by John Ringo
“Sergeant Major?” Lieutenant Chen said. “Comments?”
“I think the overall plan is good, sir,” the sergeant major said. “However, the ensign should not be involved in active clearance, with respect, ma’am.”
“Light clearance like this isn’t hard, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said. “But it is adrenaline-pumping. And when you have adrenaline pumping, you get ADs. It takes a steady nerve. Olga, despite her apparent flightiness, is pretty steady. I’ve done it plenty of times. Rusty has done it some. The rest of them aren’t experienced at it.”
“Choose someone else, Ensign,” Lieutenant Chen said.
“Yu?” Sophia said. Then: “To be clear, Seaman Recruit Leo Yu from your boat, sir.”
“Yu is a good steady hand,” Chen said, nodding.
“Better him than Steinholtz, that’s for sure,” Sophia said.
“Two seaman recruits,” the sergeant major said, frowning.
“What we tend to have is seaman recruits, Sergeant Major,” Lieutenant Chen pointed out. “And they haven’t been through recruit training. There hasn’t been time. For an example, our schedule calls for cutting out the vessels, clearing this town, recovering survivors and making it to the next town by no more than twenty-three hundred hours, local, so as to start the next party and attract the infected. And so on and so forth.”
“You have to have some time for training, sir,” the sergeant major said.
“Tell that to the commodore, Sergeant Major,” Chen said. “Who, in fact, agrees. And also notes that if we’d taken time for training, we might never have found you. Or me. Or any of the security specialists, seamen, et cetera. We’re not going to be able to clear the entire Canary Islands before we leave. We know there are more liners moored in marinas throughout the islands. This more or less is training.”
“Understood, sir,” the sergeant major said, frowning. “Well, then, we’ll have to hope for the best and plan for the worst I suppose, sir.”
“That’s the spirit, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said, smiling tightly. “What’s the worst that could happen? A zombie apocalypse?”
* * *
“Where do you want to land?”
The inflatable was crewed by another bloody twelve-year-old. And a nervous one at that. Everyone was nervous, which wasn’t enjoyable for Sergeant Major Barney. Nervous troops did tend to AD. He had a vision of one of these bloody ponzers shooting out one of the bloody pontoons and them all going in the drink. Because there were, yes, sharks. They seemed to be following the bloody boat.
“On this end,” Barney said.
“Why here?” Steinholtz asked. “It’s a long damn walk down that pier.”
“Because I bloody well said ‘land here,’ Seaman Recruit!” Barney boomed. “Is that good enough for you, Seaman Recruit, or would you like a bloody valentine with it?”
“Sure, sure,” Steinholtz said.
“Quit looking so nervous, you lot,” Barney said, shaking his head. “We’ve got a bloody damned gunboat backing us up, we’ve got a bloody Singer and so far there aren’t any bloody zombies to shoot. This isn’t taking down a Taliban stronghold. We’re picking up some yachts from a bloody marina. I won’t say this will be a walk in Hyde Park but take a bloody breath, follow orders and we’ll all come back heroes. Right? Right. Just pull the bloody boat up to the damned pier if you will, Coxswain!”
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Major,” the driver said.
“And would people quit calling the chief and me ‘sir’?” the sergeant major said, shaking his head. “The chief and I work for a living.”
“But . . . you call a chief sir, Sergeant Major,” Yu said. “Don’t you?”
“What?” Barney said. “Since when?”
“Isn’t that like a Master Chief?” Yu said. “And the Master Chief in Halo always was called ‘sir.’ ”
“What?” the sergeant major said. “What the bloody hell is Halo?”
“The video game, Sergeant Major,” Olga said, clearly trying not to laugh.
“DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A BLOODY VIDEO GAME TO YOU, SEAMAN RECRUIT?”
“Well, now that you mention it . . .” Olga said, trying to keep a straight face.
The sergeant major just held his hands to the sky and growled.
The yachts that were the target were tied to a narrow pier separated from the breakwater by a stretch of water about ten feet wide. There were bridges from the pier to the breakwater, which had a road on top of it, at regular intervals.
