Kinsey rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, Captain. I’m the unit CO and that kind of seems like desertion.”
“Look, we’re shorthanded, and we could really use the extra manpower,” Hughes said. “And besides, isn’t one of your missions protection of shipping? Well, we’re shipping, and we sure as hell could use some protection. And besides, you’re retiring anyway, so I suspect your relief, or at least someone qualified to relieve you, is probably already on station, right?”
Kinsey was mulling it over when he thought of Wright’s comment about ‘attacking in a different direction.’ That tipped the balance. “All right,” he said. “I can’t speak for the others, but I’ll come. We’ll go downriver at first light and come back with anyone else who wants to come. When do you plan on leaving again?”
“Day after tomorrow. I want to leave the dock midafternoon at low slack water. That way I figure the incoming tide will mitigate the current in the river, especially down at the Battery Island Turn, and if we go aground between here and there, the rising tide will help us off. We should be at sea before nightfall,” Hughes said. “Supposing I don’t put her into the riverbank.”
Mayport Naval Station
Jacksonville, Florida
Day 8, 11:00 a.m.
Lieutenant Luke Kinsey, formerly of the 101st Airborne and currently a member of the newly formed Special Reaction Force, squinted in the bright sunlight as he watched the UH-60 Black Hawk settle in the landing zone a hundred yards away, partially obscured by wavy lines of heat steaming off the tarmac. Near noon in north Florida always seemed like summer, even in early April. The T-shirt under his ACUs was already soaked.
“So when do we change to the black uniforms?” asked Sergeant Joel Washington, staring at a group of eight black-clad soldiers a short distance away.
Luke followed the sergeant’s gaze as the third man in their group commented.
“I’m fine with our old uniforms,” Long said. “They look like losers in a Johnny Cash look-alike contest. I don’t want to wear that crap.”
Luke stifled a laugh and managed to snarl at Long. “Knock it off, Long. We all volunteered and these guys are all part of our new unit. And when they get more of the new uniforms in, I expect you to wear yours without any bitching. Is that clear?”
Beside Luke, Washington laughed. “You’re dreaming, LT,” Washington said, pronouncing the title ‘el-tee’ in the typical verbal shorthand of an enlisted man for a lieutenant. “Long here was born bitching. Why, if he couldn’t bitch, he wouldn’t be able to talk at all.”
Long reddened. “Oh, and I suppose you just love the Johnny Cash look, huh, Washington. And I did volunteer, LT, but I did it mostly ‘cause I was tired of twiddling my thumbs in barracks and I wanted to do something to help people. Nobody told me most of this so-called ‘Special Reaction Force’ was just a bunch of damned mercs. I haven’t met over a handful of regular troops since we’ve been here, and some of these ‘private security’ guys seem pretty shady.”
“And we’ve been here, what, all of twenty-four hours?” Luke asked. When Long didn’t reply, he continued, “So I expect you should crank it down a notch or two, Long. Just because some of these guys were previously private contractors doesn’t mean they’re bad troops. Private security pays well, and a lot of first-rate guys leave the service to go private.”
“Yeah, well, these ain’t those guys,” Long muttered. “These are the assholes that used to be guarding drug shipments in Colombia and blowing up villages in East Shithole, Africa.”
“Chill, Long,” Washington whispered. “Here comes the captain.”
Luke looked up to see their new commanding officer approaching. He was well over six feet and of indeterminate age, and moved with a grace made somehow sinister by the solid black battle utilities he wore. At odds with the strict grooming standards Luke was accustomed to as a member of the Screaming Eagles, his new boss wore a thick, but neatly trimmed blond goatee, which reminded Luke somehow of a pirate. The pirate illusion was enhanced by the ropelike welt of scar tissue emanating from the outer corner of the man’s eye, obscuring most of his left cheek and marring an otherwise handsome face. Captain Rorke exuded a quiet menace that signaled in no uncertain terms he was not a man to be crossed.
