by John Ringo
“The reason that I was an interrogator was, at least in part, my Ph.D. in psychology, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “And, no, I’m not going to psychoanalyze you. We’ve far too much to do. I will compliment you, though. I had fully expected, in fact just lost some money, that you were going to go storming to your father, insisting that you keep the staff sergeant.”
“We’ll keep in touch, sir,” Faith said. “And if things change I will pull strings to get him back, sir, you can be sure of that. But he has a mission to perform. The question, sir, is do I? I mean . . . You’ve got Marine officers, now.”
“Including you, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Are you asking to be relieved of your oath over this?”
“No, sir,” Faith said. “Subject of the transfer is closed for me, sir. I’m just saying, you’ve got fully qualified and trained Marine officers. I’m not sure I’ve got a role anymore.”
“I have four, including you, Lieutenant Smith,” Hamilton said drily. “Five with Lieutenant Fontana and he’s about to be pulled off for medical support. As to ‘fully qualified,’ your job remains what it has been. Leading your men, and now women, into battle to kick the shit out of infected. The technical term is ‘duty with troops.’ Is that an issue?”
“No, sir,” Faith said.
“The roster is going to change but not entirely,” Hamilton said, looking at his computer screen. “Your new platoon sergeant will be Staff Sergeant Barnard. Squad leaders will be Sergeant Smith, whom I think you know, and Sergeant Hoag, with whom you are probably barely acquainted. Exact mission, for now, is open. Infected are cleared from the base areas. There is a meeting at 0900 tomorrow, which I understand is a brainstorming session.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“Was that, ‘yes, sir, I heard about it’ or ‘Yes, sir,’ to fill in my pause?” Hamilton asked.
“Fill in the pause, sir,” Faith said. “And I’d heard about it. Wasn’t sure whether I was attending or not.”
Hamilton just nodded.
“Know what a brainstorming session means?” Hamilton asked.
“People sit around and throw out ideas, sir,” Faith said. “I take it it’s about the lack of supplies in the hospital, sir.”
“Correct,” Hamilton said. “I’m not going to order you to keep your mouth shut. If you have a really good input, input. I am going to order you to listen. Pay attention not only to what people are saying but what they are not saying and how they are saying it or not saying it.”
“I don’t quite get you, sir,” Faith said, frowning.
“An unfortunately large percentage of an officer’s job is meetings, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “They tend to be very damned boring and very damned important at the same time. I don’t have the qualms that many do about you being a Marine officer. In fact, I think the only qualms are among the civilians. Everyone has seen you do your job, as a troop leader, and seen you do it well. From what I have picked up, you even are good at thinking ahead and anticipating problems. You let your NCOs handle what’s happening and look to the future while being, obviously, very badass in the present. All very good things in any young officer much less a my-god thirteen-year-old. I’m sort of flummoxed for what I have to teach you about combat, at least against infected. My job, therefore, is to teach you the rest of being a Marine officer. And one part of that is how to work a meeting. Which we’ll be doing tomorrow. Do you have any reports left to turn in?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “I’m about halfway through my AAR on the hospital operation.”
“Issues?” Hamilton asked.
“I’m still getting used to military report-writing procedure, sir,” Faith said. “And the report really boils down to ‘There was nobody home.’ I’m not sure how much more there is to write. I mean, I do know there is more to it than that, sir, but there’s not much. I can’t seem to find enough words to fill out a full DF.”
“Then don’t,” Hamilton said. “Write it up as you would and turn it in. You’re right. There wasn’t much more to it.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“Captain Wilkes wanted at least a thousand words?” Hamilton asked.
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“I come out of a slightly different culture,” Hamilton said. “The more information and less verbiage the better. I don’t care if it is only three lines, if it has all the information needed and avoids buzzwords. If it doesn’t, then we’ll talk.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the officers’ call, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Type it up, put it on the server. If there are any issues we’ll cover them tomorrow. Oh, and this time don’t run it past Staff Sergeant Januscheitis first.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said, gulping.
