by C A Bird
“Aaron! Jesse’s breathing real funny. Like he’s choking. Please hurry.” She was fighting back tears and not being successful.
“Hold up everyone. Hey Mark,” he called out to Mark in the lead wagon, “pull up and wait a few minutes.” He handed Sheri the horse’s reins and climbed into the wagon, pausing as he went over the tailgate. “Sheri, you wait out here, okay?”
He knew the symptoms immediately, the broken breathing that accompanies the final moments of life. His breathing became more ragged. Jesse took three quick, short breaths, and then no more. Lori came over the tailgate and Aaron shook his head. “He’s gone Lori. Dammit!” He slammed his fist into the side of the wagon. “If we’d had some antivenin I think I could have saved him.”
Chris was in the front of the wagon crying softly. Lori handed Aaron a blanket and he pulled it up over Jesse’s head, smoothing back his chopped up hair, as Lori climbed out of the wagon to tell the others. Sheri knew from the tears running down Lori’s face that Jesse was gone. She ran to the back of the chuck wagon, and went to her knees in the dirt, sobbing for her lost friend.
Looking up as Jimbo came around the corner, she jumped into his arms.
“There, there, little lady. I’m sorry as hell.” He held her against his chest, feeling her tears soaking through his shirt. “I guess you and Jesse were getting kind of close, eh?”
“Oh Jimbo, it isn’t fair. He was so young and healthy. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
He held onto her and let her grieve until Mark came for him. “Jimbo, can you help us dig a grave?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there. You gonna be okay?”
She nodded and slid down against the wagon wheel, burying her head in her hands.
The men and Lori took turns at digging the grave. Although it was still early, the day was warming and the shovels were getting dull. When it was deep enough they brought out Jesse’s body, wrapped in the blanket, and lowered it into the grave. Jimbo brought Sheri from behind the wagon and prayers were said before they covered him.
“How will we mark the grave?” Sheri asked. She broke down again, sobbing, “I can’t just leave him out here without even marking the grave.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
Jimbo handed her a bandana. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. He walked off around the wagon and she heard the motorcycle start up as Jimbo headed off in the direction of Bloomfield.
Not knowing what else to do, Skillet made coffee and they all awaited Jimbo’s return. The children didn’t want to leave the wagon and Lori stayed inside with them. They had been close to Jesse. He often played football and tag with them.
It was forty minutes later when Jimbo came back bearing a few pieces of lumber. As he went to the chuck wagon to get a hammer and nails he said to Skillet, “Found these just inside the town. Do you have that permanent marker?”
They drove the cross deep into the ground at the head of the grave. It simply said,
Jesse – Runner.
18
“Periscope depth Mister Carter.”
“Aye Captain. Bring us up to seventy feet,” he called out. The planes on the conning tower of the submarine changed angle and the sub rose out of the depths into shallower water. “Periscope up,” Finney said. The XO scanned the surface of the water as he turned 360 degrees, gazing through the glass eye above on the surface of the ocean.
“Captain, land bearing 260 degrees.”
The Captain had been concerned about not having some of their modern navigational aids, such as satellite GPS. They’d cruised at twenty knots, more than five knots below maximum speed, covering twenty five hundred miles in just under a week. The enormous submarine surfaced a mile off the coast of Hawaii, The Big Island. The XO stepped aside and the captain confirmed his observation. “Periscope down.”
He turned to the XO and said, “If the President’s correct, and the Chinese are making a move on the United States, then they’re still beyond the Hawaiian Islands. Are we getting a reading on the radiation?”
“Yes, sir,” Finney answered. “We’re picking up faint traces of neutron radiation. It looks like the Chinese hit the islands with their neutron bombs instead of hydrogen bombs. I’m thinking they wanted to preserve the islands for some reason. Radiation is at a safe level, sir.”
“Naval Base Pearl Harbor in Honolulu has huge amounts of high-grade fuel and docking facilities. I believe, Mister Finney, they intend to utilize that base as a refueling station. So far, though, we haven’t seen any signs of them.”
