Ted saw the half wave of recognition from the big man up by the bow. He watched Erik gingerly moving from man to man, administering some of the supplies out of the kit that Corporal Stillman had tossed aboard. With every movement the boat rocked perilously close to the tipping point.
"This is gonna be a looooong trip," Ted said to himself through gritted teeth. They had maybe a mile or so to go to round the point. That would put at least five or six miles of land between them and the Marina thanks to the curve of the coastline. "Shortest distance between two points," he muttered to himself with a mental shrug.
For Erik, time flew. He was able to brush all thoughts and worries of Brin out of his mind by focusing on the pleas and moans of the wounded soldiers. Some had pretty serious gunshot wounds. One poor man, was gut shot. He could think of nothing to do other than have them apply pressure to the wounds and wrap them with fresh bandages. The burn victims were for the most part unconscious, a fact for which he was grateful. Erik had no medical training whatsoever. He could hear Ted trying to hail Captain Williams over the borrowed radio.
"Florida National Guard, this sailing vessel Tarpon Whistler, mayday, mayday, mayday, do you read?"
Erik half-listened and knelt down by the man who was furthest up by the bow. The soldier had been shot in the leg and had already been bandaged. "Hang in there." The man nodded his thanks and watched the coastline slowly roll past.
Erik noticed another soldier had been grazed on the neck. His bandage was soaked through with blood and his skin pale. "Hey, listen to me soldier, we're going to get you out of this shithole, you hear me?" he asked, switching out the filthy cloth with a clean sterile one from the bag. He applied antibiotic cream to the wound and applied pressure. He watched his own hands tremble as he tried to keep the man from bleeding out. For the tenth time, he reminded himself he had no idea what the hell he was doing. "I uh...don't know what I'm doing here, so I hope this doesn't hurt too much, but I figure fresh bandages can't be that bad, right?" he tried a smile.
The soldier rolled his eyes in pain and slowly focused back on Erik. His face was pale with blood loss or shock or fatigue, Erik couldn't tell which. He tried to speak but no words came out. Erik reached down and grabbed the man's blood covered hand and squeezed. The wounded soldier closed his eyes and nodded. The hand that gripped Erik's squeezed back, fairly strong.
"Good—that's good." Erik looked at the soldier's cloth ID strip on his outfit. "Stay with me, Private Holbert. Not much longer," he lied. Erik glanced back at Ted. The Marine nodded his approval. They were about a quarter of the way to the point.
I hope this works...Erik prayed with a glance heavenward.
As they sailed northward from the firefight at the Marina, Ted tried again and again to hail Captain Williams on the radio they had been given. "I say again, Captain Williams come in! Florida National Guard, any unit, please respond." He let off the transmit button and was rewarded—again—with nothing but static. "Still nothing," he called out to Erik.
"Just keep trying...I've got to try and help these guys stay comfortable." Erik moved from man to man, ever so slowly and applied pressure here, a kind word there, checked on the unconscious and alert alike.
One of the soldiers suffering from a nasty burn to the chest and arms from a Molotov grinned. "Man, you're the ugliest nurse I ever seen."
Erik paused and looked down at the wounded soldier. "Hey Ted, I think if we throw this one overboard we might pick up some speed."
The man laughed then coughed in pain and gritted his teeth. But he smiled. Erik clapped him on the shoulder and moved on.
After what seemed like hours to Ted, the radio suddenly broke squelch. "Roger, Tarpon Whistler, this is Guard 255, over."
"Thank God!" Erik called out from the bow. A few of the soldiers cheered weakly.
"Guard 255, we are loaded for bear with wounded from the firefight at the Marina, what's your location."
"What firefight, over?" the woman's voice asked.
"Damn," muttered Ted. To the radio, he said, "Get on the horn to Captain Williams and inform him the squad sent down to mop up the remnants of this morning's action on the beach are pinned down at the Sarasota Marina. We have seven wounded on board, the rest are still back there. Corporal Stillman is acting CO."
