Only the Dead Live Forever

by W. J. Lundy

  Brad slung the bag up over his shoulder and followed the man into the hall. He quickly noticed that the door was left unlocked and the escorts were gone. “So no more guards? You trust me now?” Brad asked as they walked.

  Winslow chuckled. “Dang, Sergeant. Nahh … That was just for infected watch; standard procedure with all the inbounds. Although we haven’t had any in a long time, you know,” Winslow answered.

  “How long you been on this ship, Winslow?” Brad asked as he stepped through a hatch and made his way around a corner.

  “Me? I been here since we sailed out of Norfolk. Shit, since the beginning I guess.”

  “Yeah? That’s cool. So when are we going back to Norfolk?” Brad asked.

  Winslow stopped walking and turned to look at Brad. “Norfolk? Did you hear we were going back?” he asked Brad, his voice suddenly turning serious.

  “Ahhh yeah … I mean … I assumed that’s where we were going,” Brad bluffed.

  “I don’t know about that, Sergeant. Norfolk is gone, nothing there but primals. The admiral is in charge now, and I don’t think he wants to go back to Norfolk. We got the island now.”

  “The admiral?” Brad asked.

  “Yeah … Hayes. He saved us, you know, after everything started. He pulled everything together. You got nothing to worry about, Sergeant. Hayes is real smart.” Winslow looked at Brad’s face as if he was searching for something, then he turned and continued to walk down the passageway.

  “So nobody goes back to the States then? You don’t worry about your family?” Brad questioned

  “Come on, Sergeant just follow me. We’ll get you settled in and you’ll like it here okay,” Winslow said, avoiding the question.

  Nearing the end of the passage, Winslow reached down and pulled open a hatch door. “Well, here we are Sergeant, go ahead and grab yourself a rack; the head is right across from you. I have to make a quick run, then I’ll be back to take you down to chow.”

  Brad thanked Winslow and stepped into the space. There were rows of bunks with worn mattresses, most of which appeared to be empty, so he walked toward the back of the space. He saw Brooks and Nelson sitting at a table along the back wall. The steel table was fixed to the floor and painted an ugly gray, with vinyl green bench seat cushions. Brad walked through the space and tossed his sea bag onto an empty rack as he walked toward the table.

  “So what are you all thinking?” Brad said as he sat at the table.

  Nelson just sat silently, shaking his head. Brooks looked up and leaned back away from the table. He strained his eyebrows as if he was searching for a thought, and then finally spoke.

  “Something isn’t right, Brad. I talked with a couple of the sailors, trying to dig. The fleet is just sitting static, no orders, and no movement. Just sitting at anchor and everyone seems fine with it. Like it’s a blessing,” Brooks said.

  Brad placed his hands in front of him on the table, using his finger to scrape at the chipping paint. “I know what you’re saying. I don’t know whether to be frustrated or creeped out. I get that these guys have been through a lot, but shit, just sitting parked in the middle of the ocean?”

  “So what do we do about it? We mess up and we might find ourselves in the brig,” Brooks asked.

  “You heard from Sean?”

  “No, he’s probably tied up in the Chief’s Mess. I’ll track him down later. You can count on that.”

  There was a clank near the front of the compartment. They heard the hatch swing open and boots slap the deck. Brad looked down the aisle and saw a smiling Winslow walking towards them. “Hey fellas, you all ready to go grab some chow? It isn’t much, but it’s food,” he said.

  Nelson was the first to his feet. He almost leapt towards Winslow. “Heck yeah buddy, just show me the way. I’m hungry enough to eat the ass end out of a buffalo!”

  They followed Winslow back into the passageway and down the hall to the galley. After a short walk, they found themselves at the back of a long, slow moving line. Brad looked down the long line and shook his head. A tall sailor in front of him turned around.

  “You the new guys on board?” he asked.

  “Yeah, we just got here yesterday,” Brad answered.

  “Damn, heard you all had it rough out there.”

