02 Flotilla of the Dead (20 page)

            Scott looked farther west at the giant cargo terminal of Pier 400.  The only access to the 450 acre terminal was a pair of car and rail bridges connecting it to the Mole.  These had been sealed off from zombies too and George Hammer had made an important discovery the previous afternoon.  George’s scouts had found more than a thousand reefer containers on Pier 400 and they were amazed to discover that an emergency diesel generator was still keeping most of them refrigerated.  They also confirmed that the generator was almost out of fuel, but a tanker truck had been dispatched immediately to fill it up.  Today they would begin the process of identifying the cargos in each reefer and prioritizing the salvage operation.  Many containers would be loaded onto trucks and driven onto the
Cape Inscription
for the shipment to San Diego.  Others would be moved onto the Traveling Trader, and others opened for distribution among the ships and boats of the Flotilla.  Pier 400 was also serviced by a dozen railroad tracks and there were several freight trains just sitting there, waiting to be loaded with containers.   Preparations were underway to load a train with supplies for survivors in LA. 

            Scott strolled along the deck outside his suite, crossing above the pool deck at the stern and looked east as the sun rose over Long Beach.  The
Queen Mary
was also silhouetted against the dawn, with part of the Port of Long Beach in between.  Closer still, the
Sea Launch Commander
and
Odyssey
were docked at the Mole with their deck lights still ablaze.  The Navy Basin, protected from the open sea by the Mole, had also begun filling up with smaller boats of the Flotilla.  Dozens of motor yachts, sailboats, and other pleasure craft, as well as more than a few commercial fishing boats, had either dropped anchor or were tied up along empty stretches of the Mole.  This was the only stretch of land that was certified as zombie free so far, but Scott hoped that most of the Long Beach side of the basin would soon be considered safe enough for boats to tied up there too.  Then they would fully secure Pier 400 and eventually the rest of Terminal Island.  Once that happened there would be a lot more activity in the Port and many of the Boat People would be able to spend more time ashore, helping with the salvage operations.

            It was a quarter to seven when Scott went back inside to get dressed.  Five minutes later, after a quick phone call to Clint in sickbay, Scott was heading down to the vehicle deck to see the Marines and members of his crew who would be joining the Sea Launch engineers for an inspection of the old power plant.  Sergeant Major O’Hara would lead this mission himself.  He would be taking three Marines with him in one of the eight-wheeled LAVs and four more manning the bigger Amtrac.  The power plant was almost directly across Terminal Island from the Mole, but to get to it they would have to drive around the Navy Basin and past the Reserve Center where they had found the LAVs and HUMVEEs.   First stop would be the
Sea Launch Commander
to pick up some rocket scientists who might actually be able to get the plant running again and direct the power into Terminal Island and the Port of Long Beach.

            “Good morning, sergeant major,” said Scott as he approached the group of eight Marines who would be escorting the expedition.  “I thought I might come along while you pick up the people from Sea Launch and invite the rest of them to come over for brunch.  As you probably heard, the FBI is coming by in a couple of hours and I thought they might like to meet our neighbors too.  I’ve also invited Captain McCloud, Mr. Kroeker, and George Hammer, if they have time.  I wish you could be there too, but I’m glad that you’re willing to babysit this expedition.  We don’t know what’s waiting for you over at the power plant and I don’t want anything to happen to the scientists.”

            “Not to worry, Commodore,” replied O’Hara with a smile.  “Babysitter has been my middle name ever since I was a Drill Instructor at Paris Island.”

            “Speaking of names,” said Scott.  “What is your first name, Sergeant Major?”

            “That’s been top secret since I was a Drill Instructor at Paris Island too, sir.  I could tell you, but only if I were about to kill you, or was sure that I was about to die.”   He said this with a totally straight face that was only slightly belied by a glint in his eyes.  “But you can call me O’Hara whenever sergeant major becomes too much of a mouthful.”

              “Thanks O’Hara.  I’ll do that.  But only if you call me Scott once in a while.”

            “Yes, sir, Commodore, I will.” 

            Scott laughed and said, “I’ve already told Mick Williams to move my helicopter down onto the Mole and remain on Ready Five status with the ramp guards outside the ship.  If you need help over there, it will only be five minutes away.  Let me know if there’s anything else you need, O’Hara.”

