by John Ringo
* * *
“I’d say this has been a successful mission,” Lieutenant Chen said, taking a sip of wine. He was leaning back in a chair in front of the Restaurante Rincon del Marinero, which translated as “Corner Restaurant at the Marina.” Which was a description as much as a name. There were a couple of apartments over the restaurant that the survivors had already occupied, and between a generator and finding some stored food, it was more or less back in operation. “Our next objective is Playa De Santiago, followed by San Sebastian de la Gomera. I think if we find any survivors in either town we should encourage them to fall back on La Puntilla rather than remain spread out.”
The group would have seemed right at home in Israel. Although they were enjoying the late afternoon sun at a tavern by the marina, they all had their weapons ready to hand.
“San Sebastian is much the larger town,” Villa pointed out. “It is possible we should move there rather than they here. La Playa has the airport and the boatyard.”
He had an H&K G36 assault rifle leaning up against his chair, barrel down. There wasn’t a round in the chamber but a recently refilled magazine was in the well.
“Where you gather up is up to you, Officer Villa,” Chen said. “I strongly urge you, however, to concentrate in one area.”
“Preferably a defensible one,” Januscheitis said. “There are still infected in the surrounding towns.”
“Playa has much in its valley,” Villa said. “But there it is entirely surrounded by mountains. Here in La Puntilla we are in the Valle, si? There are towns all up the Valle. I could see the infectado slowly spreading this way. La Playa not so much.”
“You wish to move to La Playa?” Conchita asked, bringing out a platter covered in slices of sautéed albacore and tomatoes.
“It is easier to hold,” Villa said. “The harbor is not as good, but with the infectado gone, no more will wander in, si? I worry about the infectado coming down from La Calera.”
“Then we’ll move up and clear La Playa,” Chen said. “Then move your people over.”
“Si, that would be for the best I think, Lieutenant,” Villa said. “Conchita?”
“Yes?” the woman said, coming out of the restaurant. “I have more food coming. Thank you for the fish. It has been so long since we had any. And all the food; it is so wonderful. Gracias.”
“De nada,” Chen said. “This is the good part of this job. And having spent months on a lifeboat with starvation rations, I’m glad to have it, too.”
Villa and Conchita chatted in Spanish for a moment, then one of the other men interjected and it scaled up quickly to argument.
“There are guns and wine involved here,” Chen said, raising his hands. “Can I get a general text of the argument?”
“Some don’t want to go to La Playa,” Villa said, shrugging. “Others don’t want to stay here because of the infectado. Even tonight.”
“We’ve got some room on the boats . . .” Chen said.
“Permission to speak, sir?” Sophia said.
“Go ahead, Ensign,” Chen said, slightly amused at the formality.
“I checked out that yacht tied up to the jetty,” she said. “It’s in good shape. I mean, we need to see if it starts, but if it does, we can just load people on that and pull it into the harbor for the night.”
“Point,” Chen said, nodding. “I’m still getting my head around grabbing any boat or materials that happen to not be nailed down.”
“Zombie apocalypse moment, sir,” Faith said carefully. “For example, sitting in a really nice restaurant on a pretty little harbor with a bunch of guns sitting around just in case a zombie turns up. Also, salvage is pretty much all we do. Like, say, an assault carrier, sir.”
“Point again,” Chen said, chuckling.
“I’m actually thinking about asking if I can grab it, sir,” Sophia said. “The No Tan Lines is sort of beat up at this point and we could use more room. Or one like it, maybe, depending on what we find at La Playa and Gomera.”
“Officer Villa, this raises an interesting point,” Chen said. “Legally, a boat that is tied up or anchored in a harbor and abandoned is not general salvage, but property of the local government or the harbor owner if fees have not been paid . . .”