There was a long pause. Ted looked along the shore for any sign of movement. “Where the hell are you?” He grabbed the radio again. "Guard 255 do you copy?"
"Standby one, Tarpon Whistler." Another agonizing moment of silence, then the radio broke squelch again. "Okay, Tarpon Whistler, Captain Williams is advised and relief units have been dispatched. Thanks for the heads up on that. What's your location, over?"
Ted looked at Erik. "Whaddya think?" They were over halfway to the point.
Erik glanced at the shoreline. "I think that's the Ritz Carlton, right?" he said and gestured at the large building near the shore ahead of them.
Ted nodded. "Guard 255 we are rounding the point north of the Marina by the Ritz Carlton Hotel, over."
"Roger, Tarpon Whistler, I've got you on the map. We'll send the medics down to meet you."
"Yeah, but how long will that be?" asked Erik. Ted relayed the message.
"Tarpon Whistler, our ETA in..." there was pause in the transmission but the speaker didn't release her transmit button. "Call it ten minutes. Repeat, we will be on scene in ten minutes, medics are Oscar Mike, over."
"Copy that, 255. Tarpon Whistler, out," replied Ted. "Well, that wasn't so bad."
"We can't leave them back there," said Erik. "And we can't wait around for the ambulance either. We'll be ashore in a few minutes."
"Go get the guys, we can hold out here. Just gimmie my rifle and put everyone behind me on the point," grunted a soldier who had been shot in the leg. "Go get the others, man. They can't..." he gasped. "They can't hold out forever. There's only six left."
"You heard the man, Marine, take us in!" barked Erik. He turned to the shore. "Looks clear, there's no trees and I don't see anything moving."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n," replied Ted. He pushed the tiller hard over and the little sailboat limped towards the sandy point.
"Alright everyone, hang on," warned Erik as they approached the beach.
The overloaded boat shuddered. "Keel's up," announced Ted.
A soft grating sound signaled they had touched bottom in about a foot of water. Erik was the first one out and splashed ashore. He pulled hard on the boat but it was stuck fast. "Alright, she's not going anywhere until we offload some of the soldiers. Give me a hand here, Ted, I don't want to hurt anyone."
The two men spent the next few agonizing minutes carefully unloading the wounded Guardsmen to the sound of distant gunfire from the Marina. They gingerly carried the soldiers up the beach clear of the surf. Behind the gentle slope of the ground, there was no shade, but no one seemed to mind. They were just grateful to be off the leaky, bullet riddled sailboat.
Their guard was set up at the rise of the land where the grasses met the beach and was placed on his side, two M-4s and a half dozen magazines spread out in front of him. He winced until the pain in his leg dissipated, then waved off the two good Samaritans.
"Go...I got this. Cavalry'll be here in a few."
Erik and Ted got back in the battle-worn Tarpon Whistler and cast off again. When the riddled sail snapped taut and they headed south once more, Erik took a glance and winced. Erik took the tiller this trip, so Ted could stay in the bow and offer a little covering fire from a few of the M-4s the Guards left in the boat.
She's not going to take much more of this," commented Erik.
Ted looked over his shoulder and grinned, "You planning on going down with the ship?"
It was a much faster trip to the Marina with an unloaded boat. They were within sight of the battle still raging on the pier within about 10 minutes. The crackle of automatic weapons was punctuated by the blasts of shotguns and a few pops. Smoke from the flames that had engulfed office cast a dark pall to the sky
over the bay.
"I got targets about a quarter of the way down the pier. Ain't lookin' good for the home team!" called out Ted from a prone position at the bow. He was looking down the sights of a borrowed M-4.
Erik took a moment as they motor-sailed closer and decided how to approach. Movement out of the corner of his eye to the left drew his attention. "Ted! Portside, 10 o'clock on the shore, they're trying to ambush us!"
Without comment, Ted smoothly swung his rifle to the left, found the three men scrambling on beach to the north of the Marina and took aim. He fired a controlled three round burst and paused. Erik saw one man fall into the water, the others broke and ran. Ted was able to get one more in the back as he retreated into the palm trees by the road.
