by Zack Finley
Joel restarted the generator, and the boat began to stir for the next part of the journey. Ben joined me on the main deck, where I was waiting for Joel to start the engines.
Ben stepped onto the dock and stood near the downriver cleat. I was ready to take the rope when Allie gave the word.
We waited several minutes while Joel warmed up the engines. The rumble felt right under my feet.
“I’m putting the engines in gear,” Allie radioed, “That should help you loosen the bow cleat. I’d rather not cut it if possible.”
A shudder went through the boat, and we edged forward a minute amount. I was ready to jump onto the dock and help Ben, but he waved me off.
Within a few ticks, he was tossing me the bow line.
“Bow is free,” Ben radioed.
“I’m easing back the throttle and will loosen the stern line, call when it is loose enough,” Allie radioed.
“Roger,” Ben answered, already moving to the back cleat.
“Loose enough,” Ben said less than a minute later.
“Roger,” Allie answered
I felt the boat shift into neutral as Craig scrambled to free the line from the cleat.
He tossed me the rope and jumped onto the deck.
“Ropes clear, all hands-on deck,” I said, finally understanding what the cliché might really mean.
“Brace yourselves and watch the auxiliary boats, I’m pushing us away from the dock,” Allie radioed.
“I have the auxiliary boats,” Tom radioed.
The rest of us braced for maneuvers. Other than a slight jolt associated with shifting into gear, there was little need for bracing.
We sent Ben back to bed. Tom and I joined Allie in the wheelhouse.
We found binoculars were more valuable the NVGs for navigating. The overcast was breaking up, and the moon provided an amazing amount of light. We could also see the land-based Reverie Light, according to the chart. We even spotted several buoys in place along the waterway. I was surprised loose barges hadn’t snagged and dragged them off. I didn’t know whether they were in the proper position, but I still found them comforting to spot.
I hadn’t realized how often the Mississippi River split up and rejoined itself. Without the charts, we’d have taken the wrong path many times. I was relieved that at least some of the land-based navigation lights were still operating.
Many towns that once lived on the river were now relegated to the backwaters. Allie said all she saw of Osceola, Arkansas was the navigation lights on downstream docks. The section of abandoned river that Osceola bordered was now nearly a mile off the western edge of the main channel.
The maps showed a confusing mishmash of orphaned parts of Tennessee on the Arkansas side of the current river and vice versa. This river deposited new land and eroded old soil throughout the heartland of America.
Only a few solo barges floated near the main channel. Many more were pushed toward one bank or the other of the mile-wide river complex. Yesterday the sameness of the river banks was what amazed me the most. Nearly all we could see were sandy beaches and hardwood forests. Of course, we couldn’t see over the levees. Future travelers down the Mississippi River might conclude that most of America was still wooded. This illusion was only broken sporadically by loading docks and grain silos.
Tan sandy beaches were the norm.
While I’d seen thousands of errant barges stacked in eddies and against obstructions, most of the river still looked pristine. The water was the color of coffee with a dash of milk. Not creamy, just slightly cloudy. Even without any chop from the wind, the surface roiled. The power of this enormous river was mind-boggling.
I knew we were enjoying its benign power and hoped nothing changed about that. The short distance we traveled provided both evidence of floods and of drought. If we ever saw this area when the water was a lot lower, I suspected we’d be appalled at the number of snags and other debris we somehow dodged on our trip downriver. I guessed a summer drought would strand most of the loose barges, creating new finger dikes and shifting the river’s main channel, again.
My mind wandered to avoid speculation about what we’d find in Memphis.
◆◆◆
Chapter 11
The weather was crisp and mostly clear. The dark muddy water swirled and roiled around us. The stream churned up by our propellers ensured the water behind us was more agitated than that in front of us.
The moon set in the west just as the sun peeked over the bluffs to the east. The few clouds overhead were high and wispy, not likely to cause any weather woes. The outside thermometer read 25 degrees. That explained why all the wet areas on the deck were icy. The wind still felt like it was pushing us along. The breeze must still be out of the north since the wind generally followed the river channel.
The arrival of dawn was the signal for everyone to get up and prepare for whatever we might see in Memphis. I hoped any preparations would be anticlimactic. I was actually not expecting trouble, I just felt if we were going to have problems anywhere on the river it would in Memphis. It was the most crowded place between us and our objective.
I hoped we’d connect quickly with Andy’s group. I didn’t know what trouble he was in, but it had to be bad for him to call for a rescue. After making it from Arizona to Arkansas, he knew the dangers we faced coming for him. I just hoped we were in time.
It got crowded in the wheelhouse for the morning briefing. The only way we could fit in at all was that Joel stayed in the engine room and Kurt was still in bed. The thought of sardines in a can came to mind.
