Chapter 69: Aftermath
"All right, I think that's got it."
Clayton surveyed the clean hallway floor of Joe Base's sixth level with satisfaction. Although the last two levels of base had seemed like a hopeless mess when the water had receded enough for them to come down, everyone on base had pitched in to help. Courtney and the engineering crew had rigged a second pump and more fire hose, and the water had emptied a lot faster than he thought it would. Two teams armed with mops and buckets had made short work of what was left on the floor, and while they would have to wait a little longer for the floors on the residence level to dry, he estimated that they'd be able to sleep in their beds by that evening.
"Can we get out the motorpool doors?" he asked Courtney—she'd been running up to the motorpool level at intervals to make sure water was being pumped out of the end of the fire hose the way it was supposed to—and since their base didn't have power and he couldn't look at the security cameras to see what things looked like outside, Courtney was the best source of information for now.
Courtney hesitated. "We can…but it's pretty bad out there."
"What do you mean, 'bad'?" he asked, blinking in startlement.
"It's bad," Courtney just repeated. "Go on outside and see for yourself."
He turned and headed for the stairs—with the elevators out, they were jogging up and down stairs—and ran into Dash, Allie and Conrad coming down. "I want to go outside and have a look," he said shortly, and without a word, they turned and flanked him, heading up the stairs.
He spent a couple of minutes just staring blankly when they got the door to the Joes' garage open. It was the only reaction one could have to the sight of a large motorboat tucked between two of the SUVs belonging to the Fort Wadsworth Chaplains' School, so neatly that there wasn't a scratch on either of the vehicles or the motorboat.
"The water was this high? Wow. We were lucky it didn't come in the motorpool doors and flood the admin level." Allie was impressed.
Conrad was less impressed. "Come on. If we get up to the lighthouse we should have a pretty good view of this end of the Island and be able to see what kind of damage might have been done. I have a sneaking suspicion that drifting boats are the least of everyone's worries."
And as they emerged from the stairs at the top of the lighthouse it was immediately clear to all of them that Conrad was right. And Clayton was forcibly reminded of the conversation he'd had with Doc and Allie the night before—if there weren't any news crews on Staten Island before the storm, there wouldn't be any afterward, and in a worst-case scenario it would take days for help to reach the Island.
From the top of the Verrazano Narrows lighthouse the damage was all too clear. Staten Island had been hit, hard. Building debris—shingles from roofs, wooden beams, shutters, plywood, and lots and lots of siding were scattered everywhere, and he silently thanked God that he'd asked Liv to evacuate—and that she'd chosen to listen to him. He would be going nuts right now if she hadn't. As it was, he was a little worried about the house but not nearly as much as he would be if Liv and Auggie had been in it.
The wind was still blowing, though not the hurricane-force winds that had been prevalent during the height of the storm. There was still rain, but in comparison to the downpour at the height of the hurricane, this was nothing but a simple rainshower. Far down at the tip of the island, he could see the waters of the bay and river, but it was much further up than it should have been—indicating that floodwaters hadn't receded yet. Power lines and poles were down all over the place.
"Good God," Conrad finally breathed. "It looks like the end of the world down here." And as if in answer, they saw a group of people wrapped up in jackets against the remainder of the wind and rain, carrying backpacks, heading…somewhere.
"The bridges are shut down, and the governor said the only vehicles allowed on the streets are emergency personnel," Courtney said from behind them as she climbed the last few steps out of the stairwell and joined them at the top of the lighthouse, with Doc beside her. "Damnit, if FEMA hadn't closed there might be somewhere for these people to go. As it is, there won't be help out here for days."
Down at the end of the street, a woman stepped out of a narrow alley that looked half-flooded. As the Joes watched, she started to walk up the street toward the lighthouse, dragging a suitcase on wheels behind her, a tiny dog under one arm. She seemed to be struggling, and as her shoes slipped in the mud, the hood of her jacket fell back and they saw a flash of silver hair.
