Feral Nation - Defiance (Feral Nation Series Book 8)

by Scott B. Williams

  “We’ll stick to the woods as long as it’s daylight,” he told Jonathan, as they studied Keith’s topo map of the river basin. “It’ll be slow going, and there’ll be places where we’ll have to swim, but it’s the only safe option until we put some serious distance between us and that post. Maybe when it gets dark, we can hit this county road that runs south roughly parallel to the river,” Eric pointed to the map.

  “Vicky’s going to think I’m dead before we get back!” Jonathan said.

  “She’ll be okay as long as you prove her wrong! I’ll bet Shauna lost count of all the times she thought I was dead over the years—except for maybe a few times when she wished I was,” Eric grinned.

  “She seems pretty happy with you now that you’re back in the picture though. Especially now that she’s rid of Daniel! Man, I can’t see what a woman like her ever saw in a guy like that!”

  “She was just looking for someone that was the opposite of me!” Eric said.

  “She found that, all right! But what do you figure happened to that dickhead after he left? You think he even made it to Texas? I’m still thinking that driving there in a sheriff’s truck would get him shot! Especially now that we know for sure C.R.I. is setting up ambushes for cops.”

  “It may have. But if something bad happened to him, at least I didn’t have to do it, so it’s probably better all around, even for him.”

  “No shit! He has no idea how lucky he is that Andrew is the only reason you didn’t go after him. Dude, what a loser! The kid doesn’t even seem to miss him, from what I can see!”

  Eric hadn’t thought about Daniel anymore until Jonathan brought it up, and he doubted any of them would ever see the man again. But it did bother him that this incident today would mean a significant delay in his and Jonathan’s return. Shauna would be worried, as would Keith and Bart, because they all knew that traveling anywhere was risky. But worse than that was losing the boat he’d borrowed from a hard-working fisherman’s wife. He wished he knew who it was that had opened fire on them from that gunboat, because it was likely they were the same ones that had taken it from the Army post. But he was in no position to find out. He knew this unknown enemy could be hunting them even now, and for the moment, his only priority was to evade them and get himself and the kid back to St. Martin Parish alive. And Eric knew that was going to be tough enough without looking for further trouble.

  Nine

  BART BRANSON WAS FEELING anxious, confined as he was aboard the Miss Anita with both Keith and Eric gone in different directions and on different missions. Bart couldn’t help but feel exposed, sitting there aboard a boat anchored out in the open, even though the little cypress-bordered lake was hidden from view of the main river channel. Among those aboard other than himself, Greg and Shauna were the only battle-tested shooters, although he knew that Vicky too, had killed a man out in the Colorado mountains when escape was no longer an option. Even twelve-year-old Andrew had come under fire when the schooner was followed and attacked by the two fishing boats that followed them out into the Gulf. Bart had spent a lot of time working with the boy since then, because Andrew was not only interested, but a fast learner who had come a long way under his guidance. Eric had taught Megan in a similar way when she was even younger during the rare times he’d been home to do it, and some of what she’d learned from him had apparently stuck, enabling her to survive the tough ordeal she’d been through. The tests they had passed had made everyone aboard the trawler far more capable and ready to fight than they’d been before, but the truth was that they’d all been thrown into an ever-changing situation for which no amount of prior preparation was enough.

  Ongoing training was essential though, and Bart suggested to Greg that they pass some of the wait time by going ashore in the adjacent woods to work on drills involving stalking and concealment. They’d already drilled vessel defense over and over until everyone aboard knew their part in case of a riverine attack by boat, but soon they were going to be operating out of a camp somewhere deep in the woods like those surrounding the lake, so Bart figured they may as well start spending time in that environment. And while he liked life aboard boats as much as any man he’d ever met, it was still boring sitting aboard a vessel that hadn’t moved in weeks and probably wouldn’t for no telling how long. They had the battered old John boat that Bart and Andrew had been fishing out of ever since Eric and Shauna and Jonathan had set out for Colorado, so they had a way to get off the trawler while Keith was gone.

