by John Ringo
She hung her head.
“See y’all tomorrow,” she said, exiting the container.
* * *
“Sir, I’ve been looking at the map . . .” Faith said, her mouth half full of sushi.
The Marines had cleaned up after extracting the astronauts, eaten breakfast, then crashed. It was dinner time and Faith was still barely recovered.
In the interim the task force had moved to Rendezvous Bay. It was on the far side of the island from Road Salt Pond Bay and thus nicely away from the smell and sight of piles of dead bodies. Unfortunately, it was close to Blowing Point, which had been another clearance point. But even though the wind was from that direction, there was no real effect.
The bay was better in lots of ways. It had fewer wrecks and less mess than Road Salt Pond and there was, apparently, no fire damage. There were a couple of resorts in sight that looked almost as if nothing had happened.
“Remember those sayings, Lieutenant?” Hamilton said. “That sounds very much like ‘I have an idea . . . ’ ”
“I’m a second lieutenant not a first lieutenant, sir,” Faith said. “But about the map, sir. This beach has another one of those salt ponds behind it. It’s just a little strip of sand, sir. It’s even narrower than that other anchorage was.”
“I noticed that, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said.
“Thing is, sir, we put out a couple of security points and infected can’t really get to it, sir,” Faith said.
“Thinking of hitting the beach for a tan, Lieutenant?” Hamilton asked.
“Thinking that most of us haven’t had anything like a break in a long time, sir,” Faith said. “So, yes, sir, that was sort of asking if the men could have some shore leave, sir. Since we’re stuck here till the astronauts recover, sir. I was thinking about Christmas day, sir.”
“How would you do it?” Hamilton asked, interested.
“One squad should be able to cover it, sir,” Faith said. “One team at each end with the squad leader doing interior patrol as sergeant of the guard, sir. If we’re here for a few days we could have them rotate one day on one off, sir.”
“Why not Navy away teams?” Hamilton asked.
“I . . . don’t run them, sir?” Faith said.
“The force has about the same number of Naval ground combat team members as Marines,” Hamilton said. “How would you do it if you had them as well?”
“Not much different, sir,” Faith said after a moment’s thought. “Possibly have two shifts each day. I’d suggest that all armed personnel who go ashore, go ashore armed. But other than that . . . Just more free time, sir.”
“How do you integrate the fact that people who go on liberty tend to drink?” Hamilton asked. “What about a reaction team?”
“I’m getting out of my depth, sir,” Faith said.
“There’s an outline for a standard liberty schedule in your inbox, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Along with our current TOE. I need the details filled in by zero eight hundred tomorrow. That way, people can have liberty on Christmas Day.”
“You’d already thought of it, sir,” Faith said.
“The definition of intelligence is generally said to be when someone has the same idea you have,” Hamilton said. “I’ve found it to be when someone has a better idea. But you’re getting there. . . .”
* * *
“Hi, folks,” Hamilton said, looking through the plexiglass. There was an intercom with a hand mike set up. “I’m Colonel Hamilton, commander of Kodiak Force. Sorry I haven’t made it down here before now. You all nominal?”
“Nominal, Colonel,” Commander Daniels said, sticking up a thumb.
“Now that we’ve got the plasma running, we’re working on getting you up on video with the Hole and suchlike,” Hamilton said. “We also took the time to extract the seats from the capsule. Doctor, do you think those would be preferable if we can decontaminate them?”
“How contaminated are they?” Dr. Price asked.
“We used the same protocols to recover them that we used to extract you,” Hamilton said. “They’re in the five-ton, which you can’t see is still parked right behind the container. We’re just not sure if it’s worth the risk. On the other hand, the bedding you are on just came off the cleanest boats we could find that didn’t appear to have been opened since the plague broke out. We cleaned the hell out of them, obviously, but . . . Those have a higher likelihood of contagion than your capsule seats.”
“More wonderful news,” Dr. Price said. “The seats would be preferable. They’re conformal and we actually need to be somewhat vertical to get our bodies adjusted to gravity.”
