Strands of Sorrow

by John Ringo

  * * *

  “Do this very slowly, Lance Corporal,” Faith said from the TC’s hatch of Trixie.

  With the inner port zone cleared of infected and the survivors picked up by the amtracks, the Grace Tan had been pushed in by tugs to butt stern-first to the wharf. Then a large ramp, borrowed from one of the MPF ships, had been lifted into place. Now all they had to do was drive Trixie off the ship and onto the land.

  Trixie was a significant percentage of the cargo weight of the Grace Tan. And although her cargo deck had been reinforced, it wasn’t really designed to support seventy-three tons of tank. Last, when Trixie moved, she was going to throw the balance of the ship off. She was midships, so it shouldn’t list. But it was going to go down by the stern. How much had been an interesting and still theoretical calculation. Which was why only Faith and the lance corporal were in the tank and both were wearing just their uniforms and PFDs. If the tank went in the drink, they’d have some chance of survival. Not much, given sharks and gators, but some.

  Condrey rolled forward slowly. As he did, Faith could see the stern of the ship start to settle.

  “We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” Captain Gilbert radioed. “She’s pretty darn heavy.”

  “Should we stop?” Faith radioed back. “And she’s not fat, just big boned.”

  “Got it,” Gilbert replied. “She’ll take ’er. Just take it slow.”

  “Roger,” Faith said.

  The ramp wasn’t all that wide and Faith was taking it on . . . faith that it was really rated for a tank. It didn’t look rated for a tank. Occasionally in Jax, Trixie had almost got stuck when portions of the road crumbled under her from sewer collapse. Then there was the time Condrey “accidentally” ran into a bank and cracked the vault. At this point, Faith had a very firm appreciation for Trixie’s mass.

  Finally, they were up on shore. On a, fortunately, very solid wharf.

  “We definitely need a better way to do this,” Faith said.

  “Landing craft, ma’am,” Condrey replied.

  “I’m sure we’ll get them eventually,” Faith said. “Now to get the rest of the crew and our battle rattle. And show my sister who’s boss . . .”

  CHAPTER 16

  “You do not have the clearance to enter this facility, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said, staring at Faith over a pointed and locked M4. Actually, he was staring past her into the distance with “thousand mile eyes.”

  They’d found Marine survivors. Five members of the FAST unit securing the special weapons site had managed to hold out in the main guard shack at the entrance. They were currently spread out trying to cover a platoon of Marines in armor with M4s. They did not care if Faith was a Marine lieutenant. She did not have clearance to enter the facility.

  “My clearance comes from the National Constitutional Continuity Coordinator, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. If she was nonplussed by having a weapon pointed at her, she wasn’t showing it. Of course, if the Marine pulled the trigger, he and his companions had the survival time of a paramecium in a jar of acid. The Marines didn’t seem to care. Semper Fi. There was a reason that Marines secured Navy special weapons.

  “The mission of my platoon is to secure special weapons and destroy the heavy weapons on this base. What are your special procedures in the event of complete breakdown in communication with chain of command, Marine?”

  “Those procedures are classified, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said. “You do not have clearance for those procedures, ma’am.”

  “Stand by,” Faith said. He had a point. She didn’t even have an ID card. She’d thought about pointing out her authority was a tank and declined. She could tell a Decker when she saw one. “Force Ops, Ground Team One.”

  “Ground Team, Force Ops.”

  “Surviving FAST on site. Refusing entrance to facility. States do not have authority to know special security procedures in the event of breakdown in chain of control of special weapons. I think we need the Hole on this one, over.”

  “Roger, Ground Team. Stand by.”

  “We’re getting higher in on this, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. “I’m going to ask you to take a deep breath. I’m not taking another step forward. But your weapon is armed, your safety is off and your finger is on the trigger. If you so much as breathe wrong, you’re going to be turned into paste by my platoon, right or wrong. So would you like me to step back or what?”

  “Step back five paces, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said.

  “My tank is three paces behind me,” Faith said. “Would you prefer I back it up as well?”

