Chapter 43 The Bay
The early afternoon California sun hung like a pale smudge behind the immensity of fog, barely highlighting the granite shoulders of the cliffs rising from the water. Cloaked in moss woven from years of relentless wind and salty spray, they hid countless secluded coves and shadowed crevices.
Trump's hijacked ship, christened 'The Big Kahuna' now, hugged the coastline, searching for a haven amidst the fog's dominion. This frequent visitor to Tomales Bay, especially in the summer, wasn't just a nuisance; its thick curtains shielded them from Wang's and Pushkin's watchful eyes inland.
Trump had confiscated the Type 052D destroyer, a Luyang III-class by NATO standards, from the Chinese People's Liberation Army in the North Pacific.
It came stocked with an arsenal of weapons, unfamiliar equipment, and a handful of spared Chinese officers. The onboard glaciologist had helped peel away the ship's icy outer skin now that they were in warmer waters, revealing its true purpose: a foolhardy assault to infiltrate the heart of Bohemian Grove and topple Wang's and Pushkin's new world order.
Colonel Dicky Rickson stood on the bow, scanning the coastline, awaiting an update from his Lieutenant Colonel, Richard Lancaster. Overhead, the Hummingbird micro-drone zipped back from its reconnaissance assignment, landing like an insect on deck.
The silent scout was tasked with discovering a safe docking point within Tomales Bay's rocky teeth for the Big Kahuna.
He was also expecting news from the UAV (Unmanned Ariel Vehicle) that his drone pilot had dispatched in the morning with intel on the terrain they would face once they reached land.
Lieutenant Colonel Lancaster popped out of a watertight hatch and joined his captain on deck.
"What's our read-out, Lancaster? Tell me you have some good news."
"So so, Colonel. The Hummingbird has picked up a cove 1km straight ahead. It's a tight fit for berthing. But it can be done."
"Now tell me the bad news, Lancaster."
"Tomales Bay is not suitable for a destroyer ship of this size. Topographic reports have given us a depth of 6 meters at its deepest level," said Lancaster.
"As you may well know, Colonel, The Big Kahuna will require depths exceeding 9 meters for safe maneuvering and anchoring."
"What about underwater obstructions? Are there any?"
"The Hummingbird has detected a field of submerged rocks in the bay. However, it has also identified a narrow, clear path through them leading to the cove. As I said, it's a tight fit."
"What about our exit plan if we can get her inside?"
"Well, there is some good news on that front. We picked out a potential Ravine. It's a little steep-sided. But it's nothing the dune buggies couldn't handle."
Colonel Rickson was well aware of the ship's imminent demise in such unfavorable conditions. He also didn't care if the ship grounded on the submerged rocks. San Francisco Bay would leave them exposed. All the other smaller harbors along the California coast would blow their cover once they reached land.
Trump's objectives were clear: Get them to Wang and Pushkin.
"What's the call? Colonel Rickson."
"Get us in the cove ship or no ship, Lancaster!"
"I will inform Trump of your command, Colonel."
"Lancaster!"
"Yes!"
"Wait until I have checked in with the drone pilot operator for the UAV reports before you disturb Trump. He will not be too pleased if he is disturbed without a concrete plan."
"Then come inside out of the elements, Colonel Rickson. We can outline a plan over a stiff drink."
"Meet me in my quarters in 30 minutes, Lancaster. I think I will need it."
Both colonels left the open deck, with Rickson heading off one way for the drone operator and Lieutenant Colonel Richard Lancaster veering off the other way.
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Colonel Rickson and Lieutenant Colonel Richard Lancaster's eyes met, a silent acknowledgment of the precarious path ahead at the top of the Helm Station's steps. The drone pilot's report had begun, describing every harrowing detail of the narrow, rock-strewn passage. Along with the challenges that awaited them if they were lucky enough to make it that far inland to Bohemium Grove in one piece. The cove, their promised point of entry, lay just beyond the haze's veil, a jagged mouth at the base of the cliffs of Tomales Bay.
The steel steps clanged under Colonel Rickson's boots, with Lancaster following close behind.
The entire crew had been summoned to assemble on deck. Colonel Rickson surveyed the faces around him; each was a portrait of fatigue from the voyage of survival across the oceans.
They were a mismatched band of brothers and sisters, thrown together by circumstances beyond their control. Escapees of Gulag's paracytic Ferox 13, fueled by a cocktail of desperation, loyalty, and a flickering ember of rebellion against the new world order that Trump promised to topple.
Donald Trump, a jarring note in his olive battle fatigues, stood slightly apart from the crew.