The sergeant major stepped ashore first and caught the tossed line from Olga. He held it in one hand as the group got out of the inflatable, then tossed it back into the boat. This was only part of the “security team.” The rest were in the second inflatable with the ensign.
“SR Zelenova on point,” Barney said. “Up to the first bridge then Zelenova and Yu break off and the rest up on the breakwater.”
They got to the first bridge and Olga continued down the pier followed by Steinholtz.
“Steinholtz,” Barney snapped. “Get up on the breakwater,” he said, pointing.
“By myself?” Steinholtz said.
“Oh, God Lord,” the sergeant major snapped. “We’re all bloody following you! That’s what point means you bloody poofter! Cross the bloody bridge! It’s not exactly the Rubicon!”
“What?” Steinholtz said.
“Just cross the bloody bridge! It’s not as if there are zombies! The road is bloody clear!”
“Actually, there are, Sergeant Major,” Olga said, pointing. A lone infected had finally found its way to the flock of seagulls feasting on the dead and was now loping down the breakwater. It had a ways to go to get to the group and was still better than two hundred meters away. “Well, one.”
“Can I shoot ’im?” Steinholtz said, racking a round into his weapon.
“Oh, let’s just wait here and let Steinholtz try to shoot the bloody zombie,” Sergeant Major Barney said, crossing his arms over his weapon. “Go ahead, Steinholtz. Try to shoot the bloody zombie. Why not? We’ve all day.”
Steinholtz raised his weapon and started firing. And firing. And firing.
The zombie had slowed. Not because it had been hit, but because it was emaciated and clearly out of energy. If it even noticed the group it wasn’t apparent. And it definitely didn’t notice the fire.
“Steinholtz,” the sergeant major said, pushing through the group and placing his hand on the weapon. “Before you run out of bullets, we’ll just cross the bridge, shall we?”
“But it’s . . .” The infected was still more than a hundred meters away but he was clearly unhappy getting near it.
“Cross the bridge, Steinholtz,” Barney said, giving him a light push. “We’re going to have a demonstration of why one doesn’t attempt to fire from a rocking platform if one has a solid platform available.”
He got the reluctant former security guard to cross the bridge then got him down in the prone position on the dirt road of the breakwater. The zombie had closed to maybe seventy-five yards and was starting to speed up with fresh meat so close.
“Now, take a deep breath and shoot the zombie in the chest, Steinholtz,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “One round only.”
Steinholtz fired. And missed.
“Oh, good Lord. You missed that shot? Try it again. You’re jerking your trigger. Slow squeeze, Steinholtz . . .”
This time the seaman recruit managed to hit the infected. The zombie was nearly dead from dehydration and malnutrition and it dropped with one round.
“I got it!” Steinholtz said.
“At under fifty yards with a gun capable of aimed fire at four hundred,” the sergeant major said. “We’re clearly going to have to work on marksmanship.”
“I’m better with a pistol,” Steinholtz said, starting to stand up.
“I did not give you permission to get up, Seaman Recruit Steinholtz,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “While you’re down there, you can give me twenty push-ups for your inability to follow th
e simplest orders. And a one and a two . . .”
CHAPTER 25
The young recruit is silly—’e thinks o’ suicide;
‘E’s lost ’is gutter-devil; ’e ’asn’t got ’is pride;
But day by day they kicks ’im, which ’elps ’im on a bit,
Till ’e finds ’isself one mornin’ with a full an’ proper kit.
Gettin’ clear o’ dirtiness, gettin’ done with mess,
Gettin’ shut o’ doin’ things rather-more-or-less;
Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho,
Learns to keep ’is rifle an’ ’isself jus’ so!
“The ’Eathen”
Rudyard Kipling
“Having fun, Sergeant Major?” Sophia said. She’d brought her group up to the breakwater and was passing the sergeant major and the sweating Steinholtz.
“Just getting a few things clear, ma’am,” Barney said. “Seaman Recruit Bennett has already set up the Singer. If you could keep an eye on things for a moment that would be excellent. Be up there in a trice.”
