Invasion USA 3 - The Battle for Survival (42 page)

Pedro carried the bag into a bedroom, shouted to the kids to show the visitors to the chairs on the porch where they could sit in comfort, and he gave orders for food to be prepared.

“Also, my uncle says a storm is coming; he says his right leg hurts and when that happens, it means that a storm is coming in from the east.”

“May I assume that when his left leg hurts, the storm is coming in from the west?” joked Mo.

“You are getting the picture, Señor Wang,” laughed Pedro, closing the bedroom door for privacy. Mo was starting to feel good here. The people all smiled at them and everybody got busy to feed the guests.

Fruit juice was served and it wasn’t long before Pedro returned with a pile of new bills in his hand and a look of shock on his face. He thanked Mo profusely. He explained to Mo that he could get some diesel for him and that they should get all the cans off the boats and see if he could get them all filled from the store. It had gas and diesel pumps. Mo heard the old Ford start up and head over to the jetty. He followed it and carried all the empty diesel canisters off the boat, filling up the bed of the truck.

The truck sped off with Pedro, his father and his Mexican uncle.

Mo looked up at the sky. It looked impossible that there could be a storm brewing in the close proximity, but In China he had learned that farmers were usually right when they predicted the weather.

A fantastic breakfast of several different fruits and cereals was presented to the visitors by the women and children of the house. Marie and Beatrice spoke a little Spanish and with their French managed a conversation with the ladies. Mo called Lu and her children from the ship; the farm was safe and there was no danger.

They were full and the heat of the day rose as they sat and enjoyed the peace. There wasn’t much to do and they waited for the truck to return. It arrived with the tanks full of diesel and nothing else.

“My father is preparing stores for you, Mo,” shouted Pedro as they drew up to the jetty. “There is a boxed American bread-toaster machine and three new bread-making machines in the store. They are old, the pictures on the packets are losing their color but my father found a device to change the power to make them work on the ship. Do you want them?” Mo nodded that he did. “There is also an old television that is working and a Computer Dish Internet system. It is in an old box and says “Hughes Net” on it. You can have the lot for the old pistol I’m sure you don’t need any more. The store owner feels like she needs something for protection. I have lots of money but I wanted to know if you need the stuff.”

Mo got excited. As an engineer he knew what Pedro was talking about and he could play with the Internet system and maybe get direct communications with the Chinese satellites. He asked Pedro’s father if he wanted the old pistol back Mo had bought from him and he shook his head no. Mo went to the master stateroom and returned with the old pistol and boxes of ammunition he had purchased on Roatán. He handed them to Pedro and then helped get the heavy canisters on board to refuel the tanks.

The first tank the ship had been using for the small engine took the first hundred and fifty gallons. That wasn’t bad for 70 hours of cruising at five knots, and he thought that Marie was slightly off in her calculations. Three miles per gallon was the correct usage, or just over two gallons an hour at five knots. The level had been below the three-quarter level and Mo now knew that the four tanks held about 400 gallons each.

He emptied the rest, fifty gallons, into one of the two tanks he had used for the big Cummins and it was still thirsty. He had already emptied the two hundred gallons, a hundred gallons into each tank from the Roatán supply, and they still sat under the full mark.

The truck left and returned an hour later with another 200 gallons. “This is all they have, Señor, their tank is empty,” stated Pedro. “Tomorrow I will buy gas for my boat and go fishing. We have a load of food supplies for you and I will return again in an hour.”

By the time Pedro returned, Mo had all the tanks filled to the brim and still had forty gallons tied to the railing. This time the old Ford was full of supplies: bread flour, corn flour, tins of baked beans and several other types of food, boxes of Mexican cookies, a pile of freshly picked corn, vegetables and several types of fruit.

This time all the girls helped carry the supplies aboard and every kitchen cupboard and the fridge were filled to capacity. There was no milk, but several pounds of butter, still frozen bacon and pork roasts were in the load.

