Working by feel in the dark room, he dragged himself out of the sleeping bag and removed his meager hygiene kit from his pack. He slunk across the galley, avoiding the other sleeping bags on the floor, and then dropped to a bench while he wrestled on his trousers and boots. Jacob got to his feet, passed through the galley, and stepped into the well-lit passageway.
He found his way down the long p-way, stopping to ask directions twice before he found the second deck head and showers. The other men on the team had taken to growing long “tactical” beards; or at the very least, a solid two days’ worth of scruff. Jacob looked at his own grown whiskers in the mirror, running his hand over the dark scruff. He decided this would be his last shave as he stepped into the hot shower.
The water was hot and the steam did wonders clearing his head. He stepped out into the cold air, dug through his bag, and retrieved a nearly empty can of shaving cream and a clean razor from his hygiene kit. Once he used it, he would discard the remains here. He wasn’t planning to take more than a bar of soap and a towel with him downrange, and this would be less weight he had to carry. No reason to waste his last opportunity for a clean shave.
As he finished wiping his face with a clean towel, a young sailor wearing blue shorts with a well-worn Pearl Jam T-shirt, moved into the room behind him. The young man stopped to look at Jacob’s multicam trousers hanging on a hook over his roughed-out boots. “You with the ground team?” the sailor asked.
Jacob hesitated, still not feeling like a member of the Assassins yet. He took a deep breath as he wiped the rest of the shaving foam from his chin. “Yeah, I guess you could say so. Just recently joined them.”
The sailor nodded then squeezed past Jacob to one of the benches. The man stripped down and entered the shower. “Hey, you know anything about Virginia?” he shouted over the spraying water.
Jacob stuffed his things back into his kit, tossing the shaving gear into a trashcan before draping the damp towel over his shoulders. “Virginia? What about it?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know, Norfolk, Virginia Beach, Little Creek? Anything… how they are doing, any news? Since we moved up here, nobody has heard from home.”
Jacob paused, moving against a bench to dress into his uniform. “Sorry, kid, can’t say that I have. I’ve been up in Canada. I’m from Chicago originally, but I’ve been pretty cut off from the world myself. How long have you been here?”
The man turned off the shower and exited, drying his face with a towel. He stopped and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Hell, a month, I guess. No, that ain’t right… hell, maybe even three. I’m not sure; times and dates don’t have the same meaning that they used to. We stopped counting when they told us we were never going back. Has to have been a while because we’re damn near out of everything on board.
“This patrol ship isn’t set up for long periods between replenishment, out here operating alone like this. We do what we can, taking from other boats or salvaging when we find a friendly port, but it’s still hard. Too hard even, for some of us.”
Jacob laced his boots, happy to have found someone who wasn’t afraid to speak. Most of the men in his team weren’t talkers, or when they did, it was like getting juice from a peanut. They were always abrupt or directly to the point, intimidating and making him uncomfortable to ask questions. Maybe once he got to know them better, he thought. Jacob put on his T-shirt and left his towel wrapped over his shoulders. He leaned back against the wall. “What’s that mean—‘too hard’?”
“Well, you know, like the skipper. He just shut down on us… don’t even leave his berthing anymore. And a couple of the guys jumped ship one night; said they’d had enough and were going home. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the same where you come from.”
Jacob nodded in understanding. “So how did you end up in the Great Lakes?”
“We got rapid deployed right after the first attacks. We traveled fast, came up the seaway… you know; back when it was still open. Sailed on through… right up to Detroit. They tasked us to help in the fight to save the city. No luck… we got here too late to make a difference. Spent most of our time ferrying survivors across the lake.
“Been stuck in these waters ever since. Once the seaway was lost, we got trapped. It’s been pretty busy running teams like yours back and forth, supporting missions inland with our UAV, even helping escort some of the larger civilian ships. Things have slowed down lately; most people that want out have left, and we are close to being the last vessel out here now.
“Most of the civilian freighter crews beached themselves on the Canadian side and disappeared. I’m sure we will do the same eventually. Hell, Chief says if we don’t get a real resupply soon, we may have to go into port for good. We got some firepower on board, but this low on ammo and supplies, we aren’t much good to anyone. Hardly got enough on board to even defend ourselves, if it comes down to it.”
Jacob sat listening, not wanting to interrupt. He watched as the young man finished shaving and gathered his belongings. He stepped to the door then paused to look back at Jacob. “Hey, good luck, man. We take a lot of you all to the States; not many of you come back.”
“Really, is it that bad?” Jacob asked.
The
