Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (70 page)

They were
just about out of sight of the smoke from previous night's beach battle when
the
Tarpon Whistler
rounded the last jut of land north of Sarasota Bay. 
That was when they heard the gunshots.

It sounded
like random pot shots from small weapons, echoing off the water only to be
replied by the deeper rat-tat-tat of military weaponry.  As they sailed past
the point and came in sight of their home Bay, they saw smoke billowing up out of
the marina.  The pier looked like an anthill that had been kicked over by a
child.  Soldiers in full gear ran from quay to quay, ducking behind ruined
boats, shooting and hauling supplies and wounded towards the end of the long
main pier.

Ted needed
only a second to assess the situation.  "They're trapped."  He
pointed to the marina office, blazing away and belching smoke up into the air. 
"Something in front of the office is on fire...a car I think."

Erik took a
hard look.  "That's Brin's car!  That's our ride, man!" Erik wailed. 
"They turned it into a barrier to seal off the pier...that's just
great!"  He looked through the binoculars as the boat turned to run with
the wind into the bay.

"Man,
they're really getting backed into a corner.  There's more of those White Hand
guys coming in from the east, down the main road.  They're all in the
trees..."

"What
I wouldn't give for a fifty-cal right now...." muttered Ted.  He gripped
the railing with white knuckles.  A single flash of light and two soldiers went
down screaming.

"They're
throwing Molotov cocktails...we gotta
do
somet
h
ing!"
Ted fumed, eyes still on the desperate fight.  "They're
out-numbered..."

Erik
paused, watching the fight.  The soldiers were infinitely better trained and
equipped—they were holding their own for the moment but...there were just so
many attackers.  He could only count about seven or eight troopers moving on
the pier.  A quick glance towards shore showed at least twenty bad guys.  He
thought he could see more moving across the parking lot, drawn to the battle
like ants to a picnic.

"That's
no
remnant
.  That's a damn army," said Erik through gritted teeth. 
"I hope Captain Williams knows that he's walking into a hornets'
nest."  He frowned.  "There's no way these guys are just street
thugs.  Someone's helping them out.”

The long
rumored war had suddenly arrived on their doorstp and it stood between him and
his wife.  The two men looked at each other.  The pain on Ted's face showed he
came to the same conclusion.

"Brin,
Susan, the kids..." said Erik.  "Maybe we can swing south..."
the thought died in his mouth.  He didn't like the idea as he said it out loud.

Ted sighed,
a deep shuddering movement.  "I know.  But I can't stand by and do
nothing
." 
He pointed at the pier.  "Those are brothers in arms—I
have
to help
if I can."  Another fireball caught a wounded soldier in the chest on the
dock.  His screams made it faintly across the water to their sailboat.  The
soldier jumped into the water to extinguish himself.  Two more scrambled to try
and pull him out.  The gunfire around them intensified.  They made easy
targets.

Erik
frowned, his mind made up. 
These men and women are dying to protect people
they don't even know.  Our families.  Brin.

"You're
right...Well, we could sail in, load up any wounded and..." Erik looked
around to get the lay of the land.  He pointed a little to the north.  "We
can take them around the point of land there and off-load.  At least it'll get
them off the pier."

"Sounds
good.  Let's do it," replied Ted.  He set his face and gripped the tiller.

"Alright,
steer us in towards the pier and I'll let 'em know we're coming," said
Erik, his voice deep with resolve.  He ducked down into the cabin.

Ted tried
the radio Captain Williams had given them.  "National Guard on the pier,
this is sailing vessel
Tarpon Whistler
on your six.  Turn around!" 

No
response.  Ted tried again as they grew incrementally closer to the pier.  A
bullet punched a hole through the mainsail with a faint
slap
sound.  Ted
looked up and frowned.  "Back in the shit again, Marine," he muttered
to himself.  He tried yelling but his voice was drowned out in the noise of the
firefight.       

