by John O'Brien
McCafferty ducks her head inside as Jack climbs in and relays the plan. She feels her heart beat faster but it’s inside a tired body and the familiar adrenaline surge doesn’t appear. They’ll be through this quickly, she tells herself knowing the surge of adrenaline will come soon. Rising back through the opening, she checks to ensure her weapon is ready to go. They’ll be paralleling the Stryker on the left bridge and she’ll throw her rounds into the fray once they start. She feels exposed sitting up here but understands the need to gain fire superiority at the outset. That has been drilled into her head during countless other engagements. It still feels strange here but she trusts those around her and won’t hesitate. She keeps her eye out as Jack mentioned they would be bugging out if there were any signs that the other group had rockets or some form of anti-armor.
The throaty growl of the Stryker diesels increases as the engines rev up and the big vehicles move online. Two Strykers move to the lanes leading up to the bridge on the right. The third moves to the middle of the left hand bridge. McCafferty grips the M-240 as the Humvee lurches and moves alongside. There’s the adrenaline, she thinks as the chill of the day fades into the background. It’s go time.
They begin to move forward. Her grip tightens as her entire focus is on the terrain slowly appearing as they near the crest. Inch by inch the trees and hills on the far side make their appearance. The line of cars she glimpsed seemingly hours ago will appear as her line of sight passes the top and begins to track downward. Her vision takes in the barrel pointing ahead and aligns it with the top of the roadway and the slowly appearing terrain beyond. The rumble of the engine next to her drowns out any other sounds although she thinks the thumping of her heart gives it competition. The tops of the vehicles on the far side come into view. Her breath quickens.
With a squeal, the Stryker next to her lurches as it pulls to a stop. McCafferty braces herself as Jack brings her Humvee to a stop as well and she sits staring along the dark gray lanes stretching ahead, arching downward to the cars and trucks across the roadway ahead. Small figures crouch behind trunks, hoods, and roof tops with their guns pointed her way. Feeling exposed, she swivels the gun back and forth watching and waiting for the first blink of light from beyond that signals gunfire. Glancing to the side, she sees the two Strykers adjacent on the other bridge. The smell of diesel exhaust drifts on the moist air and she can almost taste its acridness. Stillness descends as the two sides stare across the open space between them… waiting.
Movement below draws her attention as she sees Jack grab for the radio mic. Amid the rumble of the vehicles next to her sending tremors across the bridge and up through her feet, she barely hears Jack say, “Last chance, Sam?”
Looking back to the front, she sees a miniscule flash of light from behind the cover of a car directly in front of her. Instinctively ducking, she catches sight of a spark flashing off the hull of the Stryker next to her. The whine of a bullet streaking off into the air behind causes her to flinch. Crouched, she hears Jack issue a “Stupid Motherfuckers” almost under his breath. Rising back to her weapon, her ear piece crackles.
“I guess we have our answer. Let them have it,” Jack says.
Loud, sharp, staccato bursts erupt next to her and from across the narrow expanse leading to the other bridge as the Strykers send their.50 caliber rounds streaking down the wide lanes. McCafferty swings her weapon and adds her 7.62mm rounds into the fray. Spurts of smoke leave the Stryker barrels as each round departs. Tracers stream above the dark gray asphalt and impact the glass and metal of the blockade vehicles attempting to halt their progress forward. Heavy thumps and the sight of glass shattering fill the far end of the ramp. Sparks fly where the heavy caliber rounds hit and punch through the thin metal. The dim light of the gray morning catches the shattered glass sending sparkles as the pieces launch outward and tumble through the air. The stuffing from seat cushions puffs into the air where they are torn apart.
The rounds crash through the vehicles like butter. Large holes appear in the sides of the cars and trucks. Shards of metal are thrown outward from the collision of the heavy rounds and thin steel. Doors fly off their hinges, some falling straight to the ground. Stryker turrets whine as the guns track across the line of vehicles. Bullets crash through, impacting with bodies in their firing positions and strike the pavement beyond in a flash of sparks. A faint pink mist fills the air where rounds meet soft flesh and bones. Bodies are flung backwards heavily crashing onto the pavement. Arms are severed or nearly severed from the heavy impacts. Heads explode spreading chunks of brain, flesh, and bone into the air.
The stillness of the morning is now broken by the staccato bursts of the heavy guns and the crash of impacting rounds. Feeling the vibration of the M-240 in her hands, McCafferty watches the devastation below. Faint sounds of metal screeching as if in agony reach her ears between bursts of fire. Those below scream as the violence is visited upon them and mix in with the vehicles being hammered. The back end of one car rears up from an explosion as rounds find the gas tank. It flips into the air and crashes down on top of a blue sedan next to it. Flames and smoke pour from the undercarriage. In mere seconds, the ground on the far side of the bridge is turned into a mass of torn metal, glass, and bodies. McCafferty watches as those still alive from the onslaught turn and flee to the sides. She lets up on the trigger as it’s obvious those that made it through the few seconds of carnage are giving up and fleeing for their lives.
