by John Ringo
She got up and went into the bathroom and examined herself in the mirror.
“Okay, now I get what they mean by ‘death warmed over.’ ” Her face was drained. She looked like a recent kill. Maybe that’s what the women were trying to tell her. “You look like shit, Faith.”
She wasn’t even sure what time it was. She could see it was twilight. Probably the sun was going down, not coming up. If it was coming up, she was already late for assembly.
There was a sign in the shower stall: “Please conserve water. Wet down. Turn off the water. Lather up. Rinse off.”
She turned the shower on full and just hung her head under it. Screw water conservation. They could get some from the fresh water tanks on the freighter. The freighter her team had fucking cleared. And if they ran out? Well, they’d just clear another fucking freighter. Or get it from the liner. Liners always had big fucking fresh water tanks.
The shower helped. She did some push-ups and sit-ups and stretches and that helped more.
By the time she’d gotten done with that, her stomach was rumbling.
“Time to find food,” she muttered.
She was off duty so she just wore the Marine T-shirt and shorts and some flip-flops. If anybody had a problem with that, they could bite her.
When she got to the main saloon, there was a buffet laid out and it was about full of people. What got her, initially, was that there were very few she’d recognized. While her team had been clearing the towns in the Canaries, the rest of the squadron had been doing recovery ops at sea and apparently they’d been pretty successful. She saw a few of the girls from the Money scattered around but they seemed to be “sponsors.” Mostly it was one to a table. And you could tell a lot of the people were “freshies,” fresh off the lifeboat or out of a compartment. The “boaties” all had super dark tans. The “ghosts,” compartment people, were all wearing shades and were either ghost white or sunburned.
She grabbed a tray and started filling up a plate. She’d always worried about her weight but clearance ops were calorie intensive. You could eat about anything you wanted when you were spending all day climbing stairs carrying a hundred pounds of gear, ammo and weapons and fighting zombies. Another benefit of a zombie apocalypse.
“Hey, LT,” a voice said.
She turned around and thought about it. The face was familiar . . .
“Sergeant Smith,” Smith said. “I was in the compartment with Staff Sergeant Januscheitis, Lieutenant.”
“Smitty,” Faith said, nodding. “He talks about you a lot.”
“Marines are over on the other side of the messdeck,” Smitty said, gesturing with a thumb. “The staff sergeant’s still down. But Derek and Pag are over there.”
“I’ll be right over,” Faith said. “Just let me load up with some carbs.”
“I can get that for you, ma’am,” Smitty said.
“I think I can carry my own tray, Sergeant,” Faith said. “But thanks.”
She skipped the desserts, her tray was getting overloaded and she could always come back, and headed over to the table.
“Room for one more?” she asked.
“Right here, Skipper,” Pagliaro said, pulling out a chair.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” Faith said, sitting down. “And I know you work for a living.”
“How’d the meeting go, ma’am?” Derek asked.
“I only sort of vaguely remember it,” Faith said. “I get the feeling Captain Wilkes doesn’t like me.”
“He’s trade school, ma’am,” one of the Marines said. “Citadel, of all places. He’s not really that up on ROTC officers. And he’s a pilot. They’re all ‘I’m a pilot so I’m hot shit.’ ”
“He’s doing okay at running the clearance,” another said, shrugging. “For a guy who’s not infantry.”
“How’s it going?” Faith asked. She was vaguely aware that it wasn’t a good idea for an officer to get into running down a superior.
“Lots of zombies,” one of the Marines said. “Lots of fucking zombies.”
“Lieutenant Fontana said it’s almost as bad as the Voyage,” another said. “But the cabins weren’t locked down.”
“How come so many survived?” Pagliaro said. “I mean, water, hello!”
“Fountains,” Sergeant Smith said. “The place has fucking fountains and pools everywhere. And they were all full. There’s also pools on the upper deck that caught rainwater. And most of the doors were open so they could move around. Some of the compartments below the water tanks had valves leaking or partially opened. It’s a fucking zombie fest.”
