by John Ringo
"The answer is 'Thought had been given,'" Steve said. "There also was little in the way of answers until you and my daughter saved the day."
"How did we save the day?" Walker asked.
"The Paul Osted," Steve said. "It was loaded with supplies for various small ports in Africa. A lot of the stuff is useless to us, of course. But there were, in fact, several containers containing baby 'stuff.' At least according to the manifest. Notably dried formula and vitamins. And, glory be, there were even two containers of condensed milk. If all else fails, there's always wet nurses. Diapers. That's going to have to be the old-fashioned way. Cloth we have. Pins we have. Rubber pants, not so much. The sewing shop is cutting up a bunch of rain-gear we found to make some. Probably not enough. The big problem is that we have to send out the small boat squadron on this sweep. Which will probably push them up into 'we're dropping babies' time. And a third of the crews are pregnant women."
"I noticed," Walker said. "We've pulled most of the ones that have been showing signs of at-risk pregnancy off of deployable status. That doesn't mean we won't have problems."
"Understood," Steve said. "One of the reasons to send you with the sweep."
"Unfortunately, that means I'll be working off the Grace Tan," Walker said. "So I won't have the pleasure of your daughter's company."
"You're not going to be spread out this time," Steve said. "Have all your serious kit in the Grace Tan's sick bay and use the Bella as your moving boat for checking up on the ladies of the float. Think of it as housecalls. Boat calls at least. Did you know that was one of Sophia's potential careers?"
"Pregnant?" Fontana said.
"She wanted to be a doctor," Steve said. "I'd gotten quite comfortable teaching school. One of the points, between us, to this whole program is that I sincerely doubt that the bastard who did this died in the Plague. He was going to have a vaccine. He's probably holed up somewhere laughing at the mess he's created. Someday, someone will find him."
"Oh, let it be me," Fontana said. "Please."
"I really can't think of anything that is worth doing to him that is also worth violating the Constitution," Walker said. "There is literally no sufficient torture ever invented by man on Earth. If we do find him, I'd just put a bullet in his head and go on with trying to repair the damage. Hope there is a hell."
"More or less my thought as well," Steve said.
"Lieutenant?" a lady in a nurse's uniform said, walking up. More like waddling. "Mr. Walker...we've got another emergency patient."
"And I need to get back to work as well," Steve said. "Good luck."
"How's it going, Sergeant Smith?" Faith said, stepping out of the Humvee.
She'd made it a habit to check on the progress of the sweep at least once each day. Colonel Hamilton had counseled her that it was primarily an NCO job and had her working her butt off on plans for the island hopping operation. But they were her people and the colonel agreed that she had to show her face from time to time.
"Just fine, ma'am," Smitty said, saluting. Faith returned it and he continued setting an M4 in the bed of a civilian pickup truck. It was the best vehicle for their purposes. He tossed the spent magazine that had been in the well into a five gallon bucket. There were others for any remaining ammo.
So far there hadn't been any complications at all. The gunboats and their sweeps had apparently killed the vast majority of the remaining infected. Occasionally one would turn up but the sweep teams were armed.
Not so much the body recovery teams. There was one of those in the distance walking next to a front-end loader. They were accompanied by a Navy master-at-arms who was armed. Also keeping them in front of him. As she watched, they stopped and picked up the pieces of what had once been a member of the base, tossing them into the bucket of the front-end loader.
"Every day's a holiday and every meal's a banquet," Faith responded.
"Every day I'm not trapped in a compartment is a good day, ma'am," Smitty said, grinning. "And at least it ain't August. I hear it gets a bit hot here then. How've you been, if I may ask, ma'am?"
"I hear there are people who adore paperwork," Faith said. "Sophia kind of likes it. Me, not so much. And apparently that's what officers are for; doing paperwork. Nobody told me that when I took the oath. I'm sort of feeling screwed." She grinned to show it was a joke.
"We've got a float coming up, ma'am," Sergeant Smith said. "That should take care of some of it."
"Yep," Faith said. "Islands to clear, zombies to kill, people to save. My kind of party. You seen Staff Sergeant Barnard?"
