Humanaty's Blight

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Everyone on every boat froze. One word had done it: invaded. Our waters were being sailed by troopships from another country. They had blown up the blockade so their ships could enter our waters.

The captain of the cabin cruiser waited while whispers were being exchanged and people were starting to comprehend the impact of his statement. He asked me, “Do you have shortwave on the Truant?”

I nodded. Then, to prevent misunderstandings, I quickly added, “But we don’t know how to use it.”

He consulted with a balding man of fifty or more, then called back, “Can I put one of my men onboard? He’s no expert, but he has used them before. Maybe we can get some accurate information.”

Steve nudged me. I said, “Sure.”

They put a little motorized boat in the water, and it pulled to our stern. We helped the man aboard. Without waiting for introductions, he asked, “Where is the radio?”

Sue showed him inside. She went to observe but quickly returned and stood beside me. I got the impression he’d run her off. We’d see about that. I started to go inside, when the captain of the other boat called out, “As much as we’d like to stay with you, my first responsibility is to my passengers and friends. If you wouldn’t mind, you can keep the radio operator aboard.”

I paused, confused. “What are you saying?”

He pointed north. “We are going to go search for a safe harbor and wait things out.”

That he was leaving was a shock, but only the day before we’d had no escort, so things were no different in that aspect. I was tongue-tied. We had no right to demand anything of him. He was free to leave. The people on the other boats were whispering with each other, probably deciding to do the same.

When I said nothing to object, Sue stepped in front of me, then stood on the seat where all could see her. She faced the captain of the large cruiser from a distance of twenty-feet and with her fists balled and at her hips, she shouted, “What friggin’ good is that going to do?”

“It’s not your business,” he answered and turned to go back to the main deck.

“You just being stupid is none of my business. If we are being invaded by another country, and nobody fights back, how long will it be before they take control of the land and come to your safe harbor and kill all of you? A few weeks, or maybe two months? Three or four? But they will arrive before summer is over and then what? You’re all dead.”

He paused in his progress to the stern of his boat and looked at her over his shoulder.

Sue looked at the other people who were listening with mouths hanging open. “Go with him and you’re all dead. You should know that.” She waved an arm to encompass all the boats. “That goes for all of you.”

“Now, listen here,” a man on another boat began.

A woman’s voice talked over him. “The girl’s right, you dumb-ass. They will come and kill all of us.”

That quieted all objections. The woman who had defended Sue called out, “What do you think we should do?”

Sue pointed at me. “You all know Captain Bill. He says that once the ships land and secure a beachhead, then fortify it, we have probably lost our nation. We all might as well learn Chinese, or Korean, or whatever is spoken by the troops on those ships.”

The woman nodded and said, “That makes sense. What does the Captain suggest we do?”

Sue shouted, “Kill them all before they can build that fort.”

People were looking uneasily at me. I’d never said such a thing, but they were seeming to listen, and I didn’t have the guts to stop the fourteen-year-old Hispanic hellion who was putting words in my mouth.

But Sue had their attention and refused to let it slip away. In a louder voice, she shouted, “Bill, our captain, told me that they are most vulnerable now! Not later when they have set up a base and their defenses. Now, before they unload their troops.”

The captain on the cruiser was paying attention, too. He said to me, “Bill what is your plan?”

“Tell them,” I muttered, too brain-dead to think for myself.

“Right! Captain Bill says we all have guns on all our boats, and we have radios. Someone said there are hundreds and hundreds of boats like us out here searching for a safe place to wait out this trouble. All of us have guns. He thinks we should radio all of the other boats, then intercept those ships and shoot anyone out on decks we can, and when they try to land soldiers in their small boats, we should sink them by attacking with ours.”

“That won’t stop them all,” a new voice called out.

“Of course, not!” Sue shouted. “We need to get all our friends and patriots on land to stop fighting each other and attack the soldiers wherever they are going to dock. Bill says if we can get enough of them to join with us, we can prevent the invaders from setting up a fort and push them back into the sea.”

The woman said, “Captain Bill is right. We could attack them and draw a lot of attention while we’re all on our radios calling for more help. Spread the word. Does anybody know where we can get some dynamite? I’d like to sink a few of those ships.”

A man on a small sailboat said, “I know how to make Molotov Cocktails. They might not sink a ship, but some of them lobbed aboard will do damage.”

Another man said, “Hey, Captain Bill, you want us to sail back down to the tip of Whidbey Island and wait for them? Attack them as they pass?”

I nodded, dumbly.