“I’ll have them moved in next shift,” Hamilton said. “For general information on the progress of any potential contagion, our experience is that most people who turn start to do so in the first several weeks after exposure. According to Dr. Dobson at the CDC, with your reduced immune systems, that’s more like three to five days. So if you’re going to turn we should know in a week or so. I’m not trying to be depressing with that. Simply the realities of current existence.”
“Understood,” Dr. Price said. “We’d discussed on the station what was likely when we landed.”
“We’d discussed simply reentering more or less at random,” Commander Daniels said. “But the Hole assured us that all we’d find is infected.”
“It really is all gone?” Rizwana said.
“It is,” Hamilton said, simply. “This is the first place we’ve cleared that you reasonably can walk around with minimal arms and security. And it took a heck of a lot to make it that way.”
“Even looking at the view at night,” Tom said, shaking his head. “It’s hard to believe.”
“It’s like that for people who were in enclosed spaces, even lifeboats,” Hamilton said. “Cognitive dissonance and denial are fairly normal responses in the current environment. I was in a warehouse. When you can go out at night and there is not a light to be seen and no humans but infected . . . it’s easier to believe and understand.”
“Do you have family, Colonel?” Rizwana asked. “We have a daughter in England.”
“Point of protocol is that that’s generally not a subject of discussion,” Hamilton said. “But since you did ask, I had to kill my wife and son, ma’am.”
“Oh, my Lord, Colonel,” the physicist said, her hand over her mouth. “I am sorry for . . .” she shook her head again.
“And that is why the subject of family is generally off-limits, Doctor,” Hamilton said.
“What is the plan for us when we’re recovered?” Matveev asked.
“You’re probably all headed back to Gitmo,” Hamilton said. “If you wish to help out, that’s where you’re most likely to be of help. We’re on a rather specific mission. But back to Gitmo is the plan.”
“What is going on there?” Tom Shelley asked. “I assume that the detainees have been released?”
“None of the detainees made it,” Hamilton said. “At the point that we were trying to manage their extraction, things pretty much fell apart. I’m assuming the few who were resistant were eaten by the rest or died in their cells of dehydration or starvation. It was not intentional, there was more effort put into securing the detainees than other, arguably more vital, issues. Like a lot of things, it just didn’t work out. At the time I was handling other issues. Family among others. Guantanamo Bay is currently our only land base and it’s not even fully secure, from what I’ve been getting. They’re trying to get helos operational as well as building zombie traps. That’s where all the building is happening and with the exception of Mr. Lyons, it’s assumed that you all would prefer to be builders rather than this rather nasty but necessary destruction.”
“Am I being reactivated, sir?” Troy asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Not if you are resistant, Mr. Lyons,” Hamilton said. “Your mechanical expertise would be quite useful on the civilian side. But I’ve got a thirteen-year-old running my Marines and a fifteen-year-old running my
Naval Landing Parties. Competently or they wouldn’t be doing so. But you’ll understand that I’m not going to turn down the help of a former Naval Special Warfare officer if it’s offered.”
“I’m not exactly in shape at the moment,” Lyons said, raising his arm with some difficulty.
“That is what food and exercise are for, Mr. Lyons,” Hamilton said. “My only gunnery sergeant, who is not here unfortunately, had to be carried off the Iwo Jima. He is currently again leading PT at Gitmo. Although they go running in combat gear since they occasionally run into infected who have penetrated the fences.”
“You have helos,” Kuznetsov said. “Do you have other aircraft?”
“The helos are yet to be certified for flight,” Hamilton said. “That is where a good bit of my Marines are, working on them. As to other aircraft, there are no current plans to get airplanes working. The only strip we could use is Gitmo and possibly here. And we have virtually no mechanics qualified to work on most of them. Obviously, if we’re talking about a Cessna, any of the Marine mechanics could fix one up.”
“Any of us could fix one up,” Commander Daniels said. “Well, most of us. And drive them.”
