To Sail a Darkling Sea

by John Ringo

  It was ten AM but she’d had a late night partying with the Marines. Even Faith had finally gotten into the act. Which sort of pissed Sophia off since Faith was a way better dancer. And she could drink better than Sophia, who had been practicing for God’s sake.

  The new crewman was both fairly good-looking for an older guy and oddly . . . unnoticeable. He should have been sunburned after going from a compartment to the nautical course but instead was just starting to brown. Eyes so blue they were nearly black, grey-shot black hair and she could look him in the eye standing up which meant he was short as hell for a guy. There was something about him she couldn’t put a finger on. She’d been raised to be a paranoid and compared to most of her generation she was. But in this case what should have triggered paranoia, “something odd,” was instead triggering a feeling of . . . relief? She had the oddest feeling that the man, unnoticeable though he might be, was going to be a real asset.

  * * *

  “I’m a quick study, ma’am,” Walker said. He was trying not to laugh at the situation.

  “The only question I’ve got is can you take orders from a fifteen-year-old?” the girl said, looking up finally. “According to this, you’ve also got some civilian shooting experience and you’re a vet. Which is great. But I’ve been fighting this damned war since the last sign of civilization fell. So can you, will you, do what you’re told when a fifteen-year-old girl tells you to do it?”

  “There was a saying in the Army, ma’am,” Walker said. “Respect the rank, not the person. But you have been doing this job the whole time and you’re still alive and sane. So I respect both. And I’ve taken orders from people younger than myself. Yes, I’ll follow your orders, ma’am.”

  “Sorry,” The ensign said, shrugging. “We got a guy came down with the prize crews and he did not have that attitude. Which was why I pitched him off my boat as soon as we got back. There can only be one captain on a boat. And they took most of my crew down in Gulmar. They’d been with me for months. Paula and Patrick went back to when Dad kicked me off the Tina’s Toy to take over a boat. I’m not handling the transition very well. But . . . welcome aboard the Bella Señorita.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Thomas said. He really was trying not to chuckle that he was now working for one of the youngest officers in the DoD. One of the youngest in history if his recollection was correct.

  “If I may ask a question, ma’am?”

  “We don’t usually stand on that much ceremony, Walker,” The ensign said. “But go.”

  “Aren’t you one of the youngest officers in Navy history?”

  “There was a fourteen-year-old probationary third in the War of Eighteen Twelve,” the skipper said. “But my sister has him beat. There hasn’t been one younger than sixteen since. That young was more of a British Navy thing. They had a twelve-year-old Lieutenant put in charge of a prize crew during the Napoleonic Wars from what one of the Limeys told me. That kid had to be peeing his short pants. But, yes, my sister and I are sort of throw-backs. Da points out that this is also the smallest and most desperate the Navy’s been since the War of Eighteen Twelve.”

  “A valid point,” Walker said. “But historically interesting.”

  “We are living history,” The ensign said, shrugging. “Each and every one of us. The founding fathers and mothers of a new nation. Which Da points out at every opportunity. Usually adding ‘conceived in liberty’ although we’re pretty much all stuck in conditions of tyranny. The next step is meet the rest of the crew. We also have a new quote engineer coming aboard. We’ll see how that works out. And Olga is staying aboard, thank God. That much I insisted on.”

  “Olga?” Walker asked.

  “Seaman Apprentice, just promoted, Olga Zelenova,” the skipper said. “She’s from Chicago, sort of. Ukrainian by birth but grew up in the States. She . . . can take some getting used to. Guys usually sort of drop their jaws and follow her around with their tongues out. But she’s actually pretty good at clearance. I got her the promotion ’cause she was one of the few people I could trust at my back. And she can drive the boat well enough to stand watch and she doesn’t mind doing the chores. Now if I could just get us a real cook.”

  “I’m an okay cook, ma’am,” Walker said.

  “I’m not bad,” The ensign said. “Neither is Olga. But I’d like more or less a full-time cook. We’re going to be doing pretty much continuous operations and I’d rather have someone handling the galley who has just that job. It’s not what they’re saying we need. I don’t think they’re right. So I’m going to grab a bottle of hooch and go wheedle HR. Olga!”

