Islands of Rage and Hope (eARC)

by John Ringo

  "Aaagh," Faith said, clutching her head. "I hate logistics! No, I take it back. If you've got enough ammo, you're good. You just steal the rest."

  "Oh, good God, Sis," Sophia said. "It's not that hard."

  "Sophia," Faith said carefully. "Seriously. First of all, you've always been the brain. I admit that, okay. Just like you'd admit I can kick your ass, right?"

  "You've done it enough times," Sophia said, frowning.

  "Second, you were in high school. I was barely working with fractions and they still give me a headache."

  "You want to be an officer or not?" Sophia asked. "Serious question."

  Faith thought about it for a long few seconds.

  "Yes," Faith said. "I'd sort of like to be a grunt and there's... Yes. So I guess you're saying I've got to get smarter?"

  "Just willing to learn, Faith," Sophia said. "I know you get headaches with this stuff. Pain is..."

  "Weakness leaving the body," Faith said. "So how do we figure out how much stuff we need?"

  "Fortunately, we have the Canaries to draw on as an example," Sophia said, going into the server and hunting through files. "This is it. This is all the ammo and material we used in the Canaries by operation. Okay, I'm not going to do this for you. How do we use this stuff to figure out how much we're going to need?"

  Faith just looked at her for a second. Sophia hated that look.

  "Is this a word problem?" Faith said. "I hate word problems."

  "Yes, this is a word problem," Sophia said, trying not to sigh. "Life is a word problem. Okay, okay, hint. How big is Charlestown?"

  "You mean in Nevis?" Faith said, starting to look it up then pausing. "Oh, Walker knew that. Fifteen hundred or so. How did he know that, you know?"

  "Just... Let's skip the subject of Walker for right now," Sophia said uncomfortably. "Okay, fifteen hundred. What was the population of, say, San Sebastian de la Gomera?"

  "I have no idea," Faith said.

  "Faith, I'm not going to hold your hand the whole time," Sophia said. "Try to think."

  "I don't remember ever seeing it," Faith said.

  "So..."

  "I don't have an internet to look it up, Sophia!" Faith snapped. "You know where I can get an atlas that would have it?"

  "Oh, good God, Faith!" Sophia said. "Do you mean you haven't been accessing the Hole?"

  "We can access the Hole?" Faith asked.

  "They've got a massive database which is accessible to all military personnel," Sophia said, shaking her head. "I mean, a bunch of it's classified of course... Okay, type in your network password...."

  "Don't look," Faith said, shifting her shoulder. She slowly typed in a long password.

  "Maybe you should go for enlisted," Sophia said, shaking her head.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Faith snapped.

  "'I love Gregory Januscheitis' is not what you call the most secure password," Sophia said. "Not to mention kind of being an issue since you're an officer and he's enlisted."

  "Hah, if that's all you know!" Faith said. "It's got a 1 for the I and two dashes."

  "How in the hell did we come from the same parents?" Sophia asked. "I swear you have to be adopted. Okay, click on the link that says... What?"

  "What?" Faith said, looking at a series of named buttons.

  "What are we looking for?" Sophia asked.

  "I don't...Wait...Population of...Gomera."

  "Pre-Plague, mind you, although...I wonder if the secure areas might have infected populations, that would be useful...So, what is population data in terms of those icons?"

  Faith searched through the buttons.

  "Oh," Faith said, clicking one. "Human geography."

  "Got it," Sophia said.

  "I don't see Canary Islands..."

  "Try Spain," Sophia said, trying not to sigh.

  "Oh, yeah," Faith said. "Spain...Canary Islands...Gomera...San Sebastian de la Gomera...about eight thousand."

  "How much ammo did we use?" Sophia asked.

  She got the look again but Faith flipped over and checked the other sheet.

  "Holy cow," Faith said. "We used thirty-five thousand rounds of fifty-cal in Gomera?"

  "And you guys used another nine thousand rounds of seven-six-two and six thousand of five-five-six," Sophia pointed out. "For about eight thousand residents before the Plague."