  Brad gave the sailor a puzzled look. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  “Word travels fast on this bucket. Sorry about the wait. The ship is at close to twenty percent over-manned right now.”

  “Really, why is that?”

  “Shit, half the fleet is dead in the water with skeleton crews doing basic maintenance. Fuel running out on most of ‘em. Crews have been consolidating to the main ships. But hell, makes the work a lot easier. You know, with so many onboard. Most of us only work three days a week.”

  “Why don’t they move everyone to the island?” Brad asked.

  “Only certain personnel go to the island. Anyone responsible for keeping the ships running and floating stays onboard. You all should be leaving soon.”

  Brooks nudged Brad in the back to get his attention. Down the long line, he could see a number of people walking down the passage. As they got closer, he identified Sean wearing the same uniform he had been issued earlier, walking with the group. Many of the others in the party were dressed in the usual blue camouflage. A few of the men were wearing khaki uniforms.

  Sean locked eyes with Brad and moved closer to him in the line. He slapped Brad briskly on the shoulder and formally asked how he was doing before he moved down to Nelson and gave the same formal greeting. Brad turned and was ready to ask Sean what was going on when he watched him shake hands with Brooks and give him a firm pat on the back. The two SEALs exchanged brief words, then Sean nodded his head and was gone.

  “What the hell was that?” Brad asked, looking back at Brooks.

  Before Brooks could speak, Winslow spoke up. “That’s just ship politics, Sergeant; all the Chiefs and Officers making their rounds. Looks like your guy is fitting right in.”

  “Well, seems messed up to –,” Brad began to say, then caught Brooks’ disapproving glare. Brooks was slowly shaking his head side to side and gave Brad a cold stare.

  “— But yeah, I know how that stuff goes. Chiefs can’t be hanging out with us turds, right?” Brad said with a grin, causing Winslow to chuckle.

  “Yup, even at the end of the world we still can’t get along,” Winslow said, laughing.

  They made their way through the galley line. Unlike any mess hall Brad was accustomed to, this one was a lot smaller. The food wasn’t great either. The mess attendants gave everyone the same thing without asking. The serving sizes were carefully measured and placed on the trays. Brad received a scoop of rice, a cup of black beans, and some sort of unrecognizable soup.

  “Yeah, food isn’t so good lately. We count on the salvage teams to supply us. So it’s been a lot of beans and rice the last few weeks,” Winslow explained.

  They found some empty seats in the galley and sat, quickly eating their meal. Brad looked around the room and saw plenty of smiling faces. They seemed accustomed to this sort of life. You wouldn’t know a war was going on outside. They just appeared to be tired from long shifts and fighting boredom.

  Brad finished his food and pushed away from his tray. He watched Winslow, who was chatting with another sailor seated behind him. Suddenly there was a loud whoomp of an explosion; they could feel the vibration shudder across the steel floor. A claxon horn began to blast. Men calmly jumped to their feet and began pouring out of the galley.

  “What the hell was that?” Brad yelled.

  “Could be a lot of things. I better get you all back to your compartment. Come on, let’s go,” Winslow said, almost pushing them out of the galley.

  27.

  Winslow had quickly rushed them back down the passageway and into the compartment. He said he would be back and promised to explain what was going on later before slamming the door behind him as he left. The horn had stopped
blaring but they could hear the commotion in the passageway; men running back and forth, boots on stairs, hatches opening and closing.

  “This your first time on a Navy vessel, Brad?” Brooks asked.

  “Yes it is. So is this kind of thing normal?” Brad answered.

  “Maybe, if that was a drill, but it sure didn’t sound like it; that boom sounded for real.”

  Brooks walked across the room and took a seat across from Brad. He reached out his hand and tossed a pack of cigarettes on Brad’s lap.

  “Ahh, thanks Brooks, but I don’t smoke,” Brad said, picking up the cigarette package.

  “Yeah I get that, just open it up.”

  Brad lifted the lid on the cigarette package and saw it was nearly half full. He looked back at Brooks and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Come on man, look a bit harder,” Brooks protested.

