Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (10 page)

Kwintell nodded and turned back to Jermain.

“Okay,” he said, “we gonna change the rules a bit. Accept every prospective member that come and make them all ‘probationary recruits.’ Divide them up in groups of at least fifty and put one of our baby gangstas in charge. Send a group against every rival gang location—that’s the initiation, they have to take the location and cap all the rival gangstas there. The group succeeds or fails as a group, and if one group fails, have another standing by to go right in. This way we initiate the recruits and get rid of those other mofos without risking any experienced soldiers.”

There was silence around the table.

“Wh-what about the truces?” Mosley asked.

“FUCK THE TRUCES!” shouted Kwintell as he pounded the table with his fist. “We got no time for truces! We got the advantage now and we gonna use it to wipe them out so we don’t have to be looking over our shoulder all the time. This is a new world, homies, and we gonna be the kings!”

“What about the cops?” Jermaine this time.

“They’ll slip away, just like the soldiers, we give them half a chance,” Kwintell said. “Hell, most of them don’t even live in the county, much less the city. We’ll leave ‘em be for now and concentrate on wiping out the other gangs and controlling all the food and water. After that, we take out all the crackers and toms. A lot of them are armed, but they’re not organized, so we can overwhelm them. We’ll use the baby gangsta swarms again. I’m sure we’ll be getting more recruits that need initiation anyway.”

“What if anyone surrenders?” Jermaine asked. “We gonna cap ‘em anyway?”

Kwintell smiled. “Maybe not. I got my eye on a real nice place in Forest Hills, so maybe I’ll keep the mayor around as my yard boy.”

M/V
Pecos Trader

Captain’s Office

Day 8, 8:30 p.m.

Hughes once again sat across from Matt Kinsey, who was gazing down into the half-finished cup of coffee grown cold on the low table between them. The Coasties had accepted Hughes’ hospitality, unable to resist the offer of hot showers, a good meal, and a bunk with clean sheets. Kinsey had radioed back to Oak Island to confirm they would return to base in the morning, and Hughes had bedded four of them down in the ship’s hospital while two kept a security watch on their boat tied up alongside
Pecos Trader
. As an added benefit, they’d gone to dinner clad in the disposable Tyvek coveralls used aboard for tank cleaning and other dirty tasks, and Hughes had arranged for the steward to wash and dry their clothes, all luxuries hard to come by in their crowded base at Oak Island.

“That must have been hard,” Hughes said, referring to Kinsey’s just recounted visit to Coast Guard HQ.

“Yeah, it was,” Kinsey said, and Hughes nodded towards Kinsey’s half-finished coffee.

“Care for something a bit stronger?” Hughes asked.

Kinsey hesitated, then said, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Hughes rose and retrieved a bottle from his lower desk drawer and two short water glasses from the cabinet behind his desk. He walked over, set the two glasses on the coffee table, and poured an inch of amber liquid in the bottom of each.

“Purely medicinal, of course,” Hughes said.

Kinsey grinned. “Of course.”

As Hughes resumed his seat, Kinsey raised his glass and said, “Absent friends.”

Hughes joined the toast, and both men took a swallow then settled back in their chairs.

“So where’s home and family, Chief?” Hughes asked.

Kinsey shrugged. “Wisconsin originally, but when you’ve been in the Coast Guard almost thirty years, you find out pretty quick home is anywhere the Coast Guard says it is. I’m an only child and my folks passed, so I don’t really have any strong connections to Wisconsin. My wife is … was from near Baton Rouge and has family there; they’re pretty much my family now. That’s where I’m planning … or at least WAS planning … to retire. Our son’s in the 101st Airborne in Fort Campbell, Kentucky, so there’s no telling where he might end up in all this mess. Our daughter is a freshman at LSU in Baton Rouge, full boat scholarship for soccer,” he added, pride in his voice. “School’s out, but she was taking summer courses and staying with my sister-in-law, so I think she should be okay.”

“So you’re not married now?” Hughes asked.

“Widowed, two years now.” Kinsey didn’t elaborate and Hughes sensed it was a painful subject.

“When are … or were … you planning to retire?”

“I hit thirty years last week, and I already put in the paperwork. No clue what I was going to do for a second career.” He took another sip and shrugged. “But I guess we’re all going to be frigging farmers now—or dead.”

