To the Rescue; Surviving the Black--Book 2 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  “We anticipate a pirate force will intercept us near mile marker 724,” I radioed. “How do we want to handle this?”

  Allie responded right away, “If you bring the Jersey Girl alongside, we can tie her off to the Cumberland. Kurt can drive, and that should make everyone available to fend off boarders.”

  “Good plan, slow down, and we’ll pull alongside,” I radioed.

  Tom also slowed as he steered toward our main ride. “Why don’t I pull slightly in front and you can meet up with us,” Tom radioed. “You're better at this than I am.”

  “Roger that,” Allie responded. “Pull slightly in front of me, and I’ll pull alongside.”

  “Mike and Craig if you could stand by to toss them a line,” Allie radioed.

  “Let’s go give them a hand,” Razor said to me, scooting down the stairs. I was close behind. I wished we had done this before, but better late than never.

  Both towboats had plenty of thick rope available.

  “Tom, I need you to maintain course and speed until I tell you different,” Allie radioed.

  “Wilco,” Tom radioed back. I could hear the tenseness in his voice as the two ponderous vessels came closer. The Jersey Girl was taller, longer, and wider than the Cumberland.

  “Toss the bow line first,” Allie commanded.

  Razor and I stood by to catch it. We gave it a quick wrap around the front cleat, holding the end and taking up slack as the Cumberland pulled up beside us.

  “Secure that line,” commanded Allie. Razor and I gave it several crisscrosses to secure it.

  “Now the stern line.”

  Razor and I jogged to the rear of the boat, where Ben stood ready to receive the next line.

  “Take up the slack but don’t snug it up until we get closer together,” Allie commanded. “Tom, ease off on the throttle.”

  “Wilco,” Tom radioed.

  “Brace for impact,” Allie radioed.

  I made sure I had a firm grip as the rumble beneath our feet ebbed away, and our boat swung closer to the Cumberland.

  The actual collision was anticlimactic.

  “Secure the stern line,” Allie commanded. Ben and I crisscrossed the line around the cleat.

  “Okay, Tom, you can shut down your boat,” Allie said. “Stand by on the bow and stern lines to make sure we are secure.” I stayed with the stern and Razor went to monitor the bow.

  “Shifting to neutral on the Jersey Girl,” Tom radioed, putting the engines into neutral. “I’ll wait for the okay before I actually turn off the engines.”

  We were snug against a row of rubber fenders someone had the smarts to put out before we got too close. The doubled up “vessel” wasn’t going to win any races, but it looked stable and secure.

  After some debate between Allie, Tom, Kurt, and Joel, they decided to keep the engines on Jersey Girl running but leave it in neutral. If she and Kurt needed to, they could cut the lines between the two vessels and operate either one as required. They positioned the ax most vessels carried for just such a purpose next to the stern cleat. I snagged the river-chart for this area from the Jersey Girl cockpit.

  We continued our journey downriver with Kurt at the helm of the Cumberland and Allie watching from the wheelhouse. If we were attacked, Kurt would drive, and Allie would climb on top of the wheelhouse to defend the towboats.

  We rigged a footbridge between the top of the second deck of the Cumberland to the Jersey Girl second deck. This would allow us to get back and forth without delay. It would collapse if we cut the heavy ropes holding the two vessels together.

  I hadn’t realized the gangplank was stowed on the Cumberland. Fortunately, someone else had.

  Craig thought his best spot would be on top of the Jersey Girl wheelhouse. It was higher than the Cumberland and had more room. He thought it was more likely he’d actually hit something if he was there rather than in one of the smaller boats.

  Kurt was reminded to hit the deck if bullets started flying.

  If an attack was coming, we expected it to come out of the Memphis Harbor. On the West Memphis side of the river, the grain silos seemed endless. Only a few maintenance barges were parked against their piers. They weren’t really docks. Each had a covered conveyor or pipe that discharged over the water. Huge cylinders, some 10, 20, or 30 feet in diameter, stuck up along the bank like telephone poles. Barges floated beside them, loaded up, and moved on. Some grain silos had small conventional docks, but most just had a large structure served by staircases supporting the conveyor's head.

  I suspected Captain Ellis and his band took custody of any full barges of grain left along this stretch of river. I would have in his stead.

  The main channel swung us once again toward the Memphis side. Much of Dismal Point and its dikes were hidden beneath the muddy surface of the river. We monitored the opening to the Memphis harbor with binoculars. The actual passage was less than 1,000 feet wide. It didn’t look like the entrance to a major river harbor.

  Razor, Tom, and I crouched on the top deck of the Jersey Girl. We were ready to repel boarders or take the battle to the enemy in the patrol boat, whichever was needed. We had positioned knotted ropes on both sides, to allow us to drop down to the main deck rapidly.

  Ben, Mike, and Joel were in a similar position on the Cumberland.

  If Captain Ellis let us pass, we’d reach Andy and his crew within hours.