"Good eye, Cap'n," Ted hollered over the noise of the battle ahead of them. He shifted position back towards the pier. "Can't get a target, we're coming in too sharp!"
"I know," replied Erik. A bullet slapped the water an arm's length away. Here we go again...God, let us get these guys out of here without anyone getting killed!
"What are you doing? Swing around to port like last time!"
"No," answered Erik. "We'll be sitting ducks when we try to escape!. The only chance is to come straight on point to the pier. We load up the soldiers and head straight out to sea, due west. Then those assholes have to come down the entire length of the pier to get a shot at us. It still might not be enough, but we'll have no time at all if we go in at an angle," Erik said, gauging distances.
Almost time to drop the sail. He was planning on waiting until the last possible moment before he swung the boom around and shoved the tiller to pivot quickly to kill momentum. That is, If I don’t capsize us in the process.
"Hold on, this is gonna be close!" called out Erik.
One of the soldiers on the pier heard a voice on the water behind him and turned around. Soon the soldiers were falling back towards the tip of the pier. They were behind the last barricade and putting up a stiff volley to keep the attackers unawares.
"Corporal, start the smoke screen!" Ted yelled as the boat began to slow and turn. When the sail swung wildly to the starboard on the boom, the little sailboat careened on its side and for a split second, motionless just a few feet from the pier. Erik let the main lines go and the sail dropped with a tired whoosh. He left the motor running on idle and threw a line to the nearest soldier.
"Pull us in, let's go!" he said. Bullets were chirping into concrete and slapping the water all around them. Again, Erik noticed immediately the deafening noise of the firefight.
The first soldier dropped onto the deck with a heavy thud and latched on to the mast as the little boat wobbled. "Easy!" said Erik to the next man. "I didn't risk my ass to have you guys flip us!"
The next few soldiers got aboard in a more orderly fashion after throwing a few smoke grenades towards the attackers. "They're gonna know something's up," muttered one of the men.
"Shut up, Hicks," barked another. "Check your ammo."
Finally Corporal Stillman crawled off the edge of the pier and carefully lowered himself and his gear to the crowded deck. "That's everyone, let's get the hell out of here!"
"Fine with me," replied Erik. He hit the throttle on the little engine and steered them straight west in line with the pier. "I hope this works," he muttered to himself over the whine of the struggling little motor. One of the soldiers took his cue and pulled up the sail.
Damn, there's a lot of holes...
"How's the smoke holding?" asked Ted from the front. His view was now partially blocked by camouflaged helmets, men, and rifles.
"Looks solid. They're still shooting but they can't see shit," replied Stillman. "Can't this jalopy go any faster?" he asked Erik.
"Dude, it's a sailboat," replied Erik with a sarcastic smile. He looked over his shoulder at the slowly receding pier. "Just make sure nobody shoots me in the back, okay?"
Stillman, his back resting against the straining mast, grinned. "You got my men off that pier. It's the least I can do."
"Movement on the pier! Someone came through the smoke!" called out an observant trooper.
"He's mine," a calm voice announced. One sharp crack of a rife and high fives were shared all around the little deck.
"Nice shot, Cooper, another one in the water," said Corporal Stillman. His face cracked into a smile. Erik marveled at how dirty the soldiers' faces had gotten during the firefight. Their teeth looked pure white. He looked around and found the soldier who had fired the shot. He had an ACOG scope attached to his M-4. It wasn't a high powered 'scope, but at the meager distance they were from the pier, it had been enough.
"Two more comin' through."
In seconds, Erik had two soldiers, one on either side of him aiming rifles back toward the pier. He had just enough time to cover his ears before they both fired three-round bursts. The noise was louder than anything he'd ever experienced, even with hands over his ears. The boat rocked as they moved back to their original positions.
"Holy shit!" Erik exhaled. "A little warning next time, guys," he grinned.
"Hooah! Two more in the drink!"
"I think we're clear enough for the turn north," Ted advised from the bow. "Those assholes can't get us without a sniper rifle now."
