Islands of Rage and Hope

by John Ringo

  “There was that,” Weisskopf admitted. “But some of them had their act together. Some of it was actually helpful. A lot, really. Face it, a CEO is sort of a civilian general and sometimes you need that.”

  “Some of them were just people who were rich,” Faith said, shrugging. “Some of them were people who got that way through being smart. Even retired CEOs tend to know how to get shit done. Probably a situation of too many cooks but that’s a problem for the Dutch authorities on the island.”

  “I guess I need to go check in with the colonel,” Faith said, finishing off her light meal. “Training day is gonna be—”

  “Ma’am,” Corporal Douglas said. He’d entered the mess compartment, looked around and made a bee line to her table. “Colonel would like to see you at your convenience.”

  “I was just headed that way, Derk,” Faith said, standing up. “Gonna be another oorah day in the Marine Corps, Marines.”

  “Oorah, ma’am,” Sergeant Weisskopf said, grinning.

  “I’ll get your tray, ma’am,” Derek said. “I’m pretty sure from his tone ‘at your convenience’ meant ‘double time.’ And he sent word for the gunny, your sister and that Dutch Marine sergeant. It’s a general ‘right now’ call.”

  “I’ll let you take it, then,” Faith said, frowning. That list made sense for the training day but the urgency didn’t.

  * * *

  “Go right in,” Sandra said. The refugee had taken over as the colonel’s administrative assistant. “Something’s up.”

  “Reporting as ordered, sir,” Faith said.

  The Grace Tan was big but it was also crowded and not really set up as a command and control ship. The colonel’s office wasn’t much bigger than her closet. If the people on the plasma had been in it, her da, General Brice and the NCCC, there wouldn’t have been room for Faith. And that meant something was up. It was zero four hundred Omaha time. They weren’t there to kibitz on the training of the locals.

  “Think you’re standing, Faith,” Colonel Hamilton said. “We won’t be long. Captain?”

  “We just got a priority extraction,” Steve said. “Doehler, show them the image.”

  The faces were replaced by a satellite image of a burned-out city. It was big and had a river running through it was all Faith could tell. It looked familiar but she couldn’t place it. The image zoomed down and held on some sort of fort or castle by the river. In the middle of the courtyard—there was some other word for it but Faith couldn’t dredge it up from memory—was a sign picked out in white rocks that read: “HRH.” A group of men were standing by the sign. Two of them were holding up a white cardboard sign with more writing.

  The view zoomed again and it was clearer.

  The sign said “Remaining rations: ____ days.” There was a “60” crossed out, then a “30” and now a “7.”

  And the person standing by the sign, his face up and pointed at the passing satellite, was very recognizable. Also very thin. But Prince Harry of Wales, just possibly King of England, was alive.

  “How old is this?” Colonel Hamilton asked.

  “The pass was yesterday,” General Brice replied. “And for those who don’t recognize it, that is the Tower of London. The following is not for discussion. Task Force Kodiak will halt all sweeps in the Caribbean, proceed immediately to Guantanamo to pick up Marine and Navy helo forces, then proceed directly to London to effect extraction of His Royal Highness and his bodyguards.”

  “What kind of helos do we have?” Colonel Hamilton asked.

  “We’ve got a CH-53 up and running,” Steve replied. “We’ll put a Seahawk aboard as deck cargo. It’s ninety percent there and Lieutenant Szafranski assures me they can get it up by the time you get there. We’ll have the Shivak accompany you in case something happens to the Grace. If worse comes to worst, you can all pack into the Shivak. The Grace’s helipad is rated for a bird the size of a 53. The only pause will be ensuring that it’s up to its rating and to take on fuel and supplies. You’ll take onboard all the helo support people and then steam out. Can you refuel there?”

  “Not yet,” Colonel Hamilton said.

  “Well, we’ve got the fueling dock up and running,” Steve said. “Sergeant Roosevelt.”

  “Sir?” Sergeant Roosevelt said.

  “You were Dutch commando trained, is that correct?” Steve said.

  “Yes, sir,” Roosevelt replied. “I was in MARSOF for eight years, sir. MARSOF is what it was called these days, sir.”

  “That includes significant air-assault training?” Steve asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All of the infantry Marines have air-assault training but it is limited,” Steve said. “I cannot order you and your men to accompany this mission but there is a second one that is almost as high priority and will need significant air-assault training in the run-up. We need your expertise, badly.”

  “That will leave this island with a group of . . . untrained refugees of questionable nature to defend it, sir,” Roosevelt said, frowning.

  “We’ll leave a Navy security team to defend it as well as the POL people who are also combat trained,” Steve said. “And we really need your expertise. For that matter, the secondary mission could use your people’s help as well.”

  “What is the secondary mission, sir?” Colonel Hamilton asked.

  “Doehler, research institute,” General Brice said.

  The image swerved to a building in London. Although much of the city had burned, that portion was still intact. The fires had just missed it by a couple of streets.