“No, sir, but the president seemed to feel they might be on their way. What are your orders, sir?”
Dombrowski turned to the Chief of the Boat, “Carter, maintain current depth, all ahead one-half. We’re going to very carefully approach Pearl, using passive sonar only. We’ll dock and search the base for supplies. The men deserve a few days of shore leave. Then we’ll take up the search on the other side.”
The submarine passed the big Island of Hawaii, and cruised beyond Moloka’i and Maui to the Island of Oahu. As she approached the entrance to Pearl Harbor the Captain ordered the chief petty officer to bring the sub to the surface. They slowly entered the harbor, and circled Ford Island clockwise, looking for any signs of life. They passed the Arizona Memorial and the U.S.S. Missouri, or “Mighty Mo,” an Ohio class battleship that was docked at Ford Island and was now a ghostly Museum. Finding nothing, they sailed into Magazine Loch toward the submarine docks.
They were empty, with the exception of a single sub that was being overhauled at the time of the attack, almost two years before. The rest of the Pacific Fleet had been deployed to respond to the Chinese and Russian missile launches. The Louisiana docked at the largest submarine berth, and for the next several hours the officers and crew were busy with preparations to stay at the base for a few days. Even on the surface, the submarine was unable to pick up any transmissions that might indicate anyone was alive. The neutron bombs had been very efficient at killing all life in this three-hundred-mile-long chain of volcanic islands.
Since the war, this was the first time the submarine had actually been able to dock and the morale of the crew was at an all-time, post-war high. At least, Dombrowski thought, they don’t have any place to desert to.
***
Phillip Canfield tapped a pencil against the desk chair’s arm, keeping a beat to the music. He had appropriated a couple of AA batteries from stores and powered up the handheld, digital, music player. He had over a thousand songs recorded in the device. Leaning way back in his chair, he propped his feet on the desk, a cord running from the recorder up his chest to the ear bud in his right ear. Needing a haircut, his brown, wavy hair hung over the bud. He kept his voice low as he sang along with Adele, “Rolling in the Deep,” his head bobbing, and a big grin on his face.
Since relieving Mason, Phil had been in the tower at Hickam Air Force Base for over an hour, and had closed the blinds over the western and southern windows to keep the intense sunlight from spoiling the mood generated by music he hadn’t heard in years. The song ended and he pulled his feet off the desk, allowing the chair to fall to the floor. Jerking on the cord, the ear bud popped out and he flung it onto the desk as he rose to saunter over to the window. He pulled the cord to raise the blinds and squinted southwest toward the open ocean, as the late afternoon sunlight temporarily blinded him.
As his pupils shrunk and he could once again see out the window, his jaw dropped.
“Oh shit!” He ran over to the desk and grabbed his binoculars, returning to the window and raising them to his eyes. In the magnified field of view he saw dozens of ships - all types, shapes and sizes. There were obvious military vessels, fishing boats and a half a dozen enormous cruise ships. He wasn’t real familiar with Chinese craft but he recognized a Type 071 Amphibious Warfare ship and a couple Type 052C Luyang II Class destroyers.
Taking into consideration the height of the tower, the horizon was approximately forty miles away. To his shock,
the fleet had already closed to half that distance as he had shirked his duty, rocking out to the tunes. The military vessels had anti-ship missiles that could blow the Louisiana out of the water and as soon as she began to move, they would pick her up on their sonar, if they hadn’t already.
Hoping he hadn’t destroyed their chance to escape, Phil snatched the two-way radio off the desk, shoved his music player into his pocket and flew down the tower steps. He bounded out onto the road and sprinted toward the sub docks a few miles away. The captain had specifically chosen the tower at Hickam to give them the farthest line of sight to the horizon… and he had blown it.