I watch the carnage and destruction on the ramp below. The screech of torn metal drifts into the Humvee above the sharp firing of the.50 cals and the chattering of the M-240 under McCafferty’s care. The tracers of the larger caliber guns seem to hang in the air as they drift downward to impact with tremendous force. The tracers of the 7.62mm rounds mingle with the others. Metal is torn and thrown about to my front as the rounds tear their way through. I watch as a body leaning over one of the car roofs is picked up and thrown backward with force leaving just a pinkish mist floating where the body was. Those remaining behind the cars flee. The guns cease firing and, with the last of the shell casings tinkling on the metal floor of the Humvee, silence descends.
I barely hear the engines idling. My ears ring due to the din of the guns firing. I look down at the shredded vehicles ahead. A door falls from one of the cars to the ground, the sound lost. Except for the small flames licking the undercarriage of the flipped car and the smoke rising on the still air, nothing is moving. In just a matter of moments, the destruction is complete. I make out a couple of bodies lying on the pavement beyond the blockade. One person struggles to rise from the cold asphalt but gives up and slumps to the ground.
“Alright, let’s push forward. Strykers in the lead. Lynn, follow and I’ll bring up the rear. Watch to the sides for stragglers who might want to get a last shot in,” I say with a heavy heart. I hear variations of “moving out” over the radio.
I still don’t follow the logic of Sam not letting us through. Well, I do understand but looking at the carnage below, it just seems like such a waste. I hear the heavy whine of the Stryker’s engine rev up as it begins to pull ahead. I turn and pull on McCafferty’s pants to get her attention. She looks through the opening and I motion for her to get inside. It seems over for the moment but I don’t want a stray bullet from the side causing any casualties as we pass through.
Lynn waits and then pulls her Humvee in behind the advancing Stryker. I watch as the Stryker turret swings to the left as it approaches the far side. Glancing over at the other two Humvees moving forward, I start ahead making sure I have spacing on Lynn. I don’t see any of those that were at the blockade nor do I see any flashes of light or any other indication that they are firing on us. The Stryker ahead plows through the gap left by the flipped car. Hitting two adjacent vehicles in the front and back respectively with a loud clang and a protesting squeal of metal, it shoves them back creating a larger path. Smoke from the smoldering car envelopes the Stryker causing it to vanish momentarily as it passes
through.
The Strykers on the other bridge shove vehicles aside in the same manner. Lynn’s Humvee follows the path through and vanishes from sight. Passing quickly through the lingering smoke, we emerge on the other side. Torn metal and shattered glass lie scattered on the pavement. Four bodies lie motionless amidst the devastation caused by the heavy bullets. Wet spots circle the bodies and run across the uneven lanes. I spot a severed arm near one of the mangled cars. As we continue on, I look to the sides watching for any indication they are waiting on our flanks. The only movement is the tail end of the truck Sam was driving heading down a side road toward the airport.
“Jack, we have an aircraft overhead on our seven tailing us,” I hear Lynn say.
I take a quick look behind us and see a small single engine aircraft a few thousand feet up paralleling our route. I haven’t heard any radio traffic on their channel in the past few minutes.
“Lynn, run another scan across the channels,” I say.
“Wilco,” she replies.
“We’ll let it be for now. Everyone push on but keep your eyes open. There’s bound to be another roadblock ahead,” I say.
I don’t want to have us stop to warn the aircraft away or take it down. I’m not a big fan of it above us but am willing to trade that for speed through the area for the time being. I’m sure it’s radioing our position to any others who happen to be around. We continue on the highway in the opposite lanes keeping our spacing. I’m rather thankful I haven’t seen any form of rockets as that would make a short end to our rendezvous with the sub.
“I’ve picked up radio chatter on four sixty-seven dot fifty-eight seventy-five,” Lynn calls.
“And?” I ask.
“The aircraft is relaying our position to someone else and telling them to vacate. I’m assuming it’s the aircraft calling as I can hear its engine in the background,” she answers.
“Okay, lock it in. Let’s continue forward and keep alert,” I say. Passing by toll booths on our side of the highway, I see the Stryker ahead of us round a curve.
“We have another roadblock two hundred yards ahead. No sign of anyone,” I hear it report.
“Hold up and blast a hole through. I don’t want to be surprised by any gifts they may have left behind. Watch to the sides,” I respond.
I see Lynn’s brake lights and bring our Humvee to a halt. McCafferty climbs back to man the M-240. Seconds later I hear the sharp chunk — chunk — chunk of the.50 cals opening up ahead. Minutes later I hear “It’s clear” and I have everyone advance. The Strykers carve a way through the vehicles as before with Lynn and me following on the left. This already seems like a long day and it just began. I’m hoping we don’t run into anything else along the way. Although our time table hasn’t been upset to any great degree, I’m eager to get north and meet with Captain Leonard.
