LeRoy Clary - Humanaty's Blight

I said reluctantly, “I know I said we’d send everyone away at midnight, but if we do, then what? Tomorrow? The day after? When those ships unload and set up here, the majority of us may live a week or maybe a month, if we withdraw. But in the end, they will win and all of us will die.”

Sue said, “If you ask them to, everyone will agree to stay. No matter what the outcome will be. Just tell them the truth.”

Steve said, “If you try to send them away, they won’t go. I’ve overheard them talking. They may not know all the details yet, but they understand and are spreading the word. This is our last stand.”

I sat on the fender of a trashed Ford with four flat tires. Sue tried to get me to sit inside the tents where I was not such an easy target if one of the invading soldiers managed to get within rifle range. I didn’t want to be inside. I wanted to fight. Without forethought, I said, “Steve, can you get me a rifle?”

He didn’t question the request out loud. He simply slipped into the dark and returned a short while later, an automatic rifle in his left hand, and two more carried on straps over his right shoulder. He wordlessly handed one to Sue and then one to me. He ejected his magazine and when satisfied, he shoved it back in and slapped it home with the heel of his palm.

I saw the time on his watch on his wrist. A quarter of an hour after twelve. Sue sat in the fender to my right, and Steve stood to my left. We held our weapons balanced across our knees. At daylight, we’d be fighting for our lives.

I kept an eye on Steve’s watch.It was almost twelve-thirty when the first explosion erupted on a ship. The flash of orange was blinding because we were looking almost directly at it. Then another explosion sounded. After that, it was like one of those fireworks displays that have firecrackers linked together.

There were so many almost simultaneous explosions we couldn’t count them. Far more than seventeen, enough to account for the seventeen ships. More than twice that many, maybe three times. The kayakers the SEAL must have planted fifty or more charges on the hulls, two or three on each ship. Maybe more. All set to go off at the same time.

The entire port was alight with the fires on the burning ships. In that flickering light, some were already listing to one side or rapidly sinking. Isolated cheers broke out near us. Most watched in stunned horror and wonder, a strange contrast in attitudes. Here and there were more explosions on the ships as ammunition, bombs, fuel, or whatever they stored exploded.

Ten thousand troops, plus the mechanics, cooks, navigators, officers, and crews of the ships were fighting for their lives—those still alive. I felt more like puking than cheering. How many of those deaths were directly attributable to me? There was no way to know.

What I did know, was that I wanted to crawl back into my basement and play video games, but none involving the military or fighting. Maybe cartoon creatures racing in cars with balloon tires.

Sue slipped her arm around my waist and snuggled close. She smelled of sweat, smoke, and salt. It was not over. We still had to face the dawn.

Someone brought us blankets and the three of us fell into fitful sleep beside the Ford that had four flat tires and would never move from where it squatted. At dawn, rifle fire woke us. First, a few shots, then many.

I’d been right. The gunboats had ferried hundreds of men ashore to the north and south of us. There must have been five hundred troops in each place, and more where the concrete pier met the shore.

They didn’t stand a chance. During the night, many more of our people had arrived, thousands and thousands. Our angry people. Every one of them carried a gun of some sort. They were untrained, unorganized, and their weapons were designed for shooting targets, deer, or small game. It didn’t matter.

An hour after sunrise, the shooting stopped. There were no more enemies alive. No ships in the harbor to bring more troops ashore. The wave of people arriving had overwhelmed the troops the gunboats had delivered ashore, five hundred north of us and the same south. An estimated thousand had been at the edge of the concrete pier, ready to rush us, kill us all, and stand guard for the ships to dock and unload men, machines, food, and all the equipment necessary to occupy a foreign land as they conquered the population.

Instead, a ragged group of prisoners stood to one side, surrounded by a more ragged ring of our people. There were perhaps two hundred stunned survivors, many wounded or burned from the fires on the water still sending black smoke into the air.

The bay and harbor were filled with floating things spewed from the ships that had sunk only hours ago. Insulation, wood, plastic, mattresses, and a thousand unidentified items. Men in orange life vests, alive and dead, bobbed on the surface. So much debris had washed up along the shoreline, it looked like soap scum left in a sink after washing dirty clothing.

The quantity of flotsam was unimaginable. Most were coated with black fuel oil. Each ship presumably held enough fuel to travel back to where they came from, so they could refuel and return with more troops or settlers .

I remember reading that fifty years after sinking, Pearl Harbor sunken memorial battleship, The USS Arizona still leaked oil. What would the seventeen, no make that nineteen ships that had sunk here do to our waters? Would oil still seep out and poison the water for a hundred years? Probably.

The enormity of the situation escaped me no matter how I tried to get my head around it. Ships had sunk. Thousands had died within sight of where we stood. If the SEAL and his volunteers hadn’t planted the C4 on the hulls, we would all be dead, the pier a swarm of activity by new owners.

As I looked around at the giant swarm of people, with more still pouring in, I revised my attitude slightly. The SEALS had saved a lot of our lives, but in sheer numbers, we would have put up a fight. The snippets of conversation around me revealed everyone was as upset as me—and we had nothing and nobody to take it out on.

We walked, Sue, Steve and I, moving around the area to get a sense of what was happening. People moved aside as we approached, letting us pass freely. At first, I thought it had been good manners. Then, I heard whispers.

“There he is.” Or, “Move aside, here comes Captain Bill.” There were many comments like that.

There were others, too. “He’s so young.” And “I’d follow him anywhere.”

Sue poked me with a finger and teased me with a grin. She heard them, too. Men saluted. All kept their eyes on me long after we passed and before going back to their duties.

We walked near the radio tent. Inside were the same men, now haggard from lack of sleep, but as a group, they looked at me and smiled. They wore weary smiles, but happy. I said, “How is it going?”

One stood as if addressing a superior officer. “The word is getting out. Is there anything else you’d like to say to them?”

I said, “No.”

Instead of her normal friendly jab to remind me, Sue punched my shoulder before raising her voice and calling out, “He has a lot to say. Let everyone know Captain Bill is about to speak. Just give us a moment.”

She pulled me aside, her anger clear—and all of it directed at me. Steve seemed to have the same issues with me because he followed us, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed. When we could speak in relative privacy, Sue stepped in front, forcing me to look at her from a few inches away as she shook her finger in my face.