by JK Franks
Garret motioned for Todd to sit. “Five thousand is a serious threat. I assume even the group assembled there now is a significant threat. You have some defenses, I know, but not to fight an army. Todd, there’s no easy way to say this,” he sighed heavily. Todd felt his stomach clench in dread as he waited for the man’s next words. The commander continued. “Captain Harris and I were discussing force strength before you came in. I’m afraid we simply don’t have the assets to fully protect your little group. Much of our fleet is on assignment with Operation Homefront, and the remainder is on the recovery mission for your friend and the Praetor commander. I’m not even sure how much longer we can keep that going . . . the fuel drain alone is crippling.”
Todd had been barely keeping the lid on his simmering rage. Now it began to boil over. “Sir, you—”
“Now wait, Todd, listen to me. I am going to honor my commitment. You and your people have been extremely helpful to us. You are valued allies. I just need to be as honest as I can be. If I start diverting flights over to Harris Springs now, I’ll have to take them off the recovery mission for your man and the lab subject. I don’t think it would be smart to do that until the enemy is fully massed there. We cannot make multiple sorties. It must be a limited engagement. So, the question is can your people hold out, hold off these Judges until the full group arrives?”
Todd took a deep breath, growing minimally calmer. He responded with all the restraint he could muster. “I don’t know.”
Captain Harris spoke up. “Captain, you were down in meteorology, so you know that the storm we encountered is about to arrive at that same location. That alone negates our ability to identify ground targets, let alone reach the location—you saw firsthand the challenges of flying through that weather and the cost to us in lives and more.”
Both Todd and Garret nodded grimly. “One other thing, Todd,” Garret added. “We are aware of this group's reputation, but do understand that we are,” he searched for the right word, “reluctant to fire on American civilians. Praetor apparently does not have that same concern, but we operate with a more humane directive. Under normal circumstances, it would take a presidential order to move us into direct action like this, but clearly, these are not ordinary times.”
“What the holy fuck!”
Both of the Naval officers looked shocked. “Excuse me?”
Todd was done with the niceties and his respect for the rank and roles represented here. “You used us, sir, and now you are pussyfooting around delivering on an agreement we made in good faith. I convinced my friend—one of my best friends and one of the most valuable members of our community—to come out here on this mission against his better judgment. It cost him his life! And now you want to sit here and give me shit about force strength and numbers and how much fuel you’re using. Fuck that! If you insist on waiting for the full group of crazies to get to the AG before you attack, fine, but they need help now. Send me back with a squad of Marines or any of the SEALs that are left. When we call—and we will call—I expect you to unleash hell on these bastards. Do you understand me? You do not let them move on to the next town. If you do, you won’t have a fucking America to defend in the months ahead. It has to end here. Am I clear?”
Garret pursed his lips and placed his fingertips on the tabletop. He was trying, with greater success than Todd, to control his own emotional response. “I apologize, Todd,” he began with formality. “You make valid points. You value loyalty and extend it to those around you, as your service record showed. It’s a fine quality, the sign of a good leader.” He thought for a moment before continuing. “I will give you the men you request, but that storm—if that storm arrives at an inopportune moment, it may limit our response. We may be unable to eliminate the threat completely. You should be prepared for that.”
Todd nodded, “I understand the realities. This is not a mission with the luxury of time for planning. But I still need to know you have skin in the game. That, while there may be unavoidable limitations, you will be there when we need you as we were for you in the assault on Devil’s Tower.”
“And how do I alleviate that concern, Todd, even if I agree with your . . . suggestions?”
Todd thought momentarily, then eyed the picture frames behind the Captain. “I want Lieutenant Garret, sir. Your son.”
Chapter Ninety
Harris Springs, Mississippi
Dobbs and several others watched as their brother pointed out the massive ship’s most vulnerable areas. One of them produced a crude drawing and marked the access hatches and the best spots to blow if they could get close.
The swimmers were about ready to start across, and the remaining Judges were preparing to storm the bridge as soon as they got it lowered. A flicker of movement caught Dobbs’ eye, and he watched, stunned, as at least fifty of his men fell back amongst a spray of blood erupting from shots that seemed to come out of nowhere.
He crouched immediately as others dove for the ditch. The unlucky lay motionless; a few writhed about in pain. The shots were so well timed, they had sounded like a single shot. A single shot from countless rifles. They must have been preparing for that attack all day: one target in the scope per sniper so as not to waste ammo as the group of men scattered. Well played.
The remaining Judges returned fire but could make out no real targets. The swimmers were ready to go; thankfully, none of them had been hit. That fact struck Dobbs as odd . . . they were standing down front, after all, but he had no time to consider it further. The battle had begun, and for once, the target had scored first.
“Go! Go!” he shouted and motioned the men to get in the water. They were swimming against the current, but they had anticipated this. He watched in fascination as each of the teams began to struggle, then stop altogether. They were caught on something in the water. One let out a shout and disappeared underwater. A circle of red erupted all at once from the green water.
