by John Ringo
“Have you been evaluated?” General Ramos asked.
“I took the evaluation after my leave, sir,” Faith said. “I was found to be fit for duty.”
“Clearly you are, Lieutenant,” the general said. “What are your goals, Lieutenant?”
“A zombie-free world, sir,” Faith replied.
“That is a big order,” Ramos said.
“I am young, sir,” Faith said. “I have time, sir.”
“In terms of your career as a Marine officer, Lieutenant,” Ramos said.
“My career, sir, is to create a zombie-free world, sir,” Faith said. “Currently, sir, my Marine career enhances a zombie-free world, sir. If that were to change, I would find a career which did so, sir.”
“I don’t see us stopping the fight against the infected any time soon,” Ramos said. “But if we were to do so you are saying that you would find some other job that involved killing zombies?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“What if the mission was to help people, instead?” Ramos asked.
“The biggest help we can give people right now, sir, is killing zombies, sir,” Faith said.
“Agreed,” Ramos said. “And as noted that is probably not going to change any time soon. I’ve only spoken to your father briefly. And he was…reticent on clearance strategy. Are you aware of his plans in that regard on the strategic level?”
“No, sir,” Faith said.
“Never discussed them around you?” Ramos asked.
“Captain Smith is…cautious about discussing plans, sir,” Faith said. “That has always been the case, sir. His reference to that is usually the American General Stonewall Jackson who was notorious for keeping his plans close to his vest, sir. He doesn’t like to make promises he can’t keep and he has a staging process for plans, sir. There is an acronym I forget, sir.” Faith thought about it for a moment. “Desires, Intentions, Goals, Concepts, Plans, Actions, sir. Believe that is the series, sir. Each of those up to ‘actions’ may have several forms of equivalent value until they’re evaluated. Some are discarded leading to the next stage, sir. I’m not sure where the captain is in terms of strategic clearance in that series, sir. My father desires a zombie-free world, sir. So far his actions have been to build forces with very little strategic or even operational clearance. Probably because he’s somewhere in the middle of the series, sir.”
“Are you familiar with mechanicals, Lieutenant?” Ramos asked.
“I saw the ones in the Canaries, sir,” Faith said. “I haven’t seen any of the new ones in action, sir. I’ve read the reports, sir.”
“What do you think of them?”
“I think they’re slow and somewhat inefficient, sir,” Faith said. “I discussed that with my father on leave, sir. They do well for the first week, sir. But it takes a fairly stupid zombie to walk into one, sir. After the first week, their clearance rate drops, sir. I did more clearance in one night with an Abrams and a platoon in amtracks than all the mechanicals in Miami. On the other hand, they just keep going, sir. A tank is a high maintenance item, sir. And there is a limited supply of M1028 in this fallen world, sir. There are arguments both ways, sir.”
“And they only work on coastal cities,” General Ramos said.
“Or riverine, sir,” Faith said. “And mechanicals don’t drop a city to low orange. The best they do is high orange. Dropped from red but not even to yellow in most cases. I could clear New York or DC with my platoon in three or four days, sir. At least Manhattan, sir. Up to the point we run out of M1028 at which point… I can’t crush them all, sir.”
“No,” Ramos said. “And you don’t know if mechanicals are your father’s only plan?”
“No, sir,” Faith said. “At least, I don’t think they are. Again, Da keeps things pretty close to the vest. But he’s said mechanicals are only part of the plan, sir.”
“I’d considered asking you to be my aide,” General Ramos said. “Then I realized that would be a bad idea. Good because you are, unquestionably, the best known and one of the most knowledgeable fighters of the post-Plague environment. Having your experience close would be an asset. Bad because it would be far outside your skill-sets and you would probably hate it. Especially since it would be junior aide, mostly handling the social side. You’ve been a second lieutenant for more than six months, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “The general idea, sorry, is that I’ll probably stay a two LT until I’m at least sixteen if not older. Which I’m fine with, sir. I’m really not about rank, sir. Just want to clear zombies, sir.”
“Are you continuing your education?” Ramos asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s that going?”
“I’m up to eleventh grade class-work, sir,” Faith said. “Mostly self-taught through computer classes with some occasional assistance from other officers, sir. I’m not sure I could go back to a classroom, sir. Meetings are bad enough, sir.”
“It will be a while before we stand Annapolis or the Point back up,” General Amos said. “But you need to get your head around going back to school at some point. You’ll need the professional education as your career advances.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“Disagree?” the general asked.
“My career is killing zombies, sir,” Faith said. “Not sure what decimating Chaucer has to do with that, sir.”
“I believe the word you were looking for there, Lieutenant, is deconstructing,” Ramos said after a moment of furrowed brow.
“As you say, sir,” Faith said. “It will be a while before it becomes an issue, sir.”
“Agreed,” Amos said. “Very well, Lieutenant. Thank you for your time. It was a good chat. Look forward to working with you in the future.”
“Thank you, sir,” Faith said, setting down her nearly untouched water. “By your leave, sir?”
