Islands of Rage and Hope

by John Ringo

  “For your information, I’m Australian born, a naturalized American citizen and an ‘instant captain’ by grace of the NCCC, Under Secretary of Defense Frank Galloway, and the acting Joint Chiefs who are a collection of one Air Force brigadier and some colonels and equivalent in the Hole. There’s more, much more. But that’s the short and skinny. Any questions more important than talking to the Hole or getting a shower?”

  “Just that you do intend to hold Gitmo, sir,” Hamilton said. “There’s a treaty that states that if we ever leave the base unattended, it automatically reverts to Cuban ownership.”

  “I’m aware of the Treaty,” Smith said, smiling grimly. “That is the least of our concerns, Colonel. There is no Cuba. Nor shall be any time soon. The main concern is that from time to time when there were people who did not care for our culture, they were put to sea in sailboats and told to make their own way. Some coasted along behind the squadron and we make sure they get fuel and food. Others have more or less disappeared. Some of them are known semi-hostiles. I don’t want any of the latter availing themselves of the material generously paid for by the U.S. taxpayers. So we will maintain a significant presence here until the stores are exhausted or we relocate them. At that point, we’ll probably pull out. If anyone wants it, they can have it. This is not truly American soil and if I’m going to put our energies to anything, it is clearing our nation. There continues to be some minor interest in it from a SLOC perspective but that may have to be ignored due to manning constraints. Which will be up to the JCS and the NCCC and not on your plate. Understood, Colonel?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hamilton said. “Still trying to adjust to the new conditions.”

  “Which is why you get three days off,” Smith said. “One aspect that is more or less mandatory is a short orientation film. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hamilton said. “Sure I will. With due respect, though, sir, I would like to speak with the Hole, sir.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Steve said, smiling.

  * * *

  “So, is there a purpose to this machine gun mount, Corporal?” Hoag said. She was mildly afraid to try to ask the staff sergeant. Or turn her back on him. He was standing at attention, staring into the distance as if zombies would start coming over the ridges at any second. The lance corporal wasn’t much better. He’d been assigned to the radio and was holding the mike in his hand, instantly ready to answer any call.

  “If the clearance teams run into trouble they can’t handle, they bring the trouble back here,” Douglas said. “Or to one of the gunboats. Amazing how far an infected will follow a vehicle that’s moving slow enough. Also in case any of them show up to interfere with the landing areas.”

  After getting the Hummer going, the lieutenant and her crew had used it to get some of the five-tons running. The five-tons had fifty mounts. They’d been loaded up, taken to the docks, had Brownings mounted in them, then headed out to go clean up any remaining infected.

  “That I’m familiar with,” Hoag said. She’d really wanted to go with them. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing on this rooftop and wondered when they’d be relieved. It wasn’t a Marine thought but they’d patrolled this same damned roof for so long.

  “Alpha One Four, Alpha One Four, Squadron, over.”

  “Squadron, Alpha One Four, Papa, over,” Condrey replied.

  “Original Gitmo Team to evac to Boadicea for crew rest. Code is Honor, over.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Hoag said.

  “Original team to evac to Boadicea, aye,” Condrey replied. “Code is Honor, aye.”

  “Squadron out.”

  “Sergeant,” Staff Sergeant Decker barked. “Secure your roving patrol. You are relieved of guard duty. Proceed to Pier Three for pickup by fast boat. Copy?”

  “Secure roving patrol, aye,” Hoag replied. “Relieved of duty, aye. Proceed to Pier Three for pickup, aye. Permission to speak, Staff Sergeant?”

  “Permission granted, Sergeant!”

  “The pick-up point is three hundred meters from this location, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said. “Request cover fire.”

  The staff sergeant seemed to freeze. He was barely breathing.

  “I think you overclocked him,” Douglas whispered.

  “Corporal Douglas!” Decker barked. “Redeploy machine gun to cover evaccing team.”

  “Redeploy to cover evac, aye,” Douglas said.