As he approached, the three former Screaming Eagles came to attention and Luke saluted crisply. Rorke looked surprised. A derisive smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he responded with something between a wave and an aborted high five.
“We don’t do much of that, Kinsey,” Rorke said, “but it is kind of refreshing. Maybe it’ll rub off on the rest of the boys.”
“Yes, sir,” Luke said, dropping his salute.
Rorke looked them over. “Sorry we couldn’t get you a uniform issued just yet, but the mission comes first and we’re way understaffed. Today it’s a ‘come as you are’ party.”
“Not a problem, sir,” Luke said.
“Okay,” Rorke said, “this is your first time out, so just follow my lead. We’re flying to Miami to board a cruise ship the government has chartered. The passengers are refusing to leave, and our job is to clear the ship. We did one here in Jacksonville yesterday, and one in Charleston the day before.”
“Cruise ships? What’s the government … oh, I get it, housing,” Luke said. “But can they do that? Just kick the people off, I mean. Don’t they have some sort of obligation to the passengers or something?”
Rorke glared. “That would be both well outside your ‘need to know’ and also way above your pay grade, Kinsey. Now, do you have any questions of an OPERATIONAL nature?”
Luke said nothing for a moment, then responded, “Yes, sir. Did you have … ah … any trouble with the other boats?”
Rorke shook his head. “Nothing substantial. When well-armed operators show up in full battle rattle, it tends to put a damper on any opposition. We did have a few loudmouth assholes with hero complexes yesterday, but that turned out to be beneficial.” He smirked. “You’d be surprised how a couple of publicly administered beat downs and a little blood speeds people toward the exits.”
Over Rorke’s shoulder, Luke saw Washington and Long exchange concerned glances as Rorke continued.
“Shouldn’t be a problem this time, though, our orders are to lighten up. We’re going with a charm offensive. Matter of fact, it looks like the head charmer just arrived.”
Luke turned to follow Rorke’s gaze across the tarmac.
A woman approached at a fast walk. She was slim and even at a distance it was apparent she was attractive, with long dark hair swaying from side to side. The dark lightweight FEMA coveralls she wore did nothing to conceal her femininity, and as she drew nearer, Luke thought she looked vaguely familiar. Apparently he wasn’t the only one.
“Is she famous or something?” Washington asked. “She looks familiar.”
“Maria Velasquez,” Rorke said. “She’s a local news anchor in Miami, but her reports get picked up nationally. That’s probably where you saw her. She is, or was anyway, a rising star. Now she works for FEMA.”
The woman reached the group and studied them a moment before spotting Rorke’s rank insignia.
“Captain Rorke?”
“That would be me,” Rorke said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Velasquez, I’m an admirer.”
She favored Rorke with a dazzling smile and he continued without bothering to introduce Luke or the others.
“I presume you’ve been briefed?”
“Oh yes,” she said, “and I have a script committed to memory. I’m sure we can resolve the situation without unpleasantness.”
“Excellent,” Rorke replied. “Let’s be off, then. Sit next to me and we can discuss the situation more fully on the flight down.”
She bobbed her head and Rorke rested an unnecessary hand on her waist to guide her toward the chopper, leaving the other three to trail behind.
“Secondary mission objective,” Luke heard Long whisper to Washington, “getti
ng into chiquita ’s pants.”
Luke’s attempt to communicate his displeasure via a hard look was somewhat defeated by his inability to suppress a grin.
An hour and a half later, they were hovering over the Port of Miami on Dodge Island, gazing down at almost empty docks and little movement except aboard a large white cruise ship at one of the cruise terminals. Rorke directed the pilot to land, and the chopper flared over an empty parking lot and settled to the pavement. They were scrambling out before the blades stopped turning, moving behind Rorke and Velasquez toward the cruise terminal.
They passed empty shuttle buses in front of the terminal and found the terminal itself practically deserted except for a scattering of people in FEMA T-shirts and a few terminal personnel pressed into service to tie up the ship and deploy the gangway. Luke wondered where they got the power to deploy the gangway, then heard the muted throb of a generator somewhere in the near distance. He almost bumped into Rorke’s back as his new boss stopped and watched one of the FEMA people hasten toward them.