Hughes smiled at the gallows humor. “So what now?”

“Damned if I know,” Kinsey said. “But there are over fifty of us all told at Oak Island and I have to figure something out. I’m responsible for them.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so many,” Hughes said.

“Well, we only had the duty section on station at the time of the blackout, but when it hit the fan, everybody who could make it in did so. Most of my guys live relatively close to the station. When it became obvious everything was going to hell, I let families on station as well. We’re basically camping out in the office and support spaces. There’s a limited solar system from a ‘green initiative’ the Coast Guard put in place a couple of years ago, and the water’s still running, though who knows for how long. Everyone stripped their cupboards and brought their food, and we’re fishing as well, but it won’t last more than another week, two at most. I’m hearing rumblings people are going to take off, and I can’t blame them.” He shrugged. “To be honest, Cap, I’ve no clue what to do.”

Hughes fell silent a moment, mentally parsing the possibilities.

“Come with us,” he said finally.

Kinsey looked confused. “Come with you where?”

“Beaumont, Texas,” Hughes said. “We’re sailing day after tomorrow. Beaumont’s close to Baton Rouge, or at least it’s a hell of a lot closer than Wilmington. You and any of your folks are welcome to join us.”

Kinsey rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, Captain. I’m the unit CO and that kind of seems like desertion.”

“Look, we’re shorthanded, and we could really use the extra manpower,” Hughes said. “And besides, isn’t one of your missions protection of shipping? Well, we’re shipping, and we sure as hell could use some protection. And besides, you’re retiring anyway, so I suspect your relief, or at least someone qualified to relieve you, is probably already on station, right?”

Kinsey was mulling it over when he thought of Wright’s comment about ‘attacking in a different direction.’ That tipped the balance. “All right,” he said. “I can’t speak for the others, but I’ll come. We’ll go downriver at first light and come back with anyone else who wants to come. When do you plan on leaving again?”

“Day after tomorrow. I want to leave the dock midafternoon at low slack water. That way I figure the incoming tide will mitigate the current in the river, especially down at the Battery Island Turn, and if we go aground between here and there, the rising tide will help us off. We should be at sea before nightfall,” Hughes said. “Supposing I don’t put her into the riverbank.”

Mayport Naval Station

Jacksonville, Florida

Day 8, 11:00 a.m.

Lieutenant Luke Kinsey, formerly of the 101st Airborne and currently a member of the newly formed Special Reaction Force, squinted in the bright sunlight as he watched the UH-60 Black Hawk settle in the landing zone a hundred yards away, partially obscured by wavy lines of heat steaming off the tarmac. Near noon in north Florida always seemed like summer, even in early April. The T-shirt under his ACUs was already soaked.

“So when do we change to the black uniforms?” asked Sergeant Joel Washington, staring at a group of eight black-clad soldiers a short distance away.

Luke followed the sergeant’s gaze as the third man in their group commented.

“I’m fine with our old uniforms,” Long said. “They look like losers in a Johnny Cash look-alike contest. I don’t want to wear that crap.”

Luke stifled a laugh and managed to snarl at Long. “Knock it off, Long. We all volunteered and these guys are all part of our new unit. And when they get more of the new uniforms in, I expect you to wear yours without any bitching. Is that clear?”

Beside Luke, Washington laughed. “You’re dreaming, LT,” Washington said, pronouncing the title ‘el-tee’ in the typical verbal shorthand of an enlisted man for a lieutenant. “Long here was born bitching. Why, if he couldn’t bitch, he wouldn’t be able to talk at all.”

Long reddened. “Oh, and I suppose you just love the Johnny Cash look, huh, Washington. And I did volunteer, LT, but I did it mostly ‘cause I was tired of twiddling my thumbs in barracks and I wanted to do something to help people. Nobody told me most of this so-called ‘Special Reaction Force’ was just a bunch of damned mercs. I haven’t met over a handful of regular troops since we’ve been here, and some of these ‘private security’ guys seem pretty shady.”

“And we’ve been here, what, all of twenty-four hours?” Luke asked. When Long didn’t reply, he continued, “So I expect you should crank it down a notch or two, Long. Just because some of these guys were previously private contractors doesn’t mean they’re bad troops. Private security pays well, and a lot of first-rate guys leave the service to go private.”