“If you want boats, you can have boats,” Villa said, waving his hand. “I think I am the only government official you have found, si? Have boats. Except, one, perhaps, we should keep for ourselves. A boat, if it works, has power and such on it and we can pull away from the dock if there are infectado. But if there are more, yes, you can have them. There are always many at San Sebastian de la Gomera. There may be some at La Playa, yes. It has a small harbor but it has the best shipyard on the island. A moment . . .”
He turned and talked to the group in Spanish. There was a good bit of arm waving and a bit of shouting but finally it wound down.
“They agree in general,” Villa said. “We will accompany you to La Playa and San Sebastian de la Gomera and see what the conditions there are, as well. We may find others who are familiar with firearms. Diego, he has been born and raised here in Puntilla and has rarely even gone to San Sebastian de la Gomera. He does not really want to leave. But I say we see what the other towns are like, what other survivors there are of the infectado, then decide. I go with you and I am the only one familiar with guns, si? So they go with us then we decide.”
“Works for me,” Chen said. “Can any of you drive that thing? Assuming it works.”
“That is why I need Diego,” Villa said, smiling. “He is captain. So, we eat, yes?”
* * *
“Pretty little town,” Sophia said as the guns ravaged the “infectado.” “But the harbor sucks. Why would anyone put a boatyard in a town like this?”
There were about twenty yachts and smaller boats up on blocks in the small boatyard. It was pushed so far up against a cliff the road past it went through a tunnel. The harbor was barely large enough for the three boats to spread out in their standard formation and they were firing across the jetty instead of down it since the tip jutted straight out to sea.
“You’re asking me?” Faith asked. “Hell if I know. Ask Villa or something . . .”
* * *
“We got customers!” Pagliaro shouted.
“Survivors?” Faith asked then racked her weapon at the sight of three “infectado” coming down the road. “Time to stop, Staff Sergeant.”
“Stopping, ma’am,” Derek said. “But if I may, I think Pag’s probably got this, LT.”
“Permission to engage, Corporal?” Pagliaro said.
“Sure,” Faith said, sighing. She’d had it explained to her by the gunny and Lieutenant Volpe that the job of an officer was to figure out what the unit was going to do next. Not kill zombies, then, unless there was a specific reason. That was what privates and lance corporals were for. She was starting to wonder if maybe she should have asked to be a private.
“Engage, PFC!”
“Engaging, aye.”
* * *
“Barbie guns,” Faith muttered, tapping her fingers on her crossed arms as Pag and Derek engaged another group of infected.
The small, picturesque, seaside town turned out to be so complicated; all the infected hadn’t made it to the harbor by morning. The two teams were running into scattered groups of zombies between bouts of getting totally lost.
She glanced to the side and saw a zombie coming down the alleyway they’d stopped by. Pag and Derek were forward, taking out the group of infected while she, the proper officer, waited in the car for them to get done. She debated if it was her job to tell Pag he had a zombie coming up behind him or what. Finally, she just drew her H&K and fired it off-hand, hitting the zombie in the chest. The woman dropped like a stone. She was a blonde, which meant probably a tourist stuck here when the Plague shut down travel.
Faith decocked, holstered and checked the mirror to make sure there weren’t any coming up behind. Then she checked her, admittedly light, make-up an
d touched up her lip gloss.
“You guys done?” she said, leaning out the window.
“Yes, ma’am,” Derek said.
“How’s your ammo count?” Faith asked.
“Fine for now, ma’am,” Derek said, starting up the Fiat they were using. “We’re having to use a lot of rounds as usual but it’s not like we’re in an assault or anything.”
“Barbie guns,” Faith sighed. “Onward, Derek,” she said, pointing forward.
“Did you do something different with your hair, ma’am?”
* * *
“I’m going to declare La Playa as a yellow zone,” Lieutenant Chen said as the sun descended on the cleared town. There had been ten survivors found. None of them were in great shape but they weren’t death camp survivors, either. They’d been gathered on the “local” yacht, the Estrella De Mar. “We can immediately transit to Gomera and start the evening festivities, then clear that tomorrow. It’s bigger and may take more than a day.”