His uncle pushed a wheelbarrow up from behind the house and in it was produce from his garden: fresh herbs, lettuce, onions, turnips and tomatoes, as well as several dozen eggs in old and used containers. This was packed away and the visitors said their thanks to the Mexican family.

Lunch was ready and Pedro’s uncle patted Mo on the shoulder and pointed to dark clouds appearing over the eastern horizon.

“You should keep my satellite phone, Pedro,” stated Mo over lunch. “I put a phone charger in the bag and you must keep it fully charged. You can leave it on the charger at all times, but keep it turned off apart for a couple of hours every Saturday afternoon. If I want to contact you, I will call you around dusk on a Saturday. I’m sure that your time and American time are about the same. Just listen in for a call. Now, if you need to call me, here is my phone number. Only call me if you need to tell me any important news. I hope to return in a few months for a visit. I suggest you buy all the fuel you can and see if you can purchase a gas generator or two. You will run out of electricity here on the island one day and you will need gas to generate power. Try and keep the phone charged as long as possible. It will only be charged and usable for 48 hours on standby once you run out of electricity or gas for your generators. If your electricity goes off, call me and tell me how long your gas will last and maybe I can organize some for you. Also, make sure that the airport runway is clear. I might be able to get an aircraft in here to supply you.” Pedro nodded.

By early afternoon they had drawn in the lines and a happy farewell was given by both groups as Marie carefully moved the ship away from the dock.

Pedro’s uncle was right. The crew checked to make sure everything was battened down for the storm, cleared the deck, and sealed all the guns and equipment below deck. Three hours later, and an hour before dark, the storm closed in around them. For the first time in the voyage, Mo felt the ship rise and fall with the waves sweeping in on their starboard bow. They had passed the southern tip and the lighthouse two hours earlier and, at six knots they were ten miles offshore and heading in an east-northeast direction which would take them between Mexico and the closest Cuban point of land 200 miles away.

The storm pounded them. They stayed awake all night as it was too rough to sleep. Mo was happy that the senator in Colombia had picked a Coast Guard vessel. With the small engine running at high cruise they were only achieving four knots, the ship having to fight its way through the ten-foot waves, spray flying over the bow as it surged down into the next trough.

Just before midnight Mo went below to the engine room and the forward gun compartment to check for leaks. The ship was holding up well and had a few drops of water here and there, but all the equipment was dry.

It was too rough to make coffee and they ate fruit and cookies. The youngsters tried to watch a movie, but that was too difficult, the television wanting to fall out of its space, and in the end they had a slumber party on the floor and ate cookies and drank Cokes, trying to ignore the storm.

Marie told him that it was far too early for hurricane season, which would start in a couple of months’ time, and this storm was just a front or low coming across.

Mo sat holding Beatrice’s hand on the couch for most of the night, the two ladies taking shifts at the wheel.

By dawn there was no let up, except that the wind had died down somewhat; the waves weren’t as big, but the rain was heavy and visibility down to the length of the ship.

At midday, on the third day out from Pedro’s farm, the rain ceased a little but the wind rose to thirty-knot gusts making their forward movement slow. By evening the rain had stopped, but the wind still howled across their bow.

They had left the last tip of Mexico on the radar sixty miles away and twelve hours earlier, but in the first day they had only covered a hundred miles. Havana was now about a hundred miles to their east and they expected to pass by sixty miles north of the city, again getting the northern coastline of that country on their radar.

Early on the fourth day and an hour before dawn, the storm finally left them, the sea smoothed out, and their speed crept up to six knots. The coast of Cuba passed by on the screen fifty miles to the east of them. Mo changed course to the northeast; he was aiming towards the Key West area.

It was the wrong move, but he didn’t know it then. Cuba had no bad guys patrolling the waters, Florida did.

They slept in shifts most of that day and Beatrice turned the ship eastwards just after lunch. By late afternoon, Key West appeared on the radar screen thirty miles north of them and they couldn’t see any blips on the radar.

Mo wanted to head for North Carolina or Virginia, where he knew the U.S. Navy would be stationed, and he didn’t want to meet anybody until then. The ship’s direction took her thirty miles south of the islands east of Key West.