Razor would command the patrol boat, and Ben would take the dive boat. Kurt and Joel would be Allie’s boat hands if we had to drop the auxiliary boats off.
I made the executive decision that we’d drop the patrol boat off if needed, but hold onto the dive boat as a backup. Joel announced we didn’t need a full-time engineer for the Cumberland, so he could go on the dive boat if it needed to detach later.
“I can cover you from the top of the wheelhouse,” Craig said. “It is actually a good place, high and with some cover.”
“I think we should mount the M240b to the patrol boat,” Razor said.
Since the patrol boat actually had a mount for the machine gun, it was a reasonable choice. I preferred if our cutter stayed out of any serious engagement. I saw the patrol boat as a way to engage pirates and the like from a distance, so it made sense for it to have the machine gun.
“I agree,” I said. “Transfer the M240b and some ammo to the patrol boat. I doubt that aluminum hull will keep the bullets out, so it would be better if you avoid a shootout.”
“With those engines, I bet it is fast, but it won’t be stealthy,” Razor said. “We’ll just try not to be where any enemy is aiming. The M240b has a longer effective reach than most weapons. It may keep their heads down long enough for us to get within knife range.”
“I’m not looking for a fight,” I said. “But we’ll be coming back this way with a lot more vulnerable people with us. I’d rather neutralize any threat on our way down the river. We’ll have more manpower on the return trip, but I don’t know their skill level. We’ll also have children and wounded.”
I continued, “If the river is blocked and we can’t risk going farther, we take our ninjas, use some gas to pick up a ride and drive down on the Arkansas side to collect Andy. I’d rather avoid splitting up that way, but it is also a reasonable plan. If we still had satellite communications, the main group would have driven down the west side of the river to do the rescuing leaving Allie driving the ferry downriver to meet the rescue team somewhere north of Memphis.”
“We’ll start up both auxiliary boats to warm up the engines and put some spare ammo and supplies in both,” Ben said. “That way we’ll be ready for problems. No gas cans until we know we have to, I sure don’t want an accidental fire.”
“Allie, you might give Kurt a quick tutorial on piloting before we get to Memphis,” Tom suggested. “He is a quick stud
y but will probably react better if he has a few minutes to adjust.”
“Sure, Tom, just have him come up once everyone clears out,” Allie said.
“Allie, you should probably spend a few minutes in the engine room with me, before we get to Memphis,” Joel radioed.
“Roger, that,” Allie radioed back.
With that everyone escaped the crowded wheelhouse and went to get ready. Tom left to fetch Kurt, and I stayed to chat with Allie.
“If we run into trouble, I want you to move away from the danger,” I said. “Talk with Craig and Ben, they are in charge unless they have to leave in the dive boat. We need this boat to get the kids and wounded to the Valley, so we can’t risk it. These walls,” I knocked on the wall of the wheelhouse, “are like tissue paper. They wouldn’t stop a .22 much less a regular rifle. The glass looks tempered, so it shouldn’t shatter, but you’ll be very vulnerable up here. Stay in radio range if at all possible, in case we need an extraction, or we take down the bad guys.”
“I understand, Jeremy. Preserve the ride,” Allie answered.
“Talk with Kurt and let me know if you feel comfortable operating this tug with him,” I said. “When you are ready to go down to visit Joel, call Tom to relieve you. Take Kurt with you to see Joel, just in case you need to have Kurt cover the engine room.”
“He is a nice kid, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Allie said.
The outside temperature was 32 degrees. Today promised to be a pleasant day.
It was nearly 07:00 as we approached the Fullen dock. The dock had more than 30 barges tied to it and had sand and gravel in large mounds in the distance. Several excavators were parked nearby, abandoned after the crash. No towboats were near the barges.
In the distance off the starboard side, I could barely make out the Memphis skyline and the I-40 bridge.
There was no mistaking the Memphis Pyramid. I had never been inside it, but a mega-Bass Pro store and hotel moved into it some years ago. The pyramid still dominated the riverfront. I couldn’t help but wonder what it now looked like inside. It would have been a source for guns, ammo, and survival gear after the crash. Since everyone in the area knew where it was, I suspected it was mobbed soon after the power went down.
Did they close down the store after the state troopers closed the main highways and the national guard took over the gas stations? Memphis had at least one small oil refinery. I wondered how it fared?
I knew little about Memphis port operations, but I knew it was big enough that some people might have chosen to remain on the water, especially with access to a grain barge or two. We’d see soon enough.
The I-40 bridge loomed in front of us. From the water level, it was difficult to see whether it was clogged with vehicles or not. Several semis with trailers were abandoned on the span, but we just didn’t have a good angle to see the actual roadway. The Arkansas and Tennessee highway patrols would have tried hard to keep people off both bridges in the day before the crash. Afterward, I doubted anyone was trying to keep people from getting into Memphis.