“Captain Smith is concentrated on helos,” Hamilton said thoughtfully. “There are planes at this airstrip. The ones at Gitmo are either too large to be viable—there’s a Hercules there—or too complex. Most of the rest are corporate jets. But I suspect there are some smaller ones here. Probably not worth the effort, though. We don’t do much in the way of reconnaissance and that would be about their only real utility.”
“Critical parts and supplies?” Commander Daniels said.
“Scavenge and kludge,” Hamilton replied.
“Seriously?” Lyons said.
“Pretty much what we do,” Hamilton said. “Captain Smith noted to me that his master’s thesis was on the Siege of Malta and the many work-arounds that were used to keep their aircraft flying. He holds the opinion that letting people scrounge in a situation like this, if not at will then widely, is more effective than trying to do everything by the book. So far it’s working, so I suppose my boss has a point. It’s a decidedly eccentric one, however.”
“What about medical evacuation?” Dr. Price said.
“The most serious issue we’ve had on this float was an AD,” Hamilton said. “Which was an abdominal through and through.”
“Ouch,” Troy said. “What happened?”
“As Lieutenant Smith said when I asked, we’re taking undertrained Marines mixed with trained ones, few of them infantry MOS, and throwing them out into a chaotic environment,” Hamilton said. “The short answer is one of them swept his buddy and jerked the trigger in panic. Mr. Walker—whose medical training was an intense but brief course thirty-some-odd years ago and about three years experience putting bandages on pimples—then opened him up like a trout and stitched everything back together as best he could remember. I’m given to understand he had someone hold open a copy of Gray’s Anatomy while he was working.”
“Jesus,” Dr. Price said.
“The Marine is currently recovering in sickbay,” Hamilton said. “So far the infection is under control. He has some rather spectacular scars but it appears he will live. And that more or less defines current reality. Dr. Price, ever delivered a baby?”
“I heard,” Price said, sighing. “I’m hoping there are some obstetrics texts.”
“We just raided the medical school on this island,” Hamilton said. “They had some. Now we do.”
“Any surviving faculty?” Tom asked.
“This is the first island where we have yet to find a single survivor,” Hamilton said. “And we’d have found them by now what with one thing and another. We’re not sure why this one had zero. We’d expected, statistically, to find twenty. But there were none.”
“That is so sad,” Rizwana said, shaking her head. “What London must be like.”
“The ocean is made of tears, Dr. Shelley,” Hamilton said. “The only thing we can do is keep lighting candles, one by one, and try to bring back the light. And with that, I really must bid you adieu. I have to go see a subordinate about a liberty schedule. The one benefit to being forced to stay in place is I can spend the free time giving my people some time off on Christmas Day before we institute a rather strict training schedule . . .”
* * *
“That is gonna cause one hell of an interesting set of tan lines,” Sergeant Smith said, making sure his shades were in place so it wasn’t obvious he was watching his jailbait boss.
Faith had just run down the beach to dive into the water wearing a blue bikini top, pink shorts, a trench knife and dual .45s in tactical thigh holsters.
“It’s like Zombie Raider,” Hooch said, shaking his head.
“But with a better butt,” Smith said, then grimaced. “I’m going to hell for that, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are, Sergeant, yes, you are,” Hooch said. “You’re going to the special hell.” He looked at his watch and lurched up. “Gotta go get it on.”
“I’m not even sure the security is worth it,” Smith said. “We haven’t had a single incident all day.”
“We were still shooting them last night,” Hooch said, then shook his head. “Two nights ago.”
“Hey, guys, why aren’t you swimming?” Faith asked, walking out of the water and wringing out her hair.
“Uh, sharks, ma’am?” Sergeant Smith said.
“So far so good,” Faith said, shrugging. “I think they’re all over at Blowing Point getting stuffed. The water’s great.”
“Okay, ma’am,” Smith said, getting up. He wasn’t going to get out-oorahed by a thirteen-year-old even if it was Miss Faith. “I’m not sure about my M4, ma’am.”