“So what’s the story?” Rorke asked. “Any change?”
The man shook his head. “Not really. The captain and crew are cooperating. I mean, the captain’s pissed we’re basically confiscating his ship, but he agreed to sign the charter on behalf of his company after I assured him we wouldn’t kick the crew off if they don’t cause trouble. The problem is the passengers. It was a seniors’ cruise with several veterans’ groups, mainly from the Korean and Vietnam wars, and a scattering of World War Two vets. Hell, a couple of the old farts look like they might have survived the Civil War.” He paused. “Anyway, they were in St. Thomas when the blackouts hit, and I guess things got nasty there in a hurry. A shore excursion was surrounded by a mob and they were all robbed at gunpoint and verbally and physically abused. Several of the old guys who attempted to defend the group were beaten for their efforts before local police intervened and got the group back to the ship. They’ve heard a lot of conflicting reports since and they’re confused and scared and not inclined to believe anything I tell them.”
He shook his head. “The captain managed to convince them to leave their luggage outside their staterooms this morning, and the crew went around and gave them all baggage claim checks, but that’s where things bogged down. I guess a lot of them figured out no matter how anxious they are to get home, conditions on the ship might be a lot better than they are anywhere else. They’ll be a pretty tough sell, I’m afraid.”
Rorke nodded. “Understood. Is there any place where Ms. Velasquez here can address all the passengers in person?”
“Not in person, at least where everyone can see her directly,” the man said, “but I had the captain ask all passengers to gather on the embarkation deck for an update on the situation ashore. That area runs most of the length of the ship, and there are large flat-screen TV monitors every few feet. Ms. Velasquez can address everyone from the ship’s communications center. If she gets them moving, we’ll funnel them right down the gangway and across the terminal to the buses.”
Rorke nodded again and turned to Luke. “I’ll accompany Ms. Velasquez to the comm center. You take the rest of the men aboard and space them out along the embarkation deck to keep things moving after they start. Spread six of them out evenly along the deck, but pick three men to stay with you near the gangway. That’s the potential bottleneck, so keep it moving. Do NOT let things back up there, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Luke said, and Rorke turned and started toward the ship.
Once aboard, Rorke and Velasquez disappeared into the crowd and Luke picked six of Rorke’s men to spread out along the deck, retaining both of his own men and a private named Grogan to stay with him near the gangway. When he was satisfied everyone was in position, he surveyed the crowd. As the FEMA man indicated, they were seniors, and while most seemed reasonably fit, there were many canes and walkers, and not a few wheelchairs, as well as scattered passengers with oxygen tubes clipped in their noses. The mood was tense and subdued. Suddenly the undercurrent of hushed conversation stopped as the TV monitors all sprang to life with the identical images of a handsome blond man of late middle age whose shirt displayed the four-stripe shoulder boards of a captain.
“Good day, ladies and gentlemen. As I’m sure you know by now”—he showed perfect white teeth in a smile—”I am Captain Larson. I apologize for what I know has been a frustrating lack of information, but in truth we have had very little information to share. I know you all have questions regarding the situation ashore. So, I’m very pleased we now have on board representatives of the US Federal Emergency Management Agency, or FEMA, who can address your various concerns.”
The captain stepped to one side, and Maria Velasquez took his place, somehow managing to look professional while favoring her viewing audience with a radiant smile. From the murmurs rippling through the assembled passengers, it was obvious to Luke many recognized Velasquez and were informing their less-enlightened shipmates of her identity.
“Hi, folks, I’m Maria Velasquez, and some of you might recognize me from my work on both local and national news teams. However, today I’m here on behalf of FEMA. As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, most of the media infrastructure was badly damaged by the recent disaster, so when FEMA reached out to media professionals and offered us a way to serve our viewers, or perhaps I should say former viewers, most of us gladly accepted the opportunity to do our part.
