by John Ringo
“Point, sir,” Wilkes said, shrugging.
“We’ll put that on the to-do list on the crossing,” Steve said. “At least get it surveyed. If it’s working, do you think it would make an okay trainer?”
“Want to learn to fly a chopper, sir?” Wilkes said.
“We’re going to need a buttload of chopper pilots at some point, Captain,” Steve said. “And airframe mechanics and all the rest. After we clear Gitmo, you’ll definitely be turning in the rifle to start working on that program. But that’s for later. Lieutenant Chen’s concept has merit. So, Chen, look for fast ocean-going boats with range as well. And, yes, some source of gasoline for them.”
“Tools, parts, fittings . . .” Isham said. “Seriously, Captain, I’m going to need some help, here.”
“I’ll find you some,” Steve said.
“I could really use . . .” He paused and frowned and looked at Faith for a second. “You know, Zumwald is an asshole and I know he’s on your shit list. But he’s really underutilized.”
“I kind of like that he’s in charge of cleaning our gear,” Faith said. “Serves him right. Sir.”
“Your point is worth considering,” Steve said. “Okay, Marine Corps Ball, continue clearance on Sierra Two. USCG personnel to shift to classes on small boat operations for available personnel. LitClear to go, well, LitClear and collect said vessels. Work on an expansion plan for an unknown number of small boats. Chen, you’ve got about ten days, tops. All clearance to be complete by last week of November. We pull out November twentieth. All clear?”
“Got it, sir,” Isham said. “And get me some more staff.”
“I’ll work on that,” Steve said.
CHAPTER 18
Freedom is not free, but the U.S. Marine Corps will pay most of your share.
Ned Dolan
“I’m totally freaking out!” Faith said, adjusting her uniform as she approached the doors to the ballroom. She’d been informed as the “junior Marine” she had to give the toast and was, therefore, required to be in uniform. Her beautiful dress was relegated to the closet. Worse, all she had was MarCam.
“You’ll be fine,” Olga said.
“Easy for you to say!” Faith said. “You get to wear girl clothes!”
“Take a deep breath,” Olga said, hand on the door. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Faith said.
* * *
“Do you think you could increase your father’s knowledge base, Lieutenant?” Steve said at breakfast the next morning.
“I’ll try, Da,” Faith said, holding her hand up to her face. She was wearing oversized glasses and make-up, which was unusual to say the least. And she didn’t seem to want to move her hand away from the left side of her face.
“Is there a reason that the gunnery sergeant is sporting one hell of a shiner?” Steve asked.
“What happens at the Ball, stays at the Ball, Da,” Faith said, chewing carefully. . . .
CHAPTER 19
They got the Library of Alexandria. They’re not getting mine.
Bumper sticker (with quote flanked
by silhouettes of pistol and rifle)
“Hey, Ernest,” Steve said as Zumwald tentatively entered his office. “Grab a chair. I understand you’re a scotch drinker?” He laid out two glasses and pulled out a bottle.
“So what’s this? Last drink before you put me on a desert island?” Zumwald said, picking up the glass and sniffing it. “Strathclyde? Where’d you get Strathclyde?”
“My daughter Sophia clears a lot of ships,” Steve said. “I mentioned that. There’s always booze left. Zombies don’t drink it. Cheers, mate,” Steve said, taking a sip. “By the way, is it Ernest or do you prefer to be called something else? I doubt, sincerely, it’s Ernie.”
“Nobody’s called me Ernie since I was in grade school,” Zumwald said. “Ernest, usually.”
“Cheers, Ernest,” Steve said.
“Seriously, why are you being nice to me?” Zumwald asked. “What do you want?”
“It’s like any abusive relationship,” Steve said. “I smacked you around, at least emotionally, you did what I needed you to do, and you did it well according to the gunny. Now I’m being nice.”
“As long as I keep doing what you need, right?” Zumwald said, chuckling. “Seriously, you should have been in my industry. What, you need a movie done?”