Doc was gone in an instant, reappearing at the foot of the lighthouse moments later. In silence the Joes watched him cross the Chaplains' School parking lot, running to intercept the elderly woman and help her get to her feet in the mud on the road There was an exchange of words that none of them could hear, and then Doc started walking with the woman, taking her suitcase with her, heading in what Clayton guessed was the general direction of Staten Island University Hospital.
"Come on," Courtney said, tugging his sleeve. "Clayton, remember our base isn't officially here, and if we're seen up here at the top of the lighthouse it could blow our cover. Lucky Doc was wearing civvies, that old lady won't make him for US military."
But these people need help. And there's no authority here on the island. Clayton knew they had to maintain the confidentiality of the base, but the devastation was hard to ignore—as were the small huddled knots of people he could now see starting to move around the flooded streets. If he squinted, he could see the low, squat building that represented the FEMA center at the end of Father Capodano Boulevard, but he knew that those who might be able to make it there looking for help were going to find the building shuttered and closed, help unavailable.
We have generators. And cases and cases of MRE's. We have medical supplies and medical personnel, and people trained to work in teams on search and rescue. We have what these people need…but we can't offer that because of policy.
He struggled with that knowledge for the next hour, as his soldiers moved their belongings from the admin level offices back to their quarters, as the engineering crew finished pumping water out of the lowest levels of Joe Base and coiled up the fire hose and tucked the generators. They were busy folding up the cots that had been set up in the mess hall for the shifts to sleep when Doc came back, and everyone in the mess hall gathered around to hear his report. "Power is out all over the island. Staten Island University Hospital is allowing the elderly and sick to sleep on hospital beds, and they're trying to do what they can to feed the people they can, but their generators are strained. There were three flood zones on the island's coasts—as Liv put it, likely, less likely, and least likely—but due to the incredibly unfortunate coincidence that landfall coincided with high tide and full moon, flooding and devastation has come well up past the least-likely zone. I'm pretty sure yours and Liv's house is completely flooded, and I'm glad she evacuated." He paused, then said soberly, "Before the storm. There was a report—a woman living outside the evacuation zone tried to drive out when her house flooded, and the floodwaters stalled her car engine, then swept her two children—toddlers—out of the car. No one knows where they are now."
Silence. And in that silence, Clayton made a decision.
"Allie, can you have all the Joes meet me in the mess hall. It's big enough for all of us, and the generators will light it up well enough for all of us to see. I want every Joe on base there. This is a mandatory meeting." Allie hurried off without asking questions, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
He went to his quarters and stripped off his uniform, hanging it carefully in the closet by the light of the flashlight each Joe was now carrying with them. This could be the last time I wear this. But my career be damned, these people need help and although General Abernathy can't get involved, Clayton Abernathy can. I know I'll likely lose my career over this—it's practically disobeying a direct order—but I can't stand back and watch innocent people suffer from this storm while I have any power at all to help make anything any better for them.
He put on boots and carefully checked to make sure all signs of insignia and rank were removed from everything he was wearing before he left his quarters. Word seemed to have spread like wildfire—or Allie had enlisted the aid of others to help get his request for a mandatory meeting out to the other residents of the base; at any rate, he found all of his soldiers assembled, all the seats filled.
He cleared his throat as he took a position in front of the podium in front of them. Fellow soldiers, all of them. Friends, many. All of them handpicked by him for this project, all of them brothers in arms, and what he was about to do was going to break those bonds of soldier and commander, possibly permanently. But there was no help for it—he had to do what his conscience was telling him to do. He hoped they would understand.
"Good afternoon, all of you," he said by way of preamble, letting his eye rove over the assembled soldiers, making eye contact with each one in turn. "I'm glad to see we've all gotten through this storm in one piece." A ripple of amusement among the Joes.