  “Step back five paces, ma’am,” the staff sergeant repeated.

  “Condrey, back Trixie up so I can step back five paces.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  She could hear the chopper approaching. She didn’t need that.

  “Air Team, Ground, over,” Faith radioed.

  “Air,” Sophia said.

  “Recommend avoid special weapons site air space,” Faith said. “Surviving very twitchy guards. Little tense at the moment. Would prefer you keep your distance, over.”

  “Roger,” Sophia said. “We’ll circle outboard and keep your back covered for infected.”

  “Thanks,” Faith said. “Ground, out.”

  When Trixie had backed up, she took five steps backward.

  As soon as she backed up, all five FAST members went to tactical carry while keeping an eye on the entire unit.

  “Ground Force, Force Ops.”

  “Ground,” Faith said.

  “Stand by for transmission from higher.”

  “Roger.”

  “Shewolf, Colonel Ellington.”

  Ellington had recently been promoted to full colonel and was the acting commandant. He was also a former nuclear weapons maintenance officer at King’s Bay.

  “Yes, sir!” Faith said.

  “I’m going to have to negotiate this directly with the guards,” Ellington said. “Give them your helmet.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Faith said, unbuckling it. “Anything before I take it off, sir?”

  “Just let me handle it,” Ellington said.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Faith said. “Staff Sergeant!”

  “Ma’am,” the staff sergeant said, still not looking directly at her. His wide-opened eyes were for detecting any hostile movement on the part of her force.

  “Acting commandant on the horn,” Faith said, holding up the helmet. “How do you want me to do this?”

  “Take five steps forward, ma’am!” the staff sergeant barked. “Place the helmet on the ground. Return to your position. If you please. Ma’am!”

  “Right you are,” Faith said, stepping up and placing the helmet on the ground. Then she backed up.

  “Kay,” the staff sergeant said. “Retrieve the device.”

  One of the other guards stepped forward warily and retrieved the helmet, then handed it to the staff sergeant at a gesture. The staff sergeant waited until he was back in position, then unbuckled his own helmet and donned Faith’s. It didn’t fit very well but he could hear. He nodded for a moment then said: “Stand by, sir.”

  “Remain on post,” the staff sergeant said, then returned to the guard shack.

  He was in there about three minutes, then came back out buckling on his own helmet.

  “Stand down,” he said, then walked over to Faith. “Your helmet, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said warily, then put it on. “Anyone up?”

  “I have cleared you and your group for entry,” Colonel Ellington replied. “What you have to say right now is: ‘I relieve you, Staff Sergeant.’ Got it?”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Faith said. “I relieve you, Staff Sergeant.”

  “I stand relieved, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said.

  “What’s next, sir?” Faith asked.

  “The guards will assist your personnel in removal of the weapons. Let the gunnery sergeant handle that. He has the background. Listen and lear
n but do not get in the way. Sergeant’s job, anyway. What you are going to have to do is inspect each weapon, personally, and verify the serial number. Then sign for it.”

  “Oh, joy,” Faith said. “I’m about to legally own enough firepower to level the Earth.” She keyed her radio. “Inspect each weapon for serial number, aye. Verify serial number, aye. Sign for each weapon, aye.”

  “Has to be a commissioned officer, Faith,” Ellington said. “You’ll later sign over the inventory to Colonel Hamilton. Then we’ll figure out whether to keep them or dispose.”

  “Roger, sir,” Faith said.

  “Questions?”

  “Negative.”

  “Good job on handling this, Lieutenant,” Ellington said. “I’m glad you didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “These are about to become my Marines, sir,” Faith said, looking at the staff sergeant. “And we need every Marine we can get. I’ll just have to get them dialed in on boarding and clearance, sir.”

  “Roger that,” Ellington said. “SAC, out.”

  “Gunnery Sergeant!” Faith bellowed.

  “Ma’am,” Gunny Sands said a moment later. He’d been in the trailing track.

  “These Marines are to assist in the removal of all weapons, nuclear equipment, encryption gear, codes, data, materials, paperwork, doodles and anything else that can give anyone the vaguest indication of how the United States manages, maintains, stores or uses nuclear weapons. Is that clear?”

