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

by Zack Finley

  The watery sunshine felt good on my shoulders as I lay on the deck and watched the approaching fleet. The downstream towboat was still moving ahead of us, but it was no longer pulling ahead, seemingly satisfied with its current proximity. Allie made several minor adjustments to our line keeping us near the middle of the channel.

  I had my binoculars trained on the approaching barge and towboat. I’d spotted the man amongst the sandbags. He was watching us with his binoculars.

  Craig started the engagement with a single round.

  Craig’s bullet struck the man where the chest and neck met. The man’s body jerked back, and he slumped to the deck.

  A second man moved to check on him, and Ben’s bullet caught him in the back. He fell on his comrade’s body, twitching slightly before remaining still. If there was someone else in that nest, he remained behind cover.

  By prior agreement, Craig and Ben then switched to shooting at the wheelhouse.

  It was easy to see the stars in the windshield where they shot, not as easy to spot the small dimpled holes to the front of the wheelhouse. There was no change in the towboat’s speed or vector so it was impossible to tell whether they’d hit the pilot or anybody else.

  As first Craig, and then Ben changed magazines, I watched and hoped someone over there would poke their heads out to see what was going on. No such luck.

  Nothing was stopping the oncoming force from returning our tactics, except that I hoped they’d counted on the two guys in the barge nest for that.

  “Jeremy keep watch for anyone stirring on the towboat or barges. Ben and I are going to see if we can give the baby ducks something to think about,” Craig radioed.

  I nearly asked what they had in mind but stopped myself. It would either materialize or it wouldn’t, no need to jiggle their elbows.

  I studied every visible area of the towboat, but if there were any people left on it, I couldn’t spot them. I couldn’t see the top of the wheelhouse, but if there were someone there, I knew Craig would have located them. There was no one on the top deck corresponding to my location. The crystallized windscreen didn’t give me much of a view into the wheelhouse, but I saw no movement there either.

  I was starting a third sweep when a three-shot burst came from Craig’s rifle. “That should make them a little more careful,” Craig chuckled over the radio. “Not sure how much damage I did, but that guy won’t be as eager to engage.”

  “Allie, can you steer us toward the east bank for a few moments. When I stop firing steer us the other way to let Ben get a few shots, Keep low, no need to give them a target,” Craig said. “Once he’s done return to normal course. I suspect they’ll be leaving their mama duck soon after that.”

  “Preparing to change course,” Allie radioed. “Turning now.”

  True to her word the towboats turned sluggishly to port. We caught the followers by surprise, and I watched Craig hit at least three boats before they scurried behind cover. One of them even collided with its buddy, giving Craig another series of raking shots. “Turn Allie,” Craig radioed.

  I heard him changing magazines as I braced for the turn. This turn was sharper than the last, but the barge boats weren’t entirely caught by surprise, and Ben only fired a few bursts before they got behind the barges.

  Allie returned the helm to our prior heading, and we waited.

  “Allie, I don’t want that barge to hit us, be prepared to take evasive maneuvers,” I radioed.

  “It will be better if we wait as long as possible,” Allie radioed. “I intend to steer hard to port. I’ll warn you guys when I do.”

  “Give me a five-second head’s up, I’ll take out that towboat’s windscreen,” I radioed. Even if I wasn’t completely successful, I didn’t want them paying close attention to our antics.”

  “Roger,” Allie radioed.

  The barges were getting close, and I was about to suggest to Allie that we shouldn’t wait much longer when she radioed, “5 seconds.”

  My M4 didn’t take out the whole windscreen, but I doubted anyone not lying on the deck was still alive in the opposing wheelhouse. I’d just run through my entire magazine when Allie radioed, “Turning to port.”

  I replaced my magazine, carefully tucking my spent one into a pouch on my plate carrier and got ready for the battle.

  Razor was still lying prone next to the SAW, planning to use his M4 unless we got into trouble our regular arms couldn’t handle.

  The barges continued on their previous vector, not reacting to our turn at all. The small boats responded, shifting to the far side of the towboat to stay out of our sights.

  We took advantage of our new angle and took several more potshots at the opposing wheelhouse. It was looking more and more like there was no one driving the other rig.

  As the barges passed to our rear, someone inside the towboat began shooting with an AK47. We couldn’t see the shooter, but the distinctive sound of the weapon was unmistakable. So was the sound of bullets impacting the Jersey Girl.

  It took three bursts of fire before one of us located the source of the threat. “Second deck, third window from our left,” came over the radio. This was followed immediately by automatic fire from the deck of the Cumberland. This silenced the shooting from the target boat, but whether it was because we hit the shooter or he was just changing firing positions was unclear.

  The shooting must have been the signal all the little boats were waiting for as they poured out from behind the barge-towboat combination from several directions.

  “Allie, aim us downriver again,” I radioed, as the sporadic shots from the small boats impacted the Jersey Girl.

