To Sail a Darkling Sea

by John Ringo

  “Captain Smith,” the gunny said.

  “Oh, joy,” Faith said. “I guess I’ll need to derig . . .”

  * * *

  “Faith, there’s a couple of things we need to talk about,” Steve said, waving to a chair.

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said.

  “The first bit is about what happened last night.”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said.

  “I know you in mulish mode, daughter dear,” Steve said drily. “When all you do is say ‘yes, sir’ it means you’re not actually communicating. Nothing’s coming out, so nothing’s going in. I’ve spoken to several people about what happened last night. You should not have been grabbed. Not just as a lieutenant but as anyone. Mr. Zumwald was totally out of line in ordering you around, as was his language.”

  “Tell that to Captain Wilkes,” Faith said, crossing her arms.

  “Lieutenant,” Steve said. “I am not speaking to you as my daughter, here, I’m speaking to you as a lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps, one of my junior officers. And I will not have you say anything disrespectful of your superiors. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said.

  “Faith,” Steve said. “Eye contact. What I tell Captain Wilkes, what I discuss with him about the incident, is none of your concern. Do you truly understand that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said. “It’s just . . .”

  “There is no ‘just,’ Lieutenant,” Steve said, calmly. “If, and I said if, Captain Wilkes may have done something wrong in handling the situation, that is between Captain Wilkes and myself. This is the tough part about being in the military. You do not show, by word, action or deed, disrespect to a superior. Ever. Even, or especially, when you think he’s a cowardly fucktard that’s got his head up some Hollywood executive’s ass.”

  “Oh, you have met him,” Faith said.

  “Lieutenant, that is exactly what I was warning you about,” Steve said. “You may think those things, true or not, but you do not ever express them. Ever. You need to seriously learn that, or we might as well drop this experiment and you can go do something other than being a Marine officer.”

  “I’ll try,” Faith said.

  “Okay, first of all, that would be ‘sir’ and second, you cannot ‘try’ at something like this,” Steve said. “This is one of the most important aspects of military discipline. Even if you think someone is an awful superior in the military, and Wilkes is not by any means as awful as you think, you simply do not express it. Not in any professional environment. You can’t go questioning a superior’s competence. Not to a subordinate, especially. Just as if you have, say, an NCO you think is not competent, you cannot express that to his or her subordinates. When the shit hits the fan, the men have to know that they can trust the orders they’re getting. If you, who is looked upon as more competent than you actually are as an officer, express resentment or lack of trust in Captain Wilkes, even by body language at which you are a past mistress, that will spread. Then people will start to second-guess the captain. Which we absolutely cannot afford.

  “Seriously, Faith, we’re still in a cleft stick, here. If you cannot support Captain Wilkes, one of the two of you have to go. And he’s the officer with the rank and the position. You’re just a newbie officer who happens to be a wild-child at killing zombies. There is, in fact, more to being an officer than that. One of the things is discipline. Enough discipline to work with a superior, or a subordinate, you do not like and the feeling is mutual. To train the subordinate where possible, to learn the good things—and Wilkes has real positives—even from superiors you don’t like. This is part of being a Marine. It really and truly is.”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said.

  “Again with the robotic ‘yes, sir,’ ” Steve said. “I need more.”

  “It’s . . .” Faith said then waved her hands. “Da, can we just . . . talk?”

  “Sure,” Steve said, leaning. “I’m good with that.”

  “Actually it’s more like ‘Captain, can we just talk?’ ” Faith said. “I’m not the one talking Captain Wilkes down, sir. I mean, I didn’t really stomp on it when people were ragging on him. Maybe I should have. But he’s not real popular.”

  “Okay, couple of things,” Steve said, leaning back. “First, troops grouse. They’re used to grousing around you so they do it without thinking of you as an officer. Which has some good points and some bad points. It’s good if they feel comfortable enough to discuss their issues with you. Bad if they just talk around you without thinking of you as an officer. Because, they can’t obey your orders because they like you or they’re humoring you. We’ll get to the subject of your combat shopping spree in a minute—”

  “Oh,” Faith said. “Ouch.”

