Errol's Folly

by Dave Brown

  That's one, Anne thought.

  Chapter 7

  Errol worked quickly with a ratcheting socket wrench, bolting down mismatched pieces of steel frame. The makeshift carriage would hold five people when they were done. The plan they had put together would have Errol and Stoneham take some weapons from one of the marine transports and cut a path down into the depths of the ship. Meanwhile Jones, Patty, and Pablo would strip the craft on deck of everything they could, loading it into the carriage to be moved back down to the Folly.

  He heard a squawk from his hand held radio and then Anne's voice. “I think we've gotten all of them we're going to get.”

  There was crackle of static and then Stoneham's voice drifted out in response. “What's the count?”

  “I'll be conservative and say three hundred. I'm certain it was more but I don't want to underestimate how many are left.”

  “Well done. That leaves one hundred thirty-six at most.”

  Errol nearly dropped the wrench. He yanked the walkie off his hip. “Are you kidding? We'll be outnumbered sixty to one.”

  Stoneham appeared next to him, having walked back from the bow where he had been observing the other openings in the carrier's hull. “Relax, mate. Lusty's built to accommodate over a thousand people. Our friends will be spread out nicely.”

  Errol stared at the young sailor, doubtful. “I've never fired a gun before. Maybe you should take Jones instead.”

  Stoneham shook his head. “We only have two people aboard with weapons training. Since we have two teams, they each get one. I assure you, we'll be fine. Captain Raleigh ordered everyone aboard to have regular practice. Anyone that couldn't make four out of five head shots got half rations for a week.”

  #

  The carriage made contact with the flight deck of HMS Illustrious, thumping down a little harder than the passengers would have liked. Patty almost fell out but Stoneham threw an arm in front of her at the last second. Errol climbed over the side and took a few steps toward the nearest helicopter. Stoneham had pointed it out to him as the crane swung them up and over the deck. It was called a Sea King, and now that he was standing next to it Errol had a better appreciation for its size. It was nearly as long as the Folly was wide. Its hull was colored a uniform matte gray. There were white numbers painted on it in a few places that meant nothing to Errol, but he was surprised at the sense of admiration that he felt when he read “ROYAL NAVY” lettered in proud capitals on the side of the tail. There was an open compartment on the right side of the craft, near the back.

  Stoneham vaulted gracefully out of the carriage and immediately drew his sidearm, then jogged over to the chopper. “Looks like everything's still here,” he said, peering inside. “Mr. Jones, would you care to make the first selection?”

  “Don't mind if I do,” said the Texan. He hauled himself into the compartment and inspected the arsenal on display. It didn't take him long to pick out an odd looking rifle, with the magazine located behind the grip. “L85A2, if I'm not mistaken.”

  “Correct,” Stoneham said. He stepped in after Jones had exited and picked up another pistol identical to his own, handing it out the open hatch to Errol. He also grabbed several clips before coming back out himself. “Captain Stimsky, I think you and I should step over to the port side and get you familiar with your weapon. Mr. Jones, I trust you can pick out some helpful items to take back to your ship.”

  Jones grinned back in answer and then motioned for Pablo and Patty to join him. Errol turned to follow Stoneham over to the edge of the flight deck. He looked toward the bow and saw the wreck down there still smoldering. It was a plane, so it must have been one of the Harriers Stoneham had told him about. There were red smears scattered around the deck, but not many. Most of the horror must have occurred below. He looked back to the West, where the Philippine islands loomed large and inviting. The haunted ship beneath their feet was a stern reminder of what really awaited them on those shores should they choose to visit.

  Errol was a quick study. It didn't take him long to memorize the basic functions of the handgun Stoneham was showing him, but he spent extra time anyway since it was a subject where mistakes could be deadly. He fired off a few rounds into the ocean to get a feel for the kick and then nodded at the sailor. Together they turned away from the view of ocean and islands and walked quickly to the cluster of tower structures on Lusty's starboard side.

  “Why don't you tell me the plan again so I'm certain I know what I'm doing,” Stoneham said as they walked. Errol was pretty sure the real purpose was to make sure he remembered himself, but he was also sure it couldn't hurt.

  “Your captain ordered the scuttling charges placed when it became clear some of the crew was infected. We have to go down six decks to a munitions locker and retrieve a detonator.” They had arrived at the hatch that would take them into the carrier's interior. “Then we get out, get back on the Folly, cruise away and...” Errol made a button pressing motion with his thumb.

  “Good.” Stoneham looked at the hatch, then back at Errol. He was clearly nervous, but also well trained. “How much experience do you have with these things?”

  “Not much, just one easy escape four years ago.”

  Stoneham nodded. “I haven't dealt with them face to face myself, but we had regular briefings from the marine teams.” He stepped inside the hatch. Errol followed him into a metal passage with hatches in several places. Stoneham continued, lowering his voice. “We need to keep this as quiet as possible. If you hear a long low moan, it means one of them knows we're here. Any of them within earshot will know it, too.”