Erik pulled the tiller and readjusted the boom, careful not to knock anyone overboard. Slowly the little sailboat turned north and Erik got a better look at the pier. The smoke had mostly dissipated and the pier was crawling with White Hand People. The echo of their impotent shots rolled across the water but grew dimmer with each passing minute.
"I think we made it," he breathed.
"Looks like backup got to the point," someone called out. Erik leaned over the side a bit and saw a few boxy looking vehicles on the spit of land where they had left the wounded. Three Humvees were parked behind, parallel to the coast. He could see soldiers moving about.
The men on the boat passed the rest of the trip in silence. They landed a about ten minutes later. After the soldiers and splashed over the sides and made their way ashore to the medical team, Erik and Ted got off the boat.
"Which one is the guy I spoke to?" asked a woman in BDUs with a medic armband. Erik recognized her from the beach that morning. She had been with Captain Williams.
"That would be me, ma'am," said Ted as he shifted his rifle to the left hand. They shook hands.
"You got these men out in that?" she asked with a nod of her helmet towards the poor sailboat. Its entire starboard side was a ruin of wood and fiberglass. Holes riddled the hull and the sail was in tatters. She whistled.
That was when Erik noticed water in the cabin. He grabbed Ted's arm and pointed. "Man, if we hadn't come ashore when we did..."
As they spoke, the battered little daysailer slowly settled on the soft sand beneath her. The Tarpon Whistler died quietly, the warm waters of the gulf lapping her sides in a permanent embrace. Erik glanced up at the rigging and saw the little Stars and Stripes he had hoisted. It was torn and had a few bullet holes.
"She was a good ship," said Erik with a hint of sadness in his voice.
"His first command," Ted grinned towards the medic. His face grew serious. "How are the wounded?"
"I think most of them are going to make it, thanks to you two. That was some crazy stunt you guys pulled. The men were telling me about it." She shook Erik's hand. He looked at her face for the first time and saw she was clearly of Asian descent. He immediately thought of Brin for the first time since the rescue operation began.
"No problem, ma'am," he replied. Erik glanced at Ted. "Do you...ah, think there might be a way to help us get to our families?"
"We're just down Bee Ridge. On the way to 75," added Ted.
Behind them another soldier called out to the medic, "Cap'n wants our ETA, Ell-Tee!" He was half sitting in the open door of a Humvee, radio to his ear.
"It's on your way..." pleaded Erik.
"Please, Lieutenant," said Ted.
The medic looked around
her at the blood in the sand. Her squad was loading up the last of the wounded into one of the ambulances. The walking wounded were already in the Humvees. She shook her head and sighed.
"Get in the lead vehicle. I don't think Captain Williams will have a problem with giving you a lift. Not after this," she said. As Erik and Ted moved past her, she took one last glance at the sad wreck of the Tarpon Whistler.
ARIZONA
A Rifle Behind Every Rock
YOU SEE IT?" asked Lance in a tense whisper.
Rob sighed and rested his dusty binoculars on the parched earth just shy of the crest of the ridge the two men occupied. Eight o'clock in the morning and the heat was already building. He missed winter. He squinted down into the flat plain that represented the last bit of America and the first bit of Mexico.
"Yeah," he said, his voice sounded more tired than ever. All of his hopes and dreams for the future had just come to a crashing halt with one glance through the binoculars. His whole being wanted to cry. It wasn’t fair.
"Mexicans is one thing. That," Lance said with a slight nod south. "Is outta our league, brother. There's nothing we can do about that without some serious muscle." He thought for a second. "You know, maybe if we dug a trench...?"
Rob had seen enough. He ever-so-slowly crept backwards away from the crest of the sage covered ridge until he was sure he was out of sight to any observers south other position. He stood up and tried to pat off some of the dust from his vest and jeans, to little effect. Silent still, he leaned against a boulder and took a long draft from his canteen. The cold water he started his shift with was already lukewarm.
Lance stood next to him and shouldered his hunting rifle. The radio earbud he wore broke squelch in his ear. "Did he see it?"
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 60