  “Sergeant Hoag,” Decker barked. “Move out!”

  “Oorah!”

  * * *

  “Oorah!” Faith shouted, laying down fire with the .50 BMG. “I LOVE these things!”

  There weren’t really that many infected to engage. But she was, by God, going to lead the convoy doing “initial clearance” and she wasn’t going to let some PFC have all the fun.

  “With due respect, ma’am,” Januscheitis radioed. “Short controlled bursts.”

  “Staff Sergeant there shall be a vehicle-mounted water-cooled version,” Faith radioed back. “Make it so.”

  The “initial clearance” process was simple. Drive around in “medium lift” five-ton trucks looking for infected and kill them. The infected were drawn to the sound of the heavy diesels, not to mention the firing. As they came in sight the machine gunners and Marines in the back of the trucks took them under fire. If anyone ran into anything heavy, they could fall back on the support point or the gunboats.

  So far that hadn’t been an issue. The base, while complex, was easily enough laid out that the majority of the infected had come down to the points to be killed. The clearance teams had gotten into the dependent housing and so far there hadn’t been anything they couldn’t handle. The very few infected that had made it all the way to the five-tons were instant road kill and the occasional small piles made by the lieutenant or the other gunners were easy enough to negotiate.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Januscheitis replied.

  “Seriously, Staff Sergeant, a water-cooled vehicle-mounted version should not be an impossibility and the additional firepower would be a useful addition. I think this is a very good idea. Of course, it is my idea so of course it’s a good idea.”

  “To do that properly we’d need to write a staff study, ma’am.”

  “Agh!” Faith said. “Not a staff study! Now I’m conflicted, Staff Sergeant. Is it worth a staff study? Yes, I do believe it is. I can combine it with my regular course work as an ISS. Kill two birds with one paper.”

  “That is being intelligently lazy, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.

  “I take that as a compliment, Staff Sergeant,” Faith replied. “Now find me more infected to kill.”

  “Team Two, Clearance Ops. Status.”

  Faith switched frequencies without looking.

  “Serious lack of resistance, Ops,” Faith replied. “Estimate less than two hundred infected found and eliminated. No serious concentrations. Clearance path ninety percent complete. No survivors found.”

  “Green flare observed from direction of Base Housing Area Six. Location southeast of Grenadillo Point. Clear housing area, search for survivors.”

  “Survivors would be nice,” Faith said. “Roger, Ops.” She switched freqs again. “Objective: base housing area Six, southeast of Grenadillo Point. Janu, you got any clue where that is?”

  “Back to the main base road, hang a right, couple of miles up on the right.”

  “Kirby, find us a place to turn around . . .”

  “Team Two, Clearance Ops.”

  The sun was sinking in the west and Faith had been half wondering when they’d get the call. Clearance on boats was a day or night proposition. Didn’t really matter when you were in the bowels of a ship. Clearing on land, zombies could come at you from any direction. The plan had been to suspend at sunset.

  “Team Two,” Faith replied. They’d found fifteen survivors in addition to the “survival centers.” Most of them were dependents, a couple of civilian workers and two Navy storesmen. They’d found one Marine, the only survivor of
a team sent out to shut down and redirect some of the water mains. He’d holed up in the base club with a group of dependents that hadn’t made it to the survival center. Fortunately, they’d left the water on to the base club.

  “Suspend clearance,” Ops radioed. “Return to piers for evac.”

  “Roger, Ops,” Faith said and switched frequencies. “Janu, we’re done for the day. Turning around and heading for the pier.”

  “Roger,” Staff Sergeant Januscheitis replied.

  What they hadn’t seen in the last two hours was infected. The combination of the gunboats and their own sweeps appeared to have run them out of town.

  “This job is getting boring,” Faith said, dropping into the seat in the five-ton. “I’m ready for a serious scrum.”

  “Ma’am, with due respect, knowing your father there’s all sorts of scrums we’re going to get into in the future,” PFC Kirby said.