“I think I’ve got it under control, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said, grinning, then keyed her radio. “Olga, what’s the status on the first yacht?”
“Door’s locked to below,” Olga said. “Topside is clear. Engineer is working on the lock now.”
“Can we spare some people, Sergeant Major?” Sophia asked.
“One two-man team,” the sergeant major said. “Hill and Hadley unless you object, ma’am.”
“That will do,” she said. “I’ll go get them.”
“If I may, ma’am,” Barney said. “Seaman Recruit, get up off your face and run down to the security team. Get Hill and Hadley. Have them report back to the ensign. Do you understand those orders?”
“Yes, Sergeant Major,” Steinholtz said, getting to his feet.
“What were your orders, Seaman Recruit Steinholtz?” Barney asked.
“Go get Hill and Hadley?” Steinholtz said.
“If I may, Sergeant Major?” Sophia said. “The way we do that in the Navy is that the correct response to a direction such as that is ‘Go and get Hill and Hadley, aye, Sergeant Major.’ ”
“Really, ma’am?” Barney said.
“Yes, it’s called a repeat back,” Sophia said. “Makes sure they got the order that you gave instead of what they heard.”
“Well, in this case, that would make sense,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “Because what I told you to do was RUN and get Hill and Hadley, Seaman Recruit. So, here is the ‘direction.’ Run and get Hill and Hadley. Have them return to meet with the ensign. Is that clear?”
“Now what you say,” Sophia said, “is ‘Run to get Hill and Hadley, aye. Have them return to meet the ensign, aye.’ ”
“Run to get Hill and Hadley, aye,” Steinholtz said. “Have them return and meet you, aye.”
“Go,” Sergeant Major Barney said, pointing. As Steinholtz started to trot down the breakwater he shook his head. “WHAT IS IT ABOUT RUN THAT WAS UNCLEAR, SEAMAN RECRUIT? Shall we promenade, ma’am?”
“Oh, let’s, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said.
“I’d say arm in arm, ma’am, but people might talk,” the sergeant major said, strolling down the avenue. “What was it you wished Hill and Hadley for if I may inquire, ma’am?”
“I thought they could check the boats topside while Olga and Yu wait on the mechanic,” Sophia said. “Then Olga and Yu can check below. When the doors are locked, there’s rarely an infected in the boat. At least, alive. Or survivors in a situation like this. But it’s a little less nerve wracking checking topside than below.”
“Thank you for the explanation, ma’am,” the sergeant major said. “It makes a great deal of sense.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said.
“But if I may so detail them, ma’am?” the sergeant major said. “That is, in fact, what I am for.”
“So I should have said ‘tell Hill and Hadley to check topside?’ ” Sophia asked.
“Ma’am, you can run things any way you please,” Barney said. “You are the away team commander. However, if you wish some guidance, ma’am, you can tell me ‘Get a team to check the topside’ and I shall be pleased to manage the rest. That is, in fact, my purpose in this great endeavor. To take your directions and expand upon them with it is to be hoped intelligence and wisdom. Ma’am.”
“Well, here come Hill and Hadley,” Sophia said as the two walked up.
“You wanted something?” Hill asked.
“Sergeant Major?” Sophia said.
“First, when reporting to an officer you salute, especially under arms,” the sergeant major said. “The correct method of reporting is ‘Reporting as ordered, ma’am.’ With a salute. So, try that once more, with feeling.”
“Reporting as ordered . . . uh . . .” Hill said as he and Hadley saluted then dropped them.
“You do not drop the salute until the officer salutes in reply,” Barney said. “Ma’am, if you would hold off on that until I complete this training evolution, please?”
“As you say, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said.
“So, salute again,” Barney said. “Then repeat after me, ‘Reporting as ordered, ma’am.’ ”
“Reporting as ordered, ma’am,” Hill said, saluting.
“Do I salute?” Hadley asked.
“Technically, no,” Barney said. “But there is rarely such a thing as too much saluting. Now, ma’am, if you would return the salute, please?”