"But unfortunately, I can't say the same for the people outside this base, those who also live on Staten Island. I went up to the Verrazano Narrows lighthouse early this afternoon to look at the devastation wrought by the storm and I have to say that from the observation deck of the lighthouse it looks pretty complete. Houses are leveled. Boats have been flung about on the streets like childrens' bath toys; there is destruction everywhere, and as we are all aware, the roads and bridges coming into and out of Staten Island are closed now to all but emergency traffic—and we all know that there will be no heavy emergency vehicles coming over the bridges into Staten Island until they are inspected by civil engineers and deemed safe.
"I have been your commander for nearly ten years now; head of this project, and I have tried to serve your interests as you have served the United States o f America. However, our orders are clear; we are not to make our presence known on this island, we are not to betray our location, and while I have never had a problem avoiding situations in which this might become an issue in the past, it is simply not possible to do so now.
"I look at those people wandering around out there, people who have lost everything—homes, livelihoods, possessions, everything—and I cannot, in good conscience, leave them out there to possibly lose their lives from cold, hunger, exhaustion. I am going to go out there, to do what I can to help. I don't know what I can do at the moment, but I will do what I can, and I wanted to inform all of you that this was my decision. And to tell you…" his voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat. "As a result of this decision someone may find out that there is a secret military base on this island. I will do my best to hide such knowledge, but it may be figured out—and if it is, I will be tried and court-martialed for disobeying a direct order not to reveal our location. I am hereby stepping down as your commander in case this does happen—I'm leaving Flint in charge, and he'll make sure things run smoothly. I just wanted you all to know…it has been my greatest pleasure serving with you, and you are the best bunch of soldiers it has ever been my privilege to command, and I would ask that you serve under your next commander with as much honor, integrity and honesty as you have shown me." And he stopped speaking.
"All right." Flint rose from his seat. "Duke, I'm leaving you in charge of the base. Wild Bill, BeachHead, I want each of you to take a couple of soldiers to the storage levels. Grab as many cases of MREs as you can pack into my car; the same with blankets, water purification tablets, flashlights, batteries. Get all of that packed into personal vehicles, then put on civilian clothing and make sure any indication of rank and affiliation is removed—"
"Hold on. Just what is going on here?" Clayton finally recovered enough presence of mind to ask Flint.
From Flint's other side, Lady Jaye gave him a wide smile. "Think you're the only one who can make command decisions?"
"This-this isn't a command decision. My God…you're throwing your career away for me—"
Lady Jaye—no, Allie, since he'd just noticed she was in civilian clothes—grinned. "Don't be stupid, Clayton, of course we're not throwing our careers away just for you. Why do you think this is all about you?" She sobered. "I had a feeling this was what you were thinking—going out there and throwing your commission away because you feel the need to help these people out here. You're not the only one, we feel that same need too. Everything is in chaos out there right now, there is no authority, and people who have lost everything need that authority, the feeling that they aren't alone and someone sympathizes and wants to help. We are the closest source of that, there will be no one else for what might be a very long time, and we have a responsibility to help not only foreign allies in the conflict zones to which we are sent, but we also have a responsibility to our own people. We would be poor soldiers if we didn't feel the need to help—and none of us would be here if we were poor soldiers. You don't pick poor soldiers."
"But…but…"
Allie rolled her eyes. "Clayton. Stop overanalyzing, okay? Dash and I started thinking about this when we went up to the top of the lighthouse with you this afternoon—Dash was all ready to tell you he and I were going out—but there's been more than a handful of personnel who are determined to go out there with us. Dash even constructed a cover story—remember the discussion we had before the storm, about former military personnel being members of the private recovery organization Team Rubicon? We were going to use that—say we were here on Staten Island visiting a friend when the storm hit and we're members of the team. No one's going to question our use of military organization to get things in order, and we can use our codenames without anyone raising an eyebrow."
It all made sense. Clayton felt a weight lift off his chest—somewhat. "I heard Dash say to get two teams together—how many of the base's personnel are actually going out there with us?"