  "I start to get Gunny's whole thing about one shot, one kill," Faith said, poking around the data. "I thought so. We only use an average of ten rounds to the population of a liner...Some of that, not much, was on the Bo...."

  "Most of the 'inhabitants' of a liner are, sorry, dead," Sophia pointed out. "And it's real short range. But you're on the right track. To figure out how many rounds we're going to need for the operation..."

  "How many rounds of each caliber per kill?" Faith said.

  "Per population of the town before the Plague which is the only hard data we've got," Sophia corrected. "And it's different, like you said. Liners are different but the towns are different, too."

  "So...averages," Faith said. "Figure out how many rounds we used per pre-plague citizen of the towns at each town and then figure it out for the towns and islands we're going to take. Agh. Spreadsheets and spreadsheets..."

  "But you've figured out what we need in terms of data, right?" Sophia said.

  "Yeah," Faith said.

  "Can you write it out as an equation?" Sophia asked.

  "I think so," Faith said. "I'm not sure about the right, you know, notification or whatever. But it's like rounds used by type versus the pre-Plague populations and then get an average?"

  "Okay, what we do is we write that up and we get the subs to do it," Sophia said.

  "Again with the subs," Faith said.

  "One, they're nukes," Sophia said. "They're serious math guys. This is actually too easy for them. Two, they're bored. Three, they feel like they're not really contributing. This does help. But you figured out what we needed in terms of information. Which is what officers are for. Okay, other supplies."

  "Seriously, we can probably scavenge for most of it," Faith said. "We're going to need ammo and if we're going to do the liners, probably batteries. Food, water, fuel...there's boats and stores."

  "Not as much fuel stores as you might think," Sophia said. "We were having a hard time finding those in the Canaries. The tanks at the marinas were mostly dry 'cause people tanked up and ran."

  "Fuel...we just load up the Grace Tan? What's it's max tankage?"

  "Which is pretty much the answer we're going to have to give," Sophia said. "Fortunately, we do have fuel here at the base. The tanks are almost topped up. Water? These islands don't have much."

  "They reconfigured Gitmo as a disaster support base," Faith said, grinning and diving into the server for another file. "I was talking about it with Smitty. There are diesel powered water filtration systems, big ones, big enough to supply a small town. We'll take some of those along with us on the Grace. That gives us water. There are...five of them in a warehouse over by Grenadillo."

  "Put in a requisition for them," Sophia said. "Okay, food, yeah, we can probably scavenge. But we need a base supply. Enough for the unit for, say, thirty days..."

  CHAPTER 10

  "...atoll is zombie free, mates. We're setting up best we can. Got the gennies running anyway and we've got a functioning loo! What a blessing it is to sit on porcelain again! Any bloody ammo is appreciated so we can start clearing..."

  From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall

  University of the South Press 2053

  "I need to admit something, sir," Faith said as Colonel Hamilton perused the operations and logistics report.

  "You got help?" Hamilton asked.

  "Sophia was working on some of the same stuff, sir," Faith said. "So we put our heads together on it. And some of the number crunching, I...delegated. I could do it, sir, with a computer at least, but I was trying to figure out what numbers had to be crunched, sir. But I figured out mo
st of it myself, sir. And the rest was mostly Sophia asking questions. But I did get help, yes, sir."

  "That's a lot of 'buts,' Lieutenant," Hamilton said. "Which is understandable. If you'd tried to figure this out yourself from first cause it would have taken you a month, I'm sure. It would have taken any second lieutenant a month. Well, most. I agree on your three initial targets. I'd even say the 'maybes' like St. Croix are doable if we're given enough time. You want to take five-tons?"

  "I hadn't worked with them until we got here, sir," Faith said. "They really are the thing for land clearance. We can probably do it with scrounged transport. But the five-tons are way better, sir. They've got the gun mount and ground clearance. I've gotten stuck on bodies more than once in the Canaries, sir. It's not just that you're stuck with a wave of infected coming at you. It's... There's a lot of really raunchy stuff about this job, sir, but spinning out on bodies is high on the list, sir."

  "Duly noted," Hamilton said. "I'll put it in consideration. Did you happen to give consideration to how to transport them, Lieutenant?"