* * *
“She meant decimation, didn’t she?” Ramos said.
“I suspect she did, sir,” Major Skelton said.
“Turn in, Jimmy,” the general said, picking up another briefing book. “I’m going to keep doing my own homework. If a fourteen-year-old Lieutenant can trip me up, I clearly need to get my brain in gear.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
* * *
“Ugh,” Faith said, taking off her blouse and hanging it up. “That was worse than spinning out on infected.”
She looked at the stack of books by her bed, then sat down at the computer and brought up her latest class. She had a full day of clearance tomorrow but she also had a ton of homework. She popped the top on a Razzleberry tea and started the video.
“No rest for the wicked,” she muttered, taking a sip. “Ah. Sweet nectar of a lost world. What shall I do when you are no more…? And I meant delineating, General. The Lyf So Short, the Craft So long to Lerne…”
* * *
“Got a civilian sailboat approaching from the west,” Petty Officer Third Class Marc Dunross said, looking through the binos. “Fifty-five-foot ketch.”
They’d been getting a trickle of refugees at Gitmo. People who had radios and were able to break out by boat had been steadily streaming in. This looked like another group.
On the off chance that some group had “bad” intentions, there were two “forts” guarding the entrance again. They had Mk19 40mms which didn’t have much range compared to previous generations of “coastal artillery” batteries but could take on most of what they would expect in terms of post-Plague piracy. Which had so far failed to materialize.
What people didn’t see was the fast attack boat sitting deep and silent. Anybody with bad intentions the Mk19s couldn’t handle were going to be in for a very brief shock.
Mayport had a similar set-up.
The standing watch on the East Harbor Watch Tower had been fairly bored up to this point in the watch and would probably go back to being bored. The boat didn’t seem heavily armed.
“Roger,” Petty Officer Second Class And
rew Stagg said. “I’ll call harbor control.”
* * *
“Welcome to Guantanamo Bay!” Master-at-Arms Mate Second Class Warren Hall said as the Zodiac came alongside the ketch. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted,” the captain said. He was a tall and very handsome man with a bright blond beard, long unshorn hair, blue eyes and unsurprisingly a dark tan. He was wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt and worn cargo shorts. The shirt had stains on it that might have been from fish blood. Might.
There were a bunch of refugees on the deck; the boat was loaded just to the point of over-loading. Most of them were women and children with the exception of the captain and two other men. Several had side-arms and one of the men was carrying an M4 as if he knew how to use it.
Hall pulled himself aboard and smiled at the group.
“Where are you out of?” he asked the captain.
“Tampa,” the man replied.
“Good to see more new faces,” Hall said. “I am Master at Arms Mate Hall. I need to give a brief familiarization class before you proceed.
“When you arrive you’ll be given the choice of land- or sea-based refugee housing. Sea-based is on a cruise liner and is more secure than land-based. There are still a few infected on the land side. Sea-based, no weapons, explosives or ammunition are permitted carried onboard. You’ll have to turn them in to a master-at-arms for storage in an arm’s room. You’ll be given an opportunity to clean them either at the time you turn them in or afterwards if you prefer. When you leave the boat you can pick them up.
“On land, open carry is permitted and encouraged. There are, as mentioned, still a trickle of infected on the land. Any use of a weapon other than on infected is charged in the normal sort of way with the exception that it’s…quick. If you kill someone because you got into a drunken brawl and shot him or her, you’re given a very short trial, a very limited appeal, then shot as well. Period. Rape with intent if proven before a jury of your peers is also a capital crime for both military and civilians. We’ve had some people come out of compartments that got used to not hearing the word ‘No.’ We have less now. Or you’ll end up with a short trial and a bullet in your brain-pan. Lesser crimes like theft, the sentence is hard labor, which is mostly body clearance. You’re back in civilization. Be civil, be safe.
“Any persons who are current active duty military or reserve are automatically reactivated as are most former military who are in the age range for reactivation. Veterans outside the age range who wish to volunteer can do so. Anyone wanting to volunteer for military service, you’ll get the opportunity. And I probably shouldn’t mention this but probably stuck either up on the watch tower that spotted you or doing something like this. There are civilian jobs as well. Plenty of work to go around.
“When you get into the harbor, dock at the liner,” Hall said to the captain. “Your people will be given the choice of land or sea. Then get vaccinated, not an option if you’re staying in cleared zones, get some food in them, get quarters and a shower. No ration, currently, on water. Shower as long as you’d like.”
“That sounds fabulous,” one of the women said. She was holding a new baby in her arms. She wasn’t the only one.
“We’ve got some medical care freeing up,” the petty officer said. “Now that the baby wave is passing. Not much, only one MD and you’ll probably never see him. But corpsmen and some others with training. Babies get vaccinated as well if they’re old enough. Are there any questions?”
“When do we report in?” the captain asked.
“As soon as you fill in your social security number you’re activated,” the petty officer said. “What were you?”
“Admiral Josh Hiscock,” the captain said. “I’m the SOCOM Commander.”
