A. Kimbrough - Coastal Event Memories

Within an hour, the ungainly craft was making six knots up the River. The houseboat was named Busted Flush, after Travis McGee's houseboat in the novels by John D. McDonald. The Flush, was a 60′ x 20′ ocean rated barge that had spent over a year in the shipyard, in a major conversion to a combination luxury apartment, off the grid lab, and inland cruiser. It was propelled by a pair of inboard/outboard drive diesels. The upper deck contained the bridge, computer, and living room.

A 12KW solar array collected energy, which was stored as compressed air in a pair of below deck carbon fiber pressure vessels. The Tesla based turbo compressors and motors could be reversed to generate electric power when it was needed. The lab included an alcohol still, a bio diesel processor, in 10 gallon batches, a hydroponics garden, a small machine shop and fabrication center, an electronics bench, and a mix of other equipment and supplies.

It was before midnight of Day-1 when Zeke set both anchors in a slough East of a hill. He was awakened early on Day 0 by the blast of wind out of the East that just kept increasing. By 8:00 AM, the tide was running out at a tremendous rate, and by 9:30 the Flush was setting on the mud.

By noon, the earthquakes were occurring every few minutes. Zeke was worried that the mud would swallow the vessel. The big one happened in the afternoon, a few minutes after the incoming tide had floated the Flush free of the mud. He heard it coming, just like the previous shocks, except the noise was many times greater, and it went on for several minutes. He could see trees shaking, and falling. Then the hillside split and slid down into the slue. It pushed the Flush sideways, dragging both anchors, washing over the starboard side, until the port side was driven into the trees on the East bank of the slue.

The tide continued to rise, until Zeke had to retrieve both anchors to avoid over stressing their systems. He set the sea anchor and hoped the drift would not drive the Flush into anything. The wind had shifted to come from the West, along with a driving rain that never quit.

Visibility was zero, and the sea anchor had snagged on something. It held for an hour and then came loose with a lurch. Zeke caught a few hours sleep, on the bridge, with his life jacket on.

On the morning of Day 1, the Flush ground to a halt, against something that prevented the wind from driving it further east. The tide had stopped rising, but the wind was still blasting, and the rain continued its deluge.

Zeke had stowed most of the electronics before the worst of the Solar EMP storm. He retrieved the multi-band radio receiver, and reconnected the external antenna. All he found on any band was static. He then fired up the GPS and was able to capture two satellites. The GPS indicated a current position on the West Side of the San Joaquin Valley, near the town of Clovis.

The wind eased to a steady 15-knot blow, by Day 5, and the downpour continued. Zeke spent his days inspecting the vessel for leaks, and checking for damage. The nights were spent in a fruitless effort to find any radio traffic He still slept in his life jacket. He was in good shape for food and fuel. Since there was no sun he had to run the small generator a few hours every other day to recharge the air storage tanks.

On Day 48, the wind died and the rain decreased to a light drizzle. The visibility increased to a half mile. Zeke reinstalled the radar antenna package, and repaired some connections on the solar arrays. The solar power output was still minimal because the only daylight was a dull glow.

USMC Captain Walter Brent was 28 years old, and looked like a recruiting poster. He came through the El Toro gates at 0700 on Day -2. He was scheduled to be on call as the pilot of the VIP Osprey V-22 aircraft. On the rare occasions when he had flown a VIP mission, it was to take some General from one base to another. Usually they used fixed wing aircraft unless there was no landing strip, and the distance was out of helicopter range.

Walter figured that he would spend the day doing paperwork in the ready room. Things were tense at the base. The President's Emergency Declaration had significantly increased the security level, and civilians were not being allowed on base.

Major Bert Walker, his Wing Commander, came in waving a flight plan. “We have a hot one. You need to pick up some Homeland Security bigwigs at the helicopter pad on the LA Federal Building.”

“Where are they going?” Walter asked.

“Some spook facility up near Reno. You better grab your overnight kit, the weather is not looking good.”

When he went to the flight line to start the preflight checks Walter was surprised to not find his usual Crew Chief. “Where's Gunny Larson?”

“The Duty Crew Chief replied, “ Gunny Larson and his whole crew got loaded up along with a full service and repair package and flown out of here yesterday.”

“Where the hell did they go?”

“It was supposed to be hush hush, but Corporal Benson said they were going somewhere in Northern Nevada.”

Walter called home while the Flight Engineer was running a computer check. He told Sue, his wife, that he might have to overnight. He the told her he loved her, and asked her to kiss the kids for him.

His copilot, Lt. Marsha Rothermal, looked pissed. “I had a date for the Angels game tonight,” she said.

Walter knew she was a rabid fan. “I guess you'll have to listen on the radio, or watch it on the DVR when we get back”.

The computer check completed, they taxied out to the runway, rotated, and took off. When they checked in with LAX Traffic Control, Walter was surprised to have a Red Priority, which took them directly to the Federal Building.

As soon as the Port engine was shut down, a group of men approached the craft. There were four guys in suits and six guys in full combat gear, carrying automatic weapons. Walter thought that the contingent of bodyguards was a bit of overkill.

One of the bodyguards came in to the flight deck and asked for their cell phones, in a polite, but demanding tone. Walter was not pleased, since he planned to call and speak to the kids when they got home from school. “This must be some hot shit secure mission, what gives?” He asked.

His answer was stony silence, and the bodyguard's hand out.

“OK, you guys have all the guns. But we’re all on the same team. Give him your phones.”

The flight to a set of GPS coordinates took a little over two hours. Walter had checked his charts, and nothing at that location was shown. It was in the middle of a restricted area.

They landed on a pad next to a large, heavily reinforced hanger that was built into a cutout on the side of a mountain. As soon as they touched down, the hanger doors opened, and a couple of black SUVs pulled out. After the guests departed, a small tractor pulled up, attached a tow bar and pulled the Osprey into the hanger. The massive hanger doors started to close after them.

“Grab your bags guys, it looks like we're going to spend the night here.”

He was not surprised to see Gunny Larson driving the tractor, and the other members of the service crew setting the tie downs.

“What in the hell is going on Gunny?”

“All they told us is that we’re here until the emergency is over. There's a monster bunker under this mountain, with a lot of FEMA and Homeland Security types. It looks like we are the only military here. We are quartered down on Level Five, all by ourselves. These guys are acting like we work for them. Our Travel Orders say we do. It's good to have you here Sir.”

Half an hour later, Walter was escorted to a plush office on Level Two. DHS Director Malcolm Kemp stood with an outstretched hand.

Kemp looked like a bureaucrat playing solder, with stiffly starched black fatigues, with several official looking patches and badges.