It’s going to be a long day as I plan on taking the Spooky out tonight. There’s still so much to do. It seems like the list just keeps getting longer and I’m not overly thrilled about the changes I’ve noticed in the night runners. Casting out briefly, I feel a few faint presences scattered throughout the area. Even with this recent action and the upcoming meeting with Leonard, the night runners still weigh heavily on my mind. I think again about telling the group but I’m not sure of what their reaction will be. Lynn seems to think they’ll be stunned at first but okay with it. Me, well, I don’t want to chance that or create any division within our tight group. We need that right now but they also deserve to know. Yes, I seem to have a life filled with quandaries. Sighing, I maneuver through the gap created by the Stryker and notice the aircraft turn back.
We pass by a warehouse park with a mass of parked tractor trailers; reminders of a time that has passed. Another residential neighborhood slides by and we are soon through the Gig Harbor area without any further incident. Fir trees and cedars begin to line the road on both sides. They are completely oblivious to what just occurred and anything going on with the few of us who are left. They will continue on just as they always have. I think about calling Sam on the radio to see if he wants join us but may on the way back. Right now, my mind is on getting to our rendezvous and the meeting itself.
Beads of moisture begin to accumulate on the windshield from low-lying mist in the air. The trees along the sides have a silvery tint from droplets clinging to their long branches. The lowering clouds create a world of gray and green. Some of the few deciduous trees have started to turn, lending some color, but it’s almost washed out by the overcast day. Miles of trees pass by the windows with the windshield wiper getting an occasional swipe across to clear it.
Soon, the water of the bay leading into Bremerton appears. The highway swings around the tail end of the bay and the old aircraft carriers parked along carrier row come into view. They are now very much like the rest of world; relics of a time past and sitting in their final resting place rusting away to nothingness.
Low lying clouds hang close to the still waters with the waves barely making an appearance. White specks of gulls hover close to the shoreline and a couple of teals pass across the waterway with their wingtips barely clearing the surface. Where once the waters were rife with traffic and ferries plowed the sea lanes carrying tourists and commuters, nothing of that nature now stirs.
The road branches carrying us away from the inlet and farther to the north. We swing into a column file and I take the lead once again. Bremerton fades behind and, passing a large mall, we leave this vestige of a once flourishing civilization. Houses give way to more forested hills as we make our way closer to Bangor. I was expecting more roadblocks or other indications of survivors but no one greets us. The pockets of other survivors we have found seem to be at random without any consistent factor that I can see.
We arrive at the entrance to Bangor. Not knowing what to expect, I feel a little nervous about meeting with Captain Leonard. I know I would enjoy having them join up with us but don’t want to have a clash of personalities that could tear apart the close bond we have within our community. The sub could give us a potential for movement along the coastal areas and provide a power source should the ones we have fail for some reason. Besides having more people to help with survival and protection, it will give us more flexibility when the aircraft join the carriers and other vestiges of civilization sitting where they lie and slowly dissolve into rusting hulks. Mostly though, it’s about drawing the remnants of humanity and survivors together.
We drive slowly through the entrance gates. The clouds are hovering on the tree tops, their highest points shrouded and lost in the gray. Droplets condense on the windshield. Making our way through the empty tree-lined streets, we arrive on a hill overlooking the docks and waterway. Two triangular concreted docks jut out into the water. The pier on the left houses what appears to be two large missile boats. On the right, I see the low lying black shape of an LA class fast attack sub. Small white objects are in a row as sailors line the deck. We have arrived.
A Meeting of Minds
Captain Leonard wakes early. His rest was a restless one with so much running through his mind. It just seemed like his mind wouldn’t shut down long enough for any beneficial sleep. He still doesn’t know exactly what happened or is happening and his mind won’t quite wrap around what Captain Walker or Chief Krandle have said. He wants to believe what they are saying and watching the people onshore last night lends credibility to their stories but this seems too much like the zombie stories a lot of his crew seems to be into.
Rising and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he dons his shoes and leaves his cramped quarters. Listening to the reports from the night watch, which is nothing much except for seeing more people run through the night, he peers through the scope at the lightening day. The low gray clouds, hovering close to the waterline, makes visibility difficult as he turns through a three-sixty watching for signs of life. Nothing but an occasional flash of white as gulls dot the shoreline and pier. There is no evidence of those he saw last night. Th
e shore seems still… hesitant… waiting.
Leonard tells the crew to prepare to surface the boat. His chief has readied crews to board the zodiacs to open the perimeter nets so they can slide inside and dock. He also had the chief ready other teams to go onshore to find supplies. That remains his priority — resupply his boat to be ready for any contingency. Depending on how the meeting today goes, and perhaps regardless of it, he needs to restock. He might head down the western seaboard and possibly to Hawaii hoping to gather some additional information along the way. His only worry is about their limited arms and lack of training. The fact that he has a SEAL Team alleviates this to some extent but it remains a concern nonetheless. The crews sit at their stations in their white uniforms ready for the all-hands-on-deck greeting. Checking in with his communications center and verifying that no additional traffic has come in, he tells the office of the watch to surface the boat.
The Santa Fe slowly rises above the frigid waters of the Sound. Water pours off in sheets from the black surface with its anechoic coating. Waterfalls stream off the bridge cockpit through drain vents. The once dreaded, silent hunter of the seas rises from its hidden lair, baring itself to the observed world. Small and sleek, it appears like a ninja stepping out from a dark shadow.