"She's up by Corinaso Point, ma'am," Smitty said.
"Well, I guess I need to go to Corinaso Point, then," Faith said. "Take care, Smitty."
"Will do, ma'am," Smitty said.
"So that's the LT?" Lance Corporal Robert "Bubba" Freeman said.
"That is Shewolf," Smitty said. "I think she got the word she was supposed to act more like an officer or something. Or she'd be down here pitching weapons with the rest of us."
"No disrespect intended, Sergeant," LCP Freeman said. "I just have a hard time with...I mean you and the rest of the Iwo Marines have talked about her, but..."
"Do not let Shewolf fool you," PFC Kirby said. "She is one absolute badass. Forget the video. You gotta see her in action for it to make any sense."
"She's not all that hot at long-range," Smith said. "Zombie gets within fifty meters of her and zap it's gone. We're all good. With Shewolf it's like breathing. None of which matters. She is, yeah, our platoon leader and a Marine officer and you show her that respect. Trust me, when you've worked with her for a while you won't just show her respect. You'll want to have her babies."
"Staff Sergeant," Faith said, getting out of the Humvee. She kept wondering when she was going to get driving lessons. But officers got drivers so, so far, it was all good.
"Ma'am," Barnard said, saluting.
"We need to get this operation terminated by thirteen hundred," Faith said, returning the salute. "Which means all vehicles back at the pier? The stuff that hasn't been sorted and prepped we're now going to do on the boats. So all that has to be prepped this evening for loading. And I want a one hundred percent inspection of all gear before lights out. Most of our load-out is being handled by Navy: ammo and suchlike, okay? But the teams need to get their gear prepped for the float. If there's anything that needs to be DXed, better we do it here which means tonight, okay? Load-out starts at zero five tomorrow morning which means first call at zero three. I convinced the colonel we could use the extra couple hours. If it takes all night, well, it's a sixteen-hour float to Anguilla and we don't have anything to do the first night, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am," Staff Sergeant Barnard said.
"Anything you want to bring up?" Faith said.
"No, ma'am," Staff Sergeant Barnard said. "Back to the piers by thirteen hundred. Evening ops will be prep for float. Is that all, ma'am?"
"Yep," Faith said. "I guess I'll see you back at the boat."
That evening Staff Sergeant Barnard stopped by the colonel's office.
"Busy as we are, sir," Barnard said uncomfortably, "moment of your time?"
"Of course, Cindy," Hamilton said, waving her in. "As long as it's not a long moment. Issues?"
"I need some counseling on something, sir," Barnard said, closing the hatch. "It has to do with Lieutenant Smith..."
"Booyah!" Faith said as the Grace Tan cleared the harbor mouth.
She was sooo glad to be back to doing what she knew: Killing zombies. The whole prep thing had been nothing but a nightmare of not knowing what to do and knowing that she was getting it all wrong. This she knew.
"Happy, ma'am?" Corporal Douglas said, grinning.
They were standing by the side rail watching the land slide by since at the moment there was nothing else to do. Everything was stowed and locked down and the preoperations meeting wasn't for another two hours.
"I can't believe I was getting sick of the land," Faith replied, a tad di
shonestly.
"Well, we're going to be on land soon enough, ma'am," Douglas said.
"It's different, Derk," Faith said. "Another zombie killing smash-and-grab. That's not the same as being stuck on land, or for that matter on the Bo, doing paperwork."
"Lieutenant Smith to the Colonel's office," the tannoy boomed. "Lieutenant Smith to the Colonel's office."
Faith started to open her mouth to say something like "What now?" and then checked it.
"Gotta go, Derk," Faith said.
"Yes, ma'am," Douglas said, smiling. "Your master's voice."
CHAPTER 12
From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
--Marine Corps Hymn
"Morning, Faith," Hamilton said, waving to a chair. "Glad to be headed out?"
"Yes, sir," Faith said, sitting down. She quirked an eyebrow at Staff Sergeant Barnard who didn't respond at all. Uh, oh.