The others in the water began screaming in panic. Dobbs could see now that they were entangled in what—barbed wire, or maybe the razorblade-edged concertina wire they topped prison fences with. What they had taken for floating logs were in fact, alligators, and they were now making a path toward the hopelessly snared swimmers. As the gators got within a few yards, they disappeared below the surface. The calls of the trapped men grew louder as they watched their cohort, one by one, being pulled below the surface of the water.
“FUCK!” This was quickly turning into a complete disaster. These fucks are prepared! They were not used to anything like this. Typically, they just marched in and took whatever they wanted. The benefit of their ruthless reputation was that intimidation did most of the work for them. But first, they had to face that shit in Memphis, and now this . . . It was obvious to him that the group’s easy days were in the past.
This morning they had formed up as one of the largest groupings of Judges ever. Now at least a quarter of them lay dead in the first ten minutes. He signaled desperately for everyone to fall back. Looking over, he saw a familiar face. “Linx, you and Mark take a few guys and shoot as many of those fucking gators as you can! And stay out of sight while you do.”
Dobbs and the rest of the men ran stooped over in the side ditches until they were nearly a hundred yards farther back. The price of killing a Judge was normally the life of everyone in the town. Normally, they’d just burn the town to the ground and be done with it. They were valued! The most prized members of the Messengers. Now, with so many of them dead, he felt more like the bullseye on a target than an elite soldier.
The sound of gunfire could be heard coming from ground level. Linx and Mark had both been Army sharpshooters. They would thin the fucking things out or drive ‘em away. He eased over to Peterson who sported a bloody gash across his upper arm. “We obviously better come up with another plan. Where’s the guy who was briefing us about the ship?”
The other Judge looked at him. “I think most of him is all over the side of your jacket. They got him, man. We have to fucking
get these assholes. If the Prophet shows up and sees us like this—all these dead Judges—he’ll fucking feed us all to the gators himself.”
“I know, I know,” Dobbs tried to regain his composure.
But this was indeed fast becoming a Class-A Charlie-Foxtrot: a cluster-fuck in civilian speak. He thought for a moment. Just send more swimmers across now that the gators are gone. Give them wire cutters, and once they’re on the other side they can drop the bridges. If that failed, they would just have to take the swamp route to the ocean and come back around to the island from the western side.
Getting volunteers to attempt the swim this time around proved much more difficult. Hawley had radioed to check up on them, and to let them know they were on the way. The Judges were out of time. Dobbs and the more senior members elected volunteers and persuaded them at gun point to make the swim. The cursing and protests were impassioned, but after Dobbs shot two of his brethren, the rest complied with reluctant desperation. They entered the water with guns out, carrying everything from driftwood logs to inflated motorcycle inner tubes to help them float.
Each of the nine swimmers encountered the submerged barbed wire obstacle at the same time. Several tried cutting through in different spots until they realized it would be smarter for one or two to cut and clear the path while the others watched their back. It then became apparent that there were multiple rows of the submerged wire; the process took quite a while. Shots were fired into the water—some by the men watching for gators and some from the ship above. Two more Judges were taken out before they got through the obstacles.
At last, the first man slipped through the last wire barricade. He was immediately swept back, into the backside of the trap, by the current. The next man through made it within twenty feet of the far shore before he was hit by a flaming bottle dropped from above. He disappeared underwater and failed to surface again. A pool of blood erupted from where he had been. The gators were still around, they had simply dropped deeper down. Gunshots, some sort of grenade and the Molotov cocktails rained down onto the swimmers.
Dobbs was sympathetic but gave the order to shoot any man that did not keep going across. As more and more of the beady sets of eyes came back up and broke the surface on the other side of the wire, several men decided they would rather be shot than eaten alive. They were promptly shot, and then later, eaten. Well, eventually; the alligators were no longer hungry, and the attacks continued simply thanks to their ancient instincts to protect their territory. The reptiles’ powerful jaws clamped around arms, legs and necks, gripping their victims securely before rolling them round and down. Several of them made it to the hull of the white ship before being pulled under. One by one the group of men was jerked down deep to their deaths.
Dobbs watched the chaos unfold in horror. It took him a while to notice that three of the men had actually made it to the far side. Dobbs knew two of them personally and chalked it up to luck more than brains. Those two are stupider than a bag of hammers. “Get those bridges dropped!”
He watched as they scurried up the bank on the far side and went to find the controls for the drawbridges. Finally, he thought. He looked up at a darkening sky. Angry clouds were gathering above the white hull of the ship. Then the rain started in a deluge.
Several of the Judges were scanning the island with binoculars in an attempt to track their intrepid brothers. Dobbs also had his up and was desperately looking for any sign they were going to be successful. The downpour made it impossible to make anything out. Suddenly, he heard something and saw a flash of white through the trees on the far shore. It disappeared at once. He pulled his poncho tight and the rain cascaded off his leather hat. “I hate fucking waiting,” he said to no one in particular. Those bastards better make it.