  We were now in a target-rich environment, as seven small boats raced toward us. At this range, the boats were hard to miss, although individual targets inside the boats not so much. Someone successfully neutralized the engines on three, leading to a flurry of minor collisions as the remaining four boats tried to steer around them.

  “Doc, I’m hit,” Craig radioed.

  Tom didn’t hesitate, grabbing his pack, he started toward the ladder to the top of the Jersey Girl wheelhouse.

  Everyone else went to fully automatic, giving Tom the cover he needed to reach Craig.

  Razor added the raw firepower of the SAW to the mix, ripping a staccato of bullets across the jumble of boats.

  I finally realized they were trying to get close enough to get below our field of fire.

  They didn’t make it. One of the drivers realized his error and attempted to escape but none of us was feeling charitable, and he was stopped before getting 50 feet.

  My ears were ringing from the painful impact of the SAW.

  Those on the Cumberland were moving to get into the dive boat as I crawled up the ladder to see about Craig.

  “Get me a blanket or sleeping bag,” Tom said. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t want to move him yet.” Tom had an IV bag hanging and was starting to jab the needle in Craig’s arm.

  There were thick Coast Guard issue wool blankets in the Cumberland. I ran across the gangplank and into the berthing area to bring armfuls of blankets.

  “Pour some hot water into several water bottles,” Tom radioed. “Bring them to Craig, stat.”

  “I’m on it,” Razor answered.

  I had to wait for Razor before I could come back across the gangway with my load of blankets.

  Tom already had Craig wrapped in his own jacket. He took my blankets and added them to the mix.

  “How bad?” I asked.

  “Got him in the leg, ripped it up pretty good,” Tom said. “It bled a lot, but I’ve got several pressure bandages in place, and they seem to be holding. I’m worried he’s in shock, so I started the IV. I’ve jabbed him with ketamine, so the pain should be under control. We need to keep him warm and let the IV work to reduce the shock. I think the bleeding has stopped. I’ll remove the bullet later. We’ll move him inside for that. No arteries are involved, but the wound track is long.”

  “How did
they get him in the leg?” I asked.

  “Looks like it came through the wheelhouse roof. The bullet fragged, and that is what caused so much tearing,” Tom said.

  Razor was running back across the gangway with a towel wrapped around something. He came straight for the ladder, handing his burden to me.

  “I put more water in the microwave,” Razor said. “But I wanted to get these to you right away.”

  Tom was already tucking the hot bottles against Craig’s sides.

  “Good, I’d like to have two more and keep swapping them out until we can move him,” Tom said. “The Cumberland has a Stokes stretcher near its front. We’ll need that after you bring the next two bottles.”

  “Roger,” Razor said, running back across the to the Cumberland.

  “Razor and I have this,” Tom said. “You need to get back in the fight.”

  I was reluctant to leave, but Tom was right.

  “Allie, let’s go back to help the dive boat,” I radioed. “They’ll need to drop off prisoners, and maybe weapons. Let’s shorten their trip, shall we?”

  “Roger,” Allie radioed.

  “Craig got shot in the thigh, Doc has the bleeding under control. We’ll move him as soon as Doc thinks it’s safe,” I radioed. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up and get back on our way.”

  “The downstream towboat is accelerating away,” Allie radioed. “I don’t think they want anything to do with us.”

  I double-checked that I had a full magazine in my rifle and stood by the SAW to check on the recovery process. I suspected we’d stack up a pile of weapons after this, but I doubted we’d recover much ammo. The barges continued to plow toward the far shore, stuck on their original course.

  I might not have sent the recovery team to collect prisoners and weapons, but was glad my guys were on it. When we came back, after retrieving Andy, it was better if we had the guns, not them.

  I’d already decided to drop off our prisoners in batches downriver, on the Arkansas side. I might not appreciate their efforts to kill or capture us, but in their shoes, I might have done the same thing. Hopefully with better tactics.

  I planned to sneak back upriver in the dark and avoid a confrontation on our return trip. I might not appreciate their shoot-first mentality, but they had a lot to defend.

  Allie, Razor, and I met the dive boat when they returned, relieving them of their eight prisoners and a stack of rifles, most automatic or semi-automatic. They brought a sack full of empty magazines.

  Ben, Joel, and Mike then set off to catch the barges and towboat.

  “Ben, shoot first, we really don’t need any more prisoners,” I radioed.

  “We’ll salvage anything worth taking and then set it on fire,” Ben radioed. “Remember, we are pro…fessionals,” exaggerating the last word. “Rangers lead the way.”

  Ben was telling me to stop being a mother hen.

  “Roger,” I replied. “All the way,” swallowing the words of caution I wanted to add so badly.

  We left the small flotilla of disabled boats and resumed our route downriver, expecting the dive boat to rejoin us when they could.

