The Jared Chronicles | Book 4 | The Devil's Bastion, page 27
part #4 of The Jared Chronicles Series
“Holy shit.” John beamed. “I bet every one of these little outboard jobs runs.”
Jared took inventory of the number of small boats tethered to the dock and counted nine in total.
“We got ourselves an armada.” John chortled excitedly. You guys know how these things operate?” John asked above the din of the little motor.
Both Jared and Stephani shook their heads.
“Of course you don’t.” John laughed, the exhilaration of the moment causing him to be more than a little giddy. “Get over here. We’re taking all these to the other side so that bastard Carnegie doesn’t get his hands on them.”
Jared and Stephani closed in to where they could get a quick lesson on maritime reservoir boating operations. John showed them both how to hook the fuel lines up, open the vent on the fuel can, and prime the engine using the fuel bulb. After showing the two how to start the little engines, John showed them how the throttle and gearshift worked. The boats were all steered at the engines, and the gearshift was as simple as pushing it in the direction one wished to go.
Thirty minutes later, John had three boats running with three additional boats strung out in tow behind each running boat. John took the lead, slowly heading southwest across the reservoir’s surface, with Stephani and Jared following. John piloted his craft directly across the reservoir, then turned to the south when he was a couple of hundred yards from shore and proceeded in the direction of their campground.
John wished the creek were deep enough to drive his tiny armada directly into the campground, but that was not the case. With the creek being too shallow, John drove his boat as close as he could get to the mouth of the creek and shut the engine off. All nine boats ground their keels into the pebble-strewn reservoir bottom, the water no longer deep enough to keep the craft afloat. John tugged at his craft using a rope tethered to a cleat on the bow. When he could no longer drag the boat any further ashore, he secured the rope to a partially uprooted stump.
“Tie the rest to my boats,” John hollered at Jared and Stephani.
Minutes later all nine boats were moored in some way or another to the shore. John hadn’t made contact with Carlos or Raul, who had undoubtedly watched the entire maritime operation from their positions high above the water’s surface. When the trio of boaters were finished, John looked up at the hill above them and spotted Devon waving to them.
“Hey, the kid’s back,” John exclaimed, pointing up the hill in Devon’s direction.
Rather than climb the steep embankment to where Devon was perched, the three made their way up the creek toward the campground. Fifty yards up the creek, a trailhead began, leading them straight into the heart of the campground. The reunion wasn’t one of joyous reconnection, but rather one of somber respect for the two Thackers grieving the loss of their father and husband.
Shannon shuffled the kids back into her and Jared’s cabin to continue their school for the day as everyone else tended to either unpacking or relieving the men who’d been standing watch. The sun swung across the sky, diving into the west as the day aged, and before long, John called everyone together before they were shrouded in darkness. When everyone stood in a school circle, John motioned Jared up front.
“I think for right now we are okay to reduce our watches to one person. We just need to watch the bridge. No one knows where we went, including Barry,” John stated, searching the faces in front of him for any disagreement.
No one had a problem with the watch reduction since it meant more sleep for all involved. Jared studied Margie and her son, Cody, noticing they were at the back of the little group, and both appeared to have been crying fairly recently. Jared supposed that should be expected after losing the man in both their lives. As John went over a watch rotation, Calvin slid over next to Jared.
“Keep an eye on those two,” he whispered.
Jared made eye contact with Calvin, realizing the man was probably still badly affected by what Claire had done during a period of depression.
“I mean it, boy,” Calvin rasped a little louder.
Jared gave him a hurried bob of his head, hoping Calvin would lower his voice. “I will; we all will,” Jared whispered in return.
Calvin let it go, but did so with the look of a man who didn’t trust his wishes were going to be complied with.
After the watch rotation was agreed upon, what was left of the Thacker family went directly back to their cabin and closed the door. It would be dark in an hour or so, which spurred the rest of the group into preparing a meager dinner. Now that they were on the road, the group lived by the light of day. They finished what needed finishing during daylight hours, and when darkness enveloped them, the group slept until the sun once again kissed the eastern horizon with its warming glow.
There wasn’t much conversation during or after the meal, at which time everyone moved off to their cabins. Were a threat to present itself in the night, Jared, John, and Stephani would link up outside the cabins before moving off to the east across the creek. The plan was for them to maneuver around an attacking force and deliver accurate fire from their rear. The rest of the camp along with the sentry would already be engaged face-to-face, and John hoped his group could hit hard enough to destroy or at least drive off any group of people trying to do them harm. It wasn’t an elaborate scheme, but then again, it didn’t need to be.
With dinner finished and their plan to defend the camp in place, John, Jared, Shannon, Essie, and Stephani met inside Jared’s cabin to go over all the fishing equipment they’d brought from the bait and tackle shop. Basically, Jared had grabbed everything inside the shop that looked like it had anything to do with fishing. No reason to make multiple trips back and forth when he could just take it all.
John set up two fishing poles in a manner he insisted was consistent for fishing bass. Jared wouldn’t have known the difference between a great white shark setup and a trout rig, so he watched, trying to remember everything John was doing and saying. John wanted to go out first thing the following morning and fish for bass. With some luck, John figured they would enjoy a little bass meat for breakfast. Not the usual Americano dish for breakfast, but food was food, and fresh-caught fish made everyone’s mouth water just talking about it.