O’Hara smiled and looked like he was about to say something else, but by then they had all boarded the armored vehicles and were rolling off the ship onto the Mole.  They turned left and drove a hundred yards to the gates into the Lea Launch compound.  The security guard watching them approach seemed a little jumpy as he lifted a radio to tell someone what was heading their way.  Nevertheless, the gates rolled open smoothly as they arrived and the LAV led the Amtrac towards the Sea Launch ships.  Scott noted that the Sea Launch Shore Facility included over a dozen buildings, two of them quite large, and was flanked by several acres of park land on the tip of the Mole.  He’d have to remember to discuss some shared use of the park, at least, and possibly a building that could be used as George’s Harbor Master office eventually.  For now the Marines pulled up in front of the ships and waited for their passengers to arrive.  They didn’t have to wait long.

            As soon as the Sea Launch people came out onto the dock Scott climbed out of the LAV and walked to meet them.  He was happy to see that Nancy was among them.  He went to shake her hand and said, “I won’t be coming on this particular adventure, but only because I have another engagement in two hours.  I wanted to invite you and any of your senior people who are free to attend brunch aboard my ship at about 10 o’clock.  The other guest of honor will be the FBI agent that I tangled with on TV last night.  Can you make it?”

            “That interview was the best show that I’ve seen since Z-Day,” said Nancy with a genuine smile.  “You really scored some points there, Commodore.  And I’m not surprised that the FBI agent was impressed enough to come and see what you are doing for himself.  Yes, I’ll be happy to attend and I’ll ask other senior members of the Sea Launch team who are free to join me too.  But first, let me introduce Dr. Peter Zolov.  He’s an electrical engineer who will be leading our team to the power plant and he speaks fluent English, so he can translate for the Russian and Ukrainian technicians.”

            “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Zolov,” said Scott.

            “Call me Peter, please,” he answered without any sign of an accent.  “And the pleasure is truly mine.  You made a great case for the Flotilla last night.  Now I hope that I can help increase your bargaining position by several hundred megawatts.” 

            “That would be fantastic,” replied Scott eagerly.  “Do you think that’s really possible, Peter?  And please call me Scott, if the answer is yes.” 

            Peter’s smile was answer enough as he replied, “Yes, Scott, the power station here has been in one-hour-stand-by status to provide reserve power for peak usage compensation since 2008.  It wasn’t running on Z-Day, but everything should be ready to flip a switch or two.  The only real challenge should be to redirect the power so it only goes into the local Terminal Island power lines, instead of the whole grid.  That will take some line and switch gear work.  Otherwise the power would bleed out, or short out critical transformers.  It could take a few days to resolve safely, but I’m reasonably confident that it can be done sooner rather than later.  I’ll be sure in a few hours, if we find what I expect over there.”

            “I like you already, Peter.  Just keep calling me Scott and make it happen.”

            “I’ll give it my best shot, Commodore,” said Peter with a smile.   Nancy laughed and went back to her ship to extend the invitations for brunch, while Scott and Peter escorted the other Sea Launch volunteers to the Amtrac.  The big armored vehicle wasn’t luxurious, but it was built to carry two squads of Marines.  Peter facilitated introductions between the Sea Launch technicians and the Marines and crew from the
Sovereign Spirit.
  Scott nodded his thanks and returned to the LAV.  A few moments later he hopped out next to the ramp to his own ship and wished the expedition members well.  He waved as they rumbled down the Mole. 

*****

            At 9 o’clock sharp the black Hughes 500D helicopter arrived over Terminal Island.  Unexpectedly, it was followed by two LAPD Eurocopters.  Scott was standing outside on the Sky Deck, next to his bedroom suite, and had a sinking feeling that he was about to have another encounter with Mayor Del Fuego.  He had cleared the helipad above the Sky Deck for the FBI chopper, but the others would have to land out on the Mole.  Knowing Special Agent Corrigan, however briefly, he suspected that all three helicopters would land there.  But knowing Mayor Del Fuego, he might be inclined to make his pilot land directly on the ship.  He might even try Scott’s game of capture and hold the helipad.  So Scott picked up the ship phone and started giving orders.  It came naturally by now.