Chapter Ninety-One
As the minutes ticked by, it became apparent that they had also failed.
The rain had been pouring for nearly an hour and only seemed to be getting worse. Dobbs was almost out of ideas. “Peterson, get that group moving to the west before the water gets any deeper in that marsh. Take radios and let us know when you make it.”
The man looked very uncertain about entering the bayou or attempting to reach the island that way, especially in this weather. They could hear the surf echoing over the island as it hit the shore with gathering force. The storm was definitely intensifying.
“Go on, you’ll be fine,” Dobbs shouted above the tempest, “just lower that damn bridge when you get there.” Peterson glumly walked to an assembled group of about fifteen men who immediately began gathering their packs and weapons. “Linx, you and your best spotter find a good hide. I want you to start sniping anyone up there on the deck of that ship. If you can get anyone inside the ship’s bridge, even better. They’ll be the ones in charge.”
“Sure, Dobbs, but they have the high ground. Not going to be easy.”
He nodded, well aware of the obvious, but needing to give his men something to focus on other than the rain and the failures thus far. It took another twenty minutes before Linx began firing. The rain had abated somewhat, and Dobbs could see they were aiming for the large upper windows.
Other than the initial round of enemy sniper shots that had proven so deadly, the people on the cruise ship had not shown any desire to continue their attack. Dobbs assumed they were limited on ammo. Although, he argued to himself, it could also just be good weapons discipline. Considering what he’d already seen from this group, he decided it was best to assume the latter.
Peterson and his group of Judges had made their way alongside the deep canal until the terrain dropped away into the swamp. A seawall and levee separated the bayou from the deeper canal here in many places, but mostly, it was just swamp. The water came up quickly to their waists, but far worse was the sucking mud. It grabbed at their boots and made each step incredibly difficult. The thought of more alligators beneath the black surface was also on each man’s mind. The smell of rot and decay was so thick they could taste it. Overall, it was not really a pleasant experience.
The man in front of Peterson had been complaining the entire journey, “No way this fucking boat is worth this, it’s just an abandoned cruise ship, for Chrissakes.”
Peterson inwardly agreed with the man but offered no response. The bayou stretched out for several miles before turning into the less wooded wetlands. They heard occasional gunshots from back near the ship, but otherwise, the only sounds were of the sucking mud on the bottom of the swamp and the torrents of rain that kept coming in tropical blasts every few minutes.
The sounds of the surf were diminished here, but they could hear it occasionally pound against something solid in the distance. It took the small group nearly six hours to go just a few miles, and all were exhausted upon reaching the deeper marshland. Strangely, here in the middle of marshland, they found a small road. It cut across the marsh toward what might have been the abandoned site for a subdivision, off in the distance. The cheaply paved road was not marked on any of the maps. A decrepit, weed-covered real estate sign said Sea Meadows: a Hansbrough Property Development. He wondered briefly who in the hell would buy land in a swamp.
The men, glad to be back on solid land, followed the narrow, paved road back the seventy-five yards to the canal. The canal was not as wide here, and while there was no bridge, a small wood and aluminum floating dock bobbed on their side of the choppy water. Looking down the canal, they could see where it met the ocean, still a half-mile away. A rock jetty lined the channel on both sides, and huge plumes of sea spray could be seen coming off the impressive waves that crashed over the rock jetty. The wet, exhausted men dropped to the roadway and rested.
“Hey, man, I don’t think I want to try crossing over near the ocean, that storm has the Gulf in an uproar.”
Peterson nodded in agreement, “I don’t think we’re going to be doing that.” He took the plastic bag with the radio out of his pack and radioed Dobbs. The other man’s voice was distorted, and Peterson wasn’t sure if he was h
appy or enraged.
“About fucking time you checked in. Are you on the island yet?”
Peterson, feeling more confident since he was not near the man, said, “Next time you bring me to the beach, make sure you get me a room with a view.” He released the talk switch and watched his men break into laughter.
Dobbs’ reaction on the other end made it doubly funny. The men needed a little relief.
“Sorry, man, just fucking with you. We just made it through the swamp to the lower wetlands. The ocean route is going to be a no-go, but we do have a plan.” Peterson went on to fill in Dobbs and the men around him at the same time.
They would use the floating dock as a raft: it had to float with the water level here in the tidal flats. They would free it from shore and paddle across to the far side. It should be stable enough to take them all on one trip. Two of the men would stay on the raft and paddle back in the direction of the ship and the main group of Judges so that whether they got the bridges lowered or not, they could begin moving more men over with the raft if necessary.
Dobbs sounded genuinely relieved with the plan, and Peterson’s men were just glad not to have to get back into the mud. Dobbs also let them know that the Prophet and the main group were just a few miles out now. Peterson knew what that meant; he was okay with leaving the implied threat unspoken.