“Zero nine hundred,” Hamilton said, waving at his forehead. “Be there.”
* * *
“Congratulations on your clearance of Guantanamo, Captain,” General Brice said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Steve said in a puzzled tone. “I think the congratulations should go to Captain Wilkes, however. It was his plan and execution, General. And we’re still a bit up in the air over where to get materials for the vaccine. We’re considering a sweep of the Leeward Islands.”
“Which is critical,” Brice said. “But they’re going to need to hold in place rather than start the sweep. Or perhaps start it but not for that primary reason.”
“Ma’am?” Steve said, cautiously. “Something you haven’t been telling me?”
“Many things, Steve,” Brice said, sighing. “Many things. But not ‘keeping secrets’ from you. You said, ‘don’t joggle my elbow.’ By the same token . . . Captain, I’m looking at the world here. And there is nothing you can do for most of the world. We know where five of our supercarriers are that were at sea. Four are aground, one is sunk. Because it would be idiotic, I don’t say ‘Captain, would you mind going to the Seychelles and clearing the Carl Vinson?’ You don’t need the stress of knowing. Sorry to bring that up.”
“I understand, ma’am,” Steve said, nodding. “I would if it was even vaguely conceivable. What does that have to do with Gitmo?”
“Nothing,” Brice said. “In the same way, I decided not to say ‘clearing hell out of a small island is really important and really time critical because . . . ’ Let me just say that there is good news and better news. The good news is that we’ve found you an MD and a world-class microbiologist.”
“Where, General?” Steve asked curiously. “Walker?”
“No,” Brice said, chuckling. “His expertise is more in taking lives. The better news is that you’ve now created a condition in which she and her colleagues might be able to land.”
“Okay,” Steve said. “I’m going to admit to total confusion, ma’am.”
“Those current videos we sent of the night sky,” Brice said. “They didn’t all come from satellites . . .”
CHAPTER 9
“. . . on Abatiku atoll. If there is anyone listening. Please, we’re barely holding on . . .”
From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall
University of the South Press 2053
“Change of agenda for the meeting,” Steve said, pulling up a satellite shot of an island. All of the officers as well as Walker, Gunny Sands, Sergeant Major Barney and Chief Schmidt were present. General Brice and Dr. Dobson were attending via satellite video. “Marines and some presently unspecified Naval forces will head down to the Leeward Islands. Part of that will be to sweep for any remaining medical supplies, textbooks and so on. Part of it will be other missions. Which is the primary focus of this meeting. First, the good news. We now have a possibility of getting not only a microbiologist but several mechanical engineers, a former SEAL and, will wonders never cease, an MD.”
“Where?” Walker asked.
“Well, that is in part up to Colonel Hamilton,” Steve said. “General Brice?”
“We’ve been looking at this mission f
or some time,” General Brice said. “Mission is to thoroughly clear a small island—our suggestion on that is Anguilla in the British Leeward Islands—and then secure a golf course on that island.”
“General,” Walker said, “with the forces that we have, securing a golf course would be functionally impossible.”
“It’s not a suggestion, sir,” Brice said. “It’s more of a desperation move. And it’s not exactly ‘secure the golf-course.’ It’s ‘secure the island with focus on the golf course.’ We’re just hoping that the Dragon can hit an island.”
“Dragon?” Faith said excitedly. “They’re real?”
“The ISS resupply vessel?” Sophia asked. “I didn’t think they were personnel rated.”
“Oh,” Faith said. “Rats, I was hoping . . . Oooh, astronauts?”
“The ISS,” Colonel Hamilton said, shaking his head.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Sergeant Major Barney said.
“I thought it was evacuated, ma’am,” Faith said. “That was what we’d been told, ma’am.”