"Faith," Hamilton said. "Staff Sergeant Barnard brought something up with me that I hadn't really noticed...for various reasons. A habit that you've developed. It's both a minor issue and a major issue, which will make sense in a moment. The habit is a minor issue that's easily corrected. The reason for the habit is what's the major issue and we'll try to resolve that as well. First things first. This is a counseling session. There are various types in the Marines, verbal, written, etc. They're generally thought of as punitive. In this case, it's a counseling session in the same way as a psychological counseling session. Despite my promise not to psychoanalyze you, we're going to delve into some of that at a certain point. However, this is not proscriptive. It is not punitive. We've got an issue and we're going to resolve it. Do you understand?"
"Not really, sir," Faith said, trying not to look at Barnard. She felt as if she'd been stabbed in the kidneys. "I'm not sure what the problem is, sir."
"Staff Sergeant?"
"Ma'am," Barnard said. "With due respect, are you aware that you end practically every sentence with a question?"
"No?" Faith said after a moment's thought. "I do?"
"Yes, ma'am," Barnard said. "You just did. And, no offense intended, but it makes you sound..." She paused and looked at the colonel.
"What the staff sergeant is trying not to say is that a Marine officer should appear and sound confident," Hamilton said. "After the issue was brought up I discussed it with Captain Wilkes and Lieutenant Volpe, both of whom expressed surprise at the question. They had never noticed it. They found you exceptionally confident, especially given your age and lack of experience. Which leads me to believe that the lack of confidence, if that is what this manifests, is recent. Any thoughts?"
"No, sir," Faith said.
"Staff Sergeant," Hamilton said, nodding. "You've expressed your issues, and quite tactfully I might add. I'll take it from here."
"Yes, sir," Barnard said, getting up and leaving.
"She really was tactful," Hamilton said, leaning back and steepling his fingers. "She is also, understandably, worried."
"Yes, sir," Faith said.
"That was a 'yes, sir' to fill in the pause, wasn't it?" Hamilton asked.
Faith thought about it for a moment.
"Yes, sir."
"Faith, you have two of the absolute requirements for being a Marine officer," Hamilton said, grinning. "You have a font of physical courage and enormous stubborness. Let's try to see if we can get past the latter, shall we? What's your problem with Staff Sergeant Barnard?"
"I don't have a problem, sir," Faith said.
"Not even since she dropped the dime on you?" Hamilton asked. "Not feeling stabbed in the back?"
"Sir..." Faith said, frowning. "I'm not sure if it was what a staff sergeant is supposed to do. I think Jan would have just pulled me aside and said 'Hey, LT, you're saying everything with a question.' I don't think he would have gone running to..." She paused and shrugged.
"His buddy the colonel?" Colonel Hamilton said mildly.
"I didn't say that, sir," Faith said.
"But it was what you were thinking," Hamilton said. "You know I frequently call her 'Cindy.' Not, by the way, the way that most Marine colonels referred to their subordinates. Perhaps I've spent too much time on joint ops. Or perhaps it's, you know, being a research psychologist at heart. But let's discuss the issue that Staff Sergeant Barnard brought up. Ending a sentence that is supposed to be declarative with a querying tone indicates lack of confidence. This is both well understood psychology and something that is consciously or unconsciously noted by those around you. Especially political enemies and subordinates. Again, there is evidence to suggest that that lack of confidence is recent. And it is an issue for the upcoming operations. Your Marines have to trust your orders. They will follow them anyway, the staff sergeant will ensure that. But they should trust them especially since you are, in fact, the expert in what we're going to be doing. So let's start with the 'okay' thing since there is a simple remedy."
"Yes, sir," Faith said.
"That would be 'Oh, Colonel, great and wise leader, what is the remedy?'" Hamilton said.
Faith frowned for a moment.
"'Oh, Colonel, great and...'"
She frowned again.
"Great and wise leader," Hamilton said, smiling. "But that's good enough. Faith, say 'Oorah.'"
"Oorah?" Faith said.
"Now without the querying tone," Hamilton said.
"Oorah, sir," Faith said.