“No,” Steve said, then frowned. “And, yes. But there’s a kid who used to do documentaries, small things, and he’s working on that. This is history in the making. I’m not . . . I’m not a narcissist. But that’s the reality. At least if we manage to keep the ball rolling. Which is why, yeah, I’ll slap you around or feed you good scotch, whatever it takes, if I need something to keep that ball rolling.”
“So what balls do you need rolled?” Zumwald asked.
“You got someone who can take over the whole gear thing?” Steve asked.
“I didn’t get the pick of the litter,” Zumwald said balefully. “But, yeah, I got somebody who can probably handle running it. Do I get a reprieve, finally?”
“I only ever saw that as both something I needed done and something that you’d do well but still hate,” Steve said. “And as I said, you’ve managed it well. Even though, yeah, you got the bottom of the barrel to do it. This is different. We’re going to be closing out the liner clearance in about a week. Then we’ll do some reconfiguration. After that, we’re going to cross the Atlantic. Isham’s been looking at the logistics of that and it’s going to be tough. And he’s buried in the day-to-day and can’t concentrate on planning it.”
“So you want me to plan it?” Zumwald said. “What’s in it for me?”
“You get to quit being a washing girl?” Steve said. “There’s not a lot in the way of really good staff available but you get your pick of that. As for the rest, we’ll figure something out. This is . . . what was that movie, Ben Stiller thing about some movie that was being made in the jungle . . .”
“Tropic Thunder?” Zumwald said, frowning. “What a crock.”
“I’d wondered if you were the original for Les Grossman,” Steve said, grinning.
“No, I wasn’t,” Zumwald said. “And Cruise can bite my ass.”
“He’s probably a zombie at this point,” Steve said. “Still, the point remains. This is the deal zone. What do you want? And don’t say, ‘the world back the way it was.’ Nobody can do that.”
“What is there?” Zumwald said. “I mean, really? What I’d like is a steak.”
“Don’t we all,” Steve said, grinning. “You’ll get the top ration level. Lieutenant equivalency. Isham’s still only a lieutenant and I can’t really put you ahead of him. But it’s the same stuff I eat. I’m thinking of sending one of the boats up to do a lobster run to Bermuda. But we’ll at least have that once we reach the Caribbean. And the same on booze ration. Which means by the bottle, which I happen to know you’ve already been arranging. But you can just hit the Class Six for it. And the good stuff when available,” he added, raising his still barely touched glass.
“Better accommodations?” Zumwald said. “I’m getting sick of my roommate. Fucker picks his nose. I can’t believe I have a roommate. I didn’t have a roommate in college.”
“Deluxe cabin on the Boadicea,” Steve said. “To yourself. Share a steward. Probably with Isham. I’ll see if one of the ones that’s still intact is available.”
“Reluctantly,” Zumwald said. “It’s not exactly the Ritz.”
“I just realized the other day that I’m running a commune,” Steve said. “Which is odd since I loathe communism.”
“What?” Zumwald said. “Sort of out of the blue, there.”
“Not really,” Steve said, musingly. “I’m sort of puzzled by it myself. But the overall drive is from everyone according to his ability, to everyone according to their needs. More like classic Soviet economy, though. For example, I’m offering you the equivalent of a better apartment and access to the good stores to run some stuff that I don’
t want to be bothered with. You get the similarity?”
“Yeah,” Zumwald said. “And they made lousy films.”
“Oh, they made lousy everything,” Steve said, chuckling. “But the military has a lot of similarities. Another fact I realized the other night. In the military you get relatively little pay and some generalized living support, not much, for what is really seriously lousy work. You’ve seen the results. Then there’s the guys running the ships, the cooks . . . It’s really a communism but there’s a reason that it works. And that this works, sort of. Where you from, Ernest? Where’s home?”
“I’ve lived in L.A. most of my life,” Zumwald said, staring at him like he was wondering if Smith had lost it. “But really the City’s home.”
“Where?” Steve asked. “The City is many cities in one.”
“Brooklyn,” Zumwald said.
“Family?” Steve asked.