At midnight Mo turned northeast again as the sea began to get a little rougher, a good breeze coming in from the north. Earlier they had discussed their route, deciding to close in a little more towards land and follow the islands around the bottom of Florida at twenty miles. They were well over the horizon and hopefully away from searching eyes.

Dawn raised its lazy head to a decent sea with long swells coming in from the east. They had finished breakfast when Mo had a feeling that he needed to get the weaponry back on the deck.

Only thirty minutes later Marie shouted out to him that six blips were heading towards them from an area south of Miami and were traveling fast. Mo shouted at her to turn east, start the bigger engines and increase up to twelve knots. He spent another thirty minutes getting ammo and the two guns ready, even firing several rounds off to make sure.

The sea had calmed a little as the sun rose. The heat increased to over seventy degrees as he headed back to the bridge. The ship was now heading away from the U.S. and a decent wave was breaking away from the bow of the ship.

“The six blips are now only ten miles behind us and they are approaching at about thirty knots. I think they are fast speed boats because they are showing the same size as that one you nearly went down with. There is no way we can outrun them, whoever they are.”

“Marie, turn northeast. If we are using all this fuel and they are official police or military boats coming out to check us, then we might as well sail closer to our destination,” suggested Mo. “Also turn the radar to maximum. There could be others close by.”

Marie did and three more dots appeared about forty miles southeast of them. Mo studied them for several minutes. “It looks like those blips are far bigger and heading north rapidly. If we continue our direction, we will be in sight of them in about an hour.”

“I can just see the speed boats on the horizon,” shouted Beatrice looking behind them with binoculars.

Mo was in a dilemma. There were two sets of boats. One group of boats was heading directly towards them from the U.S. coast. The other, much larger dots on radar looked like they had no interest in them and would pass them about twenty miles further out.

“Marie, the safest place to be is in sight of both sets of boats. Whoever they are, I hope that at least one of the groups is friendly. I have a feeling that the ones behind are not people we want to meet. They are coming after us, while the three larger dots look like they are not interested in us and will sail past us. Go to full speed and set a course to meet the three vessels out there and get as close as we can to them before somebody makes a move.”

Marie followed his instructions and, with both big Cummins at full power, the speed slowly rose to 21 knots. Mo looked at the radar screen; the six boats were still five miles behind, but the gap diminished even as their speed increased.

Thirty minutes later the speed boats were less than half a mile behind and the three growing dots on the radar screen were still fifteen miles away and about to pass them due east of their position. Marie turned slightly northwards as Mo exited the starboard bridge door and, holding onto the rail, worked his way forward. A mortar projectile flew over the ship and hit the water a couple of hundred feet away. A second and then a third projectile was only a minute behind when Mo got to his mortar and turned it towards the oncoming ships. He heard machine gun fire and saw a line of bullets hit the water behind them.

He was as ready as he ever would be. Looking into the sights he found the general area where the boats were slicing through the water towards him. They were tightly packed. He picked up and armed three mortar bombs, looked through the sights and tightened them down on the lead boat. He had seen a mortar demonstration in China and knew that he could drop a mortar down the three-foot tube as soon as the one before was discharged. He remembered to get his hands away as another bomb landed in the water only feet from where he crouched.

He fired off three bombs as fast as they could escape the tube, dug into the box, and armed three more. The chasing boats got the shock of their lives as three explosions plowed into the water around them; this was not something they were expecting.

Mo felt good as he adjusted his sights on the slowing boats and slipped in three more rounds. He waited patiently as the boats slowed; he had allowed for that. His fourth bomb landed only feet short of the lead boat as it turned, the next closer and the last bomb blew it to bits in a massive orange explosion. Suddenly the five remaining boats made a line and aimed north, speeding past him about three hundred yards away, with several machine guns opening up on him. He rose and aimed the heavy machine gun at the closest boat and pulled the trigger; the rounds fell short, but he realized that with the water explosions he could right his aim to compensate by looking where the previous shots hit the water.