“It’s the next left,” he said.
Jeff Baker nodded. “I’ve been to HQ before, Chief.”
Kinsey bit back a reply and nodded as Baker turned the wheel hard to make the sharp turn onto Carolina Beach Road, heading northwest. Another quarter mile on this road and then right on Medical Center Drive for a quarter of a mile, and they’d be there.
“What’s that up ahead?” Baker asked, and Kinsey felt the cart slow.
“Stop,” Kinsey said as he clawed a monocular from his pocket to glass the intersection ahead.
“Looks like a Humvee blocking the intersection,” Kinsey said, sitting the monocular on the seat beside him and keying his shoulder-mounted microphone.
“Jackson, do you copy?” he said.
“Go ahead,” came the reply from the following cart.
“Hold where you are. I think these are the good guys, but Baker and I are going to check it out. Copy?”
“I copy,” said Jackson.
Kinsey nodded to Baker and they started forward. As they approached the roadblock, the gunner on top of the vehicle tracked them with an M2 .50-caliber machine gun. When they were a hundred feet from the roadblock, a soldier clad in body armor and carrying an M4 stepped from behind the Humvee, his hand raised.
“Stop right there,” he called. “Exit your vehicle. Leave your weapons in your vehicle. Tell your friends back there to approach slowly and do the same. This is an order, not a request. Be advised you are covered from multiple locations and we will open fire if you fail to obey. You have ten seconds to comply.”
Kinsey looked around and spotted the muzzle of another machine gun peeking through some low shrubs on the left side of the road just ahead, and he suspected there were more he didn’t see.
“All right. Don’t shoot,” he called, and keyed his mike to call Jackson forward.
Three minutes later, all four Coasties were standing by their golf carts, awaiting further instructions, and the soldier at the roadblock called out again.
“All right. Approach slowly with your hands in the air. Do not make any sudden moves.”
The four started forward, and when they were halfway to the roadblock, the soldier halted them and instructed Kinsey to approach alone.
Pretty smart, thought Kinsey, he’s separated us from our vehicles and weapons and is keeping the majority at a distance while he questions one of us. It looked like the guy had danced this dance before.
The soldier waved Kinsey to a stop ten feet away and the two studied each other silently. Kinsey noted sergeant’s stripes on the soldier’s ACUs, and the man seemed to relax when he spotted the insignia on Kinsey’s coveralls. The sergeant’s face split into a grin.
“I heard you Coasties were on a tight budget,” he said, “but golf carts? Seriously? Is the clown car in the shop?”
Kinsey returned the grin. “Small service, big job,” he replied. “Wear it out, fix it up, make it work. That’s our motto.”
“I thought it was Semper Paratus —Always Prepared,” the soldier said.
Kinsey’s smile faded. “That too, though I don’t feel very friggin’ prepared for this.”
“None of us were,” the soldier said, closing the distance and extending his hand. “Josh Wright, North Carolina National Guard. Now, Chief, what brings y’all into our fair city. If you’re looking for the golf course, you’re headed the wrong way.”
Kinsey took the offered hand. “Matt Kinsey.” He glanced pointedly up at the machine gunner.
“Oh, right,” Wright said, releasing Kinsey’s hand. “Y’all can point those elsewhere, boys,” he called to the gunners. “They don’t appear to be hostile.” He then waved to the other Coasties. “Y’all come on in.”
Wright turned back to Kinsey as the other Coasties approached. “So again, Chief, what the hell are you doing running around Wilmington in golf carts?”
“We’re from the Oak Island Station, and we’re trying to get over to the command center. We got as close as we could on the river, and the golf carts were the only transportation we could find,” Kinsey explained.
Wright hesitated. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” Kinsey asked.
“The Coast Guard building was attacked two nights ago. It burned to the ground.”
“What? Who the hell would attack the Coast Guard HQ? And why? We HELP people, for Christ’s sake! I can see if it was a food store or …” He broke off, unable to articulate his confusion. “This … this just doesn’t make sense. What about our people? Was anyone hurt? Where did they set up?”
Wright just shook his head and looked at the ground, unable to meet Kinsey’s eye. It took a moment to sink in.
“All … all of them? Are you saying they’re all dead?” Kinsey demanded.
“As far as we know,” Wright said. “We got a Mayday from your folks and saw the fire from the armory. We sent out a team immediately, but by the time we got there, the building was already completely engulfed and we couldn’t get close. We found a dozen bodies in the ruins yesterday, but the building is unsafe and we couldn’t search thoroughly.” He hesitated again. “They … they had their hands tied behind their backs. It appeared they’d all been killed execution style.”
Red began to flood Kinsey’s vision and his heart raced as Wright continued.
“The ‘why’ I can’t answer, but as far as the ‘who’ goes, it was likely gangbangers. When the lights didn’t come on by the second day and it became pretty obvious law enforcement and everything else was being overwhelmed, the stronger gangs saw an opportunity and took it. They have a ‘command structure,’ so to speak, and filled the power vacuum. And to be honest, they were a helluva lot more effective than the police. I mean, there’s probably only three or four hundred police officers and sheriff’s deputies combined, and with everything else going to hell, there’s no way they could handle a gangbanger uprising too, so the gangs sort of took over. Let’s face it, if you’ve got no problem murdering anyone that gives you any trouble right on the spot, it tends to get folks’ attention. By the time the governor called out the guard and those of us who could respond mobilized, the police were already overwhelmed and were forted up in various places with their families and loved ones. We were already outnumbered and playing defense when we got here.”
