Since they had more than enough time to reach Simmesport by morning, Eric kept the speed down to reduce the engine noise and give them time to see any threats ahead as they rounded each bend. The big river seemed forgotten as they wound their way past mile after mile of heavily wooded banks. There was little sign of recent human activity in those lonely stretches, even when they came to the little community at the next bridge north of I-10, where they’d seen folks working on their storm damaged homes as they passed on the Gulf Traveler on that first trip up the river. Today, those same homes appeared abandoned, even though many were indeed repaired. Eric cut the throttle to idle and let the boat drift as he scanned the empty neighborhood with his binoculars. There was no sign of life there that he could see from the river, and Jonathan concurred after taking a look himself.
“Do you want to go check it out? See if we can find out what happened there?”
“No, not before we go to the Army post, because whatever it was, it’s already happened, so it doesn’t much matter. I don’t see any smoke or anything else to indicate anyone was there recently, so whatever made those folks left, may have happened weeks ago.”
“It’s kind of weird because we’re not really all that far from Simmesport, if I remember right. I wonder if Sergeant Patterson will know anything about this?”
“It’s likely he will. The post is close enough that we’ll need to stop and bivouac somewhere for a few hours, so we don’t get there in the dark, but I’d rather not do it around here. The folks that lived over there may have had reason to move that we don’t know about, and if so, that reason could still be around.”
“No shit, dude! The whole thing is kind of creepy when you get to thinking about it.”
Eric did think about it, but more because he was curious than creeped out. Jonathan couldn’t stop talking about it though and later in the night, after they’d pulled the boat onto a narrow mud bar hidden in the shadows of the tall riverside trees, he continued to speculate about what may have happened. Eric didn’t think it had anything to do with C.R.I. or their associates, given that the location was so far to the north and west of their likely point of entry into the state, but he suggested that maybe the people that lived there had left on their own to go to Texas because they may have heard there was food and shelter there.
He didn’t think much more of it though until the next morning, when they were back underway and finally reached the last bridge across the river, the one near the locks where before there’d been soldiers standing watch beside their Humvees parked on either end of the span. Slipping through the riverside foliage with the binoculars in hand while Jonathan waited out of view around the bend with the boat, Eric determined there was no one there at all today. And when they eased on upriver, passing quietly under the bridge at idle speed and continuing on to the locks, they saw that there was no gunboat, nor any soldiers on duty at what had once been an Army outpost guarding the entrance to the Mississippi. The portable structures that had housed the men on duty were still there, but from where they sat, taking turns glassing the encampment, there wasn’t a soul in sight among them.
“Dude! What in the hell do you make of that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Jonathan. It looks like Sergeant Patterson and his men are gone. And so is the Gulf Traveler.” Eric pointed to the empty seawall alongside of which they’d left the boat tied all those weeks ago.
Seven
KEITH BRANSON CONSIDERED HIS next moves as he and Diane sped through the marsh on their way back upriver. Much to Diane’s relief, they’d managed to raise her husband, Joe, on the VHF and he and his crew were now making their way back in. Joe had said they were about 15 miles offshore when he answered Keith’s call, so by the time they reached the river mouth and then motored up to Ronnie’s place on the bayou, the day would be over. But though meeting with them would have to wait until morning, Keith considered the day a major success because the trawler could just as easily have been out of radio range. Finding them was one less thing he had to check off from the long list of things he had ahead of him in the coming days.
First, he would meet with Joe and Ronnie and their deckhand named Willis in person and then go and visit several other residents he hoped to recruit. Assuming some of them would be willing, the next step was deciding on a location from which to base their operations. Vic’s trawler had served as a good place for their smaller group to live and hide out while they were working on salvaging the schooner, but now their needs had changed. Preparing a militia required a secure base camp on land, with room to live and train and to stage future operations. His brother would be in charge of that training and most of the operational planning to come, but Eric had left the location and logistics up to Keith, since he knew the area better than any of them. The vast woodlands and swamps of the Atchafalaya basin could hide an army in the right conditions, and fortunately, since it was late fall and relatively dry, there were more areas of usable land available in the basin, many of them remote and only accessible by the smallest boats. It was up to Keith to choose from the best of these, finding a place far enough from the main river channels and canals that the activities of a large group could escape notice. Mobility would be key to any successful resistance to what was coming to the parish, and Keith thought it likely that their base of operations would have to be moved more than once as events unfolded. He had a couple of favorite spots in mind already but planned to run his ideas by Joe and the others that joined in, as most of them were hunters and fishermen who were quite familiar with the backwaters and hideouts of the swamp.