“Yeah, well, these ain’t those guys,” Long muttered. “These are the assholes that used to be guarding drug shipments in Colombia and blowing up villages in East Shithole, Africa.”

“Chill, Long,” Washington whispered. “Here comes the captain.”

Luke looked up to see their new commanding officer approaching. He was well over six feet and of indeterminate age, and moved with a grace made somehow sinister by the solid black battle utilities he wore. At odds with the strict grooming standards Luke was accustomed to as a member of the Screaming Eagles, his new boss wore a thick, but neatly trimmed blond goatee, which reminded Luke somehow of a pirate. The pirate illusion was enhanced by the ropelike welt of scar tissue emanating from the outer corner of the man’s eye, obscuring most of his left cheek and marring an otherwise handsome face. Captain Rorke exuded a quiet menace that signaled in no uncertain terms he was not a man to be crossed.

As he approached, the three former Screaming Eagles came to attention and Luke saluted crisply. Rorke looked surprised. A derisive smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he responded with something between a wave and an aborted high five.

“We don’t do much of that, Kinsey,” Rorke said, “but it is kind of refreshing. Maybe it’ll rub off on the rest of the boys.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said, dropping his salute.

Rorke looked them over. “Sorry we couldn’t get you a uniform issued just yet, but the mission comes first and we’re way understaffed. Today it’s a ‘come as you are’ party.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Luke said.

“Okay,” Rorke said, “this is your first time out, so just follow my lead. We’re flying to Miami to board a cruise ship the government has chartered. The passengers are refusing to leave, and our job is to clear the ship. We did one here in Jacksonville yesterday, and one in Charleston the day before.”

“Cruise ships? What’s the government … oh, I get it, housing,” Luke said. “But can they do that? Just kick the people off, I mean. Don’t they have some sort of obligation to the passengers or something?”

Rorke glared. “That would be both well outside your ‘need to know’ and also way above your pay grade, Kinsey. Now, do you have any questions of an OPERATIONAL nature?”

Luke said nothing for a moment, then responded, “Yes, sir. Did you have … ah … any trouble with the other boats?”

Rorke shook his head. “Nothing substantial. When well-armed operators show up in full battle rattle, it tends to put a damper on any opposition. We did have a few loudmouth assholes with hero complexes yesterday, but that turned out to be beneficial.” He smirked. “You’d be surprised how a couple of publicly administered beat downs and a little blood speeds people toward the exits.”

Over Rorke’s shoulder, Luke saw Washington and Long exchange concerned glances as Rorke continued.

“Shouldn’t be a problem this time, though, our orders are to lighten up. We’re going with a charm offensive. Matter of fact, it looks like the head charmer just arrived.”

Luke turned to follow Rorke’s gaze across the tarmac.

A woman approached at a fast walk. She was slim and even at a distance it was apparent she was attractive, with long dark hair swaying from side to side. The dark lightweight FEMA coveralls she wore did nothing to conceal her femininity, and as she drew nearer, Luke thought she looked vaguely familiar. Apparently he wasn’t the only one.

“Is she famous or something?” Washington asked. “She looks familiar.”

“Maria Velasquez,” Rorke said. “She’s a local news anchor in Miami, but her reports get picked up nationally. That’s probably where you saw her. She is, or was anyway, a rising star. Now she works for FEMA.”

The woman reached the group and studied them a moment before spotting Rorke’s rank insignia.

“Captain Rorke?”

“That would be me,” Rorke said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Velasquez, I’m an admirer.”

She favored Rorke with a dazzling smile and he continued without bothering to introduce Luke or the others.

“I presume you’ve been briefed?”

“Oh yes,” she said, “and I have a script committed to memory. I’m sure we can resolve the situation without unpleasantness.”

“Excellent,” Rorke replied. “Let’s be off, then. Sit next to me and we can discuss the situation more fully on the flight down.”

She bobbed her head and Rorke rested an unnecessary hand on her waist to guide her toward the chopper, leaving the other three to trail behind.

“Secondary mission objective,” Luke heard Long whisper to Washington, “getting into
chiquita
’s pants.”