  "All of these islands have ferry docks, sir," Faith said. "Some of them are smaller than others. We'd have to find, survey and man a small ferry. But even a small truck ferry could carry at least two five-tons, sir."

  "I'll take that up with Commander Chen," Hamilton said. "It has merit. Your estimate for ammunition consumption is, I think, low. What's it based on?"

  "The Canaries, sir," Faith said. "We compared the population, pre-Plague, of the towns to our ammo usage and then carried it over to the pre-Plague populations of the local towns. That's the ground combat rounds. Soph and I both worked on that as well. I took all the ammo and batteries and Soph took the other consumables."

  "The point is, we used six times as much ammo in terms of similar conditions in Iraq," Colonel Hamilton said, looking up. "Are you saying our current forces, undertrained as they are, are that much better?"

  "Uh..." Faith said, thinking about it. "Zombies don't duck, sir?"

  Colonel Hamilton regarded her evenly for a moment, looked at the spreadsheet, looked back.

  "Point again taken, Lieutenant," Hamilton said. "The ROWPUs?"

  "We always need more water, sir," Faith said. "And I think that's on the Navy side anyway, sir."

  "I am in the unusual position of being a Marine officer in charge of a Naval expedition," Hamilton said. "So I have a similar report from, as you put, the Navy side. Did Sophia conceive the idea?"

  "I...I sort of said we should take them, sir," Faith said nervously. "I mean, they're just sitting there, sir. Sophia asked about water 'cause it's always a problem for the boats. I don't really think about it since the boats supply it but she had a point."

  "And again I'll take it under consideration," Hamilton said. "It's not a bad report. I'm going to tweak some of the numbers based on gut, red-line it and compile it with the Navy side for requisitioning. As I said, I agree with your assessment of the best objectives. Next: the captain wishes us to be able to arm the residents of the islands against the potential of, well, pirates as well as any remaining infected."

  "Yes, sir," Faith said.

  "There are apparently remaining weapons on the Iwo but it's not worth our time going back to get them," Hamilton said. "Especially since there's a source closer to hand, if a bit...unpleasant. So we're going to scavenge."

  "The weapons of the...fallen on the base, sir?" Faith said.

  "Yes," Hamilton said. "Wellington once said the only thing that could be worse than a battle won must be a battle lost. The truth, I think, is the opposite. The losers don't see the results whereas we do. I'm not sure it's the best conditions for you to get to know your new platoon, short as it is. But that is your next mission. Round up your platoon and go scavenge all the weapons and magazines you can find on the base."

  "Yes, sir," Faith said.

  "As you're doing so, see which are still functional, clean them up and when we clear an island issue them to what seem to be trustworthy locals," Hamilton said. "Any questions?"

  "Just one, sir," Faith said. "It's...um...fourteen hundred. Should we start today, continue at night or start in the morning, sir?"

  "Start this afternoon, at the very least figuring out how," Hamilton said. "Staff Sergeant Barnard is familiar with the base and it's always a good idea to listen to input from your NCOs. But I'd like you to at least get started today. Main op tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir," Faith said.

  "Very well, Lieutenant," Hamilton said. "Dismissed."

  He waited until the door had closed to chuckle.

  "'Zombies don't duck,'" Hamilton said. "Write that on your damn hand, Craig."

  "'Tention on deck!" Smitty boomed as Faith walked into the squad bay. The NCOs were in the bay checking the gear, new and old.

  "Whoa, whoa," Faith said, somewhat nervously, waving both hands. "At ease and all that. Staff Sergeant...Barnard?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Cindy said, still standing at parade rest.

  "Rest, Staff Sergeant," Faith said, sticking out her hand. "Lieutenant Smith."

  "Yes, ma'am," Barnard said, shaking her hand. "Good afternoon, ma'am."

  "We caught a mission," Faith said. "We need to...chat about how we're going to detail it out."

  "Roger, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "Let's talk about it in my broom closet," Faith said, waving at the hatch. "Staff Sergeant Decker."

  "Ma'am," the staff sergeant boomed. He was still at rigid parade rest.

  "You're in charge while we're gone," Faith said. "You will recall our discussion about the importance of reestablishing flexibility."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Decker boomed.