  The sailor led them through another hatch that opened into an area with a stairwell. The power was still on so they could have used one of the elevators, but Stoneham wasn't keen on that idea. If the doors opened on a corridor full of the dead, they'd be overwhelmed in seconds. They had discussed it on the bridge of the Folly and agreed the stairs were a safer bet.

  They probably could have covered six decks down in no time if they had not been trying to maintain silence. It took them five minutes padding slowly down each flight instead. At last they arrived at a closed hatch that Stoneham pointed out to him. “Turn that wheel anti-clockwise, as quietly as you can,” he whispered. Then he moved to stand a few feet to the side, his sidearm pointed at the hatch. Errol slipped his own gun into a pocket and then grasped the wheel. It turned easily so he was able to go slowly. When he encountered some resistance he applied more strength as gradually as he could. Something gave way with a low clang and he winced. He glanced at Stoneham but the sailor just gave him a small nod. Errol pulled the hatch open slowly. It creaked once, making him wince again. Then it was clear, and they were looking into a metal corridor that was nearly identical to all the ones they'd already passed.

  Stoneham stepped toward the open hatch, gun still held up and ready. He peeked through one way, then the other. Then he stepped through, motioning Errol to follow with a jerk of his head.

  “Should we close this behind us?” Errol whispered.

  Stoneham shook his head, “If we have to run, we don't want any obstacles.” He glanced over his shoulder once then began walking quietly. “The locker is about sixty meters astern. Keep an eye on our rear.”

  They had to stop and open two hatches before they arrived at the one Stoneham said was the munitions locker. Each time was as tense as the first, and each time they breathed a sigh of relief when the passage on the other side was empty. Now they stood before a hatch with “SMALL ARMS 06” emblazoned on it in stenciled black spray paint. Stoneham took up his cover position and nodded at Errol. The wheel turned just like the rest. He winced just the same when the latch gave way. Then he slowly pushed the hatch inward. He was taken completely by surprise when a gunshot rang out before he'd gotten it open more than an inch.

  Stoneham shoved him away with one hand. “Hold your fire,” the sailor said, doing his best to yell while whispering.

  “Reg?” came a voice from inside the compar
tment.

  “Lenny? That you, mate?”

  The voice that drifted out of the open hatch sounded terrified. “How do I know you're not one of them?”

  “They don't open hatches, you wanker!”

  As if in protest, a long low moan floated down the passage toward them. Stoneham and Errol both looked in that direction. It was toward the bow, their way out.

  “Bollocks,” Stoneham muttered.

  Chapter 8

  The battery powered screwdriver whined in Patty's hand as she disassembled the Sea King's control panels as fast as she could. In between screws she heard a thump outside and knew the crane had put the carriage back on the flight deck. Anne was doing a good job back on the Folly getting their bounty unloaded. They had first filled up the carriage with all the weapons Jones pointed out to them. It made Patty a little nervous, but she knew they were a necessity now. With the revelation that the seas were prowled by raiders and pirates, they needed more than Jones' harpoon gun to ensure their safety.

  She heard Pablo scrambling around behind her, heading to the open door in the back. “Start with these, amigo,” he said to Jones and she heard things being moved around. They were taking every piece of equipment they could remove, even metal panels and seat covers. The Folly had a section of crop space devoted to hemp and bamboo for their clothing and construction needs, but there never seemed to be enough. This much raw material simply couldn't be ignored. There was no telling what they could do with the components from the chopper's instrumentation, and her mind was already racing with the possibilities. She took a moment to glance out the front window, where an identical helicopter sat waiting for her. She just hoped there was time. Whenever Errol came back out of the carrier's interior, it would be up to him how much longer they could stay.

  She set the power driver down and pulled at the panel, exposing wiring and control rods. If she had still been using the driver she might not have heard the gunshot, it was so faint. She looked up, then turned around in the seat, craning to look out the rear door. She saw Jones and Pablo both looking toward the control tower on Lusty's starboard side. She looked over there herself. Nothing had changed. The hatch leading inside stood open and dark. She looked back out the rear door again.

  “Should we...”

  “No,” Jones said. “We stick to the plan. You two keep workin', I'll stand watch. The second I see one of those things, we leave. If the carriage isn't here, we jump.”

  The idea loomed large in Patty's mind and she remembered that night months ago where she considered jumping overboard. She felt nervous and excited all at once. It was better to focus on the work, so she returned to the panel she was trying to get free. She cut the wires as close to the back of the panel as possible, preserving the length on the other side in case they had time to pull some of it. She would love to come out of this with a few yards of extra wire if they could.

  Another sound reached her ears as she worked. It sounded like a great deal of water being spilled into the ocean. Then she heard a radio squawk to life outside.

  “Jones, it's Anne. Better take a look over your starboard side.”

  She glanced out the window and saw Jones jogging that way. He reached the edge of the flight deck and stood there for a moment, then he started running back toward the chopper, radio raised to his face. He was too far away for her to hear what he was saying. When he got back to the helicopter he leaned into the rear door.

  “We've got company,” he said. Just as he finished a bullhorn squealed to life somewhere to starboard and an amplified voice blared out.

  “Attention bulker crew. We mean you no harm. We only want the carrier. Stay on your deck with your hands up and nobody will get hurt.”