  I felt like a waddling turtle with our speed barely at a walk. Even if we passed the entrance without issue, those boats could easily intercept us for another hour. I couldn’t imagine why they’d let us pass and then chase us down, but it was still possible.

  Allie steered our waddling turtle as far from the Memphis bank as she felt was prudent. The main channel was firmly on the Memphis side with plenty of obstructions and shallow areas on the side we were edging toward.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 12

  We passed the harbor entrance with no sign of any boats looking for us. It was a long six minutes as we moved through the highest danger zone.

  I had expected some type of response from those occupying the harbor but was relieved they were giving us a pass.

  We’d drop off our prisoners on the Arkansas side somewhere downriver. Having the second towboat would give Andy’s crew more room to spread out once we got to them. On the return trip, once we got past Memphis, we might even split up, sending the patrol boat to Hickman. That way we could radio the Valley for help getting everyone back more quickly.

  My relief was short lived.

  “We’ve got trouble,” radioed Craig. “A towboat and five or six faster boats are coming out of an inlet in front of us. They are about a mile ahead of us.”

  “Should I slow us down,” Allie radioed.

  “Maintain speed,” I radioed back. “Someone watch the harbor exit, just in case they split up their attack.”

  “I’m on it,” Tom radioed. I felt him shift on the deck beside me. The wheelhouse blocked my view from this level. I raced up the steps to the tiny deck surrounding the wheelhouse. I lay down and brought up the binoculars to check out the opposition.

  A wave of fury washed over me. All I wanted to do was rescue Andy. These people didn’t need what we had, we weren’t trying to take over. All they had to do was let us go. They had food, fuel, and shelter. Why wasn’t that enough?

  There were five small boats with two or three men on board each blocking our way downstream. At least one person in each vessel had a rifle of some type. A few were AK 47s with their distinctive banana-style magazines. Some might even be deer rifles, from my perch it was hard to tell at this distance. The towboat hung back, letting its tiny scouts deploy ahead between us.

  “We have a lot better shooting platform than they do, I don’t think a few stray shots will sink us. If they come make them pay,” I radioed.

  The pirates weren’t in a hurry. Their small boats were all pleasure craft, originally for fishing or skiing. All had outboard motors, which would be Crai
g’s initial targets. The small boats were arrayed in front of us, ready to intercept.

  “Keep watch on the harbor,” I radioed. “This group might only be to keep us from getting away.”

  They had more than an hour to prepare from the time we passed their previous barricade. I knew they had radios, so they were probably more coordinated than we’d like.

  “Allie, get up top and have Kurt stay low,” I radioed. “Craig, give this group something to worry about.”

  I heard a squelch in response. I saw Ben scramble up to the wheelhouse deck on the Cumberland.

  “Craig, I’ll take the boats on the right,” Ben radioed.

  “Roger, I’ve got left,” Craig radioed. “Make sure Kurt stays down. Let’s light’em up.”

  The distance was too far for me with my M4, and I feared it was even a stretch for my snipers shooting from a moving platform. Even if they missed, it should give the pirates something to think about.

  In what sounded like a single shot, Craig and Ben fired. At first, it seemed both had missed. The pirates reacted by dropping to the decks of their individual boats. I was surprised they didn’t try shooting back. Either they had good firing discipline or were low on ammo.

  The boat on the far left wasn’t keeping up with the others. I watched it with my binoculars as two men on that boat went back to check the engine. From the way they waved their arms, I concluded Craig hadn’t missed. This was confirmed a few moments later when smoke started wisping from the engine. This was followed shortly by a puff of black smoke and a loud pop, I could hear above the noise of our engine.

  By now the current had the stricken boat in its grip, and it was edging further and further away from its peers. Ben shot again, this time connecting. A series of sparks erupted from a different boat’s engine before bursting into flames. The driver must have realized the fire was a more significant threat than getting shot as he jumped up and sprayed the engine with a fire extinguisher.

  Two down.

  Craig fired again. There was no sign of any effect, except the remaining three small boats began surging forward. About three heartbeats later, Craig shot again. This time the impact was immediately evident. The leftmost boat had just started to plane when it abruptly settled heavily in the water, its wake slopping over its transom and pushing by the floundering boat. It probably wouldn’t sink, but it no longer posed a threat.

  “We’ve got something coming in from the harbor mouth behind us,” Tom radioed.

  “The two remaining small boats are moving too unpredictably for any sure shots,” radioed Craig. “Hit them if you can.”

  They were less than 800 yards away now, but they were bouncing around and steering erratically. Their tactics were working. Nobody had a good shot, and I wasn’t willing to waste ammo to take a bad shot for no gain.

  “The downstream towboat is moving to intercept at least one of the disabled boats,” radioed Allie. “Ben, we should swap positions, you will probably get better shots from up here.”

  Allie and Ben must have swapped because nearly immediately I felt our towboat shifting position. We were still motoring downstream, but on a slightly different line.