“But what’s that got to do with the Coast Guard? Why were they attacked?” Kinsey asked.
Wright shrugged. “Who knows how these bastards think? I guess maybe the Coasties wore uniforms and represented governmental authority, and it’s not like they were a hardened target. I mean, it was an office building with open parking lots all the way around it and multiple entrances. There wasn’t even a damn fence! I mean, I know our CO was in touch with your CO and wanted him to move over to the armory since it’s at least somewhat defensible, but your guy was reluctant.”
“Why?” Kinsey asked.
“Well, it kind of makes sense in a way. I think your skipper was a pretty stand-up guy and he was trying to figure out some way to make a difference in an impossible situation. He apparently had pretty good backup generator capability and all his coms were concentrated there in the command center, so if he moved, he was sure to lose some of whatever capability remained. Also, with the media down and communications being as piss poor as they were, there was no way to spread the word if they moved, and more of your people were straggling in as they were able. If he moved, they likely wouldn’t know where to report.” Wright paused. “And I guess like you, he didn’t figure anyone would be targeting the Coast Guard.”
“Who the hell does this?” muttered Baker.
“The same stupid worthless assholes that torch their own neighborhoods and then shoot at the firefighters who come to put it out,” Jackson said.
The men nodded agreement and then fell silent, processing what they’d just heard. Kinsey broke the silence.
“What’s the status here? Are you guys making any headway?”
Wright shook his head. “Negative
. We’re forted up ourselves, back in the armory about a mile up the road. We push out patrols like this one up all the major cross streets every morning to show the flag and maybe give folks a bit of hope, but come nighttime, we’ll be back behind the barbed wire. Most of us are fortunate enough to live outside the city, so at least we don’t have to worry about our families facing gang violence. Some of the guys that live in the city brought their families inside. The CO said no at first, but it became pretty obvious the families stayed or the guys were leaving, so he eased up. We’ve got a storage tank with a couple of thousand gallons of drinking water and there are a couple of little lakes over by the armory. We suck water out of them with a tank truck for flushing toilets and taking outdoor showers. We got maybe ten days of MREs and twice that of diesel fuel, depending on how we conserve it. If we don’t get resupplied before then, I guess it’s game over.”
“What do you hear from up the chain of command?” Kinsey asked. “Surely there’s some sort of recovery plan?”
“Maybe on paper, but from where I’m standing here on the ground, it’s not working,” Wright said. “I mean, the governor’s office screwed around over two days before calling up the Guard, but with communications being spotty and all the media down, very few of the notifications got through anyway. And even if they did, enough of them didn’t that ‘no notification’ is a pretty good excuse and what person wants to go off and leave their family when all hell is breaking loose? I mean, I figured we’d be needed and left my wife and kids with my brother’s family and reported on my own, but way less than fifty percent of my unit showed up, and to be honest, I’m starting to feel like a chump. It would be different if we could make a difference, but all we’re really doing is trying to stay alive ourselves.”
“How about the regular army,” Kinsey said, “or FEMA?”
“Ah yes, FEMA,” Wright said, spitting the acronym out like a curse word. “We had a visit from a FEMA official. He came in by chopper to ‘brief us on the recovery effort.’ His main concern seemed to be he couldn’t get his laptop to boot up so he could show us his PowerPoint presentation. Apparently he couldn’t answer any questions without his presentation, so he spent two hours telling us nothing in great detail then got on his chopper and left, never to be seen again. I wouldn’t count on FEMA.
“And as far as the regular army goes,” Wright continued, “that’s way above my pay grade, but I do know they have to be called out by the President after he declares a disaster. I figure if anything qualifies as a disaster, it’s this. But the thing is, where they gonna stage from? I mean, if there’s a hurricane or flood or whatever, they stage from places that aren’t impacted and move resources to the disaster. But what do you do if the friggin’ disaster is EVERYWHERE? And part of the unwritten deal with soldiers is the security of their families. It’s one thing to expect troops from Fort Campbell or Fort Bragg to deploy to the sandbox with their families safe and sound at home, and it’s quite another to ask them to leave their loved ones in danger. And besides, the way I look at it, there’s no need to deploy troops. There’s plenty of disaster to go around. What would be gained by moving troops from one place where things are going to hell to another place where things are going to hell? At least if troops are providing relief services around their home bases, they’re helping friends and family.” He shook his head. “I’m thinking the cavalry isn’t coming to the party.”
“You’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you,” Kinsey said.
“Just realistic,” Wright said. “If you’d seen what I’ve seen in the last few days, you’d feel the same.”
Kinsey nodded and sighed. “I expect you’re right. Well, I guess we need to get out of your hair.”
“You headed back to your boat?”
