by John Ringo
* * *
“Freeman, Twitchell,” Sergeant Smith snapped. “Check fire! Check fire!”
“They’re all around us, Sergeant!” Twitchell yelled. He was pulling on an empty trigger.
“I said Check Fire, Marine!” Smith shouted. “What is it about ‘check fire’ you do not understand?”
“That I’m in charge, Sergeant!” Sergeant Hoag said, firing repeatedly at an infected in among the trees. It just wouldn’t fall. She fumbled her reload and started clawing for another magazine until her hand fell on a grenade . . .
“That’s a BUSH!” Smith screamed. “You can’t kill a BUSH, Sergeant! Check fire! There are no moving infected in our sector!”
“You are not the team leader, Sergeant Smith!” Hoag shouted, then took a deep breath as the firing died down. “Fuck. That looks just like a guy. That looks just like a fucking guy.”
“A guy with clothes,” Smith said. “It’s trash bags on a bush. Even if it was a guy, it would be a survivor. Has clothes. Check fire, okay?”
“Roger,” Hoag said, breathing heavily. “Team, check fire. Check fire.”
“And, Sergeant, could you very calmly let go of the pin on the grenade and put it back in its pouch?”
* * *
“Freeze,” Faith said on the command frequency. She was scanning the entire line and couldn’t see any infected. “I can see lights still twitching. Who doesn’t understand the command ‘freeze’?”
* * *
“Fucking freeze, Saul!” Sergeant Weisskopf snapped.
* * *
She waited until every gun light was still. Still no infected.
“On my command,” Faith said. “Non-NCOs only, even if you have a full mag, will reload. NCOs only, cover if you have rounds, if not, just stay still. When you are reloaded, and take your time, put your light back on your sector and freeze. Execute.”
There was a budda-budda-budda from one of the gunboats that had spotted what it thought was an infected on the flank. Some of the lights started shifting that way.
“Back on your sectors and freeze if you’re reloaded,” Faith said calmly. “If you are not reloaded, your NCOs are going to have you drilling every free moment the rest of the cruise . . .”
* * *
“We need to put your sister in a glass case like Snow White,” Colonel Hamilton said, his arms crossed. He was monitoring the radio chatter from the deck of a gunboat. “With a sign on it that says ‘Break in the event of a zombie apocalypse.’ ”
“That’s Faith, sir,” Sophia said, also watching the action. “Got it in one.” In the darkness she gave a very slight smile.
* * *
“On my command,” Faith said. “One junior enlisted in each team, as designated by team leader, will cover the team. NCOs will reload. Team leaders, designate a shooter . . .”
* * *
Hoag opened her mouth for a moment, then said: “Kirby.”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant,” Kirby said, not moving a muscle. He let his eyes do the searching for targets.
“Aaaand . . . Execute . . .”
“At my command, all personnel will move slowly and carefully backwards until both boots are in the water at ankle depth,” Faith said. “Execute.”
She moved back to the water. The Zodiacs had powered off the beach so there was plenty of room.
“Take a knee, take your sectors and hold that,” Faith said. “Team leaders and team leaders only may engage if there are targets. All others will direct their attention to the center of the formation. All lights but mine shall remain still absent approaching infected and then only team leader lights may move. Lights are used for signaling at night. Notably, a light going like this . . .” she moved her light rapidly back in forth, “is a signal of distress. If for no other reason than anyone moving their light like this,” again rapid back and forth, “is having some trouble. This,” she continued, moving it around in a circle, “is saying that you’re okay. When you are checking a broad sector, you move your light in calm, regular, sweeps,” she said, continuing to demonstrate. “Staff Sergeant Barnard, you have an approaching tango . . . Take your time . . . The staff sergeant will now demonstrate the proper method of engaging targets using tactical lighting.”