“I don’t think I’ll be joining the festivities this evening, sir,” Faith said, yawning. “Although I’ve mostly been riding around in a taxi, it’s been a long few days.”
* * *
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Faith said. “Not another one.”
There was a cruise ship tied up to the wharf at San Sebastian de la Gomera.
“That’s not all that big, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.
“It’s not the size that matters,” Faith said. “I’ve got a real case of PTSD about cruise ships. The Iwo . . . you guys had a fighting chance. You could fight. You did fight. You weren’t locked in your fucking staterooms waiting for help that never came and slowly starving to death. And you were Marines. You sign up to go somewhere Uncle Sam needs people killed. You weren’t on your honeymoon or a family vacation. It’s opening up the compartments and finding the kids with arms like toothpicks that didn’t even really bloat because there wasn’t anything to bloat that bugs the hell out of me, okay, Staff Sergeant?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.
“All that being said, it’s a fraction the size of the Voyage,” Faith said. “No real problem. Just take lots of lights.”
“No Tan Lines, Division,” Chen radioed. “Need to talk to the ground clearance officer.”
“It’s for you, Sis,” Sophia said, holding out the radio.
“Division, Shewolf,” Faith said. “To answer your probable question, two to three days depending on infected level. Probably not a lot of survivors at this point. Over.”
“Roger, we will clear ground infecteds, then you can proceed to clearance ops on the vessel. After that, the town.”
“Roger, Division,” Faith said. “Glad we brought the heavy stuff.”
* * *
“Shit,” Chen said. “This is not the optimum outcome.”
The chosen spot for engaging the infected with machine guns was what appeared on the charts to be an old jetty, possibly the original harbor or an old marina. There was a shoal that was clearly an old seabreak that came out from land and made a dogleg to the south. There was a small bit of it that still extended above the water at high tide and connected to the land.
Their usual antics had attracted a huge crowd of infected to the spit of land where they’d brutalized them come dawn. Unfortunately, the main jetty to seaward was close enough that more infected had gathered there. He had notionally planned on turning the division around and engaging them second. But when the usual seabirds descended on the carnage left by the MaDeuce, the group had started to mill around and break up. By the time they did the usual bit of picking up their anchors and spinning around to engage, the group would be so spread out it would take forever to hunt them all down with the .50s.
“Division, Shewolf, over.”
Just what he needed. A thirteen-year-old with a question. She probably wanted tips on playing with dolls.
“Go, Ground Clearance Officer.”
“Infected on south jetty breaking up. Request permission to put a couple down by rifle fire. The snacks should keep them around until you can adjust to engage with the Mas. Over.”
Or, he could have the Marines shoot a couple . . .
“Confirm, Shewolf. Good call.”
“Staff Sergeant Januscheitis’s idea, over. Engaging. Shewolf out.”
And she gave credit where credit was due. Chen shook his head and made a note in his personal log.
“There’s a couple over to the left,” he called over the loudhailer. “Don’t stint the ammo . . .”
There was a crackle of rifle fire from the No Tan Lines. It was nice to have proactive and intelligent subordinates. . . .
* * *
“What is it with everybody putting holes in the side of boats?” Faith asked.
The current offense to the lieutenant’s sensibilities was the embarkation port on the port side of the cruise ship. The large port had a gangway that led from the wharf, now clear of infecteds, into the dark interior of the cruise ship.
“So . . . Boadicea?” PFC Kirby said. “Is that Spanish? Sounds like ‘BOHICA’ to me.”
“Are you asking me, PFC?” Januscheitis said. “It at least makes entry easy, ma’am.”
“And I suppose we should do so,” Faith said, sighing. “Lights.”
* * *
“Okay, this is not quite the carnival of carnage I’d expected, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. Most of the watertight doors on the ship were closed, and while they were finding infected, most of them were long dead. Some of them were, yes, children. And there were some well-gnawed bodies of others. But even that was minimal. The ship looked as if it had been cleared before the Plague took hold.