“Which was true for values of true, Lieutenant,” Brice said. “When it was impossible to return the full crew, we were holding off on mentioning that there were still five on the station. Just before the Fall, a prototype Dragon crew vehicle was shot up to the station with, well, as much in the way of supplies and parts as they could fit. But the decision was made for the crew to remain in space. The crews have reduced immune systems, along with dozens of other physical problems. Dropping them into the middle of a plague was not a good idea. Everyone hoped that . . . we’d be able to keep things under control. Get a handle on the Plague. Three returned on a Soyuz. What happened to them, and one of them was an American mission specialist, we don’t know. But five are still trapped on the station. The Dragon has never been tested for human reentry. It has been refitted for it, but . . . They’re out of time, materials, air and their last heat exchanger is about to fail. When it does, the ISS will turn into an oven. A really, really hot one.
“The problem has been, well, obvious . . .”
“A sufficiently large area sufficiently clear of infected,” Colonel Hamilton said.
“Which has people there to help them and people with vaccine,” General Brice said. “There’s an ironic aspect to this. The initial Dragon was similar to the early U.S. space missions: it was designed to land at sea and be picked up by boats. The one that was sent up as an emergency resupply and rescue vehicle was their ground landing prototype. Even if things got bad, they envisioned that someone, somewhere, would hold the land and, of course, there was no way that they could get help in an apocalypse at sea.”
“Oh, God,” Sophia said, holding her hand over her mouth and trying not to laugh.
“Yes, Ensign,” Brice said drily. “They’ve been up there for months watching the squadron build and cursing their luck. Some of those night sky videos, they provided.”
“How accurately can they land?” Walker asked.
“Much more than Soyuz, apparently,” Brice said. “They say they think they can hit the driving range on the golf course. Assuming that an untested prototype works. I’m saying secure the whole thing and set a perimeter to stay out from under—well, an untested prototype space-to-ground landing vehicle that has some pretty serious rockets it uses to land.”
“Shelley,” Walker said, shaking his head. “You’re overthinking it.”
“Oh?” Brice said. “Sorry; oh, sir?”
“Quit that,” Walker said, smiling. “There is exactly zero we can do to support the landing. It’s going to land just fine or it’s not. And if it’s off a bit, we’ll have troops under very powerful rockets. Last, sorry, General, there is no way that this number of personnel can secure that large a perimeter. So we back off. We stay onboard the ships. We let her land. Then we go back ashore and get them out.”
“Oh, please let it land safely,” Sophia said, holding her hands in prayer. “I so don’t want to run the vaccine program.”
“Thought you’d like to hear that, Seawolf,” Brice said.
“Does it matter if they hit, well, scrub on the way down?” Walker asked. He was looking at the island on a laptop.
“I’d have to ask them,” Brice said. “I’m sure a tree or large rock would ruin their day, and the slope of the LZ is obviously important. Why?”
“The golf course is on the narrow part of the island,” Walker said. “If they land in the water, I assume that’s pretty much all she wrote. If they can handle scrub, the eastern end of the island is much broader, has a relatively low area that is mostly scrub with several large fields. Why not there? For that matter, there’s an airfield.”
“I was thinking in terms of securing a perimeter, sir,” Brice admitted. “If we’re not going to . . . I’ll get with them. We have a very limited remaining link—dit/dash code, believe it or not—or I’d have them in on this conversation.”
“Then the order to them is shoot for anywhere on Anguilla,” Walker said. “And we’ll come get them. Or, rather, two charming young ladies will come get them while Marines and Navy landing personnel hold the perimeter. Do not open the hatch until they get ‘shave and a haircut.’ Infected are attracted to light and sound signatures and whoa is this going to be a doozy . . . If that meets with your approval, Colonel, Captain, General.”
The colonel, captain and general looked at each other for a moment.
“Looks like a good outline,” Captain Smith said after a moment. “Questions, comments, concerns.”
“Fire, sirs, ma’am,” Faith said. “The whole area’s already burned but it’s grown back.” She’d been looking at the satellite images as well.