  Tom wanted to wait until they returned to move Craig into the galley for surgery. Mike and Allie were both backup medics and would assist him.

  Through my binoculars, I watched the dive boat rendezvous with the towboat and tie off to it. There was no opposition to their boarding. A short while later I spotted two men entering the wheelhouse. The vessel veered back toward the main channel.

  “We have one prisoner, but too much salvage to bring over in the dive boat,” Ben radioed.

  That was intriguing.

  “We’ll catch up with you,” Ben radioed. “You’ll need to park alongside. This thing has five 55-gallon barrels of gasoline, most of them full. It also has a mini-crane we can use to unload them onto either the Cumberland or the Jersey Girl deck, whichever Allie thinks is best. A few weapons, some ammo boxes, and bulk food, too. But the real prize is the gas. It should fuel a fleet of cars and trucks we can use to bring everyone home all at once.”

  “Good find, pull ahead of us, and we’ll meet up,” I radioed.

  I went to check on Craig.

  “How is he doing?” I asked Tom from the ladder to the Jersey Girl wheelhouse.

  “Stable, the coagulant bandages did their job, and he isn’t losing any more blood,” Tom said. “I’d be a lot happier if he called for help sooner. From the amount of blood up here, I think he was hit at least 15 minutes before he let anyone know. The IV got the shock under control, so that is a plus.”

  “You heard Ben, will it be a problem to wait for them?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. Craig is warm and stable. Razor is keeping the bottles hot using the Jersey Girl microwave. I still want to get him to the Cumberland for the actual surgery, its galley is a whole lot cleaner.”

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 13

  It took nearly an hour for the barges to catch up with us. We weren’t sure where the downriver pirate got to, but Allie suspected it was hiding in one of the backwaters, letting us pass it by.

  Part of me wanted to take it out so that Captain Ellis and his clan would remain in the dark about what happened to his attack force. The need to take care of Craig and rescue Andy took priority. I just hoped Captain Ellis would conclude he was better off letting manned river traffic go by and concentrate on his own survival.

  I wasn’t going to release our prisoners until we were far beyond where the pirate towboat was likely to be.

  Our docking with the barges was anticlimactic.

  Everyone but Allie, Tom, and Craig helped shift the salvage to the deck of the Cumberland. Their prisoner was a 13-year-old boy. Mike found him hiding in the engine room. No one suggested offering him a spot with us, and I didn’t either. I had to remind myself that we couldn’t save everyone.

  Joel planned to disable the towboat engines as soon as he pushed the barges aground. Ben was driving the dive boat to pick him up afterward.

  They left Mike to help with Craig.

  Allie let Joel pull away before putting the Cumberland back into drive and resuming our voyage downstream. She left Kurt at the helm while she guarded the prisoners we’d left in the stern of the Cumberland. That freed me up to help move Craig.

  Tom, Mike, Razor, and I lifted Craig onto the Stokes stretcher, strapped him in and began the awkward transfer to get him into the Cumberland galley. Craig was still mostly unconscious from the drugs Tom gave him. That was good since as hard as we tried, we still bumped the stretcher against things. The worst was manhandling the stretcher down the steps in the Cumberland. I regretted not lowering it by rope to the main deck and taking him in that way. Next time we’d know better, although I really had no desire for there to be a next time.

  I joined Kurt in the Cumberland wheelhouse. Razor took over guard duty, relieving Allie to prep for surgery.

  Joel must have missed the dikes because he pushed the barges farther ashore than I expected. I watched him leave the pirate wheelhouse as Ben pulled the dive boat up beside the towboat. Ben stood up and held on to the side, waiting for Joel. It only took 10 minutes for Joel to do his thing before he joined Ben for the return.

  “Returning to base,” Joel radioed.

  I looked at my watch, it was nearly noon. It was still 50 miles to the St. Francis River north of Helena, where we expected to meet up with Andy’s crew. Sunset was 17:30 hours so we wouldn’t have much time before dark. That meant I should send a three-man patrol ahead in either the dive or patrol boat. They could go significantly faster than the Cumberland. I’d have to go with them since I alone knew Andy.

  The dive boat docked with us, and we started separating prisoners to drop off on our cruise downriver.

  I wasn’t the only one who wanted to look in on Craig, but we all behaved. Razor and Joel split the prisoners into groups of five or six.

  We still had the old guy we’d tied up in a bunkroom on the Jersey Girl. Be
n went to get him while I went after the two men and a boy we captured first. They were still in a storage room on the Cumberland.

  Our first captives were locked up for several hours through at least three gunfights. I didn’t think we’d be storing anything in that storage room without a thorough cleaning. They were eager to leave it and gave me no trouble as they joined their fellow prisoners on the back deck.

  Ben arrived without his prisoner. We looked at him, and he shrugged. “Stray bullet,” was all he said. I wasn’t that surprised since the Jersey Girl received the brunt of the enemy fire.