“Which Captain Wilkes has been careful to avoid,” one of the Marines said. “He hasn’t gone past the embarkation area.”
“And he had us lay out all the bodies and ‘prepare them for proper burial,’ ” another said. “If he expects us to do that with the whole ship . . .”
“Then we’ll do it with the whole ship,” Sergeant Smith said.
“Da’ll just have us scatter beetles,” Faith said. “There’s no way to clear two or three thousand bodies.”
“What I don’t get is how you and your dad cleared one of these by yourselves,” a Marine said. “Jesus, ma’am. I mean . . . We’ve only got two decks clear.”
“One compartment at a time,” Faith said. “And it wasn’t just Da and I. There was Sergeant . . . Lieutenant Fontana and Hooch. But, yeah, it was a bit of a wanker. Really rather change the subject. Okay, we’re all Marines, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Smitty said.
“Not everybody in the saloon?”
“No, ma’am,” Smith said, frowning.
“How come half the people in this room are wearing Marine and Navy T-shirts?” Faith asked.
“Oh, that,” Smitty said, chuckling. “There was a big stash of them on the Iwo. You know how finding clothes that fit is tough, ma’am. So they just are handing them out to whoever gets found.”
“Ah,” Faith said. “That makes sense. It sort of makes it hard separating the sheep from the goats, though.”
“Well, I guess we could give them all dresses, ma’am,” Derek said.
“Bite your tongue,” Faith said. “Those are works of art!”
“We heard about your little combat shopping spree, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said over the chuckles.
“Okay, okay, so I went a little nuts,” Faith said. “Sue me. You’re guys. You don’t get it.”
“We figure we’d do the same thing if it was a container full of Guinness, ma’am,” Derek said, grinning. “Don’t sweat it. No worries.”
“Is the door still holding?” Faith asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Smitty said. “We did some reinforcing on it. Well, covered some Navy guys who reinforced it.”
“We need to get those out of the container and into safety,” Faith said. “Seriously. Those are works of art. You don’t just leave them to get rained on or overrun by infected.” She looked at her empty plate and sighed. “I really shouldn’t do dessert . . .”
“I’ll get you something, ma’am,” one of the Marines said. “What do you want?”
“I appreciate it, again,” Faith said, standing up. “But, you guys have been clearing all day while I was napping. I should do my own fetching.”
* * *
“So that’s Shewolf?” one of the Marines said as she walked away. He added a whistle. “Damn that’s some fine jailbait.”
“Olsen, I will personally ram a fork down your throat,” Pagliaro said.
“And the rest of us will hold you down,” Smitty added. “Not to mention disrespect to a superior officer.”
“I wasn’t being . . .” Olsen said. “I guess I was but, just . . . wow! And I am being very respectful of the LT, Sergeant. Nothing but admiration. But is she really . . . I mean, she’s big for a chick, especially a, you know, thirteen-year-old chick, but is she really as badass as everybody says?”
“Worse,” Derek said. “Dead killer combat shooter, rifle or pistol. She’s killed
so many infected she just does it without thinking. Muscle fucking memory. Sees an infected, kills it. I’ve never seen her use her kukri but Lieutenant Fontana said she’s pretty much the same at melee range. You’ve seen the video, right?”
“Yes, Corporal, I have,” Olsen said. “Just having hard time connecting Miss Hotty with it.”
“Then there’s the drinking thing,” Derek said, shaking his head.
“Drinking?” Olsen said. “Isn’t she a little young?”
“Rather the not drinking, usually, thing,” Derek said. “She only drinks, like, water and fruit juice. Doesn’t like the taste of beer or wine.”
“But she’s okay with straight liquor,” Pag said, chuckling.
“Straight?” Olsen said.