For the first time all trip, we could see buildings along the bank. According to the charts, this was Mud Island. There was a dense concentration of apartments or condominiums with whole blocks burned to the ground. Whether this was due to accident or malicious intent wasn’t possible to discern from the river. Some buildings had fireplaces because there was smoke coming out of several chimneys. I spotted some stumps and guessed the trees along the shoreline were now providing heat for somebody.
A small group of armed men was fishing from the shoreline. Fortunately for all of us, they didn’t raise their rifles towards us and posed no threat.
I mentally wished them luck with their fishing.
There were no barges caught either in eddies or along the I-40 bridges, which I found odd. The two main sections were both 870 feet wide according to the charts, but the other spans were less than half that. I would have expected a loose raft of barges to be pegged against at least one of those.
“Boss, we have a problem,” Craig radioed. “Most of the next bridge is blocked, and it doesn’t look random.”
I stopped walking around the deck and made a beeline for the wheelhouse. The other guys were scrambling to get ready for orders.
“Craig, tell us what you see,” I radioed. I felt the engines throttle back as I reached the wheelhouse. Allie wordlessly handed me her binoculars.
The next bridge was a combination pedestrian and railroad bridge. The river was about 2,000 feet wide here, one of the narrowest sections so far.
Large rafts of barges blocked both the east and far west spans of the river. This left only the center span for traffic. It felt too much like a trap to keep sailing there directly.
“Sniper on the bridge,” Craig radioed.
“Brace for reverse,” Allie radioed, shifting into reverse with both engines. “Watch the auxiliary boats.”
It was about a mile between the I-40 bridge and the bridge with the blockage.
“This is good, let’s hold here for a bit,” I said.
Allie eased off on the throttle, still in reverse but not moving back as vigorously. In a few minutes, we were holding steady with the shoreline.
“Allie, leave your chair. Move to one side or the other, a sniper will aim centermost for the wheelhouse, even if he can’t really see you,” I said. “Try to stay at the bottom of the windows, to avoid giving them a target.”
“Craig, can you see a boat or similar at the bridge where the sniper is?” I radioed.
“Negative, but that could be because it is lower than the barges or I just have a bad angle. Those barges must all be empty because they are riding high out of the water,” Craig radioed.
Ben and Tom were both in the stern of our boat watching the area behind and to the sides. It would be difficult for anyone on the bridge or barges to see them.
“Do you have a shot?” I radioed.
“Doubtful,” Craig radioed back. “It would require too much luck. The shot is too far, and this platform has too much vibration to do more than get close. That would give him the advantage.”
“How close would we have to get?” I radioed.
“About halfway from here,” Craig radioed.
If Craig hadn’t spotted the sniper, I might have gone forward, thinking the barges might just be there to catch loose barges from upriver.
“We have hostiles coming out of an inlet on the east bank,” radioed Ben. “One boat with two men, check that, we have two boats.”
“Allie, can you turn us a little so neither the sniper nor the boats can see our guys get into the patrol boat?” I asked.
“Tell me when,” she said.
“Allie is going to turn this boat, to give Razor’s team time to get on the patrol boat and move out,” I radioed.
“We are in position,” Razor radioed.
“Okay Allie, turn it,” I said.
“Turning now,” Allie radioed.
“Go, Go,” radioed Razor.
In seconds the patrol boat engine caught. “On the move,” Razor radioed.
“Patrol boat is clear,” Ben radioed.
Allie continued the turn, and we headed up the river with the engines thrumming much louder than usual. I doubted our speed was much higher, due to the current, but we were no longer headed down river.
“Craig, can you see if we have a sniper on the I-40 bridge?” I radioed.
All I got back was a squelch.
The burst of automatic rifle fire from behind us didn’t come from our group.
“These guys are not friendly,” Mike radioed.
“Allie, park us under the I-40 bridge, just in case we have a sniper above us,” I said.
I looked out toward Memphis and saw the patrol boat streaking across the water. Above me, there was a loud crack. Smoke began to pour from one of the boats moving toward us.
A second crack and the second blast of smoke. While Craig might not pull off a half-mile shot on this bouncy platf
orm, the boats were clearly within his range.
“Put your hands on your heads,” I heard over the patrol boat’s loudspeaker. This was followed by a few bursts from the M240b.
“Put your hands up now, or we sink you,” thundered the loudspeaker.
“I’d sure like to know what is going on, so if you have to sink them try to retrieve at least one,” I radioed.
A squelch was the only reply.
Moments later another crack from Craig’s sniper rifle nearly made me miss the explosion of blood and tissue on the nearest enemy craft. The sniper target catapulted overboard and sank in the muddy water. This took all the fight out of the remaining tangoes.