Jacob moved away from the others and pushed against the rails. The deck was large and gray with a building structure just to the left, a hatch door pinned open. Across from him was a large machine gun. A sailor stood watch over it while looking out toward the shoreline with a pair of binoculars. Another sailor emerged from the hatch, rushing to Jacob’s side and helped him out of his rucksack. Others gathered around, lending a hand to carry their gear through the hatch. They were ushered down a passageway and into the ship’s galley where they were directed to large round tables. Jacob followed his team to the front and found a seat at the end of the first row.
Sailors at the front of the galley filled white porcelain cups from a large stainless steel cylinder and handed them out to the waiting men. A young sailor, barely twenty, looked down at Jacob as he passed him a cup of steaming coffee. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any chewing gum, would ya?”
“Uh, no,” Jacob answered.
The sailor bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Well, if you come across any, think of me, okay? I can trade you for it,” the sailor said, walking away. Jacob held the cup to his lips and sipped as he looked over at Jesse sitting across from him. His friend shrugged his shoulders and tried to hold back a laugh. “No chewing gum? Damn, these guys got it rough,” he whispered.
A man in digital-blue camouflage, wearing a black ball cap entered the galley. He stopped at the front and sifted through items on a counter before grabbing the entire tray and walking toward the seated men. As the man approached, he dropped the tray and slid it across the table’s surface. “Wish there was more I could offer you. We're running low on everything… haven’t been resupplied in weeks,” the man said.
James reached across the table, snatching a packet of saltine crackers from the tray. “Thanks, Chief. We’ll take anything we can get.”
The man shook his head and sighed. “How many times I gotta tell you to call me Bud.”
“Just one more, I promise,” James laughed.
“We had reports of gunfire and explosions on shore. Did you run into trouble?” Bud asked.
Marks slurped at his coffee and set the cup in front of him. “Just helping out some friendlies; nothing worth reporting on.”
Bud shook his head. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d like to avoid a report. You know, with that contact, you’ve shut down this entry spot for a week. The Deltas will be all over this place. Now we’ll have to burn fuel looking for something else.”
Marks ignored the admonishment. “So, what’s the deal? I know the Navy is still flying drones stateside; how does it look over there? Any signs of them thinning out?”
“No, quite the opposite, really; it’s bad. Seeing less and less of the living every day. We can’t even approach the shoreline in daylight anymore without taking fire. We haven’t made a survivor pickup in over a week.”
“Concentrations?” Marks asked.
Bud took a cup of coffee from the table and found a seat. With his free hand, he reached into a pocket on his left leg and removed a long manila envelope. “Heavy around the big cities and, of course, bodies of water. Most of them are scattered along the coastlines. The real danger lately is how fast they gather, and no place seems to be void of them.” The chief took a sip and looked across the table at Marks. “You sure about going across? I can push these orders back; I have no problem doing it. Delay you some; maybe get you a week’s rest on board.”
“What about the captain?” Marks asked.
Bud shook his head. “He still ain’t a hundred percent, and shit is getting to him, losing so many of the crew. He’ll stick with me if I refuse to deliver you. Shit, I doubt he would even know.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Chief, but we didn’t get all dressed for nothing,” Marks said.
“I figured as much. Do you know what’s in here?” Bud slid the sealed envelope across the table, leaving his hand on it.
Marks pursed his lip and nodded his head. “I’ve seen the intel.”
Jacob looked at the faces around him, trying to see if they were in on the conversation or as lost as he was. He saw no looks of recollection or concern, only committed stares.
“Do you believe it? Do you think it’s what they say it is?” He held the envelope, waiting for Marks to take it from him.
“The French and Germans say it works. I think we have to take a chance. Either way, it’s above my pay grade.”
Bud nodded his head and let go of the envelope. “If you’re still getting paid then I need to make some phone calls. I’ll leave you to brief your team. We’ve already set a course for north of Bay City. With any luck, we'll have you there unseen in the darkest part of the night.” Bud paused to look at his watch. “Looking at oh three hundred. You can rest in here and use the heads on the second deck. Use the showers while you have the chance; hot water is the only thing we have plenty of.”
Bud got to his feet before lumbering to the galley door, stopping just inside the hatch. He turned and looked back. “Marks, seriously, if you or your men need anything or change your mind, come find me.”
“Thank you, Chief—er, Bud.”
The men sat silent until Bud left the room and closed the hatch. James was the first to speak. “Damn, sir, you’ve been holding out on us. Sounds like they got something extra shitty in mind for the Assassins. I can’t wait to see it.”
Marks didn’t answer; instead, he passed the sealed envelope off to James. Marks pushed away from the table and found his rucksack. He flipped it over and removed his sleeping bag from the