  “Yes, ouch,” Steve said. “But we’re talking about the situation with you and Captain Wilkes right now. First of all, if a troop comes to you and brings up something like his questions about the competence or courage of a superior, you can counsel them on it in private, listen to their concerns, but you cannot support their position. You can’t say ‘Yeah, he’s a fucking coward’ or ‘He’s a fucktard.’ You’re not a troop. You’re their boss. You say ‘I hear your concerns.’ I have not stated that I agree with you, Lieutenant. I have said those things as examples. Be clear about that. I neither agree nor disagree. I hear your concerns regarding Captain Wilkes’ approach to managing the boarding. However, I’m counseling you on your actions and reactions. You with me, Faith?”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Sort of. So . . . Is he a cowardly fucktard or not?”

  “I just said that as his superior and yours I can neither agree nor disagree,” Steve said. “And I’ll repeat that language like that about a superior is a major offense of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. This is a counseling session so I can hear it or not. You don’t use it outside of this compartment. Need to be really clear on that one. Are we?”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said. “No calling superiors names?”

  “People got hanged for it in the old days,” Steve said. “You do not speak disrespectfully of a superior. Then there’s ‘the troops are ragging on him.’ Yes, you stomp on that. Just as I’m stomping on it with you. If subordinates start to say something disrespectful of a superior, you point out that that’s not acceptable. I won’t make this official but . . . Was the staff sergeant present?”

  “No,” Faith said. “There was one NCO. But not Staff Sergeant Januscheitis.”

  “Did the NCO say anything about speaking ill of a superior?” Steve asked.

  “It was just before the thing with the dude and the drink,” Faith said. “So I’m trying to remember . . . They were bitching about having to clear the bodies out of the embarkation area. And Wilkes not leaving that area and whether they were going to have to clear the bodies from the whole ship . . .”

  “The embarkation area was going to be used as an operations center,” Steve said, frowning. “Clearing that made a certain amount of sense. Putting all the bodies in body bags instead of in the harbor . . . Eh, possible sense. But, no, we’re not going to clear the bodies from the whole ship.”

  “Sergeant . . . The NCO present said something like, ‘if we’re told to clear the ship, we clear the ship.’ ”

  “Okay,” Steve said, leaning forward. “That, right there. Did you get it?”

  “No,” Faith said. “Sir.”

  “The NCO perhaps should have stomped on the questions of Captain Wilkes’ lack of initiative in moving forward,” Steve said. “Wasn’t there, can’t really comment. But he reaffirmed the point that if given an order, they obey it. Can you see that?”

  “Sort of,” Faith said.

  “Then pay attention to it and look for it,” Steve said. “And emulate it. Discipline is what makes a military an effective tool compared to a mob. And one of the things that enhances discipline is the actions and deportment of an officer. It can be carried too far. There are officers who think that actions and deportment are the
only thing that’s really necessary. At this point you’re mentally inserting ‘Captain Wilkes’ into that sentence, correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Was that disrespectful?”

  “If one of your subordinates said it and you blurted ‘You mean Wilkes’ then it would be an issue,” Steve said. “So don’t. But appearances have a point. Officers have not just the right but the duty to tell their subordinates to do something insane and suicidal. Your troops would probably kill themselves to keep you alive. Or, say, to get you a dress . . .”

  “We were never in any real danger, sir,” Faith said. “Honest.”

  “But the point is that they have to think of you as an officer,” Steve said. “Not their wild-child kid sister. Which in part is acting like an officer. Carrying yourself like one, requiring that you be saluted and called ‘ma’am,’ snapping orders in a firm voice. Because when it really drops in the shit, they have to know who is in charge. Even if it’s Captain Wilkes. And part of that is, yes, not putting a guy in a chokehold because he called you a bitch.”

  “So am I the only one getting dressed down, sir?” Faith asked.