            Scott watched as the FBI helicopter landed on the Mole, about a hundred feet from the
Sovereign Spirit’s
ramp.  One of the LAPD choppers landed next to it a few seconds later.  But, as Scott had predicted, the third ghetto bird circled his ship and came in slowly to land on the helipad above the Sky Deck.  By that time, however, there were half a dozen crewmen moving equipment around on the helipad.  They refused to move, pretending to ignore the chopper above them.  Another crewman climbed into the crane over the Boat Deck, swung it around, and extended the arm until it too obstructed the helipad.  The men standing on the helipad acted as if this were normal operating procedure and pretended to be rigging equipment to be lifted by the crane.   The helicopter pilot realized that he would not be able to land on the pad and diverted towards the Mole.  Scott hoped that nobody in the helicopter noticed the men flipping them ‘the bird’ as it turned away.

Scott was grinning as he went inside and took the elevator down to the vehicle deck.  By the time he walked down the ramp and onto the Mole the last helicopter had landed next to the other two.  The new arrivals appeared to be composed of three FBI agents, plus their pilot, two senior LAPD officers, four policemen in SWAT gear, the Mayor of Los Angeles and another well dressed civilian.  Scott took a moment to clear his mind and promised himself to start off on a fresh page with the mayor.  He decided that he had already gotten more than even and this was his home turf now, even if the mayor wouldn’t agree with him, but he knew that the mutual animosity would reappear as soon as one of them stepped on the other’s toes.

            “Welcome to the Navy Mole stronghold,” Scott called out as he walked forward to greet his guests when the sound of the helicopters died away. “It’s a mile long strip of zombie-free territory that will form the secure hub for Flotilla operations in the Terminal Island Safe Haven.  I’ll be happy to show you all around, even though there are more of you than I expected.  But first, let me offer the hospitality of my ship, the
Sovereign Spirit.
”

            “Thank you, Commodore,” called Special Agent Corrigan.  “Sorry about the unexpected guests.  I hope you can accommodate us all.”

            “No problem Special Agent,” replied Scott.  “I’ve got plenty of room on my ship.  But let me suggest that the SWAT team and pilots remain by the helicopters, just in case we have a zombie alert.”

            “Does that happen often?” asked Mayor Del Fuego nervously.

            “Not really,” replied Scott neutrally.  “But I wouldn’t want you to lose a helicopter if it happened today.  I’ll have food and refreshments sent down for your men.”

            “Thank you,” said the mayor, obviously missing the fact that Scott’s own helicopter was sitting next to the rest of them with no guards evident.  “I’ll just bring my aide, along with Police Chief Harris and SWAT Commander Austin.  Will that be okay?”

            Scott almost smiled as he nodded and said, “Certainly, Mr. Mayor.  Please follow me.”  He turned and walked back up the ramp into the vehicle deck.  He actually heard gasps and exclamations as the men following him saw the array of vehicles arranged before them, especially the remaining LAV-25 and AAV-7 armored vehicles that were positioned to roll out of the ship at a moment’s notice.  But they seemed even more shocked by the rest of Scott’s personal motor pool. 

            “Where did you get all of those sports cars?  And the rest of this stuff?” asked the mayor suspiciously.   

Scott suppressed an urge to be combative and decided that he needed to explain his wealth.  “I won the Mega Lotto.  That’s how I got this ship and everything in it.  Aside from the two armored personnel carriers, these are all my own vehicles.  You can have your police officers check all the registrations if you want to.  Most of them are registered in California anyway and they’re all unlocked.  I wouldn’t want the mayor to think I’m a car thief.”

“That won’t be necessary,” interjected Special Agent Corrigan.  “I ran a background check on you last night, Commodore, and I saw your tax returns.  I have no doubt that all of this belongs to you.”

“Thank you, Special Agent Corrigan,” said Scott.  “I’d love to give you a tour when we have time, but let’s go upstairs and discuss business first.”  As they walked towards the elevator the newcomers were startled by the sound of rapid gunshots above them.  “Relax gentlemen,” Scott reassured them quickly.  “That’s just some of my people doing target practice in the bowling alley.”