“I got the word that’s not something to talk about, mostly,” Zumwald said. “Slew of greedy ex-wives. No kids. Got myself fixed after my first close call.”
“You like New York?” Steve said. “It’s pretty clear you’re all about number one. But is it something you miss?”
“Yeah,” Zumwald admitted after a few moments. “Yeah. I do. What’s your point?”
“We saw the bridges fall,” Steve said, looking out the window at the relatively pleasant harbor. If you ignored the fins. “We were in New York harbor, the Hudson, as a back-up plan for my brother. We went to the last concert in New York city, in Washington Square Park. They had the final blackout that night. The concert had generators for its lights. The infected closed in. We figured it was time to leave.”
“I went to NYU,” Zumwald said. “I spent a lot of time in Washington Square Park once upon a time. Hell, I was beat up in a peace protest in Washington Square Park.”
“I wouldn’t have pictured you as a peace activist,” Steve said, grinning. “That’s a little too altruistic.”
“Ah, there was this chick,” Zumwald said, shrugging. “Nearly ex number one. I got out after the beating and finished my film degree. Did a couple of, yeah, documentaries about the horrors of capitalism. Then I realized the money was in doing the background work and went to the dark side. Never looked back.” He shrugged again. “What’s your point?”
“Want to walk in Washington Square Park again?” Steve asked. “No Tyvek suit. No mask. No zombies. No guns?”
“Good luck,” Zumwald said. “You’re not going to do that with thirty marines and some chick thinks she’s Arnie. ‘Hasta la vista, zombies.’ ”
“No, I’m not,” Steve said, leaning forward. “It’s going to take a huge force. It’s going to take thousands and thousands of people sacrificing their time and effort and intelligence to push that ball. It’s going to take hundreds, thousands, of troops. And for every combat troop it’s going to take ten people supporting them. And that’s going take really smart, skilled, organizers. It’s going to take one hell of an organization.
“Once we get the subs opened up, there are going to be a slew of those guys. But they’re all military. They’re . . . narrow on certain processes and concepts. It’s going to take a lot of people, Ernest, to clear New York to the point where kids can run free in Washington Square Park. The question is, Ernest, whether you want to be part of that? I mean, seriously, what do you really want? Who are you?”
“What I want, yeah, you can’t give me,” Ernest said. “I want my fucking corner office, my fucking PA, a thousand people running around like a kicked ant-hill if I’m having a bad day. And the parties, and my mansion and the women and, yeah, the coke. You can’t give me all that back.”
“I can get you the corner office and the PA,” Steve said. “Eventually. Assuming I can get done what I’ve said I will get done. And so far, so good. We’ve got over two thousand people in six months when we started with four. We cleared a supermax in a week where it had taken three. We’ve got a shot at getting vaccine for the sub crews. I’ve got a concept to clear the mainland. It’s going to take one hell of a lot more people than we’re going to find in Gitmo or crossing the Atlantic, but it’s a plan. And it’s going to need managers. And, yeah, that plan includes clearing New York. And DC and all the big cities. Not because anybody can really live in them, but they’re going to be in the way. All the logistics run through them. And they’re emotional targets. Hell, I even plan to clear L.A. some day. You can at least go back to your mansion and get your stuff.”
“So what’s this plan?” Zumwald said, interested. “Because you’re talking about the fucking United States. It takes four and a half hours to fly across in a 747. Bit less than four in a G. It’s pretty fucking big.”
“I don’t talk about plans until I’m sure they’re possible,” Steve said. “But I’ll give you one for New York. You saw the mechanical clearers, right?”
“This is Tenerife, buddy,” Zumwald said, laughing. “You’re going to need a shit-load of those to clear New York.”
“Hell, by the time we get to New York, we’re going to have to have thousands,” Steve said. “And a factory, probably in the Miami commercial port, churning them out. Not to mention dozens of barge derricks to put them into place. Guess who I plan on putting in charge of the factory?”
