by John Ringo
“WHAT?” Brice said, leaning forward in her chair and grabbing the monitor. “What kind?”
“Yves Saint Laurent!” Faith said, jumping up and leaning around to crane her head in front of the camera. “They’re, like, gorgeous!”
“How many?” Brice asked.
“A whole container full!” Faith said.
“Is there a four?” Brice said. “Tell me there’s a four!”
“There’s like, every size!” Faith said. “Pick a color!”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Brice said, leaning back and holding up her hands. “Professional. How endangered were your Marines, Lieutenant?”
“Ma’am, if at any point it got down to close quarters, I would have drawn back and let the infected have the container,” Faith said. “Reluctantly.”
“I bet reluctantly,” Brice said. “You shouldn’t have endangered your Marines getting your own dress. What’s it like, by the way?”
“Oh, it’s like this really hot red thing with holographic silk,” Faith said. “It turns like every shade of red you can imagine . . .”
“Oh, God,” Brice said. “It sounds gorgeous . . . Still, I can understand your desire to ensure the security of the materials but remember, mission, men, me, Lieutenant. Your mission was to secure the wharf, not go dress shopping.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Faith said. “No excuse, ma’am. Will not happen again. Even if I find a container of Prada.”
“Okay, maybe if you find a container of Prada,” Brice said, chuckling. “But even Prada is not worth losing Marines, Lieutenant. Understood?”
“Understood, ma’am. Won’t happen again.”
“Captain,” Brice said, then paused. “I’m not sure you’ll get this, but I’m ordering you to divert any available resources not focused on clearance to emptying out that container and putting the materials somewhere safe. While Lieutenant Smith’s personal salvage spree was ill-considered, I frankly can understand it. I’d recommend a verbal counseling, this will do, that she had a lapse in judgment in securing her own needs at the expense of endangering her Marines but that her decision to ensure the security of the materials was well considered. I’m not sure that you or anyone else in her chain of command would understand that, but, well, absent being overruled by Mr. Galloway, I’m the boss.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said. “And I get it intellectually but it is, I suspect, a gender thing. Which was why I brought you in on it.”
“I’m glad you did,” Brice said. “And, Faith?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Could you find me a four in blue?”
“Absolutely,” Faith said. “I think you’re about my sister Soph’s size, General. We’ll hold one back for you.”
“I feel terrible . . .” Brice said. “No, never mind. Captain, you should distribute those to females who . . . Those would make very nice bonuses, Captain.”
“I take it you only have uniforms in the Hole, ma’am?” Steve said.
“Yep,” Brice said. “Maybe it’s a gender thing, maybe it’s cultural. But . . . I love my uniform and I’m proud of it. But there is, and don’t tell anyone this, a ‘woman’ side to me that really, really is dying for a splash of color.”
“Ma’am,” Steve said. “Absent direct order to the contrary, I’ll have Faith, after we secure the materials and when she has some downtime, get on the video conference, closed, and have her show you some of them so you can pick one out in your size.”
“I’m not sure that would be an advised use of resources, Captain,” Brice said.
“Two points in argument, ma’am,” Steve said. “One, the situation that you are in is psychologically extremely stressful. As you noted, you are dying for a splash of color. You need something to take your mind off of, well, the zombie apocalypse, being trapped in the Hole and all it entails. Two, absent direct orders, if you think I’m not going to try to butter up the acting CJCS, you’re out of your mind already.”
“I’ll take your first point and ignore the second, Captain,” Brice said with a laugh. “But, seriously, it’s an order. Get those secured. They’re probably the last Paris fashions on earth. Don’t distribute all of them. We’re going to have museums again, someday, and one of them should be in it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said, making some notes. “I’ll order that right away.”
“Don’t do it if you’re going to lose people,” Brice said. “Not that important.”
“Again, not an issue, ma’am,” Steve said.
“Anything else?” Brice asked.