  “Clear, ma’am,” Sands said.

  “You and I will verify each serial number against the inventory,” Faith said. “I will sign for each weapon but I am damned well going to have a cross-check. Clear?”

  “Clear, ma’am.”

  Faith looked at her watch and set the timer.

  “You have five hours, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  * * *

  “Oh, no,” Faith said breathily. She flipped the pages back and forth several times, counting under her breath. “Gunnery Sergeant . . .”

  “Seem to be missing ten warheads, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said.

  Januscheitis and the new staff sergeant, FAST Team NCOIC Dave Darnall, were overseeing the process of removing every scrap of support material. There was a lot of it and it was going slow. Which was sort of good since they were definitely missing some warheads and were not going to make the deadline unless they found them.

  “Jan, Shewolf,” Faith radioed.

  “Jan,” Januscheitis replied.

  “Ask Darnall if he has any clue where ten warheads went,” Faith said. “’Cause they ain’t here. Or something.”

  “Freeze,” Gunny Sands radioed. “Ma’am. The easiest way for ten warheads to go missing is if the guards were the ones that removed them.”

  “Jan, countermand,” Faith said. “You there?”

  “Roger,” Januscheitis said.

  “Orders from higher. FAST team is to disarm. Draw down, then tell them that’s an order. Then ask them where the hell enough firepower to level a couple of cities went. Stand by on that.”

  “Roger. Standing by.”

  * * *

  “Issues?” Darnall said.

  “Fricking lieutenants,” Januscheitis said, shaking his head. “Especially split lieutenants. I think it’s her time of the month.”

  “Can you draw down on them successfully?”

  “Roger,” Januscheitis said.

  “Do it.”

  “TARGET!” Januscheitis shouted, lifting his M4 and pointing at Darnall. “STAND DOWN, FAST, STAND DOWN!”

  “Son of a bitch!” Darnall said, raising his hands. “You fucking traitors.”

  “Where are the other ten warheads, Darnall?” Januscheitis said. “There are ten missing. And the only people who had access were you and your men.”

  “We did not remove any warheads,” Darnall said angrily. “Fucking jackers.”

  “We’re not jackers,” Januscheitis said. “But it looks like you’re thieves. Who’d you sell them to?”

  “Sell them?” Darnall said. “We’ve been stuck in that fucking guard shack for months, you dipshit! Who the fuck would we have sold them to?”

  “We’ll figure this out back at the maintenance shed,” Januscheitis said. “This is an order. Place your weapons on the ground and kick them away. You may think we’re jackers. But the paperwork says you’re thieves. And we’re going to find out where the fucking weapons went. Every guy here has had a master’s level class at killing over the last few months. You may be tough, but you are not going to survive.”

  “Neither are you,” Darnall said hotly.

  “My life is my country’s,” Januscheitis said.

  “So is mine,” Darnall said, his hand on his weapon.

  “Jan.”

  “Go,” Januscheitis said, without taking his eyes off the other staff sergeant.

  “Status?”

  “Mexican stand-off they’re going to lose,” Januscheitis said. “They claim they didn’t take them.”

  “Which means we have a paperwork problem,” Faith said. “Tell them they are to stand down. That is an order.”

  “They think we’re jackers,” Januscheitis said.

  “Christ,” Faith said. “Tell them to keep their weapons and wait. Do not get into a firefight.”

  * * *

  The tableau was being held outside. Faith took a walk.

  * * *

  There was a rumble and a squeal of treads. Then Trixie came into sight.

  Faith directed the tank over to the tableau and had Decker point the main gun right at the FAST staff sergeant.