“Drinks it like water,” Derek said. “Isn’t really into it ’cause it barely gives her a buzz. Just takes a couple shots ‘Is this supposed to be doing something?’ I’ve seen her drink enough to put down a gunny and it not even faze her.”
“Damn,” Olsen said, laughing. “Okay, I guess she can be an officer.”
“As if it’s up to you to judge,” Derek said.
“She does have a tendency to pass out at a certain point,” Pagliaro said, snickering.
“Pass out?” Olsen said.
“First night we were clearing the Boadicea she practically face-planted in her plate at dinner,” Pag said, laughing. “Like ‘I’ve got reports to write. . . Snore . . .’ ”
“She’s thirteen,” Derek said. “She’s still growing. I’m always surprised she hangs as long as she does. And, Pag, you were ten minutes behind her.”
“I get that,” one of the Marines said. “Clearing is fucking hell on your adrenal gland. I thought the Stan was bad.”
“Fuck, I’m a God damned airframe mechanic,” Olsen said. “This shit is for Oh-Three-Elevens.”
“We’re all infantry now,” Derek said. “At least, that’s the way Captain Carrion sees it. And he is another Smith I am not going to fuck with. Hooch says her dad is as badass as Faith. And that’s pretty fucking badass for a Navy captain.”
* * *
Faith trolled the dessert tray but she’d filled up on “regular” food and wasn’t quite ready to pile on pure sugar. The chocolate tray was tempting. Apparently someone had found a stash of Godiva. She ate a couple at the buffet then headed back to the Marine table. She was still tired and dessert could wait.
Halfway across the room a hand grabbed her arm.
“Hey, Tootsie,” the man said, holding out an empty high-ball glass. “Get me another Glenlivet.”
Faith just stood there in shock for a moment. The dude, who looked to be in his early fifties, was clearly a “boat” freshy. He had one hell of a tan.
“Uh, sir . . .” The table “sponsor” looked like one of the Money girls and had a slight Slavic accent. “That’s . . .”
“Let go of my arm,” Faith said. “The last person who grabbed me, I literally cut their fucking hand off at the wrist.”
“Do you know who I am?” the man snapped.
“Somebody who needs to learn some fucking manners,” Faith said, grabbing his thumb and twisting it into a lock.
“Ow!” the man said. “Jesus, let go of me you crazy bitch!”
Faith’s eyes blazed and she threw the man to the ground, putting his head in a lock with his arm twisted behind his back.
“I don’t know who you are, but do you know who I am?” Faith snarled.
“Lieutenant!” a voice snapped from behind her. “Let go of Mr. Zumwald!”
She looked over her shoulder and it was, of course, Captain Wilkes. Great.
She released the man and rolled to her feet.
“Sorry, sir,” Faith said. “But I don’t like being grabbed and I especially didn’t like being called a bitch, sir.”
“Mr. Zumwald, I apologize for the lieutenant’s overreaction.”
“Lieutenant?” the man gargled. “She’s insane! She needs to be locked up!”
“I will, I assure you, counsel the lieutenant on actions becoming of an officer in the United States military, sir,” Wilkes said. “Lieutenant, a moment of your time?”
* * *
Wilkes led Faith out of the main saloon onto the foredeck and turned around, hands on his hips.
“Lieutenant, would you care to explain your actions in there? You don’t put a major Hollywood executive in a headlock!”
“Sir . . .” Faith said. She tended to get at a loss for words when she was being scolded and she really didn’t know what to say. “He grabbed me, sir!”
“So you put him in a chokehold?” Wilkes said. “There are situations that can be resolved without violence, Lieutenant. Has anyone ever explained to you the term ‘conduct unbecoming of an officer’? It means you don’t go brawling with anyone, especially major film executives, in public!”
“What was I supposed to do, sir?” Faith asked, angrily. “Bat my fucking eyes at him and go get him his fucking drink?”
