Seek and Destroy

by William C. Dietz

  Mac was seething as she returned to the unit. Thanks to Quick’s leadership, Mac’s Marauders were packed and ready to go. The first Stryker in line was called the IRON LADY, and Mac rode her down to the river.

  It was 0837 by then, and Mac could see the crane operators standing on Barge 1 shooting the shit. But, in keeping with Foley’s contract, she forced herself to wait until 0900 before crossing the gangplank and stepping onto the barge. Mac could tell that Foley had warned the men about her because both of them had shit-eating grins. “Good morning, gentlemen . . . We’re ready to load. How should we proceed?”

  The next fifteen minutes were spent discussing how the Strykers would be positioned ashore, who would attach the slings, and how to secure the vics once they were hoisted aboard.

  When the discussion was over, the crane operators climbed up into their cabs and went to work. The IRON LADY was the first to be plucked off the ground, swung out over Barge 1, and deposited on the rusty deck. And that was when Mac realized something important. The Stryker was positioned facing forward. That wouldn’t do.

  Mac hurried to board the barge. A sergeant and a team of three privates were there to secure each vic as it touched down. Mac asked the sergeant for his radio and held it up to her mouth. “Hey! Up in the cab . . . We need to reposition that Stryker. I want to place them back-to-back, facing out.”

  “No can do,” came the reply. “Our deck plan was approved by Colonel Russell. And a colonel outranks whatever you are. Right?”

  “That’s correct,” Mac said tightly. “Please stop loading while I speak with Colonel Russell.”

  That was when Mac heard Foley’s voice on the radio. “Belay that bullshit . . . We have our orders. Continue loading.”

  Mac keyed the radio again. “Captain Quick?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Don’t bring any additional vehicles into the pickup zones until you hear from me.”

  “Roger that.”

  “That’s a violation of our contract!” Foley shouted. “I’ll have your ass for that!”

  Mac sighed. The whole thing was out of control, but she couldn’t back down, not without sacrificing authority that she might need later. So she left the barge, marched past Foley’s pusher boat, and stormed over the Mississippi’s gangplank. One of the sailors objected, but she kept on going.

  Once Mac arrived on deck three, a distraught private sought to intercept her but without success. And when Mac entered Russell’s office she saw the source of the private’s distress. Captain Foley was standing with hands on hips. “And that ain’t all!” he proclaimed loudly. “The bitch refused to load her vehicles!”

  Russell looked at Mac. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem,” Mac replied, “is that I asked the crane operator on Barge 1 to load my Strykers back-to-back, facing out.”

  “And that,” Foley said, “violates the load order that you signed! It specifies that the vehicles will be loaded facing forward.”

  Russell’s eyes looked like twin gun barrels as they swiveled back to Mac. “Captain Foley is correct, Major . . . I did specify that the Strykers be loaded facing the front. Is this how it’s going to be? Are you going to waste my time by questioning each order I give?”

  Mac regretted the whole thing by then. But there was no going back. “Sir, no, sir. But with all due respect, it doesn’t make sense to load the Strykers facing forward.”

  Russell’s voice was cold. “Really? Why not?”

  “Because if vessels were to attack us from the side, or if we take fire from the riverbanks, the Strykers won’t be able to return fire as effectively. I have twenty vics, sir . . . Some are armed with .50s, some with 40mm grenade launchers, and some with 105mm tank guns. That’s a lot of firepower, sir. But my vehicles will be more effective if they’re facing the enemy, and there will be less chance of a friendly-fire incident.”

  Foley opened his mouth to speak, and Russell told him, “Shut up.”

  Then, with his eyes on Mac, he spoke again. “You told Captain Foley what you told me?”

  “No, sir. I never got the chance.”

  Russell turned back to the civilian. “The major is correct, Captain Foley. The notion of using the Strykers to protect the flotilla while it’s under way never occurred to me. You will comply with the major’s request, and with any other suggestions that she makes. Is that clear?”