Erik
reappeared from below with a bright orange emergency flare gun.  "Look
what I found." He waved it at Ted.  "Might get their attention with
this."  He hoped it would work—who knows how long it had been forgotten in
the bottom of that locker.  "I've never shot one of these things
before," he mumbled by way of advance apology for failure.

"Point
n' shoot, man," grinned Ted from the stern.  A bullet slapped the water
about ten feet to the starboard side.  "Just do it quick before the wrong
people see we're here.  I'd like a little cover fire for this slow cow."

Erik aimed
a little high of the pier, hoping the noise would alert one of the soldiers. 
He pulled the trigger and flinched when he heard a loud
pop
.  The two
men waited a few seconds.  The firefight continued unabated.

"Nothing
happened," observed Ted with a frown.

Erik looked
at the side flare gun and slapped it in his hand.  "What the hell?  I
primed it, pulled the trigger...it popped.  It had to—"

A flash of
light and smoke erupted out of one of the partially sunk powerboats collapsed
in the water by the pier.  One of the soldiers noticed but his alarm was
ignored as a rain of bullets poured down on the beleaguered Guardsmen.

"Hah! 
Hole in one!" barked Ted. 

Erik opened
his mouth, ready with a quick retort when the smoke and light expanded in an
audible
WHOOOSH
of fire.  The oil and fuel leaking from the boat,
placidly floating on the surface of the bay had ignited from sparks cast off by
the flare.  A quick burst of a short-lived fireball and suddenly the water
around the pier was a ghostly orange-yellow conflagration.  The soldiers
shouted in alarm and backed away from the docks.  The attackers cheered and
poured more fire on the pier.

"Oops,"
said Erik.

"Nice,"
laughed Ted.  "Now that's what I call a hot LZ."

The little
boat began taking fire from the shore.  Bullets splashed into the water all
around them and more than a few punched holes in the sail or took bits of wood
and fiberglass out of the cabin.  "Shit!" Erik ignored Ted's laughter
and ducked when a bullet popped through the mainsail a few feet above his
head.            

Ted stood
up and screamed, "Oh sure, shoot at the slow moving target you pussies! 
Give me a gun and let me get on shore and—"

"What
are you doing!?" a soldier yelled from the end of the pier.  "Get the
hell out of here you fools!"  He waved them off and ducked as a chunk of
concrete exploded next to his head.  Erik saw him readjust his helmet and curse
before speaking again.  "Can't you see what's going on?  The damn Marina's
closed!"

"Figured
y'all could use hand," said Erik.  "I see you got wounded—load 'em on
and we'll get them to safety.  You guys are trapped here."  The boat
continued to sail closer.  They were about a hundred yards out.

"This
thing ain't a powerboat, soldier.  Make up your mind!  You guys were sent down
here by Captain Williams, right?" asked Ted.  He leaned over the side of
the boat to get a better view of the dock.  Smoke was starting to obscure the
shoreline from burning vehicles in the parking lot.  He saw a
lot
of
movement.

The soldier
froze, his face clearly registering his surprise.  "Captain Williams? 
What?"

"We
left the Captain up the shore a ways a while back—he's meeting up with a convoy
heading south.  Get your wounded ready for evac!" barked Ted with voice
that demanded obedience. 

The soldier
considered this new development for a second and looked at the USMC shirt Ted
wore.  He glanced over his shoulder and peered around the make-shift barricade
his squad had erected halfway down the pier.  They were still trying to drag
the wounded further back but the attackers on shore had started get fire in
from the flanks.  Pretty soon it was going to get real ugly.

As the boat
drew within 20 feet Erik loosened the lines on the mainsail and prepared for
docking.  He grabbed a rope and called out to the soldier, "Catch this,
wrap it around that cleat and throw it back, this is gonna hurt."

The
Guardsman let his rifle hang by his side on the sling, caught the rope tossed
by Erik and latched it on to the cleat mounted on the pier.  He tossed the
remainder back to Erik and shook his head, "Y'all gonna get killed!" 
A spray of bullets, as if in confirmation of his fears, peppered the port side
of the
Tarpon Whistler.