“First, the situation. Eight days ago a massive solar storm released a series of what are called ‘coronal mass ejections’ at earth. Without going into too much technical mumbo jumbo, the bottom line is there were blackouts, not just across the US and Canada, but the world. Obviously, there has been chaos and confusion, but the good news is, here in the US anyway, the authorities have control of the situation. Food and water is going out to folks who need it, even as we speak, so don’t worry about your loved ones.”
Washington looked over at Luke, who merely returned his puzzled look and shrugged his shoulders.
“But the bad news,” Velasquez continued, “is the power is still out. However, all of the utilities are working on the problem, with the full assistance of the federal government, and they are confident they can restore the power within the week in some places, but perhaps two to three weeks in most.” There were groans from the audience and evidently the comm center was close enough for Velasquez to hear them, because she responded with a sympathetic smile and allowed the groaning to dissipate on its own.
“Now,” she said, “as far as your situations go, it’s another big mixture of the good news/bad news thing, I’m afraid. The bad news is air travel is disrupted, and gasoline and fuel of all kinds are currently in really short supply—again both things the federal government is working on correcting—but that doesn’t help you folks much in the near term. The good news is we’re working on charter flights to get you where you need to go, but the bad news is it’s going to take a few days. More good news is you’ll get to extend your vacation a few days at government expense because we’re going to put you all up in some of Miami’s great hotels. The bad news is they’re not so awesome these days, because most are operating with limited power on backup generators.”
There was grumbling from the crowd now, but a few chuckles as well, as the information gave the listeners a greater sense of understanding, and Velasquez’s earnest but somewhat light-hearted delivery seemed to make the situation more tolerable. Though Luke doubted the veracity of some of her claims, he figured they were at least partial truths, and having the crowd disembark voluntarily was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.
“More good news,” Velasquez said, continuing her monologue, “is all of your food and drink will be taken care of, but the bad news, I’m afraid, is it will be in the form of FEMA emergency provisions. However, even that’s good news in a way, as the many veterans among you will be able to satisfy what I’m sure is your curiosity as to whether the new meals ready-to-eat, or MREs, ar
e superior to the old rations you may remember from your own gallant service.” She paused for effect. “The bad news is current soldiers refer to the MREs as ‘meals, rarely edible.’“
The laughter was spontaneous and widespread this time, mixed with good-natured groans, and Luke had to admit Velasquez was a pro when it came to winning over a crowd. The tension in the crowd was significantly lower than when they’d arrived. Velasquez waited for the laughter to subside, and continued.
“So here’s the deal, folks. We have buses standing by outside to transport you to your hotels. You don’t have to worry about your baggage, as the crew will collect it and we will transport it to your hotel. We have crew members standing by to assist those of you who require assistance in disembarking—”
“Why can’t we just stay here until the flights are ready? The chow’s a hell of a lot better and we got power,” yelled a voice from the crowd. There was another voice of agreement followed almost immediately by a chorus of noisy agreement, drowning out Velasquez’s words as she continued to speak on the screens. She continued to speak for a while and then stopped and looked a bit confused, as if she’d heard the noise but not the specific question. She then looked off camera and it was obvious she was listening to someone; then she turned back to the camera and made calming gestures. Eventually, the crowd noise subsided.
“I understand some of you have asked why you can’t just stay aboard,” she said. “That’s a reasonable question and I apologize for not addressing it first. The fact is, the captain informs me there is less than a day’s food left on board, so we are reduced to emergency rations regardless of where you are quartered. As far as staying here, the ship is also almost out of fuel, and it will be a long time before any more is available. With no power, the ship will be even less pleasant than the hotels ashore, so it’s better to leave now while we have resources in place to accommodate the transfer.” She paused. “And I have to stress here, folks, there are a lot of people needing help, not only people on other cruise ships like this one, but other people in the community at large. We are here now and ready to help you, but if you turn down our offer, you will be completely on your own as far as getting back to your homes.”
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 10