  “Just so we understand the situation,” Faith said, walking over with the clipboard in her hand. She held it up and started pointing. “Missing weapon. Missing weapon. Missing weapon. Now, Staff Sergeant, I may be a kid, and a girl, and look like fucking Barbie. But I am A COMMISSIONED OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. And when I am given a mission, I fucking PERFORM IT. Oorah? I have PROVEN I will sacrifice myself, I will sacrifice my Marines, to perform that mission! Oorah? And I will happily kill ANYONE or ANYTHING that gets in the way of performing my mission! Oorah? My mission is to find every fucking nuke, then let someone else figure out what to do with them. Oorah? Because we can’t HOLD THIS BASE! Oorah? That should be fucking OBVIOUS! WE ARE NOT STEALING THE NUKES! We’re MOVING them! Someplace we can keep an eye on ’em! Someplace NOT HERE! And I’m missing ten, TEN NUCLEAR FUCKING WEAPONS. So, Staff Sergeant, WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY?”

  “No weapons! Have been removed! From this site! Since I went on duty NINE MONTHS AGO, MA’AM!” Darnall bellowed. “We sure as HELL didn’t take them, ma’am! And we didn’t fucking steal them!”

  “Jesus Christ!” Faith shouted, throwing the clipboard on the ground. “This is an order, Staff Sergeant. Stand down. Stand down,” Faith said, walking up and putting her face right into his. “Stand down right now. That is a direct order. Or this is your last day as a Marine alive or dead. You will stand down or never ever be a Marine again.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Darnall said, his jaw working. But he unclipped his weapon and set it on the ground.

  “Everybody stand down,” Faith said waving her hand. “Weapons down. Weapons down! FAST. Pick up your weapons. If you were willing to stand down you’re not thieves. My personal and professional apologies for doubting you. But we gotta get this unfucked. Where could they have gone?”

  “We’d have to go back over every piece of paper on them, ma’am,” Darnall said, cautiously picking up his M4. “And we just packed that all up.”

  “Motherfucker,” Faith said. “I hate fucking paperwork. Close the gates, transport the truck drivers back to the port on the amtracks. We’re going to be here after dark. Gunny!”

  “Ma’am,” Sands said.

  “Get with the Grace on getting us some MREs or something,” Faith said. “We’re about to pull an all nighter. I’m going to call the Hole and see if the acting commandant has any suggestions . . .”

&nbs
p; * * *

  “Son of a bitch . . .” Darnall muttered. “I completely forgot about that.”

  “Forgot what?” Faith said fuzzily. It was three AM and they’d been poring over paperwork looking for the missing nukes for hours.

  “There was a transfer,” Darnall said. “Post-Plague announcement. They were transported to Canaveral for loading.”

  He handed her the receipt he was reading.

  “Cape Canaveral?” Faith said. “What?”

  “The actual missiles are loaded at Canaveral, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said, taking the receipts and examining them. “They have the facilities to attach the nukes to the missiles. And those are the missing serial numbers.”

  * * *

  “It should have been logged with us, Lieutenant,” Ellington said.

  “Can you see what I’m looking at, sir?” Faith said, holding the paperwork up to the camera.

  “Roger, Lieutenant,” Ellington said. “If you hold it back a bit I can see it better. But hold the signature block right up to the camera . . . That’s the right signature. I know the officer. We don’t have the transfer logged. Wait one . . . Son of a . . . We have the receipt for the aircraft used to transport nuclear weapons and . . . the manifest that they were transferred. And they were logged in at Canaveral. It’s valid. We just didn’t get the data from King’s Bay.”

  “So we know where they’re at?” Faith asked.

  “Presumably,” Ellington said. “Until someone puts their hands on them I’ll only say that. They shouldn’t have been transferred at all with things they way they were going. But . . . water under the dam. They’re probably in the temporary magazines in Canaveral. Hopefully in the magazines in Canaveral.”

  “Does that mean we have to clear Canaveral?” Faith asked.

  “Looks that way, Lieutenant,” Ellington said. “Lieutenant, this is an order. Get some sleep. You’re punch drunk. We’ll deal with this later. Your devotion to duty is well understood but this is not going to get solved tonight.”

  “Roger,” Faith said. “Just need to check in with the colonel and make sure the guards are posted, sir.”

  “Then get some sleep,” Ellington said. “SAC is out.”

  * * *