  “The change order is going to cost you five hundred bucks,” Foley said triumphantly. “I win!”

  “Get out.”

  Mac was about to follow Foley through the door when Russell spoke. “Major Macintyre . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “Try to resolve such conflicts on your own in the future.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Russell nodded. Then, for the first time since she’d met him, he smiled. “Good thinking, Major. Dismissed.”

  The loading process went well after that, but using cranes to swing the vics aboard took a lot of time, and Mac began to worry. What would happen when the flotilla ran into trouble? Would the enemy wait while the crane operators put the Strykers ashore? Hell no, they wouldn’t. What she needed was a faster way to get the job done.

  And that wasn’t all. As Mac stood on the deck and looked up at the crane on Barge 1, she was struck by how exposed the crane operator was. He was sitting in a small box protected by little more than Plexiglas and some sheet metal. The moment the rebs got in close, they would realize that and target him. And once he was dead, her Strykers would be stranded.

  In an effort to solve the loading problem, Mac sent Captain Amy Wu and a team of scroungers into town with instructions to find ramps or the means to make them. Then she turned her attention back to the cranes. An old barge was sitting on the riverbank. So Mac sent some wrench turners over to cut it up and ordered the crane operators to swing the steel on board.

  Foley claimed that welding the sheets of steel to his cranes would damage them and promised to file a lawsuit. Mac chose to ignore him and went a step further. The wheelhouse perched on top of Foley’s pusher boat was extremely vulnerable. And if the helmsman was killed, the barges and the boat would run aground. So Mac ordered her soldiers to bulletproof that, too.

  The whole project involved a lot of work, and the barely visible sun was setting by the time Wu and her crew returned. The supply officer was riding in an army six-by-six with a big rig following along behind. It was towing a flatbed trailer loaded with what looked like a pile of aluminum scrap.

  There was a smile on Wu’s face as she came over to report. “We got lucky, Major . . . An aluminum plant is located south of town . . . And they fabricate stuff, including barge ramps! They only had one that could handle a Stryker, but it’s extendable and takes five minutes to deploy. That’s the good news.”

  Mac’s eyebrows rose. “And the bad news?”

  “The bad news is that you’ll have to unload two Strykers so we can install it.”

  “That sucks,” Mac said. “But the effort will be worth it. How complicated is the installation process going to be?”

  “The extension-system bridge uses hydraulics,” Wu replied. “So installation will take about eight hours. I brought two of the company’s techs back with me.”

  “They were willing?”

  “Semiwilling.”

  “Watch them. And, Amy . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “You rock.”

  If Mac needed to put all of her Strykers ashore, she would still have to use the crane on Barge 2. But with any luck at all, the first ten would be able to fight the rebs off while Bravo Company deployed. The knowledge made her feel better. A lot better.

  Crews worked throughout the night to remove the two vics and install the self-extending bridge on Barge 1. Once the work was complete, the Strykers were driven onto the barge. The first truck went up front en
d first, while the second had to back up the bridge, so its weapons would be pointed at the right bank.

  As the sun rose in the east, Mac gave final orders to the lieutenant who was in charge of the Stryker crews. Then she hurried ashore and jogged back to the point where the Mississippi’s crew was preparing to pull the gangplank. No sooner was she aboard than the ship’s horn produced a blast of sound, and the engine noise increased.

  Mac made her way up to the bow. From there, she could see the so-called Spud barge, which the Mississippi was pushing out into the main current, and Foley’s pusher boat beyond. Water churned at the smaller boat’s stern as it guided Barges 1 and 2 downriver. Flotilla 4 was on the move.

  By that time, Mac had been working so long that it was difficult to disconnect even though she knew the flotilla was 120 miles from Memphis and the rebel-held territory that lay beyond. She forced herself to visit the crowded dining room, discovered that she was hungry, and was eating a large breakfast when Lieutenant Hicks sat down. While they were chatting, Hicks revealed that rebel drones were monitoring the flotilla’s progress, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that would mean trouble later.