* * *
Barnard took a couple of deep breaths and realized that it was causing her light to shake. Which she knew made her look weak, something that was just absolutely idiotic in a Marine Senior NCO! She just felt totally out of her depth. She hadn’t done any “infantry” shit since Basic. She could shoot, she was a God-damned expert marksman, she was a Marine Senior NCO! But this wasn’t just about shooting. And that little bitch was so Fucking Calm about it. She didn’t have any business being in the Marine Corps, she didn’t have any business being an officer, she didn’t have any business telling a Marine staff sergeant what to do, much less making her look like a fool in front of her Marines. And no thirteen-year-old girl had any business being so God-damned CALM!
The entire thought was a single instant that took no time at all. But it was enough time for the loping infected to close twenty meters. Barnard decided that she was not going to let the little bitch rattle her. The staff sergeant put the aimpoint on its chest and squeezed.
The round hit on the upper right chest and she put a second into the chest area, more centered, then a third. The infected finally fell.
“Standard for killing an infected is five rounds of five-five-six,” the lieutenant radioed, still in that golf commentator voice. “Note that the Staff Sergeant took a bare three which is not surprising. She is a Marine Senior NCO and we should all aspire to her marksmanship. That is how Marines shoot. The Army sprays and prays. Marines choose their targets and kill them efficiently, as the Staff Sergeant just demonstrated. At my command, all personnel are authorized free fire on their sector. If I hear anyone panic firing this time, you will return to the ship until such a time as you can be retrained for night combat. Execute. We will hold what we have for a few minutes to let the teams engage approaching infected and get comfortable with the night.”
“Marine ground commander, switch to channel seven.”
“Roger,” the lieutenant replied. “Squad leaders, maintain control of your teams.”
* * *
“How comfortable are you with continuing the mission, Shewolf?” Hamilton radioed.
Faith gave a slight dimple before returning the call. It was the first time that the colonel had used her handle.
“It’s all good, sir,” Faith replied. She’d waded out into the water knee deep. The wind was coming from the land and it carried her voice away so the conversation wouldn’t be overheard. Of course, there was blood in the water which meant sharks. She didn’t want to stand here all night.
“I probably pumped ’em up too much before we landed. They’ll get it together. We’re good to continue the mission. I’d like fifteen minutes . . .” There were some shots from down the line and she didn’t even turn around. They were calm. It was clear that the shooter was having trouble getting the zombie to be good but that was just Barbie guns. She did wait until the firing stopped to continue. “Then I’ll secure the perimeter for the arrival of the Navy. Over.”
“Concur. Kodiak, out.”
* * *
“Yo, Cindy, ’sup?” Faith said, walking along a bit more than ankle deep behind the line of Marines. There were occasional shots but no panic firing. She held her hand up for a fist bump. “Sweet shot, Staff.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Barnard said, standing up and fist bumping. “Pleasure to be of service.”
“So, we’ll give it ten more minutes for everybody to realize that we’re not going to be eaten by hordes of the walking dead,” Faith said. “Then we’ll continue the evolution. Actually. Funk!”
“Ma’am?” the PFC said.
“Front and center! Staff Sergeant, do you think you can manage to get them to totally check fire on a sector?” Faith asked.
The staff sergeant paused
in answering.
“Yeah, me neither,” Faith said. “Listen up, Marines,” she radioed. “I want a one hundred percent check fire on the road leading from the pier. I am going to be moving up it.”
“Ma’am,” Barnard said.
“Gaaawd damnit, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said, shaking her head. “I did not ask for your opinion! I do not want your opinion. And I swear to God if you inject one more time like some untrained fucking recruit I am going to request you be boarded, do you understand me, Staff Sergeant?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Barnard said tightly.
“Marines, if you fire on ‘movement’ on that road, you are going to be shooting me,” Faith continued. “And since you will not kill me, because apparently nothing can kill me, the penalty will be severe when I come walking back down that road.”
* * *
“Is she nuts?” PFC Haroldson asked.
“At ease, Marine,” Weisskopf snarled.
“The purpose of this is to demonstrate that infected are not the problem you’re all thinking they are,” Faith radioed. “I will proceed up the road with Funk to the edge of the light. There we will probably be able to attract some zombies and have some fun. Check fire. Check fire. Let us handle them.”
