The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) Page 5

  I slipped off my jacket, and then removed the holster. “I’ll have you know I feel half naked without this,” I said as I wrapped the straps around the Kel-Tec and shoved it under the seat.

  “You can put it back on when we clear everything military. Until then, you need to act like Army.” He handed me a leather holster and I threaded it on my belt.

  When we entered what used to be the airport terminal, I noticed how much it had changed, even from just a year ago when I came here to pick up Eric and Emilee. There was a great deal of activity everywhere. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and hoped I could keep my cover.

  “Colonel Andrews!” someone called out. Jim stopped and turned toward the deep male voice.

  “Steve! How’s my favorite major?” Jim returned the salute. I came to a moderate attention and saluted the major. He returned my salute with a question in his eyes directed at the Colonel. “Major Steven Kopley, I’d like you to meet First Lieutenant Allex Smeth. Allex has been my right hand these past few months. We’re here to re-outfit her. She lost everything in the Marquette fires.”

  “Welcome to Sawyer, Lt. Smeth. Where did you transfer out of?” the Major asked with a genuine smile.

  I smiled back, stalling for time.

  “Selfridge, Sir,” I replied, dredging up some distant memories.

  “Selfridge is an Air Force Base,” he said skeptically.

  “So is Sawyer, Sir. The Army has presence everywhere these days.” I was starting to feel interrogated.

  He looked at me suspiciously. “I spent some time there a while back. There was a cider mill I was rather fond of, on one of the Mile Roads, 21 I think.”

  “If it’s Spencer’s you’re remembering, Sir, it’s on 26 Mile Road. Best cinnamon cake donuts this side of heaven,” I replied smoothly.

  Major Kopley grinned. “Those were indeed the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Things look a bit different from the last time I was here, Major. Where is the PX located now?” Jim asked, swiftly changing the subject.

  “Building H will have everything you need.”

  “After we get the lieutenant back in uniform, can we meet you somewhere for a briefing on this crack left behind by the earthquake? Our information is very limited,” Jim said.

  The major looked at his watch. “Meet me in the officers’ mess at eighteen hundred hours for dinner and I’ll tell you everything I know. Colonel, Lieutenant,” he saluted and left.

  Jim stared at me for a moment. He looked confused.

  “What?” I said.

  “I’m speechless, and that’s hard to do to me,” he confessed. “He was testing you, you realize, and you passed with flying colors. I’m impressed.”

  “Robert Heinlein, one of my favorite authors, once said there were three ways to lie. I adapted those by adding enough truth to the lie to make it believable without digging myself in too deep.” We walked out the doors looking for Building H. “I grew up on the eastside of Detroit, Jim. Selfridge was well known to everyone, and the cider mill was a favorite hangout for us teens in the fall, and they really did make great donuts! I hope he doesn’t ask me too many more questions because I’ve never been to Selfridge, although I have an aunt that spent a great deal of time there.”

  “Before we run into anyone else, we need to give you an AOC, an Area of Concentration— a line of work. Everyone does something, and since you’re in Emergency Management already I think Public Affairs would suit you.”

  “What does a military public affairs officer do?” I asked perplexed.

  “Basically, you civilianize military information; make sure what is going out to the public doesn’t have anything classified in it. It’s the perfect cover AOC for traveling,” Jim said, obviously pleased with himself.

  We found Building H easily and no one dared stop or question the colonel. Signs were abundant enough that we didn’t have to ask directions to the Clothing Sales shop in the Post Exchange.

  “Well, hello, Smitty!” Jim looked at the young man behind the counter.

  “Colonel Andrews!” he snapped a salute. “It’s good to see you again, Sir!”

  “Corporal Donald Smith, this is First Lieutenant Allex Smeth,” Jim introduced us.

  “Ma’am!” Cpl. Smith saluted me, which felt very odd. I returned the gesture.

  “The lieutenant lost everything in a fire, Smitty, so I need you to completely re-outfit her. Can you do that?”

  “Oh, yes Sir!” Smitty looked at me appraisingly. “Size 8, five foot five?” I nodded, impressed. “How much, Sir?”

  “I think two or three sets of fatigues should do; t-shirts, pants, shirts, cap, jacket. Do you have any sweaters here? Good, one of those too. And her bars.” Smitty was busy writing. “Do you still have that embroidery machine?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Good,” Jim handed me a pen and I carefully printed my name to get the spelling correct.

  The corporal quickly brought me a short stack of clothes, camo pants and a khaki t-shirt. “If you will try these on, Ma’am, to make sure I have the sizes right. The dressing room is right over there.” He pointed to a curtain.

  “I need a favor, Smitty,” I heard Jim say while I was changing clothes.

  “Anything for you, Colonel!”

  “I need one shirt with her name and rank before we leave. The rest we’ll pick up later,” Jim requested. “And she’ll need a new laminated ID.”

  “I’ll get right on it, Sir, and I can drop everything off to the women’s barracks, if you like.”