Kinsey hesitated and looked at his men before responding. “We’re only a quarter of a mile from HQ, and we all had friends there. I think we all want to at least go have a look.”
Wright nodded. “Tell you what, it’s not like we were accomplishing anything here. We’ll run you over there.”
“Thanks,” Kinsey said, but Wright was already turning to speak into his radio.
“All Bird Dog units, this is Bird Dog Actual,” Wright said. “Mount up, repeat, mount up.”
Kinsey heard the Humvee rumble to life beside him and then another, and glanced over to see a second vehicle he’d missed parked across a parking lot in the shadow of a Bojangles restaurant. Meanwhile three soldiers emerged from the shrubbery on the west side of the street, one of them carrying the machine gun he’d noticed earlier and the other two armed with M-4s. The second Humvee just drove across the grass strip and sidewalk, and the soldiers started moving towards the two vehicles, but Wright called out last minute instructions rearranging them between the two vehicles as Kinsey and his men walked back to the golf carts to retrieve their weapons.
“Y’all can ride with me,” Wright said from the open passenger-side door of his Humvee as they returned. “Plenty of room.”
The Coasties mumbled their thanks and climbed into the vehicle. Less than a minute later, they pulled into the parking lot of their former headquarters. The building was a blackened ruin, one wall had collapsed in places along the top floor and portions of the roof were visible sagging in the gaps. The burned smell was almost overpowering and mixed with it was a sickly sweet odor that didn’t bear thinking about.
“Don’t try to go inside,” Wright warned. “All the bodies we recovered were on the ground floor, but we had to get out when a section of ceiling and a piece of a support wall collapsed on us. One of our guys was hurt pretty badly.”
Kinsey just stared at the building a moment. “Thanks for trying,” he said quietly. “Can we have a moment?”
“Absolutely,” said Wright, and the Coast Guardsmen all got out of the vehicle and moved closer to the building as Wright keyed his mike and ordered his two machine gunners to cover the street in opposite directions. The remainder of the soldiers dismounted and stood near their vehicles, covering the Coast Guardsmen from a respectful distance.
Kinsey stared into the ruins, his grief and his rage as black as the ravaged building. He had almost thirty years in the Coast Guard and it was a small service, almost like a large, extended family. If you stayed in long enough, it seemed like you knew, or at least knew of, almost everyone, and the men and women in that blackened ruin weren’t just fellow service members. They were shipmates with whom he’d weathered raging storms, and rescue chopper crews, and veterans of arctic ice breakers, and rescue swimmers, and men and women of a dozen other specialties. They were people he’d worked with and played with, gotten drunk and been hungover with. He’d danced at their weddings and commiserated with more than a few when they divorced, their relationship unable to withstand the demands of the service. He’d toasted the birth of their children as they had toasted his. He’d shared their triumphs and defeats, and most of all a sense of purpose and quiet pride in their chosen calling. They were as tough as they had to be and wielded necessary force when appropriate, but mostly they were life savers and not life takers, and that’s what they’d signed up for. They were his friends, and he felt their loss on a visceral level he was utterly incapable of articulating to anyone who wasn’t a Coastie.
He dropped to one knee, grounded his weapon, and bowed his head in a silent prayer. When he rose, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand, he looked over to see Baker observing him with glistening eyes.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Baker asked.
Kinsey nodded. “You know how to do it?”
“We can manage,” Baker said, and stepped toward the other two Coast Guardsmen and spoke to them quietly. Kinsey saw their heads bob in affirmation.
Kinsey looked back at the building a moment, then drew himself up to attention and executed a parade ground perfect right face toward the other men.
“DETAIL FALL IN!” he bellowed in his best parade-ground voice, as the three men snapped to attention in a
straight line.
“READY.”
“AIM.”
“FIRE.”
The movements of the first salute were clumsy and the volley a bit ragged, but the second was better and the third and last perfect as the men obeyed Kinsey’s shouted orders.
“PREEE-SENT ARMS,” Kinsey then bellowed, and the men brought their rifles to the salute position in slow motion while Kinsey performed a hand salute equally slowly.
“OOOR-DER ARMS,” Kinsey continued, and the men slowly brought their rifles to order arms as Kinsey matched their speed in releasing his hand salute.
“DETAIL DISMISSED,” Kinsey called and the men just stood a moment looking at the ruins.
He turned to find all of Wright’s dismounted men standing at present arms. Kinsey returned the salute and Wright called his men to order arms. They all immediately glanced toward the two machine gunners, who were staring in opposite directions down the road, vigilant guards to the impromptu ceremony.
“Mount up!” Wright yelled, and the men began climbing back into the vehicles.
A minute later, they were back at the intersection where they met. Wright spoke from the front passenger seat.
“Well, unless y’all are really attached to your clown cars, I’ll give you a lift back to your boat.”
“That would be outstanding,” Kinsey said, and his men added their thanks.
“Just point us in the right direction,” Wright said.
Kinsey briefly considered going directly back to the Pecos Trader , but he had agreed with Hughes to avoid revealing his location. He didn’t really think that would be a problem with Wright, but neither was it absolutely necessary.
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 8