Ignoring all radio protocol, he screamed breathlessly into the radio, “Louisiana, this is Canfield! There’s a huge fleet of ships, dozens of ‘em, approaching the islands from the southwest. I repeat, they’re coming right now. Approximate distance is twenty nautical miles.” He crossed runways, passed base housing and cut through yards to shorten the distance to the sub. Mason had probably already arrived and Phil knew if he didn’t get there by the time they were ready to leave, they would have to leave him behind.
***
Hankins had been lounging in a lawn chair on the dock next to the sub. He jumped to his feet and ran down the plank to the sub and dropped through the hatch. “Mr. Finney, sir, the Chinese are coming! Canfield says they’re only twenty miles away. He says there’s dozens of them. A whole damn fleet.” He skidded to a stop in front of the shocked XO.
Finney started bellowing orders, “Hit the klaxon and get everyone aboard. If they get to the channel entrance, we’re toast.” The siren went off, summoning the crew back to the boat. Captain Dombrowski hurried into the Command Center, not even wearing his signature baseball cap.
“What’s the trouble, Mr. Finney?”
“The Chinese have been seen, sir. They’re only twenty miles away. There are dozens of ships. If we don’t get out of the harbor within 30 minutes they will box us in and we’ll be a sitting duck.”
“How the hell did they get so close before the watch spotted them?”
“Unknown, Captain. The call just came in.”
“Well, for damn sure, they know we’re here. They probably haven’t sent a missile our way because they don’t want to damage the facilities. They know they have us way outnumbered and I doubt if they know we have nuclear missiles left on board.”
The engines had been running while tests were being performed, and other systems were quickly brought on line. Men were sliding down the ladder into the boat and hurrying to their stations. 24 year old Patrick O’Neal slid behind the wheel in his bathing trunks, dropping his towel on the floor beside the console. The lights were dim, battle station red. As the crew settled into their familiar routine, their calm voices called out the status of the engines, communications, weapons, and other systems.
“Ten minutes, Mr. Finney. Any more time than that and we won’t make it.”
“Sir, there are still several men that haven’t returned.”
The captain swung around to face him. “Don’t you think I know that?” he exclaimed. “God knows I don’t want to leave those boys behind, any more than you do.”
Two more men dropped through the hatch. “Who’s still outstanding?”
The chief called for a roll call from the departments, as preparations continued.
“Five minutes.” The captain glanced over toward the chief.
“Baraza, Canfield, Perryman, Holder and Cross, sir.”
As if summoned, Cross hit the deck from above.
“Where did the others go?” Dombrowski asked Cross.
He hesitated, then spurted out, “They went to find pineapples, sir. There were some warehouses a couple miles away.”
“Are you aware I ordered that no one go further than a quarter mile away?”
“Yes sir. They told me they’d be right back. I waited as long as I could but I don’t think they heard the klaxon, sir.”
Dombrowski looked like a brewing storm. “Two minutes. Prepare to get under way.”
Then, “One minute.”
“Close the hatch. Reverse engines one-eighth.”
Just then a thunk was heard on deck and a voice screamed out, “Don’t leave me!” The hatch was flung back open and Phillip Canfield dropped through to the deck, falling and twisting his ankle as he rolled to a heap at the captain’s feet.
“Welcome aboard, Canfield. Get to your station and we’ll discuss your performance at your observation post later.”
Phil limped toward the radio room, sweat streaming down his face, and not just from the physical exertion of sprinting three miles to the boat. Dombrowski noticed something on the deck and leaned down to pick up a small music player that had fallen from Phil’s pocket. The captain slipped it into his pocket.
***
The Louisiana carefully stayed over the center channel of the harbor, where the depth was 45 feet. Out of the Loch, she turned left and headed straight for the harbor entrance. As soon as they passed the promontories into the open, the sonar screen lit up like a Christmas tree, indicating the fleet bearing down on them. The channel continued in shallow water, so they needed to stay on the surface. Dombrowski figured he had only a few minutes to get to the shelf break, where he would be able to dive into deeper water. He prayed the Chinese would continue to hold off firing their missiles, for fear of closing off the entrance to the harbor, but he knew the minute they thought he was clear enough, they would launch.