“No, ma’am,” Steve said. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”
“Looking forward to meeting you in person someday,” Brice said. “Both of you. Especially if you’re carrying a dress. Out here.”
“Okay, Faith,” Steve said. “You were right on securing the dresses.”
“I was still wrong on grabbing them right then and there, Da,” Faith said. “And . . . I’m sorry I lost my temper with that . . . the guy in the saloon. I’ll work on the officer deportment.”
“The truth is, Faith,” Steve said, sighing. “It’s not that dressing you down feels like pulling the wings off a fly. The truth is that if things weren’t so absolutely fucked to hell, you’d be a shoe-in for the Medal of Honor. And that’s not just being your dad saying that. You are an absolute asset. A living embodiment of the best in us.”
“Now you’re going all Da,” Faith said.
“No,” Steve said. “I’m trying to judge this fairly. If you were a twenty-one-year-old second lieutenant straight out of the Point or Annapolis or ROTC, you’d still be somebody that people would follow into battle. And the way that you fight is just so over the top that every real warrior on this ship wants to have your babies.”
“I think it’s supposed to be the other way around, Da,” Faith said, laughing and looking awkward. She handled praise about as well as she handled being dressed down.
“You know what I mean,” Steve said. “All that is true. The other truth is that you have a lot to learn about all the other stuff in being an officer. And, believe it or not, I think that Wilkes can teach you that. And maybe, just maybe, you can teach him what actual leadership means. Sometimes when you’ve got two problems they can cancel themselves out. I’m hoping that’s what this experiment will achieve.”
“I’ll do my best, Da.”
“That’s my Shewolf.”
CHAPTER 14
’Cause I’m a pilot
I only care about me
I don’t give a fuck if I bring your bird back
Code 2 or code 3
’Cause I’m a pilot
And I never make mistakes
I’ll take the credit if it ain’t broken
I’ll blame you if it breaks
“I’m a Pilot”
Dos Gringo
“Captain Wilkes,” Steve said, looking around the embarkation area. “How’s the clearance going?”
After clearing the immediate area and cleaning up, a team under Janu had fought their way to DCC and brought back not only all the hardcopy maps but laptops that, huzzah, contained all the same information. The TOC was set up with several plasma screens connected to those as well as other computers brought aboard. It looked almost professional.
As areas were cleared they were “greyed out” so they didn’t repeat. With four people clearing, that had not been an issue. With thirty Marines working on the boats it had happened.
“Nominal, sir,” Wilkes said. “Would you care to examine the map?”
“No,” Steve said. “Other things to do. How far are you into the ship?”
“We’ve reached deck six and are proceeding upwards, sir,” Wilkes said. “There is a significant infected level throughout the ship. At least, according to reports . . .”
“Have you . . .” Steve said, then stopped. “Can you turn this over to somebody, we need to have a chat.”
“Yes, sir,” Wilkes said. “Gunny, come get me if anything come
s up.”
“Yes, sir,” Gunny Sands said.
Steve gestured aft and Wilkes paused.
“Sir, the infecteds have officially been cleared from these decks, however . . .”
“You’ve got an M4, right?” Steve said. “And I’ve got a pistol. That should be enough. As I said, we need to chat.”
They walked back into the bowels of the ship and Steve opened up one of the hatches. The smell of rot was strong.
“Been back here?” Steve asked, stepping over a bloating body. “Keep the hatch open. Decay uses up oxygen.”
“Yes, sir,” Wilkes said.
“But I think this is far enough,” Steve said. “I understand Faith had an incident last night?”
“I thought it might be about that, sir,” Wilkes said. “I take it she complained to you?”
“No,” Steve said. “Nor the gunny nor any of the Marines. They know, even if Faith doesn’t, about not jumping the chain of command. On the other hand, we’re a mix of civilian and military. And while the military personnel have, in general, not spoken to me of it, I’ve been getting an earful from the civilian side. I was even told there was some sort of message from this Zumwald character. And since I had a previously scheduled meeting with her, I counseled her on this indiscretion as well. Would you care to give me your version?”