“We need some fresh milk to make butter for cooking the fish in,” John complained.
“Maybe in the morning we can get Cody to help figure out which of those cows is producing milk,” Stephani offered up.
The group spent a few minutes going through the rest of the tackle under the limited light of a single candle before giving up and heading off to bed.
Chapter 24
Twenty-four hours after taking control of the ranch, Carnegie had his entire operation running out of the Thackers’ property. He held the Humvee at the ranch at all times now, sending only the two pickup trucks back and forth from the Stockton base for supplies. Josh hadn’t said anything, but Carnegie could tell his Special Missions operator was growing impatient with all the hunting of John Buckley. Carnegie was not unaware of the colossal waste of manpower and goods he was expending trying to capture or kill Buckley, but in his mind, it was something that had to be done.
After looking over his maps of the local area, Carnegie was convinced Buckley would be leading his people to Del Valle Reservoir. It was the only thing that made sense in the area. If the group continued south, there was nothing for them for miles. The reservoir would provide fishing and an endless water source. Carnegie wasn’t familiar with the reservoir’s layout in regard to a sound tactical standing for someone living near its shores, but he soon would be.
The evening of Carnegie’s first day at the Thackers’ ranch, the colonel took up residency in the ranch house, claiming the kitchen and living room as his headquarters. He and Josh would sleep inside the house in two of the bedrooms while the soldiers would bunk in the barn when they weren’t manning the perimeter. The singular bright spot in Carnegie’s life was the massive amount of blood he’d found inside the barn and living room. His men had killed two of these sons of bitches, and now he had confirmation a third had been badly wounded. Carnegie could only hope the blood had been left by John Buckley.
The house was empty as Carnegie entered the house, having overseen the last of the camp’s setup details and badly wanting a little food and drink. Carnegie’s body had just sunk into a kitchen chair when the back door opened and in walked Josh.
“Watch rotations are set, and I think we can get away with six on watch at a time. Everyone seems happier being here than out in those tents.” Josh chuckled.
“Food?” Carnegie demanded, his stomach aching for some chow.
“Cook is setting up inside the barn. He’ll bring something over in a few,” Josh assured the colonel.
Carnegie snorted and got to his feet. Walking to a kitchen cabinet, he pulled out two glasses before grabbing a half-empty bottle of bourbon from his gear in the living room and returning to the kitchen table, where he dropped back in his chair. Carnegie pulled the top off the bottle and poured two healthy drams, recorked the bottle, and slid Josh one of the glasses. Before Josh could think about grabbing his, Carnegie drained half the bourbon from his own glass.
Dropping the glass heavily to the table, Carnegie locked eyes with Josh. “We need to end this sooner than later; it’s draining us being out here.”
“Yeah, I know,” Josh agreed a little too quickly as he brought the glass to his lips, taking a much more civilized pull than the colonel had.
“They’re at the reservoir up the road; no other place for them to go. They have to be low on food, and shelter has to be an issue as well. The reservoir is the only place within twenty-five miles that makes any sense,” Carnegie imparted on the younger man, his words foreshadowing Josh’s immediate future.
“May I suggest a slightly different approach this time?” Josh asked after taking his second draw from the glass of brown liquid.
Carnegie finished his glass, then gestured for Josh to proceed.
“I can take a team of twelve into the area, set up some ambushes at natural chokepoints while I figure out where they’re staying. Once I’ve identified where they are, I will roll in and snipe the son of a bitch. After that, you can roll these weekend warriors over the top of the rest and be done with all this. Buckley is the glue in that group, no doubt about that. Once he’s gone—” Josh waved his hand in the air as if clearing a chalkboard “—the rest will be easy.”
Carnegie didn’t respond right away as he took the bottle and poured two additional drinks for himself and Josh. Finished with the pour, Carnegie again drained half his glass, then leaned back in his chair, hands behind his neck, eyes staring at the ceiling, his mind churning with thoughts of revenge and his future.
“Probably the best way,” Carnegie started. “By best I mean the least amount of men and equipment loss. I’ve always liked sniper operations, whether they were sniper-initiated assaults, specific-target elimination, or simple sniper overwatch. I’ve always loved what they bring to the table. Do it, do it tomorrow,” Carnegie ordered. “But remember one thing, Josh, someone killed a shitload of my men and brought down one of my Black Hawks while Buckley was locked up with us. Don’t forget that,” the colonel warned.
Josh sipped the bourbon; his head bobbed slightly as Carnegie could see Josh’s brain kick into mission mode. This told the colonel Josh didn’t have a plan for this operation, only a concept. Well, he thought, no matter, Josh would go out and make things happen. Carnegie would unleash his dog and let him hunt, no constraints like the old days, no rules of engagement, or ROEs as they’d been called. Carnegie didn’t care if Josh murdered every man, woman, and child in the area just as long as when he was finished, Buckley’s head was on a pike.
“Take twelve and whatever gear you need, including the Humvee,” Carnegie added as if he were being generous.