  Patty was dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open. Pablo was not as stunned. “Who are they?”

  “The raiders, I'd guess. They've got themselves an attack sub.”

  #

  Anne peered over the Folly's port side. The submarine floated out there, its nose pointed straight at her. There were two figures standing in front of the oval shaped tower that stuck out near the bow. A dozen more were busy behind it, inflating a raft. They had weapons.

  “Anne, you ready over there?” She could hear the anxiety in Jones voice, impressive considering the distortion of the radio and his usual southern cool. She turned toward the Folly's house, looking up at the windows on the bridge. A bright reflection of sunlight flashed in her face three times, the signal she had worked out with Barbara.

  “Ready, Jones.”

  She couldn't see the flight deck of the carrier from here and Jones hadn't filled her in on all the details of his plan. The crane was still extended up there. He'd told her not to bring it back, that it could make their new friends think they were up to something.

  Jones' voice drifted out of her walkie again. “Remember, you guys are strictly home defense. Don't do anything unless they get aboard somehow.”

  “Roger,” she said.

  “Don't call me Roger,” and she smiled in spite of the situation. That was Jones, always handy with a joke. She looked back at the sub, saw the gang behind the tower had finished their raft. Six of them were climbing aboard it, guns slung across their backs. Two started rowing it toward the Folly. She guessed they planned to climb aboard their ship and use the crane to get up to the flight deck of the carrier. It wouldn't take them long to get to the Folly's bow.

  One of the two men in front of the tower was holding up a bullhorn. “Lower a rope over the side so we can come aboard. Cooperate and you won't be harmed.” Yeah right, she thought. Her walkie squawked almost immediately.

  “Put the rope ladder down on the starboard side, just aft of the crane.”

  Anne jogged into the tower and opened a storage locker. A thirty foot rope ladder was rolled up and plopped on the bottom. She pulled it out and ran back to the starboard railing. After anchoring it to the rails she tossed the rest down toward the water. The raft was just passing the Folly's bow and falling under the shadow of the carrier. She looked at the weapon tucked up against one of the hatch covers, one of those odd looking machine guns with the clip protruding out behind the grip. She had a rough idea how to use it, but hoped the need wouldn't arise. She'd known Jones a long time, they all had. She trusted him to get them out of this.

  The raft was twenty feet from the ladder. Anne was starting to wonder when Jones was going to do something when she saw two little black objects drop into it from above. The word 'grenade' had just floated into her mind when they exploded. She dropped to the deck, crouching as low as she could. There was a hollow drumming sound below her. Some part of her mind that was disconnected from the terror she was feeling postulated that it was exploded bits of raft and raider bouncing off the hull. She wondered if the shrapnel would punch any holes in the side.

  There was another explosion, this time from the direction of the submarine. She looked up and saw a fireball blooming behind the conning tower. The men that had been standing there were nowhere to be seen. As she watched, something streaked down from the carrier above and struck in front of the tower. The two men standing there were flung out into the Pacific in pieces. Somebody on the Folly was yelling, “Holy shit! Holy shit!” over and over again. It took Anne a few seconds to realize it was her.

  #

  There were seven long black sticks spread neatly in front of Patty on the flight deck. Each one had a green tip shaped like two cones stuck together. Jones had loaded an eighth one of these sticks, which he called an RPG, into a hollow tube with two grips and a telescopic sight. Patty kept reaching out and adjusting the sticks on the deck, trying to get them to line up perfectly. Every time she did, though, it seemed like a different one was out of place.

  Jones glanced over at her and saw her fidgeting. “Stay cool, Pat, I need you.”

  She nodded and then the first explosion went off behind her. She should have expected it. Jones had told Pablo to wait back there with a crate full of hand grenades and drop some on the
boarding party. She cringed anyway and watched Jones pop up from his crouch, bringing the launcher up to his shoulder. A few seconds later he pulled the trigger. A flash of sparks shot out from the flared opening at the back end of the tube and the little rocket zipped away. Jones dropped back to a crouch just before the explosion sounded from the direction of the sub. Patty was ready with a new grenade held out to him. He worked quickly, reloading the launcher, taking a quick deep breath and then hopping back up again. Another two seconds of aiming and he pulled the trigger again. This time he didn't crouch all the way, but kept watching. The explosion came an instant later, and Patty thought she heard a guttural scream. She raised her head a little, daring to look.

  Two clouds of dirty smoke enveloped the sub, one in front of the tower and one behind. It was a breezy day and the smoke drifted away before long. No-one remained on top of the sub. There were two open hatches where the explosions had occurred, but where the covers should be attached Patty saw only the mangled steel remains of their hinges.

  “They got lazy pickin' off yachts,” Jones said, his demeanor triumphant. “Should have had men watchin' up here for this kind of stunt. Two guys with rifles, minimum.”

  He set the launcher down on the deck and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Anybody comin' outta that boat gets an RPG in the face!” he bellowed. Then he picked up the tube again and motioned for another grenade. Pablo jogged over and crouched behind Patty while Jones was reloading.

  “Dios mio. What did you do in the Navy again, Jones?”