“It means I can’t imagine what good a bunch of civilian draftees inducted now are going to be in the final stages of thermonuclear war.”
“There’re a lot more useful things a man can do than run away,” Frank said. After a brief, awkward silence, he added: “Here’s the number three red-flashing bell. We’re in the channel.”
Fifteen minutes later, in quiet water for the first time in four days, Vagabond’s sails were down and she lay drifting on the incoming tide awaiting a launch from the Coast Guard cutter that was idling nearby, with its cannon manned by three sailors, barely visible in the darkness.
The launch party consisted of a lieutenant and four men, two armed with pistols in holsters and two with automatic rifles.
“Who’s the captain of this vessel?” asked the lieutenant, a short, stocky man with a neatly trimmed mustache.
“I am,” said Neil. “What’s the problem?”
“Where are you headed?” the officer rejoined.
“Morehead City obviously.”
“Your purpose?”
“Get out of this storm, put some passengers ashore, take on supplies,” Neil answered, finding the interrogation bordering on the ridiculous.
“How many draft-age persons do you have aboard?” the officer persisted.
“Three or four,” Neil answered.
“They are to report to the induction center on Main Street within twenty-four hours,” the lieutenant said, looking around at the five men. “How much diesel fuel do you have?”
“About fifteen gallons,” Neil answered, lying for some reason he didn’t understand yet.
“Unless you’ve got a special exemption, we’ll have to requisition that fuel later today. Do you have weapons?”
“Only an old .22,” Neil replied quietly.
“All weapons are requisitioned. We’ll take your rifle now.” The officer stared at Neil. “Also,” he went on, his gaze not wavering, “my men will search your boat.” He nodded to the bos’n, who divided the four crewmen into two teams and began a search.
“Jim, you can go get the .22 for the nice men,” Neil said, then turned back to the officer. “What’s the trouble? Why can’t we keep our rifle?”
“Civilians are going around shooting each other for food, fuel, fallout shelters, you name it,” the lieutenant replied. “The only way the military can regain control is to make unauthorized possession of a weapon illegal.”
“How are we expected to defend ourselves?” Tony now asked.
“That’s the trouble,” the officer countered. “Everybody’s been defending themselves so vigorously the morticians can’t keep up with it. Leave the defending to the Army, Navy, and us.”
“Couldn’t someone authorize us to keep the .22 aboard?” Frank interjected.
“I doubt it. If you want to waste time, the district military headquarters for this region is located about six miles outside Morehead City.”
“What’s the food and fallout situation here?” Neil asked.
“We haven’t had any fallout since a small amount came down on the third day of the war,” the officer said, peeking down into the main cabin. “This rain has some, but it’s not supposed to be a problem.”
“And food?” Neil asked.
“All food distribution here is administered by the U.S. Army. If you want to eat, you’ll either have to be in the military or go to a refugee center.”
“Nothing special, sir,” the bos’n reported to his superior as he returned with the other three. “Just a few fishing knives.”
“Good,” said the officer with a tired smile. “Okay, captain, welcome to Morehead City.” He motioned to his crew to return to their launch. “And by the way,” he added, turning back to Neil and the others, “without written permission from Colonel Nelson, no draft-age men are allowed to set out to sea.”
“What’s that?” Jim exclaimed.
“No vessel is permitted to go to sea without the permission of the local military commander,” the lieutenant replied. His eyes narrowing as he looked at Jim, he added, “We had to sink three ships who didn’t think we meant it.”
And he left.
Vagabond then proceeded slowly up the channel toward the small town of Morehead City, which lay in almost total darkness, and in another hour she was anchored a hundred feet off the main line of docks. Neil wanted them all to be able to get some sleep before they had to confront the world that awaited them on shore. Although it was four thirty, and dawn should have been breaking, the storm system kept the sky as dark as night.
As the boat was being anchored Jeanne came up on deck and went down to make hot tea for Neil, Frank, and Tony, who soon joined her in the main cabin. She was pale, with a gray puffiness under the eyes from her long bout of seasickness, but now that Vagabond was merely rocking gently in the gusting blasts of wind and not playing at roller coaster, she was feeling better. Olly was already slumped asleep in the little corner jumpseat in the forward end of the room.
“I could use a drink,” Tony announced, staring irritably at his tea. “Aren’t we supposed to celebrate a landfall?”
“Do you feel like celebrating?” Neil asked.
“I don’t feel a damn thing,” Tony answered, taking the bottle of brandy Jeanne put on the table. “I’m too beat.”
“Thank God we’ve made it back to land,” Jeanne said softly, standing with her back to the seated men. Neil, Frank, and Tony looked up at her, and then Frank stood up and went over to her. While the other two men looked on silently, he embraced her.
“Will we be able to find a place to live?” Jeanne asked Frank, looking up at him.
“They have a refugee camp,” Frank answered.
“Is… is that where we’re all going?” she asked with a surprised frown.
“It looks that way,” Frank said.
“All the men aboard except Frank and Olly have to report for military service,” Neil said.
“But why?” Jeanne asked, freeing herself from Frank’s arms and again looking surprised. “What possible use can any of you be in the Army?”
“We’re at war, Jeanne,” Frank replied, sitting back down opposite Neil.
“No, we’re not,” Jeanne responded passionately. “This isn’t a war. It’s… it’s genocidal suicide.”
They all looked up at her.
“We’re at war, Jeanne,” Frank repeated. “Our country has been attacked.”
“Neil, you don’t believe in this draft, do you?” Jeanne said, looking flushed with anger or excitement.
“I suppose it’s like this ship,” Neil answered after a long pause. “In a survival situation everyone has to belong to a military hierarchy, or there’s chaos. Drafting everyone is the government’s way of keeping us out of mischief.”
“And we’ll be needed in the Army too,” Tony said. “They’re not calling us up just to keep an eye on us.”
“They’ll need everybody’s help… if the war lasts long enough,” Frank suggested.
The silence was not a happy one.
“I’m not going, dad,” said Jim, appearing unexpectedly on the companionway steps.
“What do you mean, Jimmy?” Frank asked, frowning.
Jim came down the three steps and stood a few paces behind his father. Lisa appeared in the cabin entrance.
“I can’t report for military service,” he said nervously. “I won’t go.”
Frank turned to look at his son and then returned his gaze to Jeanne, who had sat down opposite him.
“I’m afraid the President has ordered almost all of us to serve,” he said.
“I know, dad. But I won’t fight in this war. Not unless the Russians land troops.”
“No one likes fighting nukes,” Tony said, “but we’ve got to serve.”