* * *
“Admiral,” Steve said, saluting as the admiral landed from the Zodiac. He’d “checked in” at the liner, gotten showered, shorn and changed and headed over to the piers. “Welcome to Guantanamo Bay, sir.”
“Commodore Wolf,” Admiral Josh Hiscock said, returning the salute and sticking out his hand. Someone had found him a set of NavCam and he’d brought his own stars. Like Steve, he had an H&K USP on his hip, which he’d also brought along. “I’ve been keeping up with your exploits by radio. To say the least, I’m impressed but not surprised. I’d worked with Aussie paras before and you represent them well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Steve said. “Very glad to have you aboard.”
“Nobody seems to know what to do with an admiral,” Hiscock said. “I agree with Night Walker that booting you out is not in the best interests of the nation.”
“We’re getting a bigger and bigger force, sir,” Steve said, waving to the waiting car. “This world needs all the help it can get. We’re extending ops all over the world at this point and having an experienced flag officer who gets this is a zombie apocalypse is a boon. Very glad to have you aboard, sir.”
CHAPTER 23
Despite the parking lot in Baie Saint-Paul being plowed, there was a white-out when the Sea Dragon came in to land. White-outs sucked. The world and all your spatial references just disappeared. They were one of the major causes of crashes by helos on landing.
Commander Sanderson was expecting it and kept his eye on the belly radar return, coming in slow, listening to the drift calls from the scanners and the airspeed and altitude calls from EZ. They all took a deep breath when the wheels touched down with just the smallest bit of forward movement. Soft landing.
“I’m glad you were on that and not myself, sir,” Lieutenant Chrysler said. “I’ve flown in snow, before, but never with a rotor this big.” Bigger rotors meant more rotor wash, which meant more snow or dust or whatever being flung into the air.
“That was why I took it, Lieutenant,” Sanderson said. “Do the post-flight. I’m going to go meet this Air Force Sergeant. Jesus, the guy’s got to clang when he walks.”
“Yes, sir,” Chrysler said.
* * *
“Sir! Sergeant Williamson, Air Force Security Force, sir,” Williamson said, saluting Sanderson as he walked through the cargo portion of the bird.
The Sea Dragon wasn’t overloaded but that was just because of how much it could carry. The back was packed with material. Most of it was medicine and medical equipment. The Fall had stripped most hospitals and pharmacies not to mention killing practically every doctor on earth. Medical support was the number one need of every community in the world.
Two coolers, however, were critical.
“First of all, Sergeant,” Sanderson said, returning the salute, then sticking out his hand. “If you’ll do me the honor, let me shake your hand. Fifteen hundred miles through this?” the commander said, waving at the snow-covered post-apocalyptic terrain.
“No issues, sir,” Williamson said. “Survivors along the way were very friendly. Happy to see some signs of recovery, a uniform at least, and more than willing to give support. Had to help out a few times with clearance, sir. No issues, sir.”
“Double tough, Sergeant,” Sanderson said, shaking his hand. “I will never again refer to it as the Chair Force.”
“Thank you, sir,” Williamson said.
“The vaccine cannot be allowed to freeze,” Sanderson said. “It has to be kept cool but not frozen. That’s clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Williamson said. “We’ll separate the containers between two of the MRAPs, sir. The Cougars are handling the road pretty well, once the SnowCats plow them down a bit. And they’re climate controlled, sir.”
“Ooyah,” the commander said. “Good luck on your return voyage, Sergeant. I’ll be looking for word of your safe arrival.”
“We’ll get it done, sir,” Williamson said.
* * *
“That, right there, is one very brave sergeant,” Sanderson said as the Sea Dragon lifted off.
“Yes, sir, he is,” Chrysler replied. His tone was faintly wistful.
“You disagree?” Sanderson said.
“No, not at
all,” the former actor replied. “I’m actually thinking if I wasn’t already doing important stuff and if I wasn’t so God-damned old, I’d want to join him. Say what you want about the current horror. It is, absolutely, horror. But a world that was once humdrum now…isn’t. Adventure awaits at every turning for the survivor. It is impossible to avoid. I liked doing the movies I did but I liked, even more, the thought of being that character. Of going on those adventures. I loved doing the on-scene since it took me to places that were at least wild and beyond. It’s why I was so addicted to the role.
“That sergeant and his team, crossing fifteen hundred miles of howling wilderness. Possibly bandits. Probably infected. Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my. Bringing medical supplies, radios and hope to people along the way? That right there is adventure. I hate what has happened. I would turn back the clock if I could. But this is a world made for the adventurous. I wish I was forty years younger.”
“If we can get rid of the damned infected,” Sanderson said.
“There is that…”
* * *
“Welcome to Gitmo, General,” Steve said, saluting.
General Ramos saluted as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, then shook Steve’s hand. The band broke into the Marine Corps Hymn as a cannon started firing the salute for a two-star flag officer. There was a selection of military personnel lined up in ranks on the tarmac in their best kit including a company of Marines in combat gear.
“Commodore Wolf,” Ramos said. “It’s an honor to meet you.”