Allie couldn't quite hide her smile. "If every person on this base followed their own inclination, Clayton, everyone would be going with us. But someone has to stay here, so Dash ordered Duke to stay. He wasn't really happy with that." Clayton could well imagine. "He'll be kept company by a skeleton crew, mostly communications and tech experts—there's little they can do out there right now with power lines and communications infrastructure down. And if we all do get in trouble for this—there will still be someone in command who can take over the base. So altogether, I'd say about twenty people will be leaving with us. They're loading as many MREs and other supplies as we can manage into personal vehicles—we can't take military vehicles, more's the pity—and medical supplies. Doc said the FEMA center is flooded and we won't be able to set up there…but we can claim the supplies were in the storage rooms and closets at the FEMA center to explain where they came from."
"You've thought of everything." Clayton felt slightly dazed by how efficiently—and quietly—these plans had been made without his being aware of them. So much for his being 'Hawk'. "Do we have any idea where we're going to establish a forward operations base?"
"There's a school about four blocks away from the FEMA center that just missed flooding. Doc figured that would be a good place to set up. Cafeteria can be set up to pass out MREs, blankets and chairs in the auditorium and gym for those who need somewhere to stay; classrooms can be used to house those in need of medical care."
Something occurred to him. "The SVU's medical examiner Melinda Warner is out here on Staten Island. Think we can find her and get her to come help?"
"Doc stopped at her place on the way back—apparently he knew where she lived because he'd consulted with her extensively on Cam's condition, and they got to being friends. Her house is dark, but didn't get flooded or damaged, and he says she said she'd be perfectly willing to come and help triage those who need medical care, and her husband doesn't mind staying with their kids."
Was there anything his soldiers hadn't thought of? "Is there anything you haven't thought of?" he asked Allie as they headed for the motorpool, with soldiers rushing past him carrying boxes and cases of…whatever.
"Um…we hadn't thought that you'd want to come with us. We thought you'd be 'By The Book' Abernathy, not wanting to come with us, and that you'd be upset when you heard that we wanted to go out and help. We thought you'd got wind of our little plan and was calling us into a meeting to shut us down—it didn't occur to any of us that you'd want to go out there and help the people too."
"And what would you have done if I had said that I heard your plan and was upset with you and going to charge all of you with violation of orders?"
Allie stopped walking and faced him squarely. "First off, Clayton, it wouldn't have been violation of orders. You have not specifically told us we could not go out and help the people after the storm, and as duty has been suspended for the duration of the emergency, it wouldn't be dereliction of duty either. What we were planning to do would have been on our own time, we were—are—going in civilian clothes, and had a cover story in place to explain who we were and where we'd gotten the supplies that we were using. So as much as you would have hated, it, Clayton, there actually wasn't much that you could have done to prevent us, and we were not doing anything wrong."
Clayton sighed. "Think I'll be able to get that past Lieutenant General Johnson?"
"I don't know," Allie looked thoughtful. "I could get away with this, I'm a Staff Sergeant. Dash could still be in trouble for insubordination, since he's a Warrant Officer, but it's not going to hurt his career too much—not that it would, we'd been planning on mustering out, like I said before. But you…you're a Major General, and an insubordination charge, especially for this, could end your career."
Several years ago—actually, as recently as a year ago, the thought would have filled him with panic. What would he do outside of the military? It had been such a huge part of his life for so long that life without the regimented rules of drills, administrative duties, mission commands, and daily minutiae was…unthinkable.
But that was before Liv, and Auggie, and suddenly he could see past his discharge, see past the military life to think about what possibilities lay beyond it. Waking up every morning next to Olivia; taking Auggie to school, parent teacher conferences, taking his son to ball games, and going fishing, and all the other stuff he'd always wanted to do with a son—suddenly leaving the military wasn't the end of the world, but the beginning of another one.
"I'm willing to risk discharge to help these people. Come on, let's get going."