  I could hear the hum and clatter of a machine from somewhere in the shop. Soon Smitty reappeared with a handful of tags that said “SMETH” and set them on the table. From a locked cabinet, he brought out a box of officer insignias. I tried on the shirt he handed me and we went for a half size larger for comfort. He disappeared again and returned with my name tag sewn on and my officer bars on the collar along with the shield for Public Affairs, my new AOC.

  “I’ll have the rest for you within the hour.” Smitty smiled at us. “Ah, sir, what unit do I send the bill to?”

  “No need, Corporal, I’ll pay for them. After all, I lost them.” I shrugged. He told me how much and I removed the bills from my wallet. Thankfully I had taken some of the remaining cash from my envelope before we left. I added an extra fifty to the pile of bills. “I do appreciate you sewing all this on for me. I hate sewing,” I gave him one of my best smiles.

  “If you’ll step over here, Ma’am, I’ll take a picture for your new ID card.”

  *

  We were well away from the PX and out of earshot, when Jim casually said, “I thought you liked sewing.”

  “Oh, I do, but Smitty doesn’t need to know that,” I answered. “Everyone needs to feel appreciated, Jim, everyone. And if Smitty thinks he’s doing me an extra favor, so much the better. Besides, I think I just made a new friend and possible ally.”

  Jim laughed. “You learn fast.”

  *

  We were back in the main terminal a few minutes before six o’clock, though I had to remind myself that I needed to say eighteen hundred hours. The officers’ mess was up a flight of stairs, connected to what was once the small restaurant when this was only an airport.

  Major Kopley had already secured a table and was waiting for us, a cup of steaming dark coffee in his hands.

  “Got everything squared away, Colonel?” he asked.

  “Yes, it was good to see Smitty still in charge,” Jim replied. A civilian came to our table, poured us some coffee, and set a sheet in front of Jim with the daily menu printed in large block letters. “Tell us about the quake, Steve. We felt it up in Moose Creek.”

  “Before we get into that, Jim, can I ask how you ended up in that little town?” Major Kopley asked. “We all thought you were going to the Soo, and then you disappeared from radar.”

  “Very simple, I got stranded on the wrong side of the fires when I cleared out the civilians. I had already assigned Sanders, Perkins, Jones,
and Smeth to temporary duty in Moose Creek, so it seemed logical to join them there until I could figure out where we stood,” Jim said, casually fielding the question. He picked up the menu then handed it to me. “With winter approaching, there wasn’t much choice except to stay put, and once the quake hit, all comms were down.”

  “Well, I’d say you certainly lucked out with personnel to be stranded with,” Kopley said while smiling at me. “Lieutenant, there’s a nice quiet bar across the road. Would you care to join me for a drink after dinner?”

  “I appreciate the offer, Major, and I’m flattered, but I must decline. I know the Colonel likes to get an early start and I’m looking forward to a good night sleep,” I said graciously.

  “Oh, I could help with that too, Lieutenant,” he said with obvious intent.

  “Major Kopley, stop hitting on my lieutenant,” Jim said very quietly, just loud enough for us to hear the underlying threat.

  “I don’t see a wedding ring, so it doesn’t hurt to ask,” Kopley’s smile faltered.

  “Allex is a recent widow, Steve, so back off.”

  “It’s only been four months, Major. My husband was buried the day the quake hit,” I said.

  “My apologies, Ma’am, and my condolences.”

  Just then the civilian waitress brought the plates of pasta we had ordered.

  *

  The dishes had been removed and our coffee cups refilled. Major Kopley unfolded a colored laminated map of the Upper Peninsula and laid it across the table. A blue magic marker line made its jagged way from the Lake Superior shore to Lake Michigan. More blue lines curled away.

  “The quake, which has been determined a 10.9, centered here, around what was Chatham. The Divide now runs from Au Train Bay to Gladstone along the Whitefish River. Instead of being fifty feet wide and twenty feet deep though, it’s now five hundred feet wide and the depth in areas is still undetermined.”

  “What are these extra blue markings, Major?” I asked, pointing to the ones near Gladstone.

  “Those are the new shorelines. Here, here, and here are completely flooded. Any survivors were evacuated inland. With the quake hitting at the time it did, the causalities were high.”

  “We’ve had some limited ham transmissions from downstate that indicate there’s been flooding elsewhere,” Jim added.

  “With that much water spilling into Lake Michigan, most of the coastlines have been breached, including Chicago. Which is why this has taken on a priority status,” Kopley said.

  “Is there any way to get across this divide?” Jim asked, examining the map closer.

  “The Army Corp of Engineers has constructed three bridges to access the other side, and they’re working at trying to plug the hole.”

  “Plug it?” I asked. “How?”

  “I haven’t seen the area since they started construction, though it seems to be a Hoover-size dam,” Kopley was all business now. “The biggest problem we’re having on the other side is with the gangs, so no matter what you decide, be careful.” He refolded the map and handed it to Jim.

  “What kind of gangs?” Jim asked, concern lacing his voice.

  “When the quake hit, all power was lost for a time and the prisons went down. There are, or were, two maximum security facilities at Newberry and the Soo. Eighty percent of the inmates have been recovered in one way or another, which leaves twenty percent still on the loose and causing a great deal of trouble for the locals,” Kopley told us. “Some of them actually turned themselves back in once they got a taste of the wilderness. Those city boys can’t hack the wild conditions of the U.P.,” he added with a laugh. “Please be careful. I’d also suggest you start at the construction site. They can advise you which crossings are safest at any given time.”