  “Mon Capitan?” Olga said, popping her head up from below. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Much.”

  The girl was wearing bikini top and shorts. Tom successfully managed not to leer. It was tough, but he managed. The knife scars were rather surprising though, especially given that they were too old to have happened because of the apocalypse.

  “This is Tom Walker,” The ensign said. “Show him around the boat. I’m going to go see if I can scrounge up a cook.”

  “Will do,” Olga said. “Hello, Tom, welcome to the Bella Señorita.”

  “Between the captain and the clearance specialist, the boat is well named,” Tom said. “Before we take the cook’s tour: Ma’am, I met your father the other night.”

  “Was Da his normal charming self?” the skipper asked.

  “He was,” Walker said. “However, it was an interesting subject. Why sometimes doing things . . . off the books was better than officially.”

  “Basis of Da’s master’s thesis,” the ensign said. “Your point?”

  “The compartment I was in included two Indonesian waitresses,” Walker said. “One of them, Batari, was also a cook. She’s currently doing forensic cleaning. But I’m sure I could persuade her to join us. Several issues: She hasn’t been through the nautical course. The answer to that is she practically grew up in a galley. Her father had a fishing boat in Indonesia. Issue: She’s pregnant.”

  “By you?” the skipper asked.

  “I believe the phrase is, ‘what happens in the compartment stays in the compartment,’ ” Walker said. “There were four other males in the compartment. The best I can say is possibly, I’d lean so far as ‘probably,’ and there was no rape involved.”

  “Lucky her,” Olga said.

  “So what are you saying?” the ensign said. “Go steal her?”

  “I understand boat crews get to scrounge more or less at will,” Walker said. “I think she’d prefer that to working for chits on one of the ships. Who is going to say I can’t bring her over to the boat? I doubt anyone’s going to miss one Indonesian cook.”

  “How pregnant?” Olga asked.

  “About six months,” Walker said.

  “Fast work,” The ensign said. “That sounds a bit like rape.”

  “There wasn’t much to do in the compartment, ma’am,” Walker said. “You can ask her if you’d like. She speaks a bit of English. And I know where to find her this evening. That way you don’t have to waste your time wheedling HR.”

  “I didn’t really have time for it anyway,” The ensign said. “We’re getting flotilla assignments this afternoon and having a meeting on the crossing. Okay, if you think you can scrounge a cook this evening, great. I’m all for it. And if she’s anything like Sari, Da’s cook, all the better.”

  “So do I still get to show him around the boat?” Olga asked. “He’s cute. And he’s small. I bet he can fit in all sorts of spaces in the engine room.”

  “She’s mostly a flirt,” The ensign said. “Mostly.”

  “After you, Miss Seaman,” Walker said, gesturing for her to precede him. “That way I can watch your butt while ignoring what you’re saying.”

  “I zeenk I zee the beginning of zee beautiful relationship,” Olga said.

  “Vos yeux sont de la couleur de la mer du Nord,” Walker replied.

  “Oooo,” Olga said. “It speaks French.”

&nbs
p; “It also speaks Ukrainian so I can know what you’re saying about me in your sleep,” Walker said.

  “No hanky panky till I see if the new engineer is a prick,” The ensign said.

  * * *

  The new engineer was a Filipino female.

  “Celementina Rosamaria Starshine Sagman,” the girl said, shaking Sophia’s hand. “At your service, ma’am.”

  “You’re a mechanic?” Sophia asked. She didn’t look like a mechanic. She looked like a China doll and younger than Sophia. Her documents said twenty but the ensign was having a hard time believing them. And she was, unsurprisingly, pregnant. So much for that being an issue.

  “My father was a mechanic, si,” Sagman said. “I grew up in the shop. I was a maid on the Festival. But I am a good mechanic.”

  “Scores are high,” Sophia said. She was starting to wonder if Da was pulling strings in that regard. Walker’s scores had been through the roof. “Is that going to be an issue?” she asked, gesturing awkwardly at the young woman’s round belly.