  “There’s that,” Faith said, crossing her arms. “But I’m named Faith not Patience. At least I’m not doing paperwork. . . .”

  * * *

  “. . . proceeded . . . through . . . base . . . housing . . . area . . . four . . .” Faith typed, laboriously, with two fingers, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. “Re . . . covered . . . four . . . survivors . . . God, I hate reports!”

  * * *

  “Oh, nummy, nummy,” Sophia said as she pulled up to the dock. “Nummy nummy Navy preprepared rations. What a treat!”

  “I can do many things with these, ma’am,” Batari said.

  “Getting them loaded is going to be the interesting part,” Sophia said. She had two pregnant crewmen. Very pregnant at this point. “We’ll have to . . .” She paused as the radio squawked.

  “Bella Señorita, Flotilla.”

  “Bella Señorita,” Sophia said, handling the radio as she pulled up to the dock.

  “Change of orders. Stop replenishment ops and proceed to the Boadicea. Master to meet with Squadron Commander.”

  “Frack,” Sophia said, backing the boat. “Cancel replenishment, aye. Report Squadron Commander, aye. You hear that everybody?” She keyed the loudhailer. “We just had a change of mission. See you guys later!”

  “Check-in time with Dad?” Walker asked.

  “I have no clue,” Sophia said. But she had a sinking feeling she did.

  “Bella Señorita, Flotilla.”

  “Bella Señorita.”

  “Additional orders: Crewman Thomas Walker, report Squadron Commander.”

  “Have you been bad, Thomas?” Sophia asked.

  “I was born bad, miss.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “. . . WAS THE WRATH OF ALLAH UPON THE UNHOLY INFIDELS AND THE APOSTATE WHO CALLED THEMSELVES THE CHILDREN OF ALLAH . . .”

  From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall

  University of the South Press 2053

  “Ensign Smith reporting as ordered with party of one,” Sophia said, saluting.

  “Have a seat Ensign,” Steve said, waving to the chair. “And Mr. Walker of course.”

  “Bit of déjà vu,” Walker said, grinning.

  “We have Gitmo,” Steve said. “Marines reported essentially no resistance by fifteen hundred hours. So now we’ve got to see if the main hospital is as good as promised. You two will be part of the ‘special survey’ team entering the hospital tomorrow morning to look for vaccine production materials. Right now I’m holding off on your identity as the vaccine production expert. But you’re going to have to partially break cover tomorrow. CDC has sent a list of materials they think you’ll need based on needs, wants and desires. You know what most of it is at least; I can’t make heads or tails of it.” He slid a sheet across the table.

  “Better than I’d have written,” Sophia said, looking at the list. “Some of the stuff I wasn’t sure what you called it. The filter stuff is going to be critical.”

  “Dr. Dobson will be up on a satellite video link through a laptop courtesy of some of the Navy people and Mr. Lawton,” Steve said. “If you can’t figure out whether something is useable or what it is, he can advise.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sophia said.

  “Mr. Walker, I’d appreciate your support in this as well,” Steve said.

  “Captain, when I signed on I put myself under your de jure command,” Walker said. “If you were asking me to do something clearly illegal, then I’d have to think about it. Absent that, you’re the commander, Captain. You don’t have to tap dance about giving me orders.”

  “I appreciate that,” Steve said drily. “We’re also going to be stripping the hospital of general medical supplies, equipment and medicine. That will be your area, primarily. Although everything is potentially useful, items related to obstetrics are high on my personal list of priorities.”

  “Understood,” Walker said.

  “You’ll be working with Dr. Chang through the same sort of link,” Steve said. “Brief is at zero five thirty tomorrow morning in Conference Room One. Just bring your entry gear with you. Do either of you have body armor?”

  “I think I’ll skip it, sir,” Sophia said. “It’s only of use against bouncers. I’d rather wear Tyvek if that’s permitted.”