  “Again, does not matter,” Steve said. “How I handle the rest is up to me. That’s on my plate, not yours. I’ll give you this much. I’m not handling Zumwald. I told Isham if I saw the fucker I was going to toss him into the bay. I mean, seriously, toss him into the bay with the sharks. Was not joking.”

  “Thanks, Da,” Faith said. “Sorry, thank you, Oh, Captain My Captain. That really pissed me off. I mean, not that it was . . . You know, ‘Shewolf, Zombie Hunter’ but that he felt like he could grab just any girl and . . . order her around. Da, this is the Alpha, okay? You know what happened here. That was what went through my mind. Sort of. Mostly I was just pissed but—”

  “I hadn’t considered that,” Steve said, nodding. “It’s . . . If this was official and if there were charges, which there wouldn’t be under most circumstances, it would certainly be a mitigating factor and it explains why . . . I wondered why even you, Faith, would have gone off so . . .”

  “Yeah,” Faith said. “I was just out of . . . Da . . . Captain, this boat gives me fucking nightmares, okay? I mean . . . I’m okay on the Señorita but this boat just flips me out. But this is where the team’s based and, hell, I’ve got my own room and head.”

  “How are you with the Boadicea?” Steve asked.

  “I’m great with the Bo,” Faith said. “The Bo is the first bright spot in a long time.”

  “We’re getting it cleared out and prepped,” Steve said, making a note. “This isn’t personal, it’s professional. And, okay, personal. But I’ll see about getting the Marines moved over to the Boadicea. It’s not a good idea to mix them with the civilians. There have been other incidents. Okay . . . So . . . That is not permission for you to go off in public, understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Sorry about . . . No excuse, sir.”

  “Mr. Zumwald will be counseled as well,” Steve said. “At a certain point, possibly I’ll have the two of you sit down and you can give him your story of clearing the Alpha and why, particularly on this boat, automatic male dominance for the purposes of personal service triggers rather unpleasant memories.”

  “Rather not explain that,” Faith said. “I can’t even talk about it with the Marines. And . . . If I can input on it, I’d just as well not have to deal with him again.”

  “There are not many of us,” Steve said. “More, thank God, every day. But still so few. Absent throwing him off the island or, rather, on an island, you’ll have to deal with him at some point. On the subject of Captain Wilkes or any other superior—”

  “Do not undermine his authority,” Faith said.

  “Except in one limited circumstance,” Steve said. “And even then, especially then, you have to be punctilious with your professional demeanor. So it is not, in fact, undermining his authority.”

  “Which is?” Faith asked. “Which is, sir?”

  “When you’re an instructor,” Steve said. “The fact that Captain Wilkes has not seen a live zombie since he jumped ship, by orders, from the Iwo has been brought up through other channels. He really cannot make rational judgments as to what is and is not normal and proper without some experience of the operations. He needs experience and he needs an experienced teacher . . .”

  “Oh, Da . . .” Faith pleaded. “Have Lieutenant Fontana or the gunny—”

  “No,” Steve said. “What the gunny and Lieutenant Fontana are going to do is give you a quick class in how to be a subordinate and an instructor. From what I’ve heard, you have it mostly down. The Marines certainly think that you’d have made a great tactical instructor. At least when it comes to zombie fighting. I’ll have the gunny and Lieutenant Fontana, both of whom have experience with training more senior officers, explain to you the dos and don’ts. Then you will train Wilkes with your team back-stopping. And you will treat him with due respect. Is this understood, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said.

  “Now, as to the combat shopping. Dress shopping, Faith. Seriously?”

  “They were Paris originals, Da!” Faith said.

  “It was my mistake using your first name,” Steve said. “In this case, again, Lieutenant, it would be ‘Captain.’ Lieutenant Chen feels that it was a serious error in judgment on your part and I cannot disagree. Not to mention the wall against infiltrating infected as we clear these ships is rather shaky. Two lapses in judgment.”

