taking the fight to Seattle.”

  Lucas didn’t say anything as Gary watched Art leave the bridge. Instead, he followed him out and stopped him at the landing. “What about the horses?”

  “There’s plenty of room on board, isn’t there?”

  “Not for six hundred men and animals there isn’t. And there are logistics. Feed. Water. Waste. Big undertaking. I wouldn’t rush into it.”

  “Then we only bring half the horses. Whatever. If we can take back Seattle, we can accomplish anything, Lucas. We’ll be unstoppable. We’ll have thousands of fighters begging to join us.”

  “And?” Lucas asked.

  “And then we finish what we started.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Ridding the country of the cancer that’s rotting it from within.”

  “We didn’t start anything, Art. I went along for the ride and did what was necessary to save my friends. This is your crusade, not mine.”

  “You keep saying that, but you’re still here.”

  “I keep getting sucked into situations I want no part of.”

  “You saying you don’t want to free Seattle from Chinese invaders?”

  “I want to go home, Art.”

  The older man nodded sympathetically. “I hear you. Maybe after a detour, huh?”

  “This was the detour.”

  “Then what’s another four hundred miles between friends?”

  That caused Lucas to smile. “You and Ruby should hook up. You’re made for each other.”

  Art frowned in puzzlement.

  “She keeps pushing me to do the same thing,” Lucas explained.

  “Smart lady. I knew I liked her for a reason.”

  “What if they can’t get the ship seaworthy?”

  It was Art’s turn to smile. “Then you get your wish and can go home and chop wood or make babies or whatever, and the rest of us will stay here and do what’s right.”

  Lucas shook his head and made a face. “You know this isn’t going to be easy.”

  Art gave a humorless laugh. “Nothing worth doing ever is.”

  Lucas stared out at the water and sighed. “Well, hell. I suppose a boat ride isn’t such a big deal.”

  “Now you’re talking.” He paused. “By the way, nice shooting out there today.”

  “They never stood a chance. Not proud of anything I did this morning.”

  “Which is why you need to be part of this, Lucas. Anyone else would be taking laps. Not you. That’s the difference between you and just about everyone here, and it’s an important one. I’ve seen a lot of leaders. You’re a natural commander because you don’t care about the glory and you’d rather not have to do any of it. Those are always the best kind. They value their men’s lives and never underestimate their enemies. It’s a rare quality, Lucas. You can’t teach it or fake it.”

  Lucas started down the stairs, his steps heavy. “If you say so.”

  Art watched him go and, when his footsteps had faded, nodded slowly to himself. “I do.”

  Chapter 36

  Laredo, Texas

  Dawn was breaking when one of the Crew doing guard duty on the Rio Grande bridge spotted movement by the river below and walked over to check on it. He leaned over the railing to get a better look. A lasso snaked from the underside, encircled his neck, and dragged him halfway over the railing, strangling him with the rough rope. His rifle dropped to the pavement as he fought for breath, and he grabbed the cord with both hands.

  Powerful arms jerked him the rest of the way, and he tumbled toward the water. His neck snapped like a dry branch when the rope stopped his fall halfway down, and there he hung, limbs twitching, the other end of the rope cinched to a pipe beneath the bridge.

  A line of cartel fighters continued crossing from the Mexican side, the men suspended upside down. They pulled themselves along the pipe that ran the length of the bridge, arms bulging from exertion. When the first reached the U.S. side, he swung his legs down, dropped onto the ground beneath the bridge, and freed his assault rifle.

  Ten minutes later, sixty gunmen stood on the Texas bank, all heavily armed, waiting for the signal from their leader – a stocky man with tobacco-colored skin and long black hair cinched back in a ponytail. He signaled to the men to follow him along the bank, and a hundred and fifty yards from the crossing, they filed up the slope to the riverfront road, where they wouldn’t be seen by the Crew outpost at the bridge.

  More fighters crossed in the same manner, and soon two hundred Mexicans, armed with Kalashnikovs and several dozen LAW antitank rocket tubes, were gathered in the abandoned buildings that lined the Rio Grande. Nobody spoke, and when the leader motioned to them, they split off in groups headed by cartel lieutenants who were responsible for neutralizing specific targets.

  The Nuevo Laredo Cartel had learned from its prior attempt to displace the Crew, and had tracked the arrival of reinforcements through a network of informants on the Texas side. They knew the Crew’s current strength, their patrol and meal hours, and the various buildings they’d taken over. The old immigration checkpoint had been beefed up to forty men, and the afternoon following the attack, they’d dynamited the smaller bridge to the west of the one the cartel had just used to cross over.

  They also knew from an informant that the two hundred and seventy-six gang members in town constituted the entire Crew force within a four-day ride, and if the cartel could take Laredo and move a thousand fighters into place within that time, the Crew would never be able to displace them and would give up trying when their losses mounted.

  The cartel had raided a Mexican armory and decided to come at the Crew with everything it had rather than hoping for an easy victory using stealth. It had transported rockets and rifles and grenades to the Mexican s
ide, equipped its ex-military armed wing, and was ready to seize control of the vital trading city and increase its presence on land that had once belonged to Mexico.

  The three groups took off in different directions, with the leader taking his men toward the strategic bridge outpost. Once that fell, there would be nothing to stop the four hundred additional fighters waiting on the Nuevo Laredo side from spilling across, guaranteeing a swift victory.

  The leader didn’t waste time with attempts at secrecy and instead ordered his six LAW rockets to target the outpost. The projectiles streaked toward the structure and exploded with devastating force, blasting concrete and rebar in deadly showers that killed half the Crew fighters outside before they knew what had hit them. The Mexicans ran toward the outpost as the dust cleared. The fighting lasted less than a minute, the Crew gunmen disoriented from the blasts and unable to mount any sort of defense.

  Once the immigration station was theirs, the leader radioed the waiting cartel fighters on the Mexican side, and the bridge filled with gunmen making their way across. He didn’t wait for the force to arrive, and left one of his subordinates to lead them toward the Crew headquarters, where explosions were already shattering the silence in the center of town.

  He arrived there in the middle of a firefight, with Crew shooters sniping at the Mexicans who’d surrounded the building and were returning fire with mixed results. He watched the volleys from behind a partially collapsed wall, and radioed his lieutenant to bring the bridge force to the headquarters for a final push. He radioed the other group, which had been chartered with taking out the hotel the Crew had commandeered for sleeping quarters, and was told that they were mopping up pockets of resistance – the lion’s share of the sleeping men had been killed before they’d had a chance to wake.

  Loud pounding at his chamber door woke Snake from a dead sleep, and he staggered through the half-darkness to the doorway, a submachine gun in hand.

  “What?” he snarled.

  “Distress call from Laredo. They’re under attack.”

  Snake swung the door open and glared at the messenger. “What?”