CHAPTER 17
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven’s scenes,
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.
—Marine Corps Hymn
“You ready to go, Funk?” Faith asked, stepping up onto the pier.
“Yes, ma’am,” Funk said tightly.
“Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. “Just this once, please do your job and ensure that my Marines do not frag me.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Barnard said.
“Funk, unload your weapon,” Faith said.
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Funk said. He jacked the round out of his weapon.
“You have to drop your magazine first, Marine,” Faith said. “Drop your magazine.”
“Confirmed infected in west sector,” Sergeant Hocieniec radioed.
“Roger, Hooch,” Faith said. “Scrum it, over.”
“Scrum it, aye,” Hocieniec replied.
* * *
“Second Squad, check fire,” Hocieniec said. “Check fire, check fire. Smitty, scrum that motherfucker.”
“Scrum that motherfucker, aye,” Sergeant Chris Smith said, standing up and drawing a tactical knife. “If any of you fuckers shoot me in the back I will shoot you in the head.”
The infected had closed to the edge of the light and was now dodging through the shadows, apparently unsure what was going on at the beach. Without a pack of its fellow zombies, some shred of self-preservation had kicked in.
Smith walked up to the edge of the beach and took a crouch.
“Come on, zombie,” Smith said, waving to it. “Come to papa.”
The zombie, driven by hunger, charged and Smith caught it with a hip roll, throwing it over his hip and onto the sand of the beach. He followed it down with his full weight and drove the Gerber into its eye.
“The problem with that technique is getting your knife out,” Smith said, putting his foot on the zombie’s head and wrenching at the bloody knife.
“Hey, Smitty, you got more incoming,” Hooch said, grinning.
* * *
Faith had, meanwhile, strolled up the road with PFC Funk.
“Zombies cannot even begin to harm you until they are at arm’s length, PFC,” Faith said. She had her radio “open” deliberately this time. “Which was why you wait until they’re close, generally, to fire. You hit them that way and you can be sure that they are zombies and not survivors or fellow Marines.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the Marine said nervously.
“And in this gear, they can’t get to you at all,” Faith said. “Last but not least, they are not the walking dead. Are they Corporal Douglas?”
“No, ma’am,” Derk yelled.
“So they can be killed in various ways that don’t require shooting them in the head,” Faith said. “Unless you’re using a fucking Barbie gun. In which case . . . well . . . check fire, check fire, check fire,” she shouted just to be sure.
She’d heard the zombie closing in the darkness. She let it charge and slam into her from behind. She flipped it across her shoulder and onto the ground, then let it have her left arm to bite.
“Notice that he’s not gaining an inch,” Faith said, drawing her kukri. “Human teeth cannot penetrate this bunker gear. And . . .” she reached across his arms and chopped downward. There was a spray of arterial blood. “They are not hard to kill.
“All Marine personnel will now unload their weapons,” Faith said, flicking the kukri to clear it of blood and pushing herself to her feet. “Squad and team leaders will assure that they are unloaded. Not just on safe. And that goes for all Squad and team leaders. Then the Marines who are from Gitmo will move up to the tree line and engage infected in hand-to-hand while the Iwo Marines conduct the class. We will continue this evolution until I call it. Staff Sergeant that includes you.”
* * *
“Permission to . . .” Staff Sergeant Barnard said and paused. She’d finally realized that the infected on top of her wasn’t going to kill her. But he was massive and incredibly strong. “Okay, what the hell do I do now, ma’am?”
“The mistake was letting him get on top of you, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. “And you’re only carrying one knife and you let him pin you in such a way as your Ka-Bar is inaccessible. I would suggest using your forty-five. Just put it into his stomach and pull the trigger. Bet you’re glad you’re wearing a gas mask, huh? That guy’s got a heck of a schlong . . .”