“Lieutenant Smith was asked by Mr. Zumwald to get him a drink,” Wilkes said. “She responded with physical violence. I counseled her on conduct unbecoming of an officer and, when she reacted with foul language, on disrespect to a superior officer, sir, and I’ll stand by that position. Sir.”
“I agree that her actions were unbecoming, Captain,” Steve said mildly. “She really should have resolved it with less force. Which I told her as well as a strong lecture on respect to a superior officer. On the other hand, Captain, Mr. Zumwald physically accosted her, grabbing her arm and, when she protested, called her a bitch. Were you aware of that, Captain?”
“She did say something about it, sir,” Wilkes said. “However . . .”
“I also understand that you spent some time with Mr. Zumwald afterwards,” Steve said. “Rather late. Did you at any time express to Mr. Zumwald that accosting any woman, much less an officer of . . . what was it? ‘The United States Naval services’ was unacceptable behavior, Captain?”
“Sir,” Wilkes said. “Mr. Zumwald is a major Hollywood executive—”
“Was,” Steve said.
“Excuse me, sir?” Wilkes said.
“Was a major Hollywood executive,” Steve said. “Right now, Ernest Zumwald, Captain, is a fucking refugee off a fucking lifeboat. Period fucking dot. He’s given a few days grace, like most refugees, to get his headspace and timing back, then he can decide if he wants to help out or go in with the sick, lame and lazy. And in this case he’s a fucking refugee who thinks it’s acceptable to accost some unknown chick and tell her to get him a fucking drink. Grab her by the arm and, when she tells him to let go, become verbally abusive.
“What makes the situation worse, Captain, is that the person he accosted was not just any passing young hotty but a Marine officer. He did not know that at the time; the Marine officer was dressed much like other women in the compartment. However, he does not have the right to grab any woman in my care by the fucking arm and order them to get him a fucking drink, Captain! Then, to make matters worse, following the incident, Captain, you spent the entire fucking evening getting drunk with a fucktard who had physically and verbally assaulted a female Marine officer! You dumbshit.”
“Sir, I . . .” Wilkes said, paling.
“And not just any Marine officer, oh, no,” Steve said. “Forget that it was the daughter of the Acting LANTFLEET. Forget that it was the daughter of your fucking rating officer, you retard. I’m professional enough to overlook that. I really am. There’s personal and professional, and I do actually know the line. Except that it was, professionally, a disgraceful action on your part, Captain. But not just any Marine officer, Captain. No, this was a Marine officer that, unlike you, is fucking worshipped by your Marines, Captain. This is a Marine officer that the acting commandant thinks only uses boats so her boots don’t get wet walking from ship to ship. This is a Marine officer who is the only fucking light in the darkness to the entire squadron, you dumbfuck!
“I’d already gotten the scuttlebutt that you were a palace prince pogue who was a cowardly disgrace to the Marine uniform, Captain. I was willing to let that slide because maybe you could run the fucking clearance from the fucking door. But you just pissed off every fucking Marine we’ve got, you idiot. You incredible dumbfuck, moron!
“In case you hadn’t noticed, you are getting cold-shouldered by everyone you work with for brown-nosing some fucking useless POS who used to ‘be somebody.’ ‘Your’ Marines are spitting on your shadow and that includes your fucking Gunnery Sergeant! Captain, am I getting through to you? Are you even vaguely recognizing how badly you fucked up? Professionally, politically, personally?”
“Sir . . . I stand by my statement that Lieutenant Smith’s conduct was unbecoming and . . .”
“Already agreed, Captain,” Steve said. “And if you can get your head out of your fourth point of contact, in general, I’d appreciate you taking her under your wing and giving her some actual guidance on how to act like a Marine officer. Assuming you know. Because this is my official verbal counseling statement, Captain.