  Brad pulled back the cellophane and foil wrapper and saw a thin slip of paper wrapped around the pack. He looked up and saw Brooks was now smiling in approval. Brad removed the slip of thin paper and quickly unfolded it. It revealed a small, carefully hand-drawn map. Below the map a time was written.

  “So what is this? Where did you get it?” Brad asked.

  “Chief dropped it in my pocket during our brief meet and greet in the galley line,” Brooks explained. “Looks like a map to the aft smoke deck; I’m thinking Chief wants to join us later.”

  “Why?” Nelson asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

  Brooks looked back at him. “So he can tell us what the fuck is going on. Smoking is still one of the rare acceptable things to do in private on a vessel. And one of the times you can bullshit with a chief without anyone thinking anything of it.”

  Brad gave Brooks a puzzled look. “You’re on his team, Brooks, why haven’t you been pulled out of here? I thought all of you guys stick together.”

  “It has definitely crossed my mind. Maybe we are intentionally being kept apart. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  They waited quietly in their racks. Winslow had been by twice to check on them and he had blamed the loud explosion on a steam pipe bursting below decks. The expression on Brooks’ face clearly showed what the SEAL’s opinions were of the story. Winslow had finally left them alone at just after eight in the evening. Before he left, he said he would see them again at six a.m. to lead them to chow. Winslow also told them to stay in the compartment and try to limit their movements to the head across the hall. The guards often got jumpy at night and nobody wanted to get hurt. The men intentionally kept their plans for an evening smoke from Winslow. They wanted to leave doubts of innocence in anyone’s mind in case they got caught.

  Just after dark, they snuck out of the compartment and into the passageway. They left Nelson behind to play decoy and to stall any visitors that might choose to peek their heads in. If the hatch opened while they were out on their ‘smoke’ break, Nelson would intercept them in the compartment. His job was to distract them with random conversation to delay the discovery of the missing men.

  Brad and Brooks quietly moved down the passageway following the map. Brooks had memorized the path so they wouldn’t look like lost tourists. They crossed paths with a few sailors in the hall, but they walked as if they were on a mission and no one questioned them. Finally they found the exit to the aft smoke deck. Brooks stepped out first, with Brad close behind him.

  The deck was large and located directly on the back of the ship. It wasn’t what Brad had expected to see: no rushing water wake trailing behind them or gusts of wind – the ship rested silently in the water. Brad searched the horizon and could just make out other vessels around them. The drone of equipment and blowers made for ambient noise. The sky was filled with bright stars.

  There were a couple other clusters of men, quietly chatting. It was dark and hard to make out anyone’s face. Brad followed Brooks to an empty section of the rail. Brooks fished out a couple of the cigarettes. Brad used a pack of matches they had acquired and he lit up. They leaned against the rail, making casual conversation about the weather and how bad the food was. No one seemed to notice them, or even care that they were on the deck. The other sailors were preoccupied with their own group’s conversations.

  Brad was halfway through his cigarette and was becoming impatient. He had never been a fan of smoking, and was hoping he wouldn’t have to light another one. He sensed movement at the rail next to him. Sean had finally arrived. He was alone and still wearing the tan uniform from earlier. He calmly stood against the rail and asked if he could bum a smoke.

  Sean took a cigarette from Brooks and shielded the breeze as Brad used a match to light it. Sean inhaled deeply and exhaled a cloud of smoke. He casually changed his position so that he was standing just behind the other two men. To an unknowing observer, they would appear to be strangers who happen to be sharing the same space.

  Sean stepped a bit closer so he was just behind their shoulders. He placed his hands in his pockets and spoke in a low voice. “Looks like you have gotten all settled in,” he said.

  Brad turned to speak, but Sean interrupted him. “Don’t turn around … I’m sure we’re clear out here, but let’s keep this very bland. If anyone notices, this was a chance encounter like in the galley line. I was told specifically not to meet with any of you until we reached the island,” Sean said.

  Brooks leaned out and spit over the rail. “So what’s the story then? Some odd shit is definitely going on here.”