* * *
“Discontinue exercise,” Faith said. “Any remaining wrestlers, Iwo Marines take out the infected. Then everybody keep your guns unloaded and huddle up at the base of the pier . . .”
* * *
“The purpose of this exercise was to show you that it really doesn’t matter how many infected pile up on you,” Faith said. She had the Iwo Marines out on security while she talked to the “Gitmo” Marines. “The most dangerous thing out here in the dark is us. Yea, though we pretty much literally are going to be walking through the valley of the shadow of death, fear no evil. Because we are the most dangerous motherfuckers in this valley.
“If you’re nervous about getting hit by these infected, you’re going to make the mistake that Curran made and we will have more wounded. So don’t be nervous. We are God-damned Marines and we are covered in fucking gear and the only thing that can hurt us is us. That and heat stroke so drink! Pay attention to where you’re pointing those weapons, keep them unloaded unless we really need to fire. I am making an on-the-fly change to the current manning table. We’ll do it like choosing teams at dodge ball. Gitmo Marines line up behind the Iwo Marines. Except you, Staff Sergeant. You stay with me. And we’ll need . . . Edwards. Can you drive a truck, Edwards?”
“That’s my MOS, ma’am,” PFC Robert Lee Edwards said.
“Perfect,” Faith said. “But before you do that. I’m aware that rank is, like, everything in the Marine Corps. But for the rest of this exercise, Gitmo Marines follow the orders of the Iwo Marines, even if the person is lower rank. Iwo Marines should try to use proper military courtesy. But . . . Corporal Rock, you’re with Hocieniec. He’s in charge, got it? You obey his orders even though you outrank him. Sergeant Hoag, you’re with Dutch. Sergeant Weisskopf . . . Randolph. Now let’s sort the rest of it out . . .”
* * *
“Oorah,” Faith said. “Now the Navy left us some functional vehicles. I bet they don’t have gas, though. So we need to find . . . seven vehicles and make sure they’re full. Otherwise you guys are going to be walking back. We can’t ‘establish a perimeter’ while doing so. And we’re going to be muttering around in something of a cluster fuck getting it done. So the only ones who can fire are Iwo Marines and by God if you fire without my okay I will make
you sorry and sore. So let’s go find the cars and get ’em filled up . . .”
* * *
Filling the vehicles, in the dark, was a nightmare. It was a bit that had been overlooked in the planning. There were ten cars in all in the area. The Navy personnel had used five of them. The teams needed two more started. They found two more that would start. Then there was the matter of gas. They had to siphon fuel from the remaining three and spread it around. None of the cars ended up with a full tank of gas. And as they’d found throughout the operations, the gas was usually contaminated.
And they were getting hit. The zombies kept trickling in in ones and twos. Which wasn’t a huge problem and gave everyone some more training in that fact. However, it sometimes was a bit of an issue. Say, when Lance Corporal Ferguson was siphoning out a car’s gas tank and got hit from behind by an infected.
“The good news is, you’re in bunker gear,” Faith said, chopping the infected on the back of the neck. “But since your ammo would probably cook off if that gas catches, the smoking lamp is out.”
* * *
“Okay, so we also got to reformat the patrol areas,” Faith said. “Hooch, take your teams up to the east end of the island past the town. Dutch, you and Sergeant Hoag have between here and the town. Smitty, your teams have from here to the west end of the island. Got it?”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said.
“Okay,” Faith said, sorting through the maps. “So here’s your maps and assigned sectors. Dutch, you can probably just drive around the airport real slow, that will give you some range. The rest of you, just drive up and down slow and bring them in, then kill them. I mean, you’ve seen that it’s easy if they ain’t swarming. If you shoot, aimed fire, people. We’re going to be often moving close to each other. We have to get every last infected on this island. Every last one. Blow your horns. Play your music loud. Bring them in! Understood?”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Hooch said.
“Staff Sergeant and I will take the town with the five-ton,” Faith said. “If you get in the busy and feel like you can’t handle it, call us. Make sure you don’t run out of gas. Load up and move out.”