“Sling it over your back,” Faith said. “We’re going to have to clean the shit out of our weapons, anyway. And that way if there is a shark you can shoot it.”
* * *
The water was gin clear and smooth as a mill pond. Smith was pretty sure that they’d see any approaching sharks.
He was also pretty sure he was going to the special hell.
“Can’t catch me!” Faith said, splashing him, then diving away.
Smith stayed where he was.
“I’m trying for friendly uncle, here, ma’am,” Smith said, wiping salt water off his face. “I’m not sure that fits in with playing chase games.”
“If you’re an uncle, you must be from West Virginia,” Faith said, grinning. “At least from the look of your bathing suit.”
“Crap,” Smith said, turning around.
“Sorry, Smitty,” Faith said. “That was sort of pushing the limit, wasn’t it?”
“A bit, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said.
“It’s like the only guys I meet are my subordinates,” Faith said, frowning. “Not to dump on you, but it’s sort of getting weird. I’m not, you know, gay. But there aren’t any guys I meet who I like and I’m not the boss. Sorry to, you know . . . bitch I guess.”
“Not a problem, ma’am,” Smith said, frowning. “I guess it’s kind of tough on you that way.”
“I think Da did this on purpose,” Faith said, darkly. “He knew I was going to go for the Marines so he put them all off-limits!”
“That, yeah, sort of sounds like a dad, ma’am,” Smitty said, grinning.
“Not that I’m like super attracted to you or anything, Smitty,” Faith said. “More like a brother kind of thing.”
“That’s cool, ma’am,” Smitty said. “I can handle brother. Better than most of the alternatives.”
“Hey, it’s getting crowded.” Faith’s entry to the water had broken the ice, sort of. Plenty of people were still on the beach but there were more people getting in the water. “Let’s go check out the resort.”
“Ma’am, with due respect, are you nuts?” Smitty said. “It’s outside the perimeter.”
“This island is as clear as a liner after we’re done,” Faith said. “We’ve got guns.”
; “And no reloads,” Smitty pointed out.
“Spare mags,” Faith said, pointing to her pistols. Each holster had two integrated magazine pouches.
“One mag,” Sergeant Smith said, tapping his slung weapon.
“There may be booze,” Faith responded.
“With your permission, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said, “I’m going to go ensure that that largish resort is clear, ma’am. Prevent infiltration and all that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t go by yourself, Sergeant,” Faith said, nodding. “I’ll be your backup. Or maybe vice versa.”
* * *
“Hey, Rusty,” Faith said. “’Sup?”
“Hot as hell in all this gear, Faith,” Seaman Apprentice Robert “Rusty” Fulmer Bennett III said, shaking his head. “Can’t wait to get off.”
“Have to talk to somebody older than me, Rusty,” Faith said, grinning.
“Uh . . .” the seaman apprentice said, his mouth hanging open.
“Close your mouth, you’re attracting flies,” Faith said. “We’re gonna go check out these buildings outside the perimeter. Don’t shoot us.”
“Uh, okay, Faith,” Rusty said. “Is that safe?”
“No,” Faith said. “But I figure somebody else is going to wander over there, and better me and Smitty than some civilian.”
“Okay, ma’am,” Rusty said.
“Hey, Rusty,” Smitty said. “Check the time and pass this on to the Marines when they take over. If we’re not back in an hour, send the reaction team.”
“Okay, Sergeant,” Rusty said.
* * *
“Jesus, Navy,” Smitty muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. “And it’s worse these days.”
“The lack of ‘aye, aye’ you mean?” Faith said. “They’re civilians that just raised their right hand. But they did raise their right hand, if you know what I mean.”
“Hope he passes on the message,” Smitty said. He had his M4 in a tactical carry position and was scanning the surroundings. “Should we be making noise, ma’am?”
“This one I’m not so sure,” Faith admitted. She still hadn’t drawn her side arm. “I wonder what’s in here?” she said as they came to a container that had floated ashore.