“Exactly the same, Sir.” He anticipated Bradley’s next question. “Yup, Two Zodiacs, double the bang for the ride.”
“Will that leave any room for carbines?”
“Yes, sir. 50 carbines per Zodiac on top of the other items. But it means only one man per Zodiac if that’s the amount of cargo they’ll carry. But that’s no big deal. A Zodiac is easier to drive than a tricycle.”
The chief warmed to his weapons moving skills. “There’s a way you can increase the capacity of weapons storage by 100 percent.” This was better than Bradley had expected.
“How do you do that?” asked Bradley. The chief pointed to a survival raft capable of holding hold six people.
“Each of those babies can hold the same as a Zodiac without a man on board.” said the chief.
“All together Chief, what do we have?”
Chief Ray took his inventory sheet from his pocket. “Here’s the list sir: 50 M4A1 automatic carbine rifles; 100 rocket propelled grenades, 25 Colt 45s; 20 surface-to-air missiles including shoulder held launchers. We also have a total of 2,000 rounds of ammo for the carbines, and 750 rounds for the 45s.”
“Looks like you could start your own gun company, Chief.”
“Commander, you’re lookin’ at one ass whuppin,’ ammo movin,’ game changin,’ efficient redneck.”
The only thought that plagued Bradley was how they would off load the weapons without being seen.
Chapter 22
General Robert E. Lee commanded the Army of Northern Virginia, the largest army in the Confederacy. He wanted to see firsthand the result of the opening hostilities of the war. The entire Confederate military looked upon Lee as the leader. Lee also wanted to talk to General Beauregard about this mysterious Gray Ship that seemed to be the talk of the South.
After he toured Fort Sumter he could see that the result of the battle was a lot of masonry rubble. The walls were pockmarked from cannon fire, but the structure itself was still sound, a valuable new addition to the Confederacy’s defenses.
General Beauregard invited Lee into his quarters in Charleston. He occupied a large office that had once housed an investment company. The space was 30 by 40 feet, equipped with leather furniture and a Persian rug. In the middle hung a crystal chandelier. This man doesn’t look ready for battle, thought Lee.
“First, General, let me congratulate you on your successful siege of Fort Sumter,” Lee said. “I understand that our Navy was also of great assistance in preventing the Yankees from being resupplied.”
“Yes General, I would say that the Navy was crucial to the outcome. If they had been successful in restocking food and ammunition, the Yankees could have held on for a much longer time.” Lee appreciated it when a commander gave credit to forces not under his command.
“I’m concerned, General, about all of the reports I’ve been getting about some strange Gray Ship,” Lee said.
“I too am concerned about the Gray Ship, Sir. I haven’t seen it myself, but from the descriptions I’ve received, it sounds like it could be 600 feet long, although some reports have it as long as 2,000 feet. Its deck, according to reports, is covered with strange looking weapons. It has incredible speed and maneuvering ability, according to one of our captains who saw the ship up close.”
“And we only know her as The Gray Ship?” asked Lee.
“I almost forgot to tell you, Sir. She is the USS California. She bears the number ‘36’ prominently on either side of her bow. One of our boats got close enough to read the lettering on her stern.”
“Since we have a name and a number, do we not know anything about her?” asked Lee.
“That’s the most puzzling thing of all, General. I contacted the local office of our Navy Department. They keep a list of all ships of the Union Navy. Neither the name USS California nor the number 36 appears on the list. We have a very effective spy in the Union Navy Department who keeps the list up to date.”
“Has anyone seen any evidence of hostile intent from the California?” asked Lee.
“No sir, but she flies the Union flag, and we’re at war. Hostile actions from that monstrous ship cannot be a long way off. We can’t identify many of the weapons that have been described, but we can assume they’re armaments because of their projectile shapes.”
“From what you’ve heard, General, do you think one or more of our new ironclad ships could stand a chance against the California?” Lee asked.
“From what I have heard, Sir, I’m not sure our entire Navy could stand up against her.”
“General,” said Lee, “I recommend posting lookouts at shore batteries along the coast. Have them make drawings of the ship. The ship probably moves too fast for a photograph. Once we have enough we can distribute the information to all of our naval forces.”
“I shall see to that at once, General Lee.”
So the North has a secret weapon, thought Lee.
Chapter 23
After his 45-minute morning workout, Jack Thurber holed himself up in the ship’s library with his laptop and portable hard drive. Like most writers, he was a pack rat. Technology makes it easy to be a packrat, and even encourages it. His portable hard drive holds two terabytes of data and set him back less than a hundred bucks. All of the research for every book he wrote is on that hard drive, with a backup on his office computer back home. His good friend, a techie, poked fun at Jack about his habit of carrying all his data on a portable drive.
“The cloud,” his friend said “is the only way to go.” All of his information could be carried on some remote server farm, backed up by dedicated computer dweebs.
Jack pondered that, on April 10, 2013 (or was it 1861?), the cloud disappeared. He patted his portable hard drive.
On orders from Captain Patterson he was reviewing all of the information he ever jotted down about time travel, specifically information on how to go back to the time you travelled from. In other words, how to get back to the wormhole.
Jack enjoyed himself. Work, whether mental or physical is what drives him. It’s his life, a life that he had considered ending a few short years ago.
Jack’s personnel file mentions that his wife Nancy had died in a car accident. What the file doesn’t say is that Jack witnessed the accident. Nor does it mention how much he loved her, cherished his every moment with her, and hated to be away from her. Nancy had taken her car to run an errand a half hour before Jack left the house to drive to a book interview. As he drove down the highway his eyes caught something in the air in front of him. In the opposite lane of travel, approximately 300 feet ahead, he saw a silver Lexus sedan, twisting and spinning crazily in the air. The car struck pavement and became airborne again, propelled by its momentum. After three bounces it came to a rest on its roof. He had one thought. It was more than a thought, more like a vice that gripped every square inch of his body and squeezed.
That looks like Nancy’s car.
The traffic came to a standstill. He flung open his door and ran to the scene of the wreck. He ran with abandon, not watching what was in front of his feet. He tripped over some debris on the shoulder of the road, pitching him forward. He broke his fall with his forearms. When he lifted his face and looked forward, he saw what would consume his life for years. Yes, it was Nancy’s car. And there was Nancy, lying in the roadway, her body in two pieces.
That scene became the focus of his every waking hour. What he had seen was unthinkable. God how he hated that word. If any manuscript came across his editorial desk he would take it out with a vicious stroke of his red pencil. Unthinkable. How do you unthink an image, an image as stark as any that the human eye can behold. Yes, the image of Nancy’s torn body was unthinkable, but how could he stop thinking about it endlessly. He not only contemplated suicide, he started to jot down plans for how he would do it. He considered finding the wormhole at Pearl Harbor and launching himself into war, an easy way to get killed.