  “I will perform my duties, ma’am,” Celementina said. “I have been working with it already. This is not . . .” She shrugged. “I am Filipino, ma’am. We don’t have the same attitude about it that some women have.”

  “American?” Sophia said. “Or Western in general?”

  “I was not meaning to be offensive, ma’am,” Celementina said.

  “I get your point,” Sophia said. “In the U.S. we’d say ‘suck it up and drive on.’ I guess Filipino women just . . . do. Okay. ROWPU is running slow. See if you can get it figured out. I’ve asked for a replacement but there aren’t any with the same capacity. At least that they’re willing to give up. It’s probably the filters but that’s just a guess. And we don’t have any spare ROWPU filters. So . . . try to figure it out. Once we start at-sea clearance, if there is any at-sea clearance, we might be able to find a new one or some filters. But for now, we need this one working. Tanking water is a pain.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the mechanic said. “Are there tools?”

  “Pat should have left most of his,” Sophia said. “And, again, if not wheedle, beg or borrow. We could maybe go raid one of the liners. That’s how we roll.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Celementina said. “I am used to this.”

  “And I’m off to a meeting,” Sophia said. “Walker!”

  “In the engine room, ma’am,” Walker yelled back.

  “Grab the inflatable,” Sophia yelled. “You’re running me over to the Bo.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Walker said.

  * * *

  “Ma’am,” the mate said on the way over to the liner. The inflatable was a twenty-five-foot Brig Eagle center console. It had the name “Anarchy” written on the side in flowing script. “Since I’m here, mind if I go try to find Batari?”

  “The cook?” Sophia said. “No time like the present. We could definitely use a full-time cook.”

  “I shall endeavor to provide, ma’am,” Walker said. “When should I pick you up?”

  “They’ll radio the boat,” Sophia said. “Should be at least two hours. Probably more. You’ll know when all the other boats start flocking around.”

  The floating dock of the Boadicea was crowded with boats. It took some time to get the ensign to the dock.

  “Be available in two hours, max,” Sophia said.

  “Roger, ma’am,” Walker replied. “I’ll wait for some of this to clear down to board.”

  “See you in a few,” Sophia said.

  * * *

  The meeting was in the theater and there was a seating chart. The flotilla and division commanders were down front and the boat captains were to the rear, port, organized by boat names, alphabetically. The Marine contingent was starboard along with engineering and support. She found her seat and chuckled. Each of the seats had a yellow pad, clipboard and a pen on them. Just in case the attendees forgot they’d need to take notes.

  She sat down and looked at the skipper next to her. He was an older guy she didn’t know. There were getting to be more and more people she didn’t know, which was encouraging.

  “Ensign Sophia Smith,” she said, offering her hand. “Bella Señorita.”

  “James Dave Back,” the captain said, shaking her hand. “Bare Naked.”

  “I hope that’s the name of your boat and not a Freudian slip,” Sophia said, chuckling.

  “I was told it had become tradition not to rename your boat,” Back said. “So, yes, boat name.”

  “That’s probably my fault,” Sophia said. “At least in part. I used that as an excuse to keep the name ‘No Tan Lines’ on my second boat.”

  “Second?” Back said.

  “I’m on my third,” Sophia said. “The first was a thirty-five and they retired it. Then I had a mechanical out-and-away on the lines and there was this sweet ninety-footer just aching for a new crew . . .”

  “Wait,” Back said. “Smith? Seawolf Smith?”

  “Don’t let my sister’s stories fool you,” Sophia said. “She liiies.”

  “Quiet down,” Isham said up front. “Time to get this started . . .” He paused as the murmur of conversation continued.

  “AT EASE!” Gunny Sands boomed.

  “Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant,” Isham said. “Welcome to the first full captain’s meeting of the Wolf Squadron. My name, in case you don’t know me, is Lieutenant Commander Jack Isham. I’m the squadron Chief of Staff. A small smattering of applause is welcome since I got promoted this morning.”

  “Oh, he’s going to be insufferable for the next couple of weeks,” Sophia said, clapping politely.

  “Know him?” Back asked.

  “Loathe him,” Sophia said, smiling. “Capable. Real ass.”