“Feelin’ the same way, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. She was even checking cabins. Most of them had either no human presence or dead infecteds. Some of the lower, interior, “cheap” cabins had infecteds tied to beds. Some of them had gotten loose and fed but most had clearly died there. There were some kids and that was always tough, but not many. It looked as if the cruise leaned more to adults. She could handle dead adults. And none of them had the death camp look of the dead passengers on the Voyage. Which just meant they’d died of dehydration instead of starvation. They were finding essentially zero “dead of dehydration or starvation” clothed bodies.
“And not complaining,” she said.
* * *
“Okay,” Faith said. “Again, creepy. Where’d the people go?”
The team was on its second day of laboriously clearing the ship. It wasn’t huge but it was complicated. And every compartment had to be checked, cleared and marked. What they were not finding so far were either survivors or even many infected. And all the infected they were finding had been trapped in interior areas without food or water. That spelt death for infecteds just as much as humans.
“Up to eight hundred and eighty passengers according to the brochure we found, ma’am,” PFC Kirby replied. “And three hundred thirty crew. I think we’ve counted, maybe, a hundred dead, ma’am? So, I dunno.”
They’d broken up into two-man teams to spread the wealth. It had been a toss-up between Kirby and Rodas to accompany Faith. Staff Sergeant Januscheitis had suggested Corporal Douglas accompany the LT. Faith had pointed out that the corporal was one of their leadership personnel, as was she, so he should take one of the lance corporals or a PFC. Which on its face was pretty hard to argue. Especially when she added “That is how we’re going to do it, Staff Sergeant.”
Besides, it wasn’t like she couldn’t do this in her sleep. Had done it in her sleep.
“I think this thing is even useable,” Faith said. The ship was in surprisingly good shape. The infecteds hadn’t penetrated into any of the machinery spaces they’d found and except for some minor damage it all looked shipshape. The bridge was in good shape, that was for sure. It had been sealed but they’d found a key-card that would allow access. And there were no infected in it. “Which would be good, since we’re running out of space on the big boats.”<
br />
Kirby went to open a watertight door and Faith put her hand on his arm.
“PFC?” she said. “Zombies don’t like . . . ?”
“Impolite people, Skipper,” Kirby said, banging on the hatch with the butt of his M4.
It was only the four hundredth time she’d had to tell him.
There was a distant clanging in response.
“I think we’ve got customers,” Faith said. “Open away, PFC.”
The next corridor would have been pretty darned gross if she hadn’t seen it all before. It was, now, a good sign. Five gallon buckets once full of rations now full of shit and piss. Dead bodies lined up against the bulkhead. The sure sign of survivors. There were four bodies that were still wearing clothing. She knew what that meant. One of a million reasons she hoped she was never stuck in a compartment.
“I’m going to crack the hatch,” she shouted through the watertight door. “I’ll toss in a chem-light so you can adjust your eyes!”
CHAPTER 10
If you weigh well the strength of the armies, and the causes of the war, you will see that in this battle you must conquer or die. This is a woman’s resolve; as for men, they may live and be slaves
Queen Boadicea of the Iceni
Tacitus
“Bloody hell, I’ve never in my life been this happy to see Yanks.”
Second Officer, Staff, Becky Kyle was the senior survivor they’d found. And they’d found a lot of survivors.
“Feel the love,” Faith said. The survivors had been escorted up to a café on the lounge deck. There were some windows with external light but it was mid-line and thus not brightly lit. They were all still suffering from photosensitivity. The café was getting fairly crowded and even some children had survived, which was a rarity. “But I’ll take that for somebody who managed to keep this many people alive. How did you, anyway?”
“When the plague was announced, the government put us in quarantine,” Third Officer Darren Arras said. “It was already on the island but they locked us down, anyway. We . . . segregated the infected. We tried to manage them but . . .”