A new voice called, “I’m all for it. They ain’t going to pass right by me without a fight.”

More voices joined him. A man on the other sailboat called out, “I just got hold of three boats by radio that are already there waiting for us to join them. They are calling others to arrive too.”

Behind the captain on the cruiser, a man climbed into view and called, “I just reached a guy who is with a motorcycle club south of Everett. They’re riding with us and will keep watch from the shore if they sail past Everett to Seattle. Along the way, they’re going to recruit more people.”

Steve moved closer to me and whispered, “Nice of you to take charge like this, Captain Bill. Now, tell them the only three places logical for a fleet to land are Tacoma, Seattle, or Everett. There will be too many survivors in the first two that might put up a fight, to it’s probably Everett where there is a deep-water port ready for the taking.”

When I didn’t speak, Steve shouted the information as if I’d just told it to him. He then said, “If they pass up Everett, we can follow them south to another place they might land, but Bill thinks their goal is Everett.”

“Captain Bill has been right about everything else,” the woman with the loud voice said.

“Yup.” Someone on another boat agreed.

“Sure has,” another said as others silently nodded.

Sue was still standing on the bench seat. She shouted, “What are we waiting for? Use your radios and warn everyone on land and sea. Tell them to head to the navy place in Everett by foot or pickup, but let’s get there before they do. Invite all your friends to join the party.”

Steve said in a louder voice, “I agree with Captain Bill. Sure, the ships might unload at Bremerton or somewhere else, but I think the invaders will want access to the mainland and the highways and railroads there. If they establish a military presence and hold it, they can occupy more area as they send in additional troops and ships. If they are successful with this first wave, you can bet more troop carriers will be on the way.”

That speech sobered them. Meaningful and wary looks were exchanged. Everyone seemed to understand that what was about to happen in the next few days or weeks would define their lives. The nearest sailboat pushed off and hoisted its jib, turning into the wind until it pointed back the way we’d come. Its mainsail caught the wind as the vessel increased speed and sailed back to Everett and the naval base there as if the boat couldn’t wait to return. The deep-water port had accommodated aircraft carriers and its support ships in a task force, so landing a fleet of troopships would be no problem.

I considered what little I knew of the harbor in Everett and realized Steve had been right. Besides, the ability to handle more than one ship at a time at the naval facility, the base was already surrounded by fences that could be guarded by the first troops to arrive. Railroad tracks were there for the transport of men and materials after the area was secured. The natural topography tended to isolate the area of the landing from the rest of the city, and thus make it ideal for a landing.

Of the three most promising places, I’d choose Everett if I was in charge. The other boats were pulling away, all heading south. We turned and followed, Steve at the wheel.

Sue poked me in my ribs. “Nice job, Captain Bill.”

Steve giggled and I had to laugh. If there was ever a more reluctant or inept captain, I didn’t know who it would be. Sue headed for the cabin and the radio, where the man we’d taken aboard was reaching out to as many people as he could.

She returned a few moments later. “He’s on the shortwave, has contacted dozens of other shortwave operators all over the country and told them what’d happening here. They are spreading the word. A group from Seattle is forming and getting ready to caravan north to Everett, and he even managed to reach an army reserve post just south of Everett. They have trucks and heavy weapons, and in case the ships do land in Everett, they hope to meet them.”

“The army has troops?” I asked.

“Recruits,” he called them.

I could imagine his recruits, but if they brought heavy weapons, whatever they were, he was welcome. The shortwave had also reached a guy near the port who claimed to have a cannon. I dismissed that one, and asked, “Where is the lead ship now?”

“South of Port Townsend, about four hours from the tip of Whidbey Island at the slow speed they are moving,” Sue said as if she knew what she was talking about instead of repeating what she’d heard. She went on, “If they turn east there, Everett is their destination. If they continue, it’s either Seattle or Tacoma.”

“How many ships?” Steve asked.

“Nineteen,” came her instant reply. “We got a report from a boat up there as they passed by.”

Steve hesitated as he calculated. “Say five hundred soldiers on each ship—that makes close to ten thousand soldiers. If they get to shore, it’ll be hell to defeat them, especially before reinforcements arrive.”

The other boats of our group were almost out of sight, all ahead and moving faster. An open-bow pleasure boat filled with five or six people came up from behind. I made sure my rifle was ready, but they passed by with wild cheering and shouting in the race to join with the others.

I looked at Steve.

“Going to the party,” he said in a droll manner.

