discussion, heading across the rec room to dry off and tear open an MRE. He sneered at the contents.
“Sarge, you gotta make us up something palatable again soon,” Westin said.
“Damn straight,” Hart agreed.
Lorenzen nodded. But he wasn’t thinking about food.
“What do you think about the traps?” I asked him.
Lorenzen thought for a moment.
“Fox in the henhouse, you set traps for the fox,” he said. “I’m not so sure Private Westin isn’t onto something.”
“You think they were overrun?” Schiavo asked, doubtful. “Look at this place. There was no fight here. There wasn’t any fight in town.”
“There was a fight somewhere,” Lorenzen told his commander. “If we had a weekend pass, I’d bet mine on that.”
The conversation was turning as gloomy as the weather. Everyone was either soaked or drying out. Rain was drumming on the station roof. Through the window I could see waves leaping white in the channel.
I could also see Acosta. Standing in the downpour near the edge of the dock, the top of the Sandy ’s wheelhouse bobbing just beyond. He was staring alternately at the water and up to the clouds.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, taking my coat from where I’d hung it to dry and slipping into it again.
“Where are you going?” Elaine asked.
“Outside for a sec,” I said, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
Seventeen
“T his isn’t looking all that promising,” Private Acosta said
He stood at the dock where the Sandy was tied off, wind and wave pushing the boat against the wood and concrete mooring structure as rain hammered everything. Just north of the Coast Guard Station cruise ships had docked when the world was still whole. They would dump their passengers, the town’s population swelling temporarily while wallets were emptied to pay for souvenirs and lumberjack shows. Then they’d board their floating hotels and be off to the next destination along the inside passage.
In this weather, though, some would have been losing their lunch.
“Lieutenant wants to move at night,” he said.
That made sense. The less chance we faced of being seen made it more likely that we’d reach our ultimate destination. Sailing at night was risky in itself. Doing so in this weather, and especially in the seas as they were, made far less sense.
“Coastal Alaska is basically a rainforest,” Acosta said.
That it was. To our sudden detriment.
“Are we stuck?” I asked.
Acosta nodded. He’d come out of the station’s main building to check on our transport and now the both of us stood in rain that had begun to fall vertical, but had shifted to near horizontal.
“It could blow through quick,” Acosta said, looking to me, water gushing off the brim of his hat. “Or...”
“Yeah,” I agreed, annoyed at Mother Nature’s sudden appearance. “Or...”
* * *
“H ow long?” Neil pressed once the lieutenant finished. “Exactly.”
Schiavo, to her credit, didn’t take my friend’s bait. He was beyond frustrated now.
“I don’t have any access to weather reports,” she said. “I know what you know the same way you know—by looking outside.”
Neil turned away and paced across the rec room, which we’d appropriated as our communal bunk house. After discussing the situation with Acosta, Schiavo had informed her men, and us, that continuing on before the weather broke was out of the question. While my friend reacted with predictable harshness at the delay, the lieutenant’s troops continued drying their gear and found couches and overstuffed chairs in the space, letting their bodies fall into the cushions.
“I’m not sure everyone knows everyone still,” Schiavo said, looking to me.
She waited, signaling that the formal introductions should begin with those of us her unit had risked their lives to save. We’d only had the most basic sharing of information since leaving Mary Island. Hearing another use a name.
“Sarge, you gotta make us up something palatable again soon,” Westin said.
“Damn straight,” Hart agreed.
Lorenzen nodded. But he wasn’t thinking about food.
“What do you think about the traps?” I asked him.
Lorenzen thought for a moment.
“Fox in the henhouse, you set traps for the fox,” he said. “I’m not so sure Private Westin isn’t onto something.”
“You think they were overrun?” Schiavo asked, doubtful. “Look at this place. There was no fight here. There wasn’t any fight in town.”
“There was a fight somewhere,” Lorenzen told his commander. “If we had a weekend pass, I’d bet mine on that.”
The conversation was turning as gloomy as the weather. Everyone was either soaked or drying out. Rain was drumming on the station roof. Through the window I could see waves leaping white in the channel.
I could also see Acosta. Standing in the downpour near the edge of the dock, the top of the Sandy ’s wheelhouse bobbing just beyond. He was staring alternately at the water and up to the clouds.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, taking my coat from where I’d hung it to dry and slipping into it again.
“Where are you going?” Elaine asked.
“Outside for a sec,” I said, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
Seventeen
“T his isn’t looking all that promising,” Private Acosta said
He stood at the dock where the Sandy was tied off, wind and wave pushing the boat against the wood and concrete mooring structure as rain hammered everything. Just north of the Coast Guard Station cruise ships had docked when the world was still whole. They would dump their passengers, the town’s population swelling temporarily while wallets were emptied to pay for souvenirs and lumberjack shows. Then they’d board their floating hotels and be off to the next destination along the inside passage.
In this weather, though, some would have been losing their lunch.
“Lieutenant wants to move at night,” he said.
That made sense. The less chance we faced of being seen made it more likely that we’d reach our ultimate destination. Sailing at night was risky in itself. Doing so in this weather, and especially in the seas as they were, made far less sense.
“Coastal Alaska is basically a rainforest,” Acosta said.
That it was. To our sudden detriment.
“Are we stuck?” I asked.
Acosta nodded. He’d come out of the station’s main building to check on our transport and now the both of us stood in rain that had begun to fall vertical, but had shifted to near horizontal.
“It could blow through quick,” Acosta said, looking to me, water gushing off the brim of his hat. “Or...”
“Yeah,” I agreed, annoyed at Mother Nature’s sudden appearance. “Or...”
* * *
“H ow long?” Neil pressed once the lieutenant finished. “Exactly.”
Schiavo, to her credit, didn’t take my friend’s bait. He was beyond frustrated now.
“I don’t have any access to weather reports,” she said. “I know what you know the same way you know—by looking outside.”
Neil turned away and paced across the rec room, which we’d appropriated as our communal bunk house. After discussing the situation with Acosta, Schiavo had informed her men, and us, that continuing on before the weather broke was out of the question. While my friend reacted with predictable harshness at the delay, the lieutenant’s troops continued drying their gear and found couches and overstuffed chairs in the space, letting their bodies fall into the cushions.
“I’m not sure everyone knows everyone still,” Schiavo said, looking to me.
She waited, signaling that the formal introductions should begin with those of us her unit had risked their lives to save. We’d only had the most basic sharing of information since leaving Mary Island. Hearing another use a name.
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