  “Is something wrong with the motor? It was running the other day?” Megan asked, when she climbed down into the boat with Andrew and Shauna and Bart handed her a paddle.

  “It’s fine, but we don’t need it. Keeping quiet is the point of the exercise, and we don’t have to go far anyway. “I’ll drop you three off over there in that cypress stand and then go back and pick up Andrew and Greg. We’ll paddle up that little slough just far enough to secure the boat out of sight of the Miss Anita. Y’all can meet us there and then we’ll begin our drill.”

  Ten minutes later, Bart nudged the bow of the little boat into the mud near a clump of willows and held it so that Greg and Andrew could disembark.

  “How far are we going?” Andrew whispered, when he stepped out into the mud after Greg tied the John boat off to a big cypress knee. The bottomland forest here was impressive, and Bart could sense the boy’s excitement at the prospect of a big adventure, so he exaggerated greatly, as he usually did when Andrew asked such questions.

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe ten klicks, maybe more. We need to secure this entire sector and establish a forward operating base. Do you want to take point?” Bart glanced at Greg and gave him a sly wink. Shauna, Vicky and Megan joined them, sinking in the mud up to their ankles with every step.

  “Yeah, I’ll take it!” Andrew whispered back. “I’ll use the hand signals you taught me if I see anything. Just like you did it in the ‘Nam, right?”

  “You got it! Just watch for those big cottonmouths and rattlesnakes. They’re as mean as anything we ever ran into in the jungles of Southeast Asia! I’ll tell you that!”

  “Do we really have to do this?” Vicky asked, the horror at the thought of stepping on a snake written on her face.

  “Like Grandpa says, it’s a good drill,” Megan whispered. “Besides, I doubt we’ll even see a snake. A little exploring will help you get used to the swamp. It’s different than the Rockies, but it’s beautiful too, in its own way.”

  Bart stood aside and let Andrew forge ahead, carrying the hand bearing compass he’d taught him how to use. He’d got a kick out of entertaining the boy with war stories, and embellishing them some to add to the drama was part of the fun. In reality, Bart had no intention of even going one kilometer from the boat, much less ten, and when they’d gone a few hundred yards, he would give the boy a new bearing and then another thereafter until they’d circled back around to where they started. In truth, even a short trek in this terrain would be exhausting, and a mile or so of it would seem like ten to most people. They would be wading sloughs, weaving through briars, and slogging in deep, sucking mud. But it was a welcome change from sitting around all day on a crowded boat and would help everyone get familiar with the way they’d all be living soon enough.

  The other thing Bart wanted to do while on this little exercise was to keep everyone in the group carrying loaded weapons, regardless of the obstacles and difficultly. He knew Eric would reinforce that kind of training when he returned and began working the volunteers that Keith was out rounding up, but Bart wanted Andrew and the girls to get used to it as well. So, to that end, he’d equipped them all with either rifles or shotguns, as well as pistols and all the magazines and loose ammo they could carry for each weapon. He’d already been working with Andrew some on the 12-gauge shotguns they had, getting him used to the recoil and the loading and operation of both the semi-automatic Mossbergs and Remingtons and shortened Browning A5 that Greg had brought from his collection. Today, Andrew was carryin
g the Mossberg 590, which Bart had assured him was perfect for the point man on a jungle patrol. Bart himself was armed with a Remington 870, while Greg and the three women were all carrying different varieties of AR-15s or M4s, a platform Shauna and Megan knew well enough, and that Vicky was learning. Bart had no plans to make noise or waste ammunition on live fire exercises, but they were carrying enough firepower on the drill to engage an armed enemy, nevertheless, and as it turned out, it was a damned good thing they were.

  Moving at a slow stalking pace that Bart had taught Andrew how to maintain, they had barely covered a quarter mile some twenty minutes after they moved out when the silence of the swamp was broken by the sound of outboard motors on the river. At first, everyone but Bart and Greg thought it was probably Keith, on his way back. But the two of them knew the sound was different from Keith’s twin Mercury 150s, especially as it became apparent that they were hearing two separate boats, rather than one.