  “In that case, Captain, I will repeat myself,” Faith said. “They were, and are, Paris originals. May I state my case?”

  “Go ahead,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair.

  “I am not sure that the argument will work,” Faith said. “But I’ll stand by it. And I’ve had time to think about this one. First, I agree that I had a lapse in judgment as well as, um, not sure what the right term is. But I shouldn’t have looked for a dress at that time and with my team helping me. That was sort of stupid. But I wasn’t sure that we could hold the position. As it is, I would strongly argue that we need to . . . word, starts with a p, means important, sort of like property—”

  “Prioritize?” Steve said.

  “That one,” Faith said. “I would recommend, Captain, that we prioritize getting them out of the compartment and to a safe place.”

  “They’re dresses, Faith,” Steve said. “I get that you wanted a dress . . .”

  “Sir, again, they are not just dresses,” Faith said, frowning. “I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe . . . money terms? The dress that I grabbed, on the rack, in a store, would run thirty thousand dollars, sir.”

  “Ouch,” Steve said.

  “Now you’re getting it, Da,” Faith said with a grin. “We never could have afforded these for prom. That container contains several million dollars worth of clothing. And it’s more than that, sir. I guess it’s an MWR issue. But all the clothes we’ve got are either slops that were from infecteds or pulled off of salvage or uniforms. Pretty . . . matters to a woman. Just about any woman. The reason we propped the door the way we did was to keep the infected from screwing up, like, the last pretty thing in the world, sir. Those are the last Paris originals anyone will probably ever see. I . . . I don’t know how to put it any better, sir. A woman would understand, sir. But everybody in my chain of command is a guy. No offense.”

  “Not quite,” Steve said, thoughtfully. “Stand by.”

  He leaned up and toggled his computer to video then hit the link to the Dallas.

  “Dallas, retrans to the Hole, personal for General Brice.”

  “Roger, Squadron, stand by.”

  “Captain,” Brice said, nodding. “How’s the clearance going?”

  “Nominal,” Steve said. “It helps having Marines, that’s for sure. Still not finding many survivors but there’s always hope.”

  “Is it going to affect your primary mission?” Brice asked.

  “We’ve got the time,” Steve said. “It
’s clear these or continue clearance at sea until the tropicals pass. If we’d left for Gitmo instead of Tenerife when we left—”

  “I’ve seen the satellite imagery,” Brice said. “You’d be getting pounded.”

  “We’ll leave this area late November for Gitmo, General,” Steve said. “But that wasn’t the reason for the call.”

  “And the reason for the call is?” General Brice asked.

  “I have a potential discipline issue which overlaps with personal and I need both a more experienced professional’s opinion and, sorry, a woman’s,” Steve said. “Fortunately . . .”

  “I’m both,” Brice said, chuckling. “Personal?”

  “My daughter, Faith, took time out during a mission to secure a container that contained what she states is valuable material,” Steve said. “She also put her Marines somewhat at risk both securing the materials and finding some for herself.”

  “That’s . . . not good,” Brice said, shaking her head. “You don’t put your people at risk for personal gain.”

  “She agrees that her actions at the time were . . . poor judgment,” Steve said. “But to prevent the materials from being damaged by the infected, she also elected to weaken the defenses. The container was being used to block the pier we’re holding and she had the Marines brace the outer door to keep the infecteds out of the container. Bracing the inner door would have made it functionally impossible for them to get onto the wharf, but also would have allowed them access to the container.”

  “Tell her what it was,” Faith hissed.

  Steve waved for her to be silent.

  “I’ve seen the satellite imagery,” Brice said. “We were wondering why you’d done it that way. That had better be some pretty important material.”

  “Well, that’s the question, General,” Steve said. “It sort of hinges on that. It was dresses.”

  “Dresses?” Brice said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think Faith was a shopaholic, Captain.”

  “Tell her what kind!” Faith hissed.

  “Faith is present and insists that I point out that they were Paris originals,” Steve said.