The radio operator poked his head out of the cabin. “I got hold of a paramilitary group that claims they have over two hundred men in the center of Everett. They have ten pickups and are going to shuttle their people to the navy pier along with weapons. They said everyone will be there in an hour, and they are sending out the word to another army they’ve been fighting.”

“Sounds good,” I ventured, for lack of something better. “There is also another group in Marysville and a lot of them ride motorcycles. Is there a way to contact them?”

His head disappeared.

I turned to Steve. “How is he talking to others with short-wave?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

I drew a breath and gathered my thoughts. “There is no power, to start with.”

“Oh,” he said with a smile. “These short-wave guys are volunteers who help in times of emergency. They have batteries and solar cells, these days. Usually, enough power and backups to last a week or more.”

Ten minutes later the radio operator emerged again, wearing a wide smile. “Your gang from Marysville is on the way, and so are five pickups loaded with men from Silver Lake, wherever that is. Both groups are due in an hour and are spreading the word that the invaders who set loose the blight on us are coming.”

Sue said, “That’s it! Radio everyone that the ships coming here sent the plague, the blight, to kill all of us, so they can take our land. If anyone wants to get even, head for the docks. Have them set up a safe route of passage through Everett for anyone wanting to help.”

I looked at her in confusion.

“What?” she drawled in the way her generation says it when older people don’t understand something they consider simple to understand. “Spread that rumor far enough, true or not, and even survivors in wheelchairs will be rolling to the navy base. Tell them Captain Bill said so.”

She was right again. All but the last. I ignored the giggle that escaped her.

Two powerboats pulled from the shore of Whidbey Island and turned south when they reached deep water. We raised our mail sail and picked up speed. I glanced at the radar screen and found at least fifty blips in front of us. Each was a boat. As we got nearer to the tip of the island, there were more, even some little aluminum fishing boats with little nine-horse outboards. There were sailboats, pleasure boats, fishing trawlers, cabin cruisers, and more. If it floated and had a means of motion, it was represented.

Even a few kayaks were there. It appeared that every person had a weapon. Most were rifles, but not all.

Within another two hours, more and more joined our flotilla as the boats took up positions along the expected invasion route. I estimated over two hundred. Some had dozens of passengers. Radio operators kept us informed of the progress of the fleet.

The first ship was almost in sight.

“Now look what you’ve started,” Steve said to me.

It was not me. He and Sue were giving me all the credit and laughing about it. They believed it to be a big joke and every time my name was mentioned on the radio over the speaker that the radio operator had placed outside for us, they broke into ribald laughter. I decided to let them have their fun without comment.

People needed information. They called for Captain Bill. If they wanted to know where to position themselves, Captain Bill issued the orders, even when I hadn’t heard the questions. Captain Bill was the commander/commandant/commodore. My name was on everyone’s lips.

Instead of worrying, I kept my eyes on the vague outline of the approaching ship beginning to take shape on the horizon. When I looked around to see if others also saw the gray monster looming in the distance, my estimate of two hundred ships fell far short of the new number. A glance at the radar confirmed my eyesight. I couldn’t count the number.

The first ship came right at us. The second and third in the column came into view.

Ten minutes later, they were barreling down on us, perhaps two miles away. I could plainly see the white water at the bow as the ship’s screws pushed it ahead. Then it diminished. The white water became smaller.

Steve said, “Spotted us. They’re slowing.”

A few of our boats, perhaps ten, got impatient and headed their way. Most that left to attack were super-powered pleasure or fishing boats. They raced at well over twenty miles an hour to be the first to engage the ships. It was only a matter of minutes until the first shots rang out.

The radio operator called out to us, “Troops are all over the decks, wearing backpacks like they’re ready to disembark. Our people say you can’t miss if you shoot along the deck.”

I looked at Steve and Sue, not sure of what to say.

The radio operator shouted, “They’re shooting back.”

It should have been expected, but still came as a shock.

The radio operator broke into my thoughts again. “Our people are shooting at the bridge where their captain and helmsman are. The third ship turned aside and almost ran aground. Shoot for there, they say.”

Troop carriers were not actual combat ships. They were like busses for the sea. The bridges probably were not protected by heavy steel or bulletproof windows. If a ship couldn’t steer, it couldn’t dock. If the helmsman couldn’t stand at his station without being shot, the was in danger in a narrow passage. “Pass that information along over your radio—all channels.”

We heard the first announcement that went something like: Captain Bill wants concentrated gunfire at the bridges of each ship so they can’t steer.

