Chapter Thirty-Three
Memories of his first amphibious assault against Museum Park raced through Jacob’s mind as he rode in—flashbacks of the Darkness holding the shorelines and brave men being thrown against the breakwaters like cattle being led to slaughter. They charged the beaches under heavy fire with nowhere else to go. Jacob looked across the boat at Stephens, thinking of Murphy and wishing he were here with them, knowing it wasn’t possible.
This time, the ride was different. Instead of shaking with adrenaline, waiting for the boat to slam against a breakwater while explosive violence filled the air, Jacob sat near the center of the boat, trying to stay hidden. He tried to control his breathing, sure that everyone around him could hear his heart thumping in his chest.
They motored into the center of the Saginaw River then cut the gas engine, switching to a small electric trolling motor to slide them quietly against the current. Cold water sloshed over the bow, splashing against his face and soaking his uniform top. Jacob stretched, trying to ignore the sudden chill, fighting off the shivers aching at his arms. He let his hands slip over the rifle, taking comfort in its weight as he worked his fingers over the selector switch. His eyes looked ahead, and slowly he could make out the black-grays of the distant shoreline emerging from the fog.
The marina was ahead on their right. A sign identified it as a private yacht club. High-end boats were scattered along the shoreline of a main boathouse that was burnt to the ground. Looking into the marina, Jacob could see that many of the docks’ fingers were twisted and broken with sailboats pushed up against them. Summer storms and lack of maintenance had done damage to the place. There were a number of docks branching out like a tree, each branch filled with slips of its own. They skipped the first marina entrance, finding it too congested to maneuver in easily. They passed the destroyed boathouse, motoring into a smaller harbor shelter with a wide entrance that allowed for faster access back into the river.
Once inside the harbor and out of the river’s current, the electric motor was cut to allow the RHIB to drift freely with the occasional correction by a paddle. James lay far in the bow of the boat with his night vision goggles dropped low over his eyes. Rogers perched over the fifty-caliber machine gun, searching for threats just behind him. Quietly stroking at the water, they guided the RHIB in close to a large cabin cruiser—the Great Lakes’ version of a yacht. The boat quietly thumped against the dive deck of the larger luxury watercraft. Marks, walking on the tips of his toes, leapt aboard the second vessel and tied the boats together with a nylon rope.
Marks stealthily slipped across the deck and dropped to his knees, peering out at the dock access. He let his rifle hang from its sling as he quietly removed the gangplank connecting them to the dock then allowed the board to slip into the water. Keeping his rifle up, Marks shifted his position and watched James bound up with Rogers just behind him. The two men boarded the boat and patrolled forward below deck. Jacob could faintly hear the men moving about the cabin cruiser; speaking low muffled commands to each other, doors being opened, a glass bottle kicked, a curse at the noise. Silently, the two men reappeared on the deck of the cruiser, turning out in opposite directions.
“It’s clear,” Rogers whispered.
Marks moved back to the edge of the boat, leaned over the RHIB, and whispered a command to Stephens, who touched his helmet. He lurched, crouched low, and looked down at Jacob and Jesse. “Okay, let’s get the gear transferred. This is our home now for a while.”
Jacob navigated to the far side of the RHIB and stepped onto the boat’s deck, leaving Jesse alone. Slowly, Jesse handed over the large rucksacks as Jacob stacked them on the cruiser’s deck. After everything had been moved, Rogers walked past them and secured the M2 machine gun on the RHIB by covering it with a large canvas case. Jacob crept to a corner of the boat and looked out over the surrounding docks.
The marina was arranged in a large horseshoe pattern with boats tied all along the sides in individual slips. Their boat was located at the top of the center arc, facing the river. They had a clear route back into open water if they needed to egress quickly, and a straight run down the dock to reach dry land. Like the marina in Canada, several of the boats here were sitting low in the water, flooded, with their mooring lines stretched and putting stress on the docks. A large sailboat next to them showed obvious signs of a battle. Bullet holes riddled the sides, the sail was ripped and shredded, and a pile of luggage sat on the dock, just next to its gangway.
Jacob picked up a thump behind him and turned as James dropped a woman’s body onto the deck. Without speaking, he went back below and returned with the body of an elderly man, which he placed on top of the woman. He stopped and pointed at Jacob. “Get these over the side, but be quiet about it.”
Jacob looked at him, disgusted, but nodded his acknowledgement, knowing it had to be done. He grabbed at the old man’s corpse. The stench permeated through the man’s clothing and overwhelmed him; Jacob’s eyes watered and he had to turn away before he retched. He backed away, pulled his T-shirt over his face and returned to the task. Jesse came up beside him and helped by grabbing the body under a shoulder, gripping its heavy shirt. Together, they moved it to the rail