  “That’s not Keith,” Greg said, “It could be that he sent some of the volunteers on ahead while he continued making the rounds, but those sound like bigger boats than I would expect. We probably better head back, just in case.”

  Bart agreed. It didn’t pay to make assumptions, considering the threat level these days. He waved Andrew back in and gave instructions to everyone in the group. “Consider this a part of our drill, but we’re gonna spread out and reverse course back to the lake. We’ll move faster than before, but still proceed with caution and consider those approaching boats the enemy, even though it’s highly likely they are folks Keith sent here to join us. I want all of you to focus on moving quietly and using concealment as we work our way back. The idea is to approach the lake and observe them from the woods without being seen. It’s good practice and we’ve got to go back there anyway. Any questions?”

  “Yes,” Megan said. “What if they are volunteers and they turn around and leave before we get back because no one is aboard the trawler? They won’t be able to see the John boat where it is hidden, so they may think we’ve left for good! I don’t think we should keep playing games.”

  “It’s more than a game, Megan. If we go now, we can still get there in time without giving ourselves away. After we see who they are we can call out to them and let them see us.”

  “What if that startles them and causes them to freak out and start shooting at us?” Vicky asked.

  “Anything could happen,” Bart said, “but nothing will if we keep standing around here talking about it! So, let’s move out!”

  Bart was looking forward to meeting the volunteers Keith was rounding up, and while he sincerely hoped that whoever was approaching in the two boats were friendlies, he knew there was a small chance they were not, so he and Greg took the lead this time, both to set the pace and to watch and listen for anything that might change their assessment of what to expect. Since the occupants of the boats wouldn’t be able to hear much of anything over the roar of their own outboards, the order for everyone to keep quiet wasn’t really necessary. They could afford to move quickly as long as the engines were running, so that’s what they did, because Bart wanted to be in position if and when they indeed turned into the lake. But it didn’t happen the way he expected. From the sound of it, the boats continued running at a high rate of speed and blew right past the narrow cutoff leading off the river.

  “Must have been somebody else,” Greg said.

  Bart thought so too, even though river traffic was down to almost nothing lately. But before he could say anything else about it, he heard both boats suddenly cut their throttles and slow down, then turn and circle back.

  “Guess they were going so fast they ran right by the entrance,” Bart said.

  “That… or they’ve never been here before and just happened to notice the cut when they went by and decided to come back for a look.”

  There were many such side channels off the river, and anyone traveling it would scarcely have time to explore them all, but Bart was more cautious now regardless, and he communicated to the rest of his little team to spread out and filter their way through the cypress trees until they had a view of the anchored trawler. To do this, they had to wade into knee-deep water, as only the area inside of where they’d left the John boat was actual dry land. The wide buttresses of the big cypress provided good cover though, and Bart was pleased to see that even Vicky bravely made her way through the dark water to take up a position adjacent to Megan. Andrew and Shauna were on the opposite flank while Greg and Bart were in the middle, the six of them spread out along a good 100 feet of the lake’s edge. They settled into these positions while the two boats on the river circled at idle speed just outside the entrance to the lake.

  “I don’t like the feeling I’m getting from this,” Greg whispered.

  Bart nodded in agreement. The shotgun he was carrying was loaded with eight rounds of double-aught buck in the tubular magazine, and he had six rifled slug rounds in the shell carrier mounted to the side of the receiver. He estimated it was a good eighty yards out to the anchored trawler, so taking care not to drop any of them in the water, he quickly ejected half of the buckshot and shoved four slugs into the rear of the tube in their place. The slugs would reach out to that distance with authority and put bigger holes in people or boats as needed. Bart regretted he didn’t have more of them, but at least there was another 20 rounds of buckshot in his jacket pockets. Andrew’s 12-gauge was loaded with #4 Buck, which would be far less destructive at that range against a vessel but would increase the boy’s potential for effective hits on soft targets. Bart and Greg instructed them all to be watchful and ready, but not to fire under any circumstances unless the two of them started firing first.