We all laughed. The situation was dire, the danger present, the future of our country at stake, yet the mention of my “orders” to our “fleet” struck us as humorous and relieved some of the tension.

The small speedboats that had gone ahead were harassing the ships like angry bees circling bears while trying to steal their honey. The faster, more mobile small boats harassed the lead ships, darting and swerving as their passengers fired pistols and rifles. Pandemonium broke out on the main decks of the transports, and when the third ship turned aside and nearly ran aground because the helmsman was shot, both of the ships in the lead had also steered from one side to the other, then back on course again. Presumably, another crewman had taken over steering when the original had been shot, and all were dodging and ducking bullets.

As the main deck emptied of troops fleeing the sporadic shots, the small boats focused their firepower on the bridge. Hundreds of bullets had penetrated the glass and metal below the windows. Anyone on the bridge was in extreme danger.

The ships were proceeding more slowly and were still a mile away from us according to the radar. Shots from the transports rang out. More small boats raced to harass the ships. the mass of them still waited at what amounted to the crossroads. The fleet of invaders would either continue south down Puget Sound towards Seattle or turn east to Everett. I looked beyond our fleet and found a few more boats speeding to lend a hand.

The radio operator called from inside the cabin. “Captain, the first militia has arrived at the navy docks and are asking for your orders.”

Steve managed only a smirk instead of outright laughter. When I didn’t answer the radio operator, Steve called, “Captain Bill says to tell them to set up defensive positions. The troops on the ships are now firing back on us and you can expect the same. Don’t let them ashore, if possible.”

I rolled my eyes at Steve invoking my name again and turned back to watching the lead ship as Steve lowered the mail sail, furled the jib, and started the engine. Sue placed the last five gel-packs for repairing bullet holes on the seat between us. We were ready for battle.

The ships were huge when they came nearer. The bows rose fifty feet into the air and half-way back on the main deck rose a steel structure, not unlike a small apartment building. The soldiers that had been massed on the main decks of the first two ships had disappeared into the bowels. A few scrambled to the tops of the central structure, and others were positioned at the bows, hunkered down behind machinery or solid steel railings. They emerged long enough to take a shot or two, then disappeared again.

Steve eased us ahead on an intercept vector. I readied my rifle to join in the fight when my attention was drawn to plops in the water to my side. Bullets. They were shooting at us. That should not have been unexpected, but the reality gave me pause. As if to emphasize all I was thinking, another bullet struck the inside of the boat a foot from my leg. The fiberglass shattered around the hole, leaving a scab of a wound. Worse, the trajectory was downward. Forgetting my rifle, I bent over the side and found an even larger hole a few inches above the waterline.

A few more bullets would sink us.

“Turn around,” I screamed at Steve.

Like any good helmsman, he spun the wheel, shoved the throttle full ahead, and another bullet shattered the side of Truant. We felt it hit, like a baseball bat used to beat our hull. A few seconds later, the automatic pumps spit streams of water from our sides.

I ran into the cabin and screamed at the radio operator, “Send a message to all boats. Everyone wear lifejackets. All slow boats, like sailboats, withdraw and only attack from distance. One bullet can sink any of us.”

The man did as told; shouting into his microphones, changing radio channels, and repeating. I grabbed two repair patches and leaned over the side to apply the first. After squishing the sealant and hardener in the plastic container to mix it, I tore it open and used my bare hand to slap a palm-full to the first hole.

The second hole was underwater. It was the one that was sinking us. “What do I do?” I yelled at Steve. “I can’t get to it. It’s too far under the water.”

He spun the wheel and raised the mail sail. The Truant caught the wind and Steve used the helm and sail to lay the boat over to our left side, exposing a hole two-inches across. I used the glop left over but needed to mix more. I started to and looked up. Our boat turning was taking us closer to the ships.

I squeezed faster and tore the top off with my teeth. The stuff was supposed to be waterproof when ready to use, and it would be warm from a chemical reaction. We didn’t have time for all that nonsense. I smeared what I could and pushed myself back as I gave Steve a nod. He spun the wheel again, the mainmast swung from one side to the other with a jar that felt like it should have torn the boat in half.

A few shots struck the water around us, but within a minute we were out of range. I darted inside again and grabbed a towel that let me remove most, but not all the repair goo from my hand. It felt stiff and my fingers failed to move easily.

The radio operator gave me a curt update as I scraped the sealant from my skin. Slow boats were turning and heading for the navy docks, or nearby. Only the fastest of the small ones were still fighting, but it was like a few dozen mosquitoes attacking a herd of elephants.

The troopships continued on.