He already knew that Joe and Ronnie were on board with what had to be done, and Diane said that Willis, Joe’s twenty-two-year-old helper, would likely sign on as well. Diane and Becca would be joining them too, and though Keith hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, both said they were ready to fight to defend their homes and way of life. Regardless of how it played out though, Keith knew there was a need and a role for everyone who was willing, whether male or female, young or old. Keith and Eric had learned in the Middle East and Bart in Southeast Asia, that in conflicts such as this one, there were few non-combatants in the areas of the fighting, because those areas could be anywhere and everywhere among the homes and travel routes in the parish. It would take a coordinated effort to resist those determined to occupy the region, and many residents would probably die, but they would likely also die if they did nothing too. That was what it had come to, and Keith and Eric would now be decision makers who would bear the responsibility for many of those deaths if they called it wrong. Eric wouldn’t be as bothered by it as most, because he’d been doing that stuff for so long that he’d learned to remain detached. But this time family was involved, and Keith knew Eric would have preferred getting them all out if the option hadn’t been taken away by Daniel. But now that his brother was committed to staying, he would put everything he had into winning.
Keith radioed Bart aboard the Miss Anita as he and Diane closed in on the lake, making sure all was clear before turning off the river. As he pulled alongside and tied off to the trawler, all were on deck to greet them and to hear what they would be doing next.
“We’ll leave her anchored right here for the time being,” Keith told Shauna, when she asked what they were going to do with the Miss Anita once they decided on a new operations camp. “It’s relatively safe since the boat isn’t visible to anyone passing by on the river unless they stop and go out of their way to make a side trip into the lake. But it’s not safe enough for any of you to stay aboard, because we can’t spare the manpower to keep watch and defend it. I know it won’t be as comfortable, living in a tent in the swamp, but it’ll be a lot easier to stay hidden that way and easier to disperse and relocate in a hurry if need be.”
“Ugh! Vicky grimaced. “All I’ve seen of what little land there is in these woods is mud! And what about all the snakes... and the bugs... and the alligators?”
“At least you don’t have to worry about free
zing to death in a blizzard,” Bart said.
“I know how to find shelter in the mountains,” Vicky countered. “I’d rather take my chances with the cold and the snow, thank you! But I know I have to deal with this, so I’ll do my best. And it’s obvious that Jonathan is in his element out here. I can tell that he loves it.”
“Yes, he does!” Bart said. “He would be content to stay right here from now on if you’d stay with him. That young man is a natural-born fisherman. You’ll never go hungry as long as you don’t drag him too far from water!”
“It’s not like you’ll be alone out there, so you don’t have to worry about what’s crawling around.” Keith said. He knew Vicky had been through a lot, because Eric had told him all about her ordeal at the ranch where her grandparents were murdered. Everyone present had faced fear and danger far outside the scope of what had once been “normal” life, and there would be more to come, Keith was sure of it. He couldn’t change that fact, but it was his job to keep them thinking positive.
Keith hadn’t given out the coordinates to the little lake over the radio when he called Joe Lambert, but by dropping a vague hint as to which one it was, he’d managed to convey to him where the trawler was anchored. Even so, he’d advised them to wait at Ronnie’s place when they made it in, so the next morning, Keith and Diane set out again in the patrol boat to go and meet them there. Joe and Ronnie were standing on the dock with Becca when the two of them arrived, and Diane hopped out and rushed into her husband’s arms as Ronnie helped Keith secure his lines. When Joe finally pulled away from Diane, he gripped Keith’s hand with an iron handshake, his gratitude plainly etched across his face.
“I want to thank you for what you did the other day, Keith! Diane wouldn’t be here if not for you. Becca told me all about it.”
“Greg and I were just doing the job we signed on for. If you want to thank anyone, you can thank my brother and my father for their help. Eric took all the risk and he sure didn’t have to, but he’s a lot better at that kind of thing than I am. Now, he’s willing to take even more risk, and help us fight to keep those bastards out of here. I’ll be there with him, of course, and so will Greg and my father. But it’s going to take every willing man we can find to stand with us to get it done.”
“You can damn sure count on me,” Joe said, shaking his head as he gently touched his wife’s face near the nasty bruise over her right eye. “It’s gonna be payback time when the next bunch of those sons of bitches rolls into this parish!”
“And you know I’ll be there too,” Ronnie chimed in. “I think I can speak for our deckhand, Willis as well. He borrowed my truck last night as soon as we tied up, so he could go over to his folks’ place south of Lafayette and check on them, but he ought to be back shortly. He heard everything when Becca told us what was up, and he’s a fast learner and a hard worker. I think we can count on him to sign on for this.”
“I hope you know how grateful we are for the use of your boat, Ronnie. I hated to take it without asking you firsthand, but Becca assured us it was okay. You don’t have to worry about it while it’s in Eric’s hands though. He’ll be back as soon as possible. Maybe even tonight or tomorrow.”
“I’m not worried in the least. I’m just glad it was available when he needed it. And I hope like hell your brother can talk that sergeant into taking an interest in this, because it sounds like what we’re facing is a job for the Army.”
“It is that,” Keith agreed, “but whether or not the military is still doing their job is something we just don’t know. Eric thinks some of them are; in some places, but there’s a lot going on that defies explanation, like how in the hell this C.R.I. private army could gain control of the whole state of Texas with all the military installations that were there before. I don’t know if we’ll ever know what really happened, or the entire extent of it.”