  Bart hoped he was wrong to worry at all, but when a 20-foot center-console Mako appeared in the cut, he saw that there were half a dozen heavily-armed men leaning out over the gunwales at the bow with their weapons at ready, and they definitely didn’t look like a mixed group of local parish volunteers. All of them were military-aged men and all appeared to be Mexican or Hispanic, and some had neck and face tattoos that Bart was certain was indicative of gang membership. The men were carrying AKMs and M4s rather than hunting rifles or shotguns, and all of them to a man wore dark sunglasses and backwards-facing baseball caps, probably because they’d just made a long, high-speed run upriver. A quick glance at Greg confirmed that the deputy was studying them through the lens of his 1x4 variable optic, while the rest of the team looked on with uncertainty of what to do next.

  The other boat still circled outside the entrance while the men aboard the first one assessed the situation. That was a big problem, as far as Bart was concerned, because as long as the two crews were divided and one was out of sight, there was no way to spring a decisive ambush. He figured the opportunity would soon come though, and it looked more likely when after making a slow circle around by the stern of the Miss Anita, three of the six men on the first boat climbed aboard the trawler with their weapons in hand. If not for the other boat out in the river, Bart would have opened fire right then, because when their boat circled around, he could see the Texas registration stickers on the side of the hull, and he knew for sure these men weren’t from St. Martin Parish.

  “Gotta be cartel,” He whispered to Greg, who nodded in affirmative.

  “We’re gonna have to take them down, or they’ll clean us out.” Bart glanced back out to their boat, watching all but the man at the console now boarding the Miss Anita, before it headed back out to the river.

  “We need to hit their second boat as soon as they come in; shoot everyone on board and disable it if possible,” Greg said.

  Bart thought about it for a second and agreed. “I hate that we can’t get them all out in the open at once. We’re gonna have a real problem if two or three of those fellows already aboard the Miss Anita hole up down below.”

  Greg made a face but said there was no use worrying about that right now. If they got lucky, maybe they could get all of them before they had a chance
to react. It was the only real option, because if they didn’t act soon, these men would be loading their entire weapon and ammo stash aboard their boats, along with all sorts of other gear and supplies they couldn’t live without.

  Bart and Greg relayed instructions down the line to either side of them, telling Shauna, Megan and Vicky to pick their first targets from the men already aboard the trawler who were still visible on deck and then to work on helping Bart and Greg eliminate any still on the two smaller boats. As for Andrew, he was to direct his shotgun fire at any of the men he saw still standing. All were instructed to wait until Bart and Greg shot first. Bart was confident in the entire crew, but he could see that they were nervous, even Shauna. This was a vicious looking bunch they were facing, and when the other boat followed the first one back into the lake, Bart saw that there were just as many bad guys aboard it as the first. It was almost like they’d been sent here specifically to make a hit on the trawler, but he dismissed that notion as highly unlikely, because how would they know it was here or what was aboard it?

  He and Greg had already agreed to start shooting before the second boat was close enough to the trawler for anyone aboard to leap to it. He took aim at the center of mass of the lone driver of the first boat, while Greg focused on the other one. On a whispered count of three, the two of them fired simultaneously and both men went down. Bart had already racked another shell in the chamber and selected his next target when the rest of the team opened fire. He saw one of the men on the deck of the trawler stagger and tumble over the rail into the water, and then two more aboard the second boat slumped and dropped to the deck. The survivors of the fusillade were fumbling with their weapons and attempting to locate the source of the incoming fire as Bart and Greg took out two more on the second boat. One of the raiders sprayed a wild burst of full auto AK fire in the direction of the woods before he was cut down, and Bart saw one man from the second boat dive into the water and disappear beneath the surface. But there were at least two more of them still on the aft deck of the Miss Anita, keeping their heads down behind the 18-inch-high steel bulwarks where they were safe for the moment from the team’s lower angle of fire from their lower position near the water level.