“Roger,” Sophia said, saluting.
Hill dropped his salute.
“And you don’t drop your hand, Hill, until the ensign drops hers,” Barney said. “So . . . back to saluting and now, ma’am, if you would drop yours. Thank you.”
“Is there really a point to this?” Hadley asked.
“First, never ever question one of my orders when we are in the midst of an evolution,” Barney said. “Do you understand that, Seaman Recruit?”
“Sure,” Hadley said.
“Seaman Recruit, are you familiar with the term, ‘front leaning rest’ position?”
“No,” Hadley said.
“That is the push-up position,” Barney said. “Assume it. Arms extended.”
“Seriously?” Hadley said.
Barney darted forward, at an angle opposite the security specialist’s weapon barrel and shoved his face into Hadley’s.
“GET DOWN ON YOUR FACE NOW, RECRUIT!” he screamed. “DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!”
Hadley got down.
“Repeat after me, Recruit,” Barney said, kneeling down so his face was by the recruit’s ear. “I WILL COMPLY WITH THE ORDERS GIVEN AND NOT ASK STUPID BLOODY QUESTIONS!”
“I will comply with the orders given and not ask stupid questions!” Hadley said.
“I’m a little deaf from years in Her Majesty’s Army,” Barney said. “SO I CAN’T SODDING HEAR YOU!”
“I WILL COMPLY WITH . . . I WILL COMPLY WITH MY ORDERS AND NOT ASK STUPID QUESTIONS!”
“Recover,” Barney said, straightening up. “That means get up, you stupid poofter. At attention, you too, Hill, side by side, arms cupped . . .”
When he’d gotten them to understand the position of attention, he started to circle them.
“Yes, there is a point to not dropping your salute until an officer has returned it,” Barney said. “In the old days, and we seemed to be back to them, officers could not trust their enlisted men. Fragging, as you Americans call it, is a very old tradition. By forcing the enlisted to keep their salute until returned, especially and always under arms, it gave the officer a moment more to reach for his weapon in the event that the enlisted was likely to attempt to kill said officer.”
“Seriously?” Sophia said, laughing. “I heard it was a gesture of respect between two warriors.”
“Which it is, ma’am,” the sergeant major said. “But when two warriors meet, there is always tension. The reason that you do not ask questions, unless specifically told to ask questions, is that i
n many circumstances there is not time for questions or thought on your part. You do not know, now, enough about how to do your jobs to have any really useful input. You think you have useful input. You do not. Any idea you may have is more than likely idiotic. An example of that is Steinholtz attempting to hit an infected at four hundred meters on a rocking platform. And because of the narrowness of said platform, he was blocking everyone else from continuing the mission. Which I already explained to him. So you do not ask questions unless you are told you can ask questions. I do not want to hear the word ‘why’ come from your lips, again, ever, unless you are specifically told you may ask questions. Do you understand? The correct response is ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’ ”
“Yes, Sergeant Major,” they chorused.
“You always salute an officer,” the sergeant major continued. “You do so because that officer can tell you to jump into that shark-infested marina and if you do not do so when she orders it, I shall shoot you for failure to follow an order. I will not hesitate. And that officer always salutes back. Because that salute should remind them that they have the awful responsibility of giving orders that may lead to your deaths. This is not a bloody video game. There’s no . . . what’s that word? There is no respawn.
“Yesterday, this officer gave an order that led to an unfortunate loss. It was the right order, there was nothing wrong with it. But she bears that responsibility for her life. You were not responsible. I was not responsible. If one of you dies, today, I am not responsible. I may or may not feel responsible, but I am not. You are not. That officer is. That is her burden. That is what you acknowledge with that salute. That you don’t have to think and worry and plan. That you don’t have to bear the responsibility for a mate’s death. That it’s on your officers. Your job is to follow her orders and keep your bloody mouths shut. She doesn’t need your input and it’s not going to help. All it will do is add to her stress load which she does not bloody well need. Is this all perfectly clear? Again, the correct response is ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’ ”