  “Yeah, what’s with that explosion?” Brad asked.

  Sean blew another puff of smoke out over the rail. “There is a lot of shit going on here. I don’t have a lot of time to break everything down. What I can say is there appears to be a large portion of the crew that isn’t happy with this ‘new start’ idea that the admiral has conjured up.”

  “New start? First I’ve heard of that,” Brad said.

  “Well, that is the official code name for this flotilla at sea and the island base. The admiral seems to think that the fleet is better off out here in the middle of nowhere. He plans to make a home of the island and the nuke boats; at least until the good ol’ US of A gets its act together. I don’t know how deep things go. I heard some rumbling that he outright refused recall orders from the Chief of Naval Ops.”

  Sean paused to take another drag on the cigarette before continuing.

  “I’m not ready to judge the man just yet. I heard that he was warned from someone in Washington that returning would be a suicide mission. He declined the orders for the sake of the fleet. I don’t know, and at this point I really don’t care.”

  “So what does this mean for us?” Brooks asked.

  “Just keep playing along, okay? Transportation has been arranged to the island tomorrow. We’ll be placed on different work assignments. All of the fighter types are on salvage and recon teams. Yes Brad, I got you assigned to my group. But the rest of our people have been put on different things. Don’t sweat it right now. There’s already planning going on without us. There’s a plan to get back stateside in the works. Brooks and I have friends here on the recon teams.”

  Brad nodded before speaking. “What do we do now?”

  “Like I said, play along. Don’t cause any problems to prevent you from going to the island and being assigned to my group.”

  “And the explosion?” Brooks asked.

  “Some dumbass tried to steal a boat, thought he could escape to the coast. A jumpy guard dropped a grenade. A lot of stupid shit is going on. Get back to your racks and get some sleep. Act surprised when they tell you we’re leaving,” Sean said before he flicked the cigarette out over the rail.

  After they returned to their quarters, they had a short wait before the compartment door slammed open and the bright lights were turned on. Two new faces entered the compartment, shouting about short notice for an island flight. Winslow dragged in just behind them, apologizing for the short notice while he helped them fold up their bedding and pack their limited belongings in the sea b
ags. Quickly, they dressed and assembled in the passageway. The two strange men had them standing against the wall, holding their bags to the side, and then they sent Winslow away. He quickly wished them good luck and disappeared down the passage.

  More men started moving towards them. For the first time since they had arrived on board, Brad saw Chelsea and Tony, carrying identical sea bags and being rushed along by their own group of escorts. As the group passed them, Brad saw Sean walking in stride with another chief. Brad’s group fell in behind Sean and they were rushed up to the deck. They followed a walkway around and ended up at a large helipad.

  It was still dark and the morning air was cold. Brad searched the skies and saw nothing. He asked when the helicopter would be there, but was quickly asked to be quiet by his escorts. Then he noticed a pile of gear near the corner of the deck. Brad recognized the large locker that they had placed their weapons in days earlier. He saw his large rucksack and a good portion of his body armor in another pile. Brad tried to move close so that he could inspect his gear, but again he was grabbed and asked to just wait in place.

  They heard the helicopter coming in; Brad recognized it as a Sea Stallion, larger than the Army’s Black Hawk. It moved slowly over the water and lined up with the ship. Quickly it was on the deck, its rotor wash making communication difficult. Again they were being rushed to action. Brad felt the escort’s hand grip his collar as he was somewhat shoved and guided towards the helicopter and into the open bay doors. If Sean hadn’t warned him to play nice, he might have been tempted to turn and knock the pushy man on his ass.

  Brad was shoved through and almost fell to the deck of the Sea Stallion. He caught himself and was guided into a seat by one of the crew. A crew chief assisted with the loading of all of their gear and slid the door shut. He gave the pilots a thumbs up, and the bird climbed up and away from the tail of the ship. Now that they were in the air, Brad could look out of the small porthole window and see the enormity of the fleet. He counted over forty large ships in the water. This was more than what he imagined a carrier strike group would normally be assigned.