“Coming up on deep water, sir.” Boldonado called out from the sonar console.
“Just a minute more. O’Neal be ready. Brace for impact. They’re going to hit us soon.”
“We’re clear, sir!”
Finney’s eyes were wide as he grabbed the railing around the dual periscopes. The crew braced themselves as the captain nodded at the chief. “Take us down to level 500, Chief. Emergency descent.”
“Dive, dive,” The chief yelled out. “500 feet, deep descent.”
Diving planes rotated, and the slope of the deck altered abruptly, as the sub nosed downward at a steep angle heading for deeper water… and safety.
Suddenly the submarine was slammed to the side, and anyone not holding on was flung to the deck. Dombrowski thought of the Starship Enterprise, as she tossed around her crew when they were hit by photon bombs from Klingon or Romulan vessels.
He wished he had her shields.
The boat rolled to the left and then slowly started back to vertical when it was hit again. Sirens were ringing loudly and the lights dimmed, before slowly coming back on. The stabilizers brought the roll under control. Another concussion followed, but as the sub dove ever deeper the impact was less. Missiles continued to slam into the ocean above, but when they leveled off, they no longer felt the effects of the barrage from above.
“Damage report!” Carter shouted into the comm. He relayed the reports of damage and injury to the captain as each department reported in. There were no reports of hull damage or flooding but several men had sustained injuries.
The weapons room and the galley each reported someone had broken an arm. There were numerous reports of abrasions, bruised limbs and torsos, and a serious concussion… but the worst news came from the engine room.
“Captain Dombrowski!” the speaker blasted. “The engine room reports that Ensign Cravitz has been killed. He smashed his head into the bulkhead. His neck broke, sir.”
Dombrowski barely controlled his fury as he stormed off the bridge with, “See to the damage Mr. Finney, and give me a full medical report after the men have all been attended to… and send Canfield to my quarters.”
They had narrowly escaped serious damage as the sub penetrated the dark waters, heading east at top speed.
19
Discouraged and disheartened, the travelers from Willsburg approached Bloomfield, New Mexico. They passed a green sign, leaning halfway over and partially covered by a large bush, that stated, “Bloomfield, 2 miles.”
“Hold up everyone,�
� Mark called out, “let’s wait for the scouts to return.” It was still fairly early in the day after the tragic morning. They sat around the wagons waiting for Matthew and Chang. Kevin and Ashley were throwing around an old, filthy, Nerf football, full of holes where the foam had been torn out.
Sheri rode her bike back the way they had come, gazing eastward toward a lonely grave in the high desert. She was careful not to go too far beyond Greg, who sat astride Tulip, watching out for Sheri and making sure she came to no harm. She was still in shock, but her grief was intense, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to shake a feeling of unreality. She only vaguely heard voices behind her, as the scouts returned and gave the go-ahead to enter the town.
Bloomfield seemed deserted. Once again they were mystified by the absence of life, and were haunted by the notion that they may be the only beings left alive on the planet.
The clippity clop, clippity clop of the horse’s hooves on the highway almost lulled Mark to sleep. His head was bobbing as the sun rose higher in the sky, coming over the top of the wagon and warming his head. He came abruptly awake as he heard a shout in the distance up ahead.
“Hey, Mark, someone wants to talk to you.”
“Lori, can you come up? Take the reins? There’s somebody up ahead.” Lori climbed out of the wagon onto the seat and Mark handed her the reins.
“Who is it? Be careful.” She hauled back on the reins and the wagon came to a halt.
“I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.” He climbed down off the wagon seat and strode forward to where he saw a man with a white flag, standing next to Jimbo, who sat astride his old motorcycle. The man put a hand over his eyes to block the sun and waved as Mark approached.
“Hi, are you Mark? My name’s Don. I’m the forward scout for Bloomfield.” He stuck out his hand and Mark shook it.