"Now, when you are speaking from now on, when you're not quite sure where to go next and want to say 'Um' or 'Okay,' insert 'Oorah,'" Hamilton said mildly. "It can be taken to extremes. I knew a Ranger officer who was horrible at public speaking and unfortunately in a position where he had to give multiple briefings who would give briefings which were seventy-five percent 'hoowah?' It got to where you wanted to strangle him. For that matter, my first first sergeant inserted the word 'fuck' when he didn't know what to say. As an officer and a lady I'm sure we both prefer if you said 'Oorah' instead, oorah?"
"Oorah, sir," Faith said, smiling slightly.
"You're afraid you're not going to live up to the standards of a Marine officer," Hamilton said. "You think the local Marines think you're just a mascot or a joke. Because your daddy gave you the job, which is true, and that you can't really do it, which is not true. Do you not trust them?"
"I..." Faith said, her face working. "I don't know how to answer the question, sir."
"In your own time, as many oorahs as it takes," Hamilton said.
"Then, yeah, sir," Faith said. "I...Sir, sometimes I get parade rest and at ease mixed up. I don't know how to march and I don't know marching commands, sir. Not really solid, sir. I've mixed that stuff up around the Gitmo Marines, and I know they're laughing at me. What kind of a Marine doesn't know how to march? The kind that's never been to Parris Island or Marine Officer Basic Course. They think I'm not a real Marine, sir, and maybe I'm not. It's not that I don't trust them, sir, sort of. It's that they don't trust me. They think I'm a joke, sir. I know they do. And...that's a real problem, sir."
"If it were true, and it may be, it would be a problem," Hamilton said. "To an extent. But...let's start with why it's not, okay?"
"Okay," Faith said tightly. "Yes, sir."
"Did you get into a lot of military jokes...pre-Plague?" Hamilton asked.
"Not really, sir," Faith said. "I was on some boards and had some friends who were military but...not a lot."
"There's a list, been around a long time," Hamilton said. "It's a list of 'Things you don't want to hear an officer say.' Basically, when they say certain phrases, bad things tend to happen. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," Faith said. "Is it second lieutenants saying 'Okay?'"
"No," Hamilton said with a chuckle. "But a few examples. If you ever hear a first lieutenant say 'I have an idea,' it's best to run."
"Yes, sir," Faith said, smiling.
"A cap
tain saying 'I've been thinking...' same thing," Hamilton said.
"Yes, sir."
"In the case of second lieutenants, the phrase you should generally fear is 'In my experience,'" Hamilton said, smiling.
"But..." Faith said, holding up a finger.
"But that's a very important point, Lieutenant," Hamilton said. "Nobody in the military, not the Air Force or the Army or the Marines or Navy, where it's 'ensign,' nobody trusts a second lieutenant."
"But...sir..." Faith said worriedly.
"Yes, there is a but," Hamilton said. "And we'll discuss that in a moment. This comes first, Lieutenant. You don't have to be panicked by the fact that your NCOs, some of them, do not fully trust you. That is normal and standard, Faith. It is. You Are A Second Lieutenant. The fact that you're also thirteen, unable to drive, have a tracing case of acne and have never seen Parris Island are simple cherries on the cake. The jokes about second lieutenants are innumerable and as old as the military. Jokes about junior officers go back to the earliest armies. You can find them in cuneiform and scribbled on the walls of Roman toilets. 'Tribune Marcus Aurelius could not find Gaul if he was in Alesia.' Which was a city in Gaul, by the way. Normal standard and customary. It is not directed at one Faith Marie Smith particularly. It's a function of that gold bar you bear, often referred to as the 'baby shit bar' in the Army for a reason. So chill out. It's not about you. Okay?"
"O...kay?" Faith said. "But, sir..."
"Faith, there are no 'buts' on the chill out part," Hamilton said. "That's a requirement. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You are not trying to clear a super-liner with no help. The world does not rest on your shoulders. There are others to help, Faith. You're among friends. Okay?"
"Yes, sir," Faith said. "Okay. And now you're doing it, sir."