“Not me I hope,” Zumwald said. “Although Miami’s not a bad place. How the hell you going to really clear it, though? The zombies are only going to walk so far to get to the traps.”
“Like I said,” Steve said. “I don’t talk about the whole idea until I’m sure it’s going to work. And, not you: Isham. He knows manufacturing. He had a manufacturing company. One of the reasons I recruited him in Bermuda. Because I knew what I wanted to do back then. But I can clear New York. Make it zombie free? No. But close enough. I can let you walk in Washington Square Park. I can give you back Brooklyn. But it will take you working for it, too.”
“You’ll do it anyway,” Zumwald said, shrugging. “You said so.”
“It’ll be easier with people who know how to organize,” Steve said, steepling his fingers. “You’re a test. How do I motivate people to help me achieve these goals who used to have everything? And who had everything because they’re good at organization. You’re about as selfish a person as I’m going to find. Most really selfish people died from this Plague because humans can’t survive without other humans to help them. If I can find your levers, then it’s potentially possible to, yeah, clear New York and DC and the Hole and, hell, the West Coast. So, do you want to be the King of Flatbush?”
“Not Flatbush,” Zumwald said, snorting. “Please. Riverside if anything.”
“Okay, Riverside.”
“You’re just going to give me Riverside?” Zumwald said, snorting again. “Like you’ve got that power?”
“By then, yes,” Steve said. “There will have to be a way to redistribute resources. All of it, no. Most of it, yes. Can I absolutely promise that? No. If I have the authority when that time comes, you get all the property in Riverside not held by survivors or people with provenance.”
“Seriously?” Zumwald said.
“Seriously,” Steve said. “I don’t want to live there. And there aren’t going to be many people surviving in those mansions. There may have to be some lag period to vestment. Some of the owners may have fled elsewhere and survived. But when the vestment period lapses, it’s all yours.”
“You’re just going to give people land?” Zumwald said.
“Somebody is going to have to,” Steve said. “When Ohio was originally settled, the plots that were granted were about ten square miles per homesteader. One of the reasons it was so easy to colonize, by the way, was that it was well maintained by Native American tribes who had been wiped out by, guess what, plague. There will be scavengers before we’re done clearing Miami. Distributing salvage will be one of the tough parts of this job at that point. As will enforcing it.”
“That’s assuming you can clear it,” Zumwald said. “And you’re still a bit
cadgy about that.”
“Yes, I am,” Steve said. “It’s going to be a massive endeavor. And most areas the best that we’ll be able to achieve is something like La Puntilla. There aren’t many infected. You can move around if you’re armed and know how to use a weapon.”
“That makes the property a little less attractive,” Zumwald said.
“Oh, think, Ernest,” Steve snapped. “You’re smart. Apply your brain. You want it cleared out? You hire a salvage company that has some specific rights. They have the guns. They clear it out for some of the salvage. It’s not hard.”
“And if they turn on me?” Zumwald said, sourly.
“That is actually what government is for, Ernest,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Enforcement of contract law. That is, at base, pretty much its entire purpose. Everything else just gets ladled on by idiots.”
“That’s not communism,” Zumwald said.
“I said I’m running a commune now,” Steve said. “Free market will kick in pretty quick once we’re not stuck on these boats. Hell, it already has. There’s trading going on. People think it’s black market. I think it’s great. I just need to figure out, again, what is and is not workable. Not ‘legal’ or illegal. Just workable. So contracts can be enforced by the government and not black marketeers. I’m a free market guy. Just doesn’t work when we’re all still on the ragged edge. Then it’s tyranny and, yeah, communism. Or something like it. We’ll get to free market. But we’re not going to see L.A., or New York, as you remember it, any time soon. Not in our lifetime. Not in our great-grandchildren’s.”
“Yeah,” Zumwald said.
“So, returning to the original issue,” Steve said. “I need someone to do the pre-planning for our next float. And future missions. If you take the job, you’ll start working with Isham today. You’ll need to get a basis for what’s required. Then build a plans and ops team and figure out the float. For which you won’t have much time.”