  After finishing her meal, Mac went looking for her cabin and was pleased to discover that it was equipped with a window, a desk, and a tiny bath, in addition to the neatly made bed. Her gear was piled in a corner. Atkins’s doing perhaps? She would find out and thank whoever the person was. But the first order of business was a hot shower and eight hours of sleep. It arrived quickly and pulled her down.

  Mac awoke feeling reenergized. Based on the strength of the vibration under her feet, she knew the ship was still under way.

  After a shower and a hot meal, Mac went looking for her troops, most of whom were quartered on the Mississippi. It turned out that Alpha and Bravo Companies were down on the main deck and sleeping four to a cabin. That meant the accommodations were crowded but still better than living in the field. Especially since the troops could access the twenty-four/seven dining facility.

  Because Quick was on Barge 1, Overman was in command of the troops. Mac found Overman in a tiny cabin, where he was ass deep in paperwork. The door was ajar, so she walked in. Overman stood and was about to salute when she waved the courtesy off. “No need for that. How are we doing?”

  “Everything is going well so far . . . But it’s hard to do any PT. We don’t have enough space.”

  Mac considered the possibility of using the spud barge for PT but pushed the thought away. “Let them rest. Odds are that they’ll be very busy during the days ahead.”

  Overman nodded. “The colonel has been calling on us to supply work parties.”

  “That’s his privilege. But if it starts to have a negative impact on combat readiness, let me know. Atkins will be with me most of the time, and I will carry a radio as well.”

  “Will do,” Overman replied. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  From there, Mac went up to deck three in hopes of getting a sitrep from Russell’s adjutant. The waiting area was empty. The door to Colonel Russell’s office was open though, and light spilled out onto the floor.

  Mac went over to take a look, and sure enough, Russell was seated at his desk. When he looked up, Mac saw that he was in need of a shave. “Please come in, Major. I was going to send for you in an hour or so.”

  Mac entered the office and took a seat. “Thank you, sir. What should we expect today?”

  “We’ll pull into Memphis soon,” Russell predicted. “That’s where the Riverines will meet us.”

  “Riverines, sir?”

  “Yes. The navy is loaning us a couple of thirty-three-foot special operations boats. They’re heavily armed and should be able to keep reb speedboats from getting in close. A lieutenant is in charge, and I want her to report to you. Once we reach Helena, Mississippi, I’ll be too busy to deal with the swabbies.”

  “Helena, sir? What’s the situation there?”

  “The channel is blocked,” Russell replied. “The Helena Bridge carries, or carried, US-49 east- and westbound, and the Confederates dropped one of five spans into the river. And, because the navigation channel was only eight hundred feet wide to begin with, nothing of any size can get through. So we’ll have to stop, put divers down, and cut the wreckage into manageable chunks. Once that’s accomplished, the crane on the spud barge will lift them out. We won’t attempt to clear everything . . . just enough to restore traffic.”

  Mac’s mind was racing. “How long will that take?”

  “That depends on what the divers encounter,” Russell responded cautiously. “But I expect us to be there for at least three days, working around the clock.”

  Mac remembered what Hicks had told her about the rebel drones. The bastards knew the flotilla was coming and would be well entrenched by the time it arrived. Would Russell’s engineers be able to do their jobs while the enemy fired on them from the remains of the bridge and both riverbanks? Of course not. Mac cleared her throat. “I’d like to make a couple of suggestions, sir. I think there are some things we could do to limit our casualties and increase theirs.”

  Russell nodded. “Please proceed. I’m all ears.”

  NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

  After being forced to run for their lives from Fort Leavenworth, Victoria and her team had returned to Fort Hood. Then, while meeting with her father, Victoria had accepted a new mission. “Don’t worry,” Bo Macintyre told her. “You’ll get a chance to deal with Robin. But there’s something more urgent that I need you to take care of right now.