His eyes, however, blazed with that of a predator, ready to take back the mantle of his power and stolen lands.
Grey and Robinson hung around with Captain Lars and his stoic co-pilot Sven; nearby Asp and Dante stood ahead with the rest of The Bloodies. Also scattered across the deck were civilians and whatever foreign renegades from various armies that the Big Kahuna had picked up along the way. Five of Wang's shipping engineers huddled to one side, their expressions unreadable beneath the burden of their uncertain fate.
They had already witnessed the massacre that fell upon their former shipmates under Trump's orders. Rickson had felt a knot of guilt twist in his gut at the time.
For he knew these men were just cannon fodder in a grander game, heading into this abyss with no say whatsoever.
Colonel Rickson stepped forward, calling the meeting to order.
"I know some of you have lost contact with friends, family, and loved ones, myself included; some may be dead, some may be alive. Who knows. We've received reports from our drones that this cove right here could provide us a safe harbor, but it will not be without risks," Colonel Rickson began.
It was glaringly obvious to all the crew on deck that the path into the cove was barely wider than the ship itself. Colonel Rickson also warned them about the shallow depths and the formation of rocks lurking beneath the surface, which also guaranteed the ship would come to ground, potentially capsizing the Big Kahuna.
All onboard came to an understanding of Rickson's thought processes for the calculated risks involved.
"Our destiny hinges on getting inside that cove, unseen and unheard. She will sink. I can guarantee you that, but no more than six meters," said Colonel Rickson.
Trump's voice, sharp with impatience, echoed across the deck.
"Surely there must be a better location without putting us at so much risk, Rickson! This cave, the graveyard of rocks, it sounds like a suicide mission to me."
Colonel Rickson was expecting such pushback; he was a local. Who studied at the California State University Maritime Academy. Once he passed with honors he joined the Marines and he knew the coastline like the back of his hand, certainly more than Trump did.
"Mr. President," he said with weary patience.
"I hear your concerns. We explored dozens of potential landing sites, all the way down to San Diego. But they all fall short for one reason or another."
He pointed towards the shrouded cove, emphasizing his expertise in a power move for everyone to see.
"Bodega Bay might be closer, but it's too exposed; we will be sitting ducks for Wang's and Pushkin's patrols. Manchester, further north, has faster inland access, but the terrain's impassable for vehicles. The secluded coves of MacKerricher, tempting as they are, lack secure anchorage for the Big Kahuna."
Trump frowned at Rickson's level-headed explanation.
"Covertness is more important than a damn ship, Rickson!"
"And that's where Tomales Bay shines, Mr. President," Rickson countered.
"It's the perfect compromise. It's close enough to Bohemium Grove, yet shrouded in these persistent Pacific fogs. The cove provides a hidden haven. And while the passage is tight, I believe the crew has the skill to navigate it."
He fixed Trump with a hard stare.
"This whole thing hinges on stealth, sir. We can't just waltz ashore under their noses. Tomales Bay gives us the best chance of slipping in unseen, unseen until it's too late for them to stop us."
A tension-filled silence descended, broken only by the creak of the ship and the cries of unseen seagulls. Trump's eyes turned to the cove, then back to Rickson. Finally, he let out a forced sigh.
"Alright, Rickson, Tomales Bay it is. But if this all goes south... "
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Rickson offered a tight smile, as he was just about to unburden some more bad news. He amplified his voice.
"If we can get to shore, then the real fight begins. The terrain to Bohemium Grove is a relative proximity of 60 miles south."
"It will be hilly and full of dense forest with few clear paths," Colonel Richard Lancaster added.
"Hunting trails and old logging roads crisscross the hills. Leading to winding dirt paths onto even rougher terrain."
Trump spoke up again. "With an assault force this size, we will not be able to cover the land mass with such conditions."
"That's the catch, Mr. President," said Colonel Rickson.
"Only twenty of us can go. We have twenty dune buggies that can cover such conditions."
"We have over four hundred men and women on this boat," said Trump.
"Are they expected to just stay trapped inside a dam rock on a capsized boat?"
Colonel Rickson raised his voice to the sea of faces all watching him.
"Anybody who wants to leave. We will supply you with the zodiacs needed to get you out of here. We will even supply each of you with a gun and some rounds if you want to play soldiers. Miller's Boat Launch is a short ride from here. It also has a paved ramp to get you safely on land."
"There you can find restrooms and picnic areas if you want to snack up on your emergency rations before they run out. It's a convenient spot for a day trip."
"Lancaster, be useful and shut up! while I'm finishing things up here!"