  The two remaining boats from our earlier blockade were streaking to reinforce our new threat.

  “Allie, keep your eye on the downstream threat,” I radioed. “Call for help if you need it. We may get in shooting range of those drifting boats, and I have no clue what the towboat is up to.”

  “Roger. Right now, he’s retrieving those in one of the boats, I’ll keep you posted,” Allie responded.

  I shifted around so I could examine our new adversaries. Three empty barges being pushed by a towboat were leading the pack. That towboat was moving at a much higher speed than we were because it was gaining on us. We were more maneuverable than the barges, so I wasn’t concerned about being rammed. I was more worried the barges concealed a fleet of smaller boats, based on fleeting glimpses of something behind them.

  “There is a prepared shooting position near the front of the middle barge,” Craig radioed. “They are keeping their heads down, but if I’ll take a shot if I can.”

  “I’ve got it, too,” Ben radioed. “I’ll take their starboard side if you’ll take port.”

  “Sounds good. I can’t see anyone in the cockpit. I suspect they are staying low, when they get closer, I’ll take a few shots to chase them out,” Craig radioed.

  “The downstream towboat is pacing us, they are keeping their bow towards us. Two of the disabled boats are passing to our port side. The people in them are staying out of sight,” radioed Allie. “They will be blocked from my view in a few.”

  “I’ve got them,” Razor radioed. “I can’t see the people, they must be hugging the bottom of the boats.”

  “The downstream towboat picked up at least two shooters. They could pose a threat, don’t give them a shot,” I warned.

  “I’ll watch them with Allie,” Joel radioed. “Mike is moving to cover Cumberland’s stern.

  This was a slow-motion pursuit. I was hoping as we got farther downriver, they’d call off the chase.

  “The downriver towboat just turned around. It is now steaming downstream significantly faster than we are,” Allie radioed. “Can someone on the Jersey Girl check out the inlet on our port side, this is where the first boats came out of.”

  “I’ve got it,” Tom radioed. After a brief pause, “No threat at this time.”

  We were now more than a mile past the harbor entrance, but the barges continued to pursue. They were about three-quarters of a mile on our stern. We watched the two boats fleeing from the previous shootout disappear behind the barges, confirming the hidden threat. I wondered how close the barges would get before they released the hounds. Too soon and we’d disable them easily. If they swarmed us, we might be at risk, especially if they landed a few lucky shots. Anytime people were shooting at you, they could really hurt you.

  “Razor, let’s put the SAW on this deck,” I radioed. “I don’t think it is going to help us much in the patrol boat. I’d rather move it before they get too close.”

  We went down the regular stairs to the stern of the Jersey Girl. Razor hopped in the patrol boat and handed me two ammo boxes for the SAW. We’d acquired them, along with the M240B SAW from the roadblock on the Zinc Plant Road bridge over the Cumberland River.

  I humped them up to the top of the second deck leaving Razor to remove the SAW on his own. I just finished clearing off space for it when Razor caught up with me. The tripod it came with was still on the Cumberland.

  “You watch our pursuers,” Razor told me, “I left the tripod in a storage locker on the Cumberland. It’ll only take me a few minutes to get it.”

  “We need the tripod from the Cumberland,” I radioed. “Razor will be there in a minute to pick it up.” He looked vulnerable walking the gangplank between the two vessels.

  The barges were getting noticeably closer. One of the earlier small boats came alongside the first drifting wreck, then the other. We watched them retrieve their people, but no one had a good shot. The pickup boat then roared back to shelter behind the barges, out of sight.

  “Any count on the shooters on the center barge?” I radioed.

  “I’ve spotted two. They don’t have a lot of discipline, they keep popping up to make sure we haven’t left,” radioed Craig. “They are still more than 1,000 meters away. In these conditions, not a reliable shot, yet.”

  “Anyone have a count on the boats stacked up behind them?” I radioed.

  “Not a real count, more of an impression,” Ben radioed. “I’d bet they have at least our original two and five more. I wouldn’t want to attempt storming us with fewer boats. We may have outsmarted ourselves by just disabling those boats. They now have more shooters in each boat.”

  Razor was running back over the gangplank carrying the tripod and another ammo box. We didn’t have a spare barrel for the SAW so would have to be careful not to overheat it. M240Bs were usually issued
with a spare, but it wasn’t with the weapon or its ammo when we took over the roadblock it was guarding.

  The SAW would shred the exposed part of the towboat but might not help a lot disabling the boat swarm. The weapon was a lot more accurate with the tripod so I hoped it would help pick off the little boats before they got too close. It was also damned scary to be on the receiving end, so I expected it might encourage them to let us go. Razor was a magician with the SAW. If anyone could eke out its life and put a lot of lead on target, he was the best man for it.

  I didn’t intend to use it unless needed. It was a major asset, and I didn’t want to spend it lightly. I wouldn’t feel as concerned about using it for this mess if we had that spare barrel. On the other hand, I was happy to have it ready to go if we needed it.