  “There are a series of promotions to announce before we begin since they affect the management of the upcoming crossing,” Isham said. “Hold your applause on these, we have to get through this meeting as quickly as possible. Chen, Zachary, Lieutenant Commander, USNR. That’s a permanent position, Zack, approved by the NCCC. Not frocked as the Navy says. Garman, Charles, Lieutenant Commander, USNR. Kuzma, Robert, Lieutenant Commander, USCG. Volpe, Michael, Captain, USMC. Paris, Elizabeth, Lieutenant, USNR . . .”

  Sophia knew all of them and wanted to applaud every one. She found herself trying not to cry.

  “You okay?” Back asked.

  “These are all great people,” Sophia said, sniffling. “Just . . . great people. I’m so happy for th—”

  “Smith, Sophia, Ensign, USNR . . .”

  “What?” Sophia said.

  “Oh, HELL yeah!” a voice shouted. This time, there was applause.

  “I thought . . .” Sophia said, sliding down in her chair. “I thought they were going to wait.”

  “No time, people!” Isham said, holding up his hands. “Besides, there’s only one more to go . . .”

  He waited for the buzz to die down then looked at his list. Sophia knew he was trying not to growl. And why.

  “Smith, Faith Marie, Second Lieutenant, USMC.”

  When the cheering had died down, Isham said, “And now the reason for the promotions, besides being well deserved.” He brought up a PowerPoint slide. “This is the overall manning of the squadron. As of this morning, we have seven ships and sixty-three auxiliary craft, which is what the smaller motor yachts are now being called. Since that means that Lieutenant Commander Chen, for example, was handling twenty-seven boats in his ‘flotilla,’ that has now been changed to a wing. There will be three flotillas in Wing Alpha . . .”

  Sophia automatically looked for her name in the chart and found it: Commander, Division 7, Flotilla Four.

  “Oh . . . shit.”

  * * *

  “Flotilla Four,” Isham said. “North Wing. You are entirely response boats. The primary search vessels will be submarines. Each division will be assigned to one sub, spread out so as to act as a secondary search group. Each boat will have at least one Navy clearance specialist and the division command
boat will have a Marine clearance team as well. Captain Volpe will be in overall charge of your Marines. You’ll change subs during rotation. Stay back from the subs. Two reasons. One, we don’t want them getting contaminated. Two, their radar turns out to be about as powerful as their sonar. They said something about ‘having kids with two heads’ if you got too close. They’ll be scanning by periscope and radar but they’ll only have about ten to twenty miles on visual, depending. You need to maintain a good watch at all times . . .”

  * * *

  “There will be not a pass in review but a group photo taken prior to leaving harbor. Uniform is NavCam, MarPat or work blues, for Navy, Marines or Coast Guard, respectively and as to civilians, you can wear the usual riot of colors . . .”

  * * *

  “Last item,” Isham said. “Awards. By orders of the Joint Chiefs, who had to remind our glorious commander that there were such things, award recommendations were circulated among the officers of the squadron. These were reviewed at squadron level. Some were either increased or decreased. I’m given to understand that in the past, virtually any award recommendation was automatically downgraded. That’s not what happened. We don’t know how the JCS made their decisions but most stood. Some were upgraded. None were downgraded.”

  There was a bit of a buzz at that, mostly from the professionals explaining the concept to the newbies.

  “We’ve all been here a long time and because of the number of actions that have taken place, there is a stack, literally, of these to go through. So quiet down. Two additional notes. The NCCC, being a civilian, can give purely civilian awards. Several civilians are up for awards as well . . .”

  “Is there a bump in pay?” someone shouted.

  “Ah, there is why some people stay civilians,” Isham said. “And no. Second item. The Congress of the United States has to approve new awards other than campaign ribbons. The DoD can on its own create new skills badges. The difference is a designated skill versus a particular action. One notable skill badge, so I am told, is the Combat Infantryman’s Badge. The Marines don’t generally have many skill badges. You’re a Marine, that’s your skill. Take it or leave it. In this case, there have been two new skill badges created by the current JCS with the approval of the NCCC, which are available cross-service.