"Very well Colonel!"
"If you decide to stay. We have three month's worth of food supplies on the Big Kahuna. And whatever weapons she holds."
"And what happens if nobody comes back?" one of the marines asked.
"Then it's game over," said Colonel Rickson.
"Your food supply will run out. Then you will all have to go and live off the land like mammals until you get captured or killed or become infected like the rest of them."
Lieutenant Colonel Lancaster chimed in, reinforcing the point.
"Even then the ravines and gullies inside the cove are quite challenging to get four hundred or so people out. Although we do have a limited supply of ropes and rock climbing equipment in our supplies. If nobody makes it back. You will have to fend for yourselves I'm afraid."
"So now is the time to speak or forever hold your peace. Who wants off this boat?" shouted Colonel Rickson.
"The question is," Trump interrupted.
"Who exactly is going into the woods?"
Asp and the Bloodies debated over the alternatives laid out in front of them. Captain Lars and his co-pilot, Sven, did not have the stomach for another round of misadventure; besides, they had gotten quite used to the accommodations and excellent Swedish meatballs served by the Scandinavian chef they had befriended. Robinson wanted no part of the rubber boats anymore.
Grey could envision himself being left to rot inside the cliffs of Tomales Bay, due to his age, awaiting a rescue party that would never come back, leaving the cruel hands of fate to bestow upon his family after coming so far.
The marines awaited the order from Colonel Rickson as to who would be picked based on the skill sets they possessed for inland field craft, and the civilians and renegades were just lost sheep, just wanting it all to end.
"Lancaster get to your station and await for my arrival."
Asp and Dante swaggered across the deck to Colonel Rickson and Donald Trump.
"Both of us are volunteering to take that buggy ride of yours," Asp said swingingly.
"It's not in the DNA of my assassins to just sit idle either. They want off this ship in the Zodiacs."
"I'm sorry, I can't take you with us. I have better-trained men for the task."
"Trained for what exactly? Scuba diving Colonel! Me and Dante here have fought in the jungles of the Congo for Christ's sake."
"It's just a camping trail, really. Any which way you look at it," Dante pointed out.
"You're in," said Trump.
"I'm going too!"
"Please, Mr. President I can't have you endangered. You're our leader to the free world."
"Have you seen me lately, Colonel Rickson? What do you bench?"
"250ib on a good day!"
"Me 300ib. Go figure. I'm a gorilla right now, Colonel. I'm going, and that's a presidential order!"
Trump flexed his muscles like a piece of eye candy, just enough for his wife Melania to see. She had seen a dramatic improvement in the bedroom department lately.
"That leaves sixteen bodies," Trump said.
"No doubt I know you're going, Colonel Rickson?"
"Of course. Lieutenant Colonel Lancaster will take over my duties on the communications side. And if needs be command a secondary unit. That's if we don't return."
"Then pick 'em', Colonel, and be quick about it. I expect this baby to be moving within the next ten minutes. I'm getting suited up."
Trump walked off. And that's what Colonel Rickson did. Parading in front of a core of Marines tangled with nerves, he picked fifteen of his best men. Behind them, civilians loitered in restless clumps, staring out at the rising cliffs. Others clutched ragged photographs of loved ones in silent prayer. Procedures were put in place for the rest of the Bloodies to leave on a couple of Zodiacs from the stern of the ship to motor off into the misty waters of Tomales Bay to the Miller Boat Launch.
Grey leaned against the railing alone in reflection, remembering those he had lost along the way. Robinson ambled over, hands in his pockets, catching sight of the Bloodies leaving.
“You holding up okay, Grey?”
Grey turned around slightly startled from his misplaced malaise.
“I… I just wish I could’ve gone with them.”
Robinson leaned on the railing next to him.
“Grey, you’ve been through enough for ten lifetimes. Isn’t it time you let someone else carry the burden?”
Grey nodded slowly, his gaze distant.
“You’re right, Robinson. I’m just… I’m worn out. I don’t have the fight left in me.”
Robinson clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then take a breather, old friend. You’ve done your part. We both have. Who knows, things might turn around.”
Grey shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
“Nothing ever turns around, Robinson. Nothing ever does.”
Colonel Rickson watched the last of the chosen few file down toward the waiting dune buggies aft of the destroyer. He would soon be joining them once the deck was cleared.
Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled, Lieutenant Colonel Lancaster's voice cutting through the air.
"Colonel Rickson! We have visual confirmation. Repeat, visual confirmation. Two patrol boats are heading directly in our direction."