“Somebody with a lot of money and power has to be behind it. I can’t imagine what it would cost to put together enough of those contractors or mercenaries or whatever you want to call them to pull off something like this.”
“It’s beyond comprehension. I’m sure the cartel they’ve partnered with has plenty of money, but I don’t know if they have that kind of money. Eric thinks it’s bigger than that. Some of it could be coming from within our own country, but it’s more likely that a lot of it is coming from overseas too.”
“Someplace like China...” Joe said.
“It’s possible. But regardless of who’s funding these people or why, what we do know is that they want control of this entire region—the Gulf Coast all the way to south Florida. Eric got what he thinks is reliable intel on that, and after what happened the other day, it looks obvious to me that it’s true. I don’t know what it took for them to take over Texas, but I doubt they did it without a fight. If we don’t stand up to them and fight for our own land, it’ll be all over here too. We don’t know what happened to the folks they took away already, because we have no idea where they took them.”
“We’ll fight all right, but I hope you and your brother have a good plan, because I know I don’t. All I know to do is shoot any of those sons of bitches I get in my sights, but I’m not sure that’s enough. From what Becca told us about your brother, he’s the expert at that kind of stuff.”
“Eric will have some ideas, but I think shooting them before they shoot us is what it will all boil down to. Everything else is just strategy and tactics. What we need to do first is gather as much manpower as we can and assess our equipment and supplies. What do you guys have for weapons and ammo? We’re going to need all we can get, even if it’s just hunting rifles and shotguns.”
Joe Lambert rattled off a list of firearms that Keith knew was typical for a rural parish resident who’d spent a lifetime pursuing waterfowl and game in the basin’s forests and marshes. But aside from the .22 rimfire rifles, and the 30.06 and .270 deer rifles and the 12 and 20-gauge sporting shotguns that were almost prerequisites for state citizenship, Joe also owned a couple of old Chinese SKS rifles, a Ruger Mini-30, and a custom-built, suppressed AR-15 in .300 Blackout that he’d set up for hunting wild hogs. He only had a few hundred rounds of subsonic ammo for the latter, and more was nearly impossible to come by now, but Keith figured it would be a useful weapon for some of the operations they would likely engage in. Ronnie also had an AR-15 in addition to his Remington deer rifle, and since his was chambered for 5.56, ammunition wouldn’t be an issue for it. There were still cases of the stuff available in the sheriff’s department stash Keith and Greg had moved from storage, and they had collected more matching weapons, magazines and loose ammo from their recent gun battles, including the one at the house from which they’d rescued Diane. All-in-all, there were enough weapons and ammo to equip quite a few folks who might have nothing suitable, but it was far better that men like Joe and Ronnie already had good personal weapons with which they were familiar.
With that discussion out of the way, Keith laid out the topographic paper maps he had of the river basin so he could run his ideas on potential base camps by Joe and Ronnie. Both men agreed with his primary choice, and Keith knew that Eric would go along with any majority decision coming from local residents who knew the terrain. The geography of the region offered both advantages and disadvantages when it came to guerrilla warfare, and no particular area was more defensible than another, given the lack of mountains or other high ground that could serve as a natural fortress. Here in these wetlands, shallow water, mud and dense vegetation were the only barriers to easy travel, but with the right boats, the first was an easy obstacle to overcome. The only way to gain a real advantage in such a place was by intimate knowledge of the hidden water routes and the isolated patches of high ground that were out there, lost in an intricate web of bayous and man-made canals that bisected the dense bottomland forests. The last thing Keith wanted to do was have to defend such a place against a superior force though, so the plan was to use the swamp only as a hideaway, melting back into its deepest recesses
to regroup after taking offensive actions against the enemy in other parts of the parish. This would require mobility, of course, so gathering more small boats was just as important as collecting weapons and ammo. Fortunately, such boats were so much a part of the local culture as to be practically ubiquitous in every corner of the parish.
“My skiff’s at my place on the trailer, and Willis has got a 13-foot John boat he keeps at his folks’ house. Ronnie’s boat is better than either one on the river, but we’ll bring everything we’ve got.”
“We can use them all,” Keith said. “Anything from a pirogue on up. Well, except maybe the trawlers.”
“What are you gonna do with Vic’s boat?” Ronnie asked.
“Probably leave her anchored where she is. There’s a risk she’ll be stolen or destroyed, but that would be true anywhere. It’s pretty hard to hide a 45-foot trawler.”
“Do you mind if I bring the Smug Pelican up there and drop the hook nearby? At least there’s not a road anywhere close to that lake.”
“Not at all,” Keith said. “After we get the new base camp established and get everyone moved, we may still find it useful to have the trawlers as a stopover for our teams, especially if we’re working near that part of the river.”
“Options are good,” Joe agreed.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a fast approaching vehicle, causing Keith to instinctively glance at the M4 carbine he’d left in its rack in the patrol boat.
“That’ll be Willis, coming back in my truck,” Ronnie said. “I can tell by the sound of the exhaust, but I don’t know why he’s in such a damned hurry.”
Feral Nation - Defiance (Feral Nation Series Book 8) Page 7
