by John Ringo
"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 Senorita, Flotilla."
"Bella Senorita," 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 Senorita, Flotilla."
"Bella Senorita."
"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 deja 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 Ech
o 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 fixed 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."
"Ma'am, I've sat through longer briefings than that on how to do a parade mount," Staff Sergeant Januscheitis said. "It's part of being in the Corps. You're going to be doing briefings like that pretty soon, ma'am."
"I'm not using PowerPoint," Faith said. "I'm not."
"With due respect, ma'am," Januscheitis said. "You're in the Humvee. And not as gunner."
"I liked the old Corps," Faith said, frowning. "Board the boat, kill the zombies, get chow."
"Did we have our apple juice this morning, ma'am?"
"Yes, we did, Staff Sergeant," Faith said, taking a deep breath. "And it's not even the twenty-sixth unless you were wondering. Looks like the lame and lazy are loaded. Let's get this wagon train a-rollin'."
The "haji hospital" was on the far side of a line of ridges south of the main base. As they crested the ridges, the hospital and "Camp Delta" came into view. Team one, led by Lieutenant Commander Volpe, had cleared the exterior zones of the Camp Delta area yesterday and found a few zombies and no survivors.
Nice view, though. Camp Delta was laid out on the shores of the Caribbean and it was a fairly peaceful day at sea. It basically looked like a sprawling cross between a prison and a Sandals resort. The hospital was on a hill west of the command complex for the Camp.
"This was not exactly the worst place in the world to be in prison," Faith said.
"No, ma'am," Kirby said.
"Except in a zombie apocalypse," Faith said. "In which case, there was nowhere good to be in prison."
Faith's Humvee was not leading the parade. The convoy was led by two armed five-tons, then Lieutenant Commander Volpe's Humvee, then Faith's team, two more five-tons with gunners up in the cupolas, the command unit led by Captain Wilkes and finally the "Gitmo Marines" led by their surviving lieutenant who were "escorting" the "special salvage teams." The "escorts" were in five-tons with the team members, including Sophia, in Humvees. If they had more Marine enlisted they'd nearly have a company. As it was, it was more like a reinforced platoon. There was even a corpsman along although he was with the salvage teams as a guide.
"All this parade needs is an elephant," Faith said.
"Anything you want to talk about, ma'am?" Kirby asked diffidently. "You don't seem to be your usual sunny self. With due respect."
"I hate having to work with my sister," Faith said. "Especially when, whatever Captain Wilkes thinks, she's in charge. I don't like being bossed around by Sophia. Pretty much covers it, PFC."
"I...had an older sister, ma'am," Kirby said. "I know the feeling."
"I guess the fact that I can actually talk to mine should be a good reason for me to be happy," Faith said, sighing again. "Message received, PFC."
"That...I didn't mean..."
"No. All good, PFC," Faith said. "I need to adjust my attitude and get the mission done. Gung ho and all that. All good."
Faith's team had the job of doing entry from the rear of the hospital, which was the support and maintenance area. There was a fairly standard loading dock and roll doors with a personnel door to the west side. There were a couple of dead bodies on the loading dock and in the immediate area, all picked down to skeletons by seabirds and insects.
As soon as the Humvee rolled to a stop Faith unassed and waited as the rest of the team got out of their vehicles.
"Command, Team Two," Faith radioed as soon as everyone was arrayed. "Personnel door is open. No apparent threats. Prepared for entry. Staff Sergeant, let's get ready to roll."
"Weapons on safe, lights on," Januscheitis said. "Lance Corporal Pagliaro, point."
"Aye, aye, Staff Sergeant," Pag said.
"Roger team two," Wilkes radioed. "Begin entry. Careful on blue on blue."
"Careful on blue on blue, aye," Faith replied. "Which I'll repeat. We've got Volpe's team coming in from the front. Do not shoot Hooch, however much you might want to. Let's roll."
"Begin entry."
"One-hour briefing," Faith said, stepping over a rat-chewed corpse. "Nearly a division of Marines..."
"Reinforced platoon at most, ma'am," Janu said, trying not to chuckle.
"And there is, like, nada," Faith said. She stopped and looked in a room. More corpses. Some of them were kids. The hospital was packed with them. What there weren't were any living infected. No water. "Which is the worst kind of clearance, Staff Sergeant. Trixie doesn't like this kind of clearance."
"Sort of have to agree with Trixie, ma'am," Januscheitis said.
"Wizard, Shewolf," Faith radioed. "This position was clear six months ago, over."
"Concur," Captain Wilkes replied. "Position clear. Survey and Salvage team, begin ops."
"I'm an electrician, not a radiological specialist, ma'am..."
PO3 Jared Osburn had spent most of his time since exiting the USS Dallas fixing the myriad electrical problems of the squadron. But this was the first time that he'd even seen the power set-up for a cesium X-ray machine. And he knew diddly about what it was actually putting out.
"We're getting the right output readings, ma'am," PO1 Shawn Hougo said. The "nuke" machinist mate did know diddly about radiological systems. Quite a bit more than "diddly" in fact. What might be tough for a radiological technician was basically day one of Nuke School. "It appears to be fully operational. This ward was not significantly affected by the results of the Plague."
"The rest of the hospital sure was," Faith said, shaking her head. "Can you pick it up and move it?"
"Carefully," Hougo said. "Yes, ma'am. We'll have to do it the same way that they got it in here: Take out a wall."
"Be better if the hallways were clear, ma'am," Osburn pointed out. "We're going to have to take it out on a dolly. Really have to have the hallways clear."
"And we can't wait for Daddy's Little Helpers to do their trick," Faith said with a grimace. "Okay, we'll call it in. X-ray machine works. Probably should be pulled
out. And we gotta clear the halls."
"Ma'am?" Januscheitis said. "They need the techs upstairs. They found a centrifuge."
"Oooo," Sophia said, her arms wrapped around the centrifuge. "Nice..."
"You're weird, Sis," Faith said, looking at the device. It just looked like a waist-high white box.
"Six-liter capacity," Sophia said. "One hundred thousand rpm. This one is better than...Anything I've ever used."
"So we're good?" Faith asked.
"As soon as we find out if it works," Sophia said. "Ozman! Need power...!"
"How many air maintenance personnel do we have?" Steve asked, looking around the hangar. For once the helos--two CH-53s, three Coastguard Seahawk variants and a CH-46--were not riddled with holes or left out in the elements for months. They'd finally pitched the Lynx off the back of the Social Alpha to reduce weight. "Can we get at least one of these running?"
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Bryan Szafranski said. The Coastguardsman was the sole surviving airframe maintenance officer on the base they'd found. "None of my people...made it..."
"I'm sorry for your loss never covers it," Steve said. "But...?"
"There are several airframe mechanics among the surviving Marines, mostly from the Iwo Jima," Szafranski said. "I don't have specific service records but they should have some familiarity with the CH-46 at the least and probably the Seahawks. And the birds are in good condition given the time they've been sitting. They'll need a thorough inspection, though, before I can certify them to fly."
"Understood," Steve said. "Parts?"
"Sufficient for now, sir," Szafranski said. "If you're intending extended operations, we'll need more."
"Eventually, then, yes, we will," Steve said with a note of satisfaction. "Now if we can just make vaccine..."