Jared was ripped from sleep by a light tap on his cabin door. His first impulse was to grab his rifle and direct it at the cabin’s door while he struggled to pick up the weapon’s sights through both sleep-blurred eyes in the early morning darkness. Shannon’s staying hand on his arm served to calm him as he heard John’s soft voice from outside.
“Rise and shine, princess.”
Jared dropped the rifle on the bed next to him and groaned out loud. “Ahhhh, what time is it?”
The door cracked open, and John’s head poked through. “Fishing time, bro. Let’s go. It’s just you and me. Steph is out, wants to sleep.”
“Yeah, no shit, so do I,” Jared whined as his feet dropped to the cold cabin floor.
Two minutes later, Shannon was back to sleep while Jared and John made their way down the trail leading to the mouth of the creek, where they’d left the nine little fishing boats. When they reached the boats, Jared busied himself loading their tackle along with their gear while John struggled to get the engine to start. After a few pumps of the fuel bulb and some manipulation of the choke, the engine sputtered, almost died, then caught as the little marine engine came to life.
John untied the boat, separating it from its mates, and using an oar, pushed the bow around to face the reservoir. Jared climbed in and took a seat just forward of center while John situated himself in the back of the boat, where he could drive. John pulled the shift lever forward, feeling the gears clunk together. He allowed the boat to idle its way away from the shore in lieu of torching the throttle and alerting anyone who might have been within earshot.
The engine was actually rather quiet as long as John didn’t roll the throttle up, and they were moving faster than either man could have hoped to propel the heavy aluminum boat using oars. When the boat was one hundred yards from shore, John grabbed one of the two fishing poles and unhooked the lure he’d attached to the hook keeper.
Jared followed John’s lead, dropping his own line in the cold dark waters. The reservoir appeared black in the dim gray light of early morning. Jared looked into the water and shivered at the thought of falling in. This thought prompted a look to shore as he gauged his chances of making it to shore after being shocked by the cold and weighted down by his gear, which, were he to topple in to the black waters, he would be forced to shed in order to make the swim to shore.
“Don’t go too far from shore, man,” Jared said nervously.
John shot him a questioning look, but stirred the little boat to parallel the shoreline roughly one hundred and fifty yards out.
“If something happened and we went in the water, we’d lose our gear and weapons,” Jared predicted, clarifying his previous comment.
John shook his head. “Not me, bro, I could swim the width of this lake with all this gear.”
“Well, I can’t,” Jared said.
“Fair enough. Better that way in case we are contacted. It’s a long shot for a civilian from the shore, and we’re close enough in case we take fire from the far side,” John conceded.
The bubbly sound of the barely idling engine and the occasional clunk of a boot against the interior of the boat’s hull were the only sounds on the reservoir as Jared and John trolled for breakfast. This tranquil bliss continued for five minutes before Jared’s line jumped, went slack, and then pulled so tight the end of his pole nearly touched the water’s surface.
John hissed instructions, trying not to yell as he maneuvered the boat so the fish didn’t draw the line underneath their skiff, severing it on the prop. By the look of Jared’s pole, John guessed his partner was fighting a six-to-eight-pound bass. John gritted his teeth at Jared’s inexperience, but was thankful at the same time he’d set Jared’s drag much lighter than was necessary. Jared was cranking the reel for all he was worth, while the fish pulled more line off the spool.
John smiled to himself at the thought of setting Jared up for success even though he hadn’t a clue what he was doing out here. For the briefest of moments, John worked the tiller, watching his friend wrestle the fish, and felt like this could have been any other fishing trip he’d been on prior to the solar flare. Just the two of them on the lake, fish on, the only thing missing was a couple of beers.
In the end, Jared hauled in quite a monster, and John caught two additional fish nearly as large. By 0700 hours, they were headed back to the mouth of the creek, smiles stretching the skin on both their faces, making the corners of their mouths appear as if they had been fish hooked from behind. John guided the boat to the shore, where he tied it to the nearest boat and climbed into the knee-deep water.
John carried two fish by their gills while Jared carried his single catch of the day. The walk to the cabins was one of anticipation for the joy the rest of the group would feel once they all saw the catch of the day. Both Jared and John walked into the camp as proud as new fathers. Jared gave a low whistle when he and John didn’t detect any movement in the camp. Shannon was the first to poke her pretty head out of her cabin.
One by one the cabins emptied as curious members of the group came out to see what the commotion was all about. Margie’s eyes were swollen, indicating she’d most likely cried much of the night, while Cody’s eyes held a cold hardness not seen in his youthful face prior to being told of his father’s demise.
Jared singled Margie out of the group. “Please tell me you know what to do with these.”
Margie gave Jared a sad smile, nodding her head gently. “I do.”
Handing the fish over to Margie, Jared turned to Cody. “Can you get any milk we can turn into butter?”
Cody shrugged, noncommittal.
“He can, but later. Now we should enjoy this while it’s fresh. No need for anything other than a little salt and pepper,” Margie cut in.
“Sounds good,” Jared accepted, not daring to argue with two people going through what Margie and Cody were.