  “Up to you,” Steve said. “The Marines are going to be providing security and clearance so you should be able to do this in short sleeves.”

  * * *

  “What’s your status, Sergeant?” Staff Sergeant Barnard asked, sticking her head in the door of the cabin.

  The Marines had been assigned cabins in “Marine Country” on the cruise liner. Sheila was sharing a room with Sergeant Cutter from Building Eighteen but this was the lap of luxury compared to the “Survival Centers.”

  Hoag was enjoying sybaritic pleasures like a working flush toilet, a shower with currently no water restriction and a real, honest-to-goodness comfortable rack. She knew as a Marine she should be all about Spartan but it would be damned nice to be able to lay her head down in an almost private room and snore the snore of the just. She wasn’t sure what to do with the rest of her three day pass but she’d heard there was a spa. She was seriously thinking massage.

  “I just had my first shower in six months, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said, grinning. “My status is glorious, thank you. I was just trying to decide whether to hit the gym or grab some chow.”

  “Unfortunately, we just caught a mission,” Barnard said.

  “Oh come . . .” Hoag started to say, then stopped. She was a Marine and there was only one thing to say. “Aye, aye, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Sorry, Sheila,” Barnard said. “I know we were supposed to get three days off but just about everybody is getting tasked. At least Marines. Too many jobs.”

  “No issues, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said, drying her hair. “Be ready in five.”

  “Not that much of snap kick,” Barnard said. “Round up your team. Uniform is still PT gear. First order of business is turn in your uniforms and other issue clothing for DX or wash. They have a washing service aboard, glory be. Draw new. After that you’re off till tomorrow at first call. Brief is at zero six thirty. Fastrep, going ashore at dawn to provide security for salvage teams looking at the haji hospital. Iwo Marines will handle clearance.”

  “Roger,” Hoag said. “So just uniform issue tonight.”

  “Roger and be ready to roll early tomorrow,” Barnard said.

  “So much for getting hammered.”

  * * *

  “Operation Echo Bird,” Captain Wilkes said, bringing up a PowerPoint slide with an overhead view of the hospital. “Background. The Clayton Beauchamp Critical Care Center was constructed in 2010 to give full-function medical support to detainees at Camp Delta as well as support for displaced persons with critical medical needs during disaster relief missions. The hospital is a Class One facility equivalent to a Navy hospital ship or a primary military medical center such as Bethesda Naval Hospital or Walter Reed Army Hospital.

  “Mission purpose: Primary. Recover vaccine production materials, both fix
ed and consumable. Secondary. Recover general medical materials, fixed and consumable, for the squadron . . .

  “The objective is a six-story-high, two-wing building constructed primarily of reductive precast concrete . . .”

  “Query,” Captain Smith said. “Reductive?”

  “A type of concrete formulation discovered, or rather rediscovered, about ten years ago,” Dr. Dobson said. “It absorbs airborne and contact trace materials, including biologicals, and chemically reduces them. It was starting to be used in all hospital construction just before the Fall because it wipes out bacteria on any of the exposed concrete surfaces. This bunker we’re in was made from it. Rediscovered because there’s a Victorian era lion statue in London that has the same properties.”

  “Continue,” Smith said.

  “Primary objective is the west wing,” Wilkes said, bringing up a tighter shot. “West wing has patient rooms including the ICU and epidemiological quarantine rooms on the upper floors. Lower three floors are administration and labs including epidemiology and radiology. The primary supply stores for both are also in that wing. One of the survivors in Building Eighteen was a corpsman. He worked in the primary base hospital, rather than the ‘haji hospital’ as it’s called but he had been there several times. The following is a ‘best remembrance’ schematic of the location of all the primary objectives . . .”

  * * *

  “An hour briefing?” Faith said as they loaded the trucks. It was still predawn but the sun was going to be coming up any minute. “We’re just taking a fricking building. It’s not even the size of a small liner. Go in, kill any zombies, get the stuff. It’s not a big deal.”