The deck froze. Every face turned towards the helm station, morphing into stark dread. Rickson gripped the railing.
Two patrol boats. Unannounced. A wrench in his meticulously planned operation.
"Shit!" he said.
"Can they see us?" he barked into the microphone.
The reply came sharp and immediate. "Negative, Colonel. Fog cover still holds. But they're changing course, approaching fast. ETA: 10 minutes."
Ten minutes. It wasn't much. Not with two enemy boats potentially spotting them and raising the alarm.
"Everyone get below deck!" he ordered.
Rickson raced into the Helm Station while everyone scampered down any hatch or exit they could find in a mass of entanglement.
"Lancaster," he said, his voice tight once he reached the control panels.
"Can we outrun them?"
"Unlikely, sir. Not without risking drawing more attention to ourselves."
"Then we have five minutes. Bring her in, Colonel. With that Midas touch of yours!"
Lieutenant Colonel Lancaster rushed to the helm, full of adrenaline. He'd navigated difficult waters before. He was infamous to a degree within his platoon for navigating through the Bermuda Triangle an unlucky thirteen times, but he never attempted anything like deliberately ramming a destroyer ashore. Rickson joined him, watching over his shoulder, surveying the turbulent sea churning beneath the fog.
"ETA to the cave entrance?" Rickson demanded.
"Three minutes at full speed," Lancaster replied, assessing the choppy waves lapping at the cliffs.
One wrong move could smash them against the sides of unforgiving granite.
Lancaster took into account of the bow-mounted sonar warnings, which provided a detailed picture of the rocky areas directly in front of the ship. Sound waves were emitting and analyzing the echoes reflecting off the rock formations about to grind the Big Kahuna's hull. The digital navigation system's reading mounted onto a navigational chart, looked just as grave.
Lancaster shouted out. "Depth warning 5 meters! Colonel."
"Screw protocols Lancaster. I already know our depth. Just get us in!"
Rickson grabbed the radio. His haunted warning reached the breadth of ears crouched in safety positions on the lower decks.
"All hands, brace for impact. This is not a drill."
Lancaster gunned the engines, steering directly for the narrow slit of calm water; their proposed target. Through water-streaked windows, they saw nothing but an insurmountable shroud. Only Lancaster's experience and the drone's findings could guide them now. The granite formation of cliffs revealed itself above the fog before them like weathered giants. Lancaster wrenched the wheel hard over. The ship keeled heavily to port.
"Brace!" Rickson bellowed over the roar of waves and straining engines. Lancaster clenched up, throwing all his power to thrust them the final meters at a sharp angle.
Hull plating groaned against rock. The significant damage to the propellers, rudders, and hull itself threw men and women from their feet below. Electrical shootouts turned the lower decks into complete darkness. For a terrifying moment, it seemed as though they would capsize or smash into the sides of Tomales Grove at a painful angle, but she answered his command.
In fact, the rocky bottom helped minimize sliding, acting as a makeshift stabilizer in such shallow waters, reducing the risk of capsizing. Inch by inch, the cove entrance grew, the rocks rushing up from the murky depths.
With a lurching crunch, the destroyer struck bottom, wedged firmly in the shifting sands. Engines whined to a halt, and then an invigorating calm fell. Colonel Rickson's audacious plan had worked; for now, they were safe within the cove's sheltering arms.
Lieutenant Colonel Lancaster was right in his estimated time of arrival report. Through the cracks in the fog, two shadows approached.
Lancaster swung a high-powered scope upon the opening, his eyes glued to the water beyond.
"I think we've made it," Lancaster said optimistically.
A sickening crack whipped through the bridge, pullies and cables snapped. The Aegis Combat System Mast's slender frame, weakened by the impact within the cove's entrance, gave way under the strain.
Lancaster instinctively pivoted the powered telescope almost vertically to the sound of twisting metal.
"Rickson duck, it's going to smash into us!"
They dove under the control console. The mast sheared off, tumbling down on the Helm Station. Denting its shell and smashing its windows. A cascade of rocks dislodged from the ceiling rained down, covering the cove's entrance, caving the Big Kahuna in. The bridge was showered in a hail of dust and debris.
Wang's and Pushkin's patrol boats glided past under the pretext of a false alarm caused by the sighting of an unidentified ship in Tomales Bay, unaware of the chaos unfolding just meters away.
The destroyer, half-buried in the sand now, settled within its tomb with half its communications systems wiped out. In that breathless moment, Lancaster and Rickson perched up, covered in chalk, knowing they had cheated fate. The cove had swallowed them whole. For now, their location remained a secret.