  “Based on a number of intelligence reports, it looks like the Yankees hope to break the existing stalemate with a two-pronged attack. Efforts are under way to clear the Mississippi, so they can send troops downriver. And, we believe they plan to invade the Confederacy from the Gulf of Mexico. The most likely point of attack is New Orleans. I don’t need to tell you how important the Big Easy is in terms of shipping. Especially now that we’re importing so many things from South America. And, if the bastards manage to take control of the Mississippi, they will cut the Confederacy in half. We’ll fight for the river, needless to say . . . But what if we lose? That’s when Operation End Zone will come into play.”

  Victoria had been confused. “End Zone? I don’t understand.”

  Bo nodded. “There’s no reason why you should. After giving the matter a lot of thought, President Lemaire and his cabinet came to the conclusion that there’s only one thing that would be worse than losing New Orleans—and that would be to let the enemy occupy it.”

  Victoria remembered staring into her father’s eyes. “So we’ll destroy it?”

  “No,” Bo had assured her. “Not unless the situation becomes hopeless.”

  Now, days later, Victoria was standing near the Bonnabel Boat Launch, looking out over Lake Pontchartrain. She was wearing a white hard hat, reflective vest, and jeans. Just like the power-company workers who kept the city’s power grid up and running each day.

  A stiff wind was blowing in from the north, and an endless succession of waves rolled in one after another to explode against the rocks lining the bottom of the embankment. And there, right in front of her, was the weapon Victoria needed. She knew that the average elevation of New Orleans was between one and two feet below sea level, while some areas were even lower. All Victoria and her teammates had to do was to place explosives near key floodgates and pumps and detonate them at the right moment. And, because New Orleans was located inside the Confederacy, they could plant the charges with impunity.

  And there was another advantage to the plan as well. The explosions could be timed to coincide with the moment when Union forces arrived—thereby making it seem that the enemy was responsible for the destruction. That perception would serve to rally the population behind the Confederate government. The thought brought a smile to her face. She turned away. It was time for a beignet and a cup of coffee.
/>   MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

  The Mississippi and the rest of Flotilla 4 was docked at the Beale Street landing just blocks from what had been the downtown business district. But as the first Stryker rolled off Barge 1, all Mac could see was a lead-gray sky, pillars of black smoke, and mountains of rubble.

  The Union Air Force had bombed the city and for good reason. The rebs had been using Memphis as a hub for the distribution of troops and supplies. Eventually, elements of General Hern’s division managed to fight their way down Interstate 40 and, as they entered Memphis, the rebel air force bombed the city again. And the results were horrendous.

  Mac was standing in the ROLLER SKATE’s forward air hatch. She looked back to make sure that the rest of Alpha Company’s vics were clear of the barge. They were . . . And Quick was riding drag so that the force would still have leadership even if she was wounded or killed.

  The SKATE bounced through a crater as Mac turned her eyes forward. The Stryker’s TC was a very competent sergeant named Hassan . . . And since he had all of the latest recon imagery at his disposal, Mac knew Hassan would be able to find his way to Highway 61, which would take them south to the junction with 49. They would turn west at that point. And, if her suspicions were correct, they would encounter Confederate forces just short of the Helena Bridge. The same bridge the rebs had blown.

  What would happen next was anyone’s guess. But Mac hoped to not only take the enemy by surprise, but to chase them away, so that Colonel Russell’s people could work on clearing the channel below. Barring problems, the seventy-mile trip would take about an hour and a half. During that time, Alpha Company would be vulnerable to an air attack, and knowing that, Mac kept scanning the sky. Yes, she could call for air support immediately, but that could signal the company’s presence.

  The question hung over Mac as the convoy cleared the central business district and passed through the suburbs south of town. The highway was littered with what looked like the remains of a rebel convoy. It had been destroyed from the air and served as an excellent example of what could happen to her Strykers if an enemy A-10 happened along. The need to thread their way between the wrecks set Mac’s nerves on edge, as any of the burned-out vehicles could conceal an IED.