  "Oorah, Staff Sergeant," Faith said, gesturing at the hatch. "Staff Sergeant Barnard."

  "I looked at a regular TOE," Faith said as they walked down the corridor. "We've got too many NCOs, don't we?"

  "By TOE, ma'am," Barnard said. "But I don't think there's such a thing as too many NCOs."

  "Not about the mission--but what would you think about trying to set up a mini boot camp?" Faith said. "We need more Marines and unless we find another LHA or take one of the big bases, I'm not sure we're going to find many more."

  "I think we're short on hands to do that, ma'am," Barnard said. "And I think it would be up to Colonel Hamilton and the gunnery sergeant."

  "Agreed," Faith said, opening the door of her office. "I'm just thinking about the fact that we've got three staff sergeants and less than a platoon's worth of grunts. Besides, I think Decker would be better off as a drill instructor than on active ops."

  Barnard boggled for just a moment at the thought of Decker as a drill instructor.

  "With due respect, ma'am," Barnard said. "I think drills need a bit more flexibility."

  "They need less than is required in field ops," Faith said, sitting down. "Grab a chair, please, Staff Sergeant. That's the point. It would be nice if we had some drills with more flexibility but the area where you need the least would seem to be drills. Or maybe just that. That Monty Python sketch, sergeant major marching up and down the square. Decker and Condrey, that's the only thing they really can do, drills. If it's not right in a manual they'd read before being castaways, they're pretty much stuck. When we had a little down time, I've had Decker drilling me on marching and commands. He's as perfect as you can find on all that stuff. Figuring out how to get wheels, how to find power and ammo and food in the ruins, how to interact with the survivors, not so much. And have you ever inspected their gear? I mean, that's what the basic portion really is, drilling, how to be a Marine and getting your gear shipshape. That Decker and Condrey can teach. And Christ knows we need more Marines."

  "That...does makes some sense, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "If we ever turn up a former Marine who's too old to run with the young pups, maybe," Faith said. "Team him up with those two. Let them run the recruits around and drill the hell out of them, have the old guy to keep them from totally flipping out on the recruits. Which is a thought fo
r another time. We've actually got two missions, one coming up and one that's a 'now' thing. You've probably heard we're doing a float."

  "Yes, ma'am," Barnard said. "Medical supplies."

  "We don't know where to get them," Faith said. "There's no one place that we know there's a big stockpile of what we need. The critical item is a gel to make the vaccine. But that's generally where there are other medical supplies. So we're going to go on a Caribbean cruise. You know, travel to exotic foreign lands, meet interesting zombies and kill them?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "This time the plan is to do a rough clear on the towns and even islands we hit and probably leave the inhabitants to their own devices," Faith said. "We did something similar in the Canaries but it was mostly the Navy doing it. Thing is, there are still going to be infected roaming around even after we blast through. So the locals need some guns since they're generally in short supply on those islands. We've still got spares but it makes more sense to clear up the ones here on base. Which is our first mission. We're supposed to collect up all the weapons ammo and mags of the 'fallen,' check 'em out, decide which are still useable and which aren't, clean 'em up and rack 'em for issue to local 'militias' after we've cleared the islands."

  "Roger, ma'am," Barnard said tightly.

  "Yeah, great detail," Faith said. "But somebody's gotta do it. Thinking about it, I'd put Staff Sergeant Decker and PFC Condrey on inspecting and cleaning detail. That way they're bound to be perfect."

  "Roger, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "About the only thing I know about being a Marine and being an officer is what I've picked up in books and what I've learned in the last few months," Faith said. "I wasn't one of those kids who grew up wanting to be a Marine and watching Sands of Iwo Jima or something. The way I ran things with Staff Sergeant Januscheitis was something I got in a book. We get missions. We get missions all the freaking time. All I really need is the platoon to be ready to perform the missions. All their gear straight, able to shoot without hitting each other, able to handle the commo and find their way around. We've got no time for training and nobody really knows each other now. But this job ain't actually all that hard. Like I told the colonel, zombies don't duck. But all that's on you. Okay?"