  *

  I let myself into the female barracks and found my new uniforms piled neatly on one of the beds. I found a khaki nightshirt and a towel on top of the pile; Smitty had thought of everything. I sat on the bed tugging at the laces of my jungle boots, thinking about the gangs the major had told us about. A shiver ran up my spine when I remembered the Wheeler gang and how many lives they had taken. I pushed the thoughts away and headed for the showers.

  CHAPTER 6

  April 12

  “Are you ready, Lieutenant?” Jim asked as I emerged from the barracks. I had slept well and was looking forward to the new day. The few women sharing the large room had been full of questions that morning and were still milling about, curious about the new “officer” and her high ranking traveling companion.

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied, a smile tugging gently at the corner of my mouth. I would be very happy to get past this charade and back to our casual names. I picked up my new duffle and followed Jim out the door.

  “Let’s grab some grub before hitting the road,” he said.

  “Should I put this in the Hummer first?” I asked, referring to the duffle.

  “No, I want the others to know we’re in a hurry and will be leaving soon.”

  *

  We followed 94 to Highway 57, then north where it intersected with M-28 and headed east. The roads had been cleared of buckled asphalt and broken concrete, which now lay along the shoulders in large, unsightly piles. The new dirt and gravel road slowed our speed and it took over an hour to reach the construction site, a trip that in the past would have taken twenty minutes. There was no mistaking the zone when it came into sight.

  “Wow, that is impressive!” I gasped, seeing the beginnings of the massive dam. A half mile before the actual activity, we were stopped by another guarded gate.

  “ID, please,” the young soldier requested. We handed over our laminated badges. He carefully examined them, checking that the photos were indeed us, wrote something on his clipboard, and handed them back. “Your purpose here, Colonel?”

  “Information, Sergeant, and a means of getting across the Divide to my unit in the Soo,” Jim replied smoothly.

  “Yes, Sir! If you ask for Captain Argyle at that small building on the left, the one with the red metal roof, I’m sure he can answer any questions.” With that, he gave us a quick salute and we were on our way.

  *

  “As you can see, Colonel, our progress has been a bit slow,” Captain Argyle said, leading us through a maze of dusty bulldozers, cables, and scaffolding, “Though we are getting there.”

  “How long have you been at this now?” Jim asked, squinting into the muted sunlight.

  “Just over three months, Sir. We arrived two weeks after the rift opened. Our first objective was to establish a safe route between the two sides here where the work was needed. Then we set about to secure a secondary bridge for the civilian’s further south. This is a restricted area, of course.” Captain Argyle led us over to a map board on the wall of another building. “Our crossing is a quarter mile from here,” he pointed down the new river at a metal bridge in view. “The civilian crossing is thirty-eight miles south of here, and ten miles north of the new shoreline. That gives the best coverage for any that need to get across.” He indicated on the map where the other bridge was.

  “I was told there were three bridges, Captain,” Jim said.

  “That was our intention at first. It was deemed impractical, and therefore unnecessary.”

  “May I ask, Captain, what are you trying to accomplish here, besides the obvious of stopping the flow?” I asked. “And what problems are you running into that is impeding your progress?”

  “The obvious is our only goal, Lieutenant. The continuing loss of water from Superior has greatly diminished the shipping lanes. The water level is now down seventy-five feet, and while that may not seem like a lot when the lake has an average depth of over four hundred feet, it is. The lake bottom isn’t consistent and navigating has become difficult.” He looked out to the lake before going on. “It isn’t just losing water from Superior, though. Our equally important goal is to stop the flow into Lake Michigan. There are millions of people being affected on that other end. I’ve got the
governors from not only Michigan and Wisconsin calling me daily, but from Illinois and Indiana too.”

  “What is your biggest obstacle, Captain?” Jim said, re-asking my question.

  “We can’t find the bottom of the rift, Sir.”

  *

  We accepted the coffee Argyle offered us, and stood fifty feet from the edge of the rift. The gushing water was mesmerizing. Fifty yards from the original shoreline the water funneled and turned choppy, swirling in mini whirlpools. The closer to the rift, the muddier the water became. It rushed and gyrated and sent plumes of misty spray several feet into the air, shimmering with rainbows as it formed an unseen waterfall beneath the waves.

  “How far down have you measured?” I asked the captain.

  “The instruments we have registered two hundred feet before they quit, and the current created is much too strong to send a diver down yet,” he replied. “We are expecting a deep water submersible any day now that should be able to determine what we’re up against. Meanwhile, we are continuing with what we can, hoping to slow the water down at least. The first two hundred feet or so on both sides have a bottom of seventy to a hundred and fifty-five feet. At least there we’ve got something to work with. It’s that center hundred feet that has us stymied.” He took a sip from his cup. “The good news is the water is cold, icy cold.”

  “Why is that good news?” Jim asked.

  “If the water was warming it would mean this crack was really deep, lava deep, and there would be no way to seal it.”

  *