by John Ringo
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said. “But I don’t see where I fit in there.”
“I considered reactivating Wolf Squadron as our goodwill ambassadors to the rest of the world,” Staba said. “Anyone with a radio apparently knows who you are. But right now we’re primarily going to be concentrating on the U.S. I’ll send forces and supplies to our allies, absolutely. But clearing the U.S. has priority. However, I was in a hole for a year and probably will never be caught up on details of who is what and what is important. And you did resign, right? So you’re a civilian, now. Who do you think I want for my Secretary of War, Steve?”
“Ick, yuck!” Steve said. “I was getting tired of sitting at a desk in Gitmo! And I thought the force size was getting beyond my reach! Now you want me to be in charge of the whole damned thing? What about Secretary Galloway?”
“Secretary of the Army,” Staba said. “And you’ll be working directly with General Montana. You can feel free to lean on him. It’s not the vast force we once were. You’ll do fine. I don’t have a person in mind for Secretary of the Navy. That is one place where I’ll need your advice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said. “Anthony Connor, ma’am.”
“Who?” Staba said.
“One of the gentlemen we picked up in Saint Barts, ma’am,” Steve said. “Like Zumwald and Isham, he was a bit of an arse at first. Former CEO of a large defense contractor after a twenty-year career as a surface warfare officer. He had retired to Saint Barts. He’s been running most of the civilian side of the ship refurbishment programs. And doing so extremely well. The only reason the Bataan got up and going as fast as it did was his work. He’s the right guy for the job, in my opinion, ma’am.”
“I’ll need to meet with him,” Staba said.
“He’s at Mayport, ma’am,” Steve said. “I’m sure you’ll get along. He’s not the arse that most defense contractors tended to be. Sharp as a whip and very dedicated to the nation, ma’am.”
“Sounds good,” the President said. “Again, need to meet him, first. Then there’s the really important appointment of Vice President.”
“I don’t have the requirements, ma’am,” Steve said. “And I hope you’re not thinking your husband, Madame President. That would be…an awful precedent.”
“Not Dave,” Staba said, grinning. “I agree it’s a bad precedent, and he wouldn’t want the job. And you don’t have the qualifications. But Stacey does. I don’t intend to die but if I do, your wife takes over. We cannot, again, get advice and consent. But I will have each of the upper echelon swear to follow her lead until a regular election. Even if Secretary Sovrain or any other potential ‘acting President’ we may find throws a hissy fit.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Steve said.
“You wanted a stout ship and a star to sail her by, Mr. Secretary,” the President said. “That’s going to have to wait.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said.
“And it will allow you some family time,” the President said. “Since you took all the aviators away from the Marines, I’ll have to be flown by the Navy. Guess who one of my pilots is going to be?”
“She really is not…tremendously experienced, ma’am,” Steve said.
“She’s experienced enough to have pulled me off a roof when everyone else was dutifully following orders,” Staba said. “She’ll do. As a copilot at least. And I need a platoon leader for my Marine Guards. I think Faith needs a little dialing in on certain aspects of being an officer and that will give her a chance. The Marine Dress Blues are quite pretty, even the officer ones. They’re even flattering on women.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Steve said, wincing. “Her deportment and tact are not… Faith has no tact, ma’am.”
“That is what I’m looking for, Steve,” Rebecca said. “This is a world of pain. I’m not even going to vaguely sugar-coat that. This is blood, toil, tears and sweat time. Tomorrow we relight the flame of the Unknown Soldier. We will be burying next to the others a body identified as a Marine from the Pentagon to represent all the servicemen and women we lost to the Plague and the battles with infected. She’s only recognizable as a probable Marine by her tattoos. And she was an infected. We may need to kill them off to save our nation, but they were our people, too.”
“Absolutely agree, ma’am,” Steve said.
“There will be an armed guard, Marine for now, marching twenty-one beats at post. The first such being Staff Sergeant Decker who will be the NCOIC for the guards. We will rotate in Marine Platoons from combat duties to guard the Flame until we can stand up the Old Guard again.
“But Decker will only be able to march, unhindered by zombies, due to more guards, not in pretty dress blues but full battle rattle, surrounding him and piling up the infected attracted to The Flame. That has to end. It will take people like yourself and your children to do that. I don’t intend to be stuck in Mayport the whole time. I shall go and visit the other states, no matter how much force that takes. The only way to visit my constituents in Texas will be to roll hot onto an infected held beachhead. And I will be going forward with the Marines whether it is by helo or amphibian. If it is by helo, Seawolf will be a pilot and if it is by amphib Shewolf will be in charge of the Marines. I don’t need the perfectly polished Annapolis grad for that. I need Faith and Sophia. Like Grant, they fight. And so do you and Stacey. Which is why I need you, this nation that you chose over the nation of your birth needs you, still. All of you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said.
“We are going to retake our nation,” the President said, looking out the window of the cabin. “We are going to save whoever is left. We are going to bring everyone we can find…home.”
The fires were burning again on the Mall. They would burn for years. Incendiary piles of the infected, a light in the darkness, beacons of smoke and flame showing the way back home.
THE END