“Good point,” Colonel Hamilton said. “The area is very dry. The rocket motor is going to cause a fire. Possibly a large one. The area has already been swept by them several times.”
“Question, ma’am,” Sophia said, raising her hand.
“Go, Ensign,” Brice said.
“Why not Gitmo?” Sophia asked. “It has a golf course.”
“Not as flat,” Brice said. “Gitmo is surrounded by rather steep hills in case you haven’t noticed. Anguilla is not flat but it is flatter. Essentially it’s an atoll. It appears to be the best island which is closest and also has a medical school so you can do two missions with one clearance. Also do we really want to drop a prototype rocket on our only land base? We’ve been gaming this for a while, Ensign. The decision was made in favor of not possibly destroying Gitmo even if we lost the ISS crew. There are no good choices in this world these days only less bad ones. Fire.”
“Look for a fire truck?” Sophia said, shrugging. “There should be one somewhere on the island.”
“Assuming we can get to it,” Walker said. “We’ll have to have the truck near the landing point for the roll out. But, honestly, most of this is going to have to be done on the fly.”
“How long until they are completely gone, ma’am?” Hamilton asked.
“Depends on the heat exchanger,” Brice said. “They have air for another two weeks, water for about a month. They’re out of food and have been for a week and on very short rations before then. But they are down to one heat exchanger which means they hit nearly a hundred and fifty degrees on the interior every time they fly through the sun zone. That goes out and they bake to death on their next pass. In the meantime, it’s bake, freeze, bake, freeze . . .”
“So as soon as possible it is,” Hamilton said. “Point of order . . . Mr. Walker’s exact position is somewhat ambiguous . . .”
“And it will remain that way for the time being,” Brice said. “Absent Mr. Walker wanting to take over this mission?”
“Pass,” Walker said. “Accompany, yes. Help? Absolutely. Among other things, we will be unable to perform the operation without the support of some of the pregnant women and at least one baby doctor along is going to be necessary. I recommend putting it under Colonel Hamilton. We don’t have an equivalent Naval officer of rank other than Captain Smith. I suppose
we could put Lieutenant Commander Isham in charge.”
“Oh, hell, no,” Isham said, laughing. “I just make sure the paperwork is straight.”
“Which was my plan,” Steve said. “Very well. Mission of the task force is to begin clearance and sweep operations of the Leeward Islands beginning with the island of Anguilla with first mission being recovery of the astronauts. Details of clearance of that island to be determined when you get there. We’re pretty good at snap-kicking but I think we’ll need to look at how you’re going to be supported and supplied before you leave. So, despite the time issues and the problems of the ISS crew, plan for leaving in three or four days. Any questions?”
“Is it an opportune time to discuss the wider mission, sir?” Hamilton asked.
“How difficult do you think it will be to sweep the minor islands, Colonel?” Steve asked.
“Seriously, Da?” Faith said with a snort, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
“My subordinate seems to think it would be a walk to just clear them all,” Colonel Hamilton said drily. “Lieutenant Smith?”
“Looking at the maps, these are going to be as easy to clear as the Canaries or easier,” Faith said, shrugging. “These are small islands, small towns. Smaller than the Canary towns in most cases. Some of the islands are the size of Corillo. With the additional Marines, even without the ones that have been drawn off for helo work, we can blow through these like Michael Moore eating a bag of Oreos . . .”
Colonel Hamilton did a facepalm as most of the rest of the conference clearly tried not to laugh. The exception was Dr. Dobson who looked momentarily offended, realized the group he was dealing with and composed his features. Faith didn’t seem to notice as she scrolled around on her screen.
“Some of them are just too big,” Faith said, still ignoring the meeting. “I’m not sure, right now, which are possible and which aren’t . . .”
“Which task I’ll assign you,” Hamilton said. “Determining which are doable and which aren’t. To answer the captain’s question.”