Erik cursed
and ducked again.  He reached out and took hold of the rope laying on the deck
where it landed.  The noise was almost overpowering: small arms and a few
AK-47s rattling from the shore, answered by the loud, sharp bark of the troopers
M-4 carbines.  Casings plinked off concrete pillars and the pier.  Soldiers
called out targets and yelled orders.  The wounded screamed and others did
their best to pull them to safety while staying low.  It took every ounce of
courage Erik had to keep himself from diving into the cabin and hiding.  It was
the scariest experience of his life.

Ted manned
the tiller and gamely steered the little boat into a gut wrenching stop, partly
crushing the starboard side against the heavy main pier.  He grunted and barely
held on to the tiller.  "Oops!"

The mast
shook on impact and one of the wire rigging lines snapped.  Ted flinched as it
whipped inches past his face.  He could feel the wind as it passed.  Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw Erik trying to man up and face the battle with some
courage, not knowing what he should do.  Ted took a dangerous second to be
impressed—he figured most civilians would have wet their pants by now.

"That
was some entrance," the soldier said with a grin.  He ducked as a bullet produced
a cloud of concrete dust next to his right shoulder.

Another
bullet ricocheted of the railing next to him and Ted snapped back to the
fight.  He glanced at the soldier on the pier, who was trying to yell something
to him.

"Corporal,
get your wounded over here—how many?"

The young
man crouched behind a pillar and glanced around, taking a quick head count. 
"Seven or eight."

"Alright,"
Ted replied and ducked as a bullet soared overhead with a faint whistle. 
"Load up the critical ones first—walking wounded last! 
Move!
"
he roared.

The
corporal sprung into action.  "Hicks!  Garcia!" he yelled to the men
in front of him.  “I don’t know who that big guy on the boat is, but the other
one is a Marine and an officer from the sound of it.  That’s good enough for
me!”

“So what’s
the plan?” asked Hicks as he adjusted his helmet.

The man
Erik assumed was Garcia struggled to reload his weapon.  "It's
jammed!" the other man replied.

"Screw
it!  Help me get the wounded on that boat!" the corporal said over the din
of the battle and gestured to the sailboat.  Erik ducked out of sight again as
some more holes appeared in the sail.

"
Hurry
up
, man!" Erik called out, his voice strained.  "This thing isn't
a battleship!"

"Popping
smoke!" called out the corporal.  He pulled a canister off his tactical
harness and yanked the pin, then tossed it towards the barricade at the middle
of the pier.  It rolled to a stop, began to hiss and in seconds a vast plume of
obscuring smoke billowed out over the water and all around the Guardsmen. 
"That'll buy us some time...
move, move, move!
" he ordered.

As the
survivors worked in fire-chain fashion to load the groaning and wounded men,
Ted asked the corporal, "You in command here?"

A random
shot fired into the smoke caused more than one soldier to curse.  The smoke was
drifting out on the slight breeze and began to obscure everything now.  The
corporal squatted on the pier and shook his head.  "CO was Sergeant
Oxford.   Took a round to the forehead at the beginning of this mess.  Some
lucky bastard got 'im."  He spat into the water.

Ted
nodded.  "Ammo?"

"Got
enough to last until backup gets here," he said, and slapped his rifle. 
"Not like we can run anymore, right?  We'll make 'em pay for every
inch."

"So
you got the word out?" asked Ted.  They could hear shouting and taunts now
that the gunfire had slacked.  It sounded as if someone had a car stereo on
full blast too.  The loud bass rhythm made Ted grind his teeth in anger. 

"I
don't think so...most of our comm gear ended up down there," the corporal
replied and pointed a gloved hand towards the water.  "One of the
downsides to a running retreat on a pier."

"Lay
them out length wise, here, here and here," ordered Erik.  "No, put
him
up front.  This thing isn't a yacht, people," he cautioned the
over-zealous soldiers.  "Make 'em comfortable but don't over balance one
side or the other or we'll
all
end up in the drink."