“You failed to stand up for a fellow Marine. And a Marine officer! So you could shove your nose up the ass of some dork who used to make movies and listen to him ramble on about stars! Your failure to protect the reputation and person of a fellow Marine officer over a ‘major Hollywood executive’ has reduced what little trust your subordinates have in you and has raised questions as to your conduct and honor as a Marine officer. Not just in the mind of a jumped-up Naval captain. The incident, which I had investigated by several sources, was discussed with higher level command, and Colonel Ellington and General Brice are in agreement that it has raised questions as to your value as an asset in this operation. Furthermore, your failure to move forward to observe operations as well as your near inability to step into this compartment has raised and continues to raise questions as to your personal courage, which is an absolute requirement of a Marine officer.”
“Sir, I formally protest any questions about my courage, sir!” Wilkes said hotly.
“Then take your fucking Barbie gun forward,” Steve said. “And, Captain, that’s not a request, that’s a fucking order. The specific order is, you, Captain Wilkes, will spend the rest of the day under the direction, not command but direction, of Lieutenant Smith, who will instruct you in the methods and means of infected clearance. Because, Captain, she is your number one expert at heavy clearance.”
“Sir . . .” Wilkes said.
“Again, not a request, Captain,” Steve said. “She trained the fucking Gunny at how to do clearance, Captain. You can God damned well listen to her. You’ve been telling people they should move faster. Possibly that’s the case. But you don’t really know what’s happening up front, do you? Because you’ve been staying as far away from zombies as you can get. Well, you’re done staying away from zombies, Captain. Gunny Sands can manage the flow of material. Lieutenant Fontana will manage personnel distribution. You will go fight zombies. As of now. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Wilkes said. “But, sir . . .”
“What is it about ‘go fight zombies’ you don’t understand, Captain?” Steve said tiredly.
“Sir . . . I’m out of qualification on my M4, sir,” Wilkes said reluctantly.
“Okay,” Steve said, drawing a breath of foul air. “Captain, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt. That is either the lamest excuse to avoid combat I’ve ever heard, or you’re actually saying you haven’t dotted an I and crossed a T in a zombie apocalypse!”
* * *
“Hey, Ernest,” Isham said, waving at a chair. “Have a seat.”
“Tha
nks,” the former executive said. “So you’re the number two guy? Where’s this Smith character? I need to talk to him.”
“Over on the Love Boat,” Isham said. “Checking on the clearance operations. So, you getting your head back into shape?”
“Well, except for that incident last night,” Zumwald said angrily. “According to Milo, that bitch was a Marine. He said he’d talked to her, but she needs to be charged with assault.”
“And that’s what we’re here to talk about,” Isham said. “According to more than one witness, you grabbed her arm and told her to get you a drink.”
“That’s no excuse for trying to choke me to death,” Zumwald snapped.
“Shewolf wasn’t trying to choke you to death,” Isham said, chuckling and waving a hand. “If Shewolf wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” He held up his hand to forestall a reply.
“You work with people,” Isham said. “You know working the politics of Hollywood. Let me just give you a little brief, okay? Some information you need. Okay? About the politics of this little hellhole called Wolf Squadron.”
“Okay,” Zumwald said, crossing his arms. “But that bitch is fucking nuts.”
“Yes,” Isham said, nodding. “Yes, she is. She is totally fucking bonkers. So’s her dad. You read that little pamphlet?”
“The one about ‘Welcome to Wolf Squadron’?” Zumwald said. “Read it. It could use a rewrite.”
“Maybe,” Isham said. “But here’s the thing. The chick you accosted last night? That was Lieutenant Faith Smith. AKA Shewolf. Boss’s daughter.”
“Oh, crap,” Zumwald said, shaking his head. “I guess that throws getting her charged with assault out the window.”
“Bit more than that,” Isham said. “The reason you’re talking to me instead of Steve is he was ready to throw you off the boat. Into the harbor I mean. The one with all the man-eating sharks. And here’s the part you probably aren’t going to get real easily. He’d have felt the same way if you grabbed any of the little bobsies running around the saloon.”