“Lieutenant,” Wilkes said coldly. “You are being officially counseled on what actions are becoming of an officer of the United States Naval Service. In addition, since you don’t know shit from shinola about being an officer, let me add that you don’t get to use a disrespectful tone or disrespectful language to the officer that is counseling you. These are articles of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Lieutenant. You can be charged with conduct unbecoming for your recent actions. You also can be charged with disrespect to a superior officer for that outburst. Do you understand that, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“Do you understand that an officer of the United States Naval service does not start a brawl because someone asked her to get them a drink?” Wilkes said.
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“And that an officer of the United States Naval service does not put someone in a chokehold, especially a major Hollywood executive?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“In addition, while you have had to, of necessity, spend a good bit of personal time with your Marines, when off-duty, when it is possible as is the case here on the Alpha, your place is with the officers, not the enlisted. There was an officer’s table in the saloon. Spend your time there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve had a trying few weeks,” Wilkes said. “You really shouldn’t have been sent out on a functionally independent mission given your age and inexperience. I will try to keep this incident from being reflected on your FITREP. But you had better start learning conduct becoming an officer or I will not be able to avoid reflecting that. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“I’ll go smooth things over with Mr. Zumwald,” Wilkes said. “You should probably go to your cabin and get some more sleep. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Faith went back to her cabin, avoiding the saloon, wrapped herself around Trixie and cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER 13
Me that ’ave been what I’ve been—
Me that ’ave gone where I’ve gone—
Me that ’ave seen what I’ve seen—
‘Ow can I ever take on
With awful old England again,
An’ ’ouses both sides of the street,
And ’edges two sides of the lane,
And the parson an’ gentry between,
An’ touchin’ my ’at when we meet—
Me that ’ave been what I’ve been?
“Chant Pagan”
Rudyard Kipling
“Get some sleep, LT?” Januscheitis said the next morning.
They were gearing up for clearance. It took some time.
“Some,” Faith said tonelessly. “I really hate the Alpha. Clearing the Alpha gave me more nightmares than clearing the Voyage. And . . .” she shrugged.
“Ghosts?” Bearson said.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Faith replied.
“Quit trying to freak your LT out,” Faith said. “It’s not working.”
“I’m not sure if I believe in ’em or not, LT,” Januscheitis said. “But . . . pretty much everybody sort of knows about ’em. I don’t think they’re trying to freak you, LT. The ghosts on the Cole are just sort of there. Like they call ’em, watch standers. Almost comforting.”
“The ones on the Alpha aren’t comforting,” Faith said tightly.
“How bad was the Alpha, ma’am?” Pagliaro said. “You can see it got banged up, but . . .”
“If you haven’t heard about what happened on the Alpha, ask somebody else,” Faith said. “I’m not going to talk about it. It was . . . bad. It wasn’t the fucking zombies, it was the people that had it before the zombies and what they did. I don’t like the Alpha. And if you’re serious then, yes, ghosts. They fucking talk to me when I’m sleeping. The women, anyway. They cry. I can hardly sleep on this fucking boat. Okay? On the other hand, I’ve got my own stateroom and my own shower. That makes up for a lot.”
“I heard you had a little incident last night, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Probably not the best change of subject—”
“I was counseled by Captain Wilkes on conduct unbecoming an officer,” Faith said. “I now understand that one does not overreact and get into a brawl in public. And since it’s an officer thing, I’d like to drop that, too.”
“I heard the dude grabbed you, ma’am,” Kirby said.
“What part of drop it did you not get, PFC?” Januscheitis said.
“Sorry, Staff Sergeant,” Kirby said.
“Hopefully, despite being an ‘officer of the United States Naval service,’ I’ll be allowed to kill some zombies today,” Faith said, racking her Saiga. “Because I seriously need to kill somebody. And that’s all we need to talk about that.”
“Lieutenant?” Gunny Sands said, sticking his head in the compartment. “Captain wants to have a word with you?”
“Captain Wilkes?” Faith said, wincing.