  “This is the London Research Institute,” General Brice said. “It was primarily a cancer research facility but it also did other biological research. And cancer research uses the same materials you need for vaccine production. We had been looking at an insertion into USAMRIID, Bethesda or Johns Hopkins, all of which might have gel and all of which are near the ocean. However, since you’re going to London anyway . . .

  “Marine forces with supplementary materials experts will be performing an air assault on this facility with the primary purpose of extracting vaccine production materials as well as the usual ‘get anything that’s useful medically’ out of it. That is after you have rescued the prince. And that, Sergeant, is why we need you and your people. That’s a big damned building in the middle of a city and we can see some of the doors are still opened. It’s liable to be crawling with infected and will have to be extensively searched for materials.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the sergeant said, clearly less than thrilled to have to tell a general no. “I can see the importance of both missions, General. However, the problem of the security of . . . General, this is all that remains of the Dutch holdings, ma’am. Leaving it unsecured . . .”

  “Sergeant Major Barney will absolutely flip being left behind on this one,” Steve said. “But he’s getting left behind. Sergeant, we will leave two Naval security teams and the sergeant major to ensure the security of your island and train the local militia. I would leave either Faith or Sophia so you could have some personal assurances that I’m not going to let pirates or infected take it over. But one is our ‘materials expert’ and the other is our Marine Platoon Leader. They both have to go. And, Sergeant, I’m sending my daughters out across a massive and very violent, wreck-filled, ocean, in winter, to perform this mission. That is how important we all gauge it. Nothing is going to happen, further, to Sint Eustatius. Not on my watch. If for no other reason than we’re going to need that POL.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roosevelt said, clearly unhappy.

  “Do you agree to support the mission?” Steve asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Roosevelt said, after a brief pause. “I agree to support the mission, sir. Both missions, sir.”

  “Oorah,” Steve said. “Colonel, promulgate the change of mission and I want anchors aweigh by dawn.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hamilton said.

  “Good luck, Kodiak,” Brice said. “Shut it down.”

  “I’m going t
o send a task force of subs with you,” Steve said. “Usual commo support and they are going to plow the road with active to make sure you’re not going to hit anything. I am seriously worried about wrecks and oceanic debris.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Hamilton said.

  “Land the Navy people and go ahead and push over as much ammo as you can to Sint Eustatius,” Steve said. “I’ll punch down some more security as it becomes available. Right now, Statia and Gitmo are our linchpins. When you get here, we’ll be prepared to top up the Grace with POL and av gas. You’re going to need a lot of both for this mission. But that’s all the time we have for planning right now. Get a move on.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Hamilton said.

  “Gitmo out.”

  “Ensign Smith,” Hamilton said.

  “Sir?”

  “You’re going to need to turn over your division,” the colonel said. “We obviously are not going to be taking yachts on the crossing.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Sophia said after a brief pause.

  “The Bella will be there when you get back,” Hamilton said. “Right now, get a working party together. All the Marines and Navy personnel as well as any of the refugees we can get up and moving. We need to cross-load all of the ground combat ammo onboard to Sint Eustatius before dawn. As well as all of the weapons that were designated for local militias. Lieutenant Commander Chen.”

  “Sir?”

  “Designate two of the divisions that are not Div One to stay behind, vessels and crew, to secure Sint Eustatius as well as Sergeant Major Barney.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Divisions Five and Three, sir. With reluctance, I’m going to leave the chief behind as well, sir. I’ll put Lieutenant Bowman in charge.”

  “Take the fifties from all three divisions not being left behind as well,” Hamilton said. “We’ll mount some on Fort Oranje as well as set up a defense point to secure the POL point. That can wait until after we’ve left. After they’ve offloaded the guns, the remaining divisions can follow us to Gitmo and get rearmed and ammoed there.”

  “Permission to speak, sir,” Sophia said.

  “Go.”

  “I would like to take a few of my NavGround people with me, sir,” Sophia said. “If there is material in the research institute, I’ll need porters. And they’ve gotten . . . okay with being around infected, sir.”

  “Agreed,” Hamilton said. “You choose any NavGround personnel you prefer. Any significant questions otherwise?”

  There weren’t any.

  “Let’s roll.”

  * * *

  “So you’re going to England?” Anna said. She wasn’t great at passing massive ammo boxes but she was turning in with a will.

  The problem of landing the ammo was that they, as usual, could not just pull the Grace Tan up to the dock. There were too many wrecks and it wasn’t a big dock. So the ammo had to be cross-loaded to small boats and then carried to the dock, or the beach, and unloaded. The term was “lightering.”

  Sophia was in charge of supervising the Zodiacs unloading on the beach and providing security. The actual security of the island was demonstrated by the fact that they were unloading predawn and an infected had so far failed to show up for the buffet.

  A few of the refugees and locals had agreed to get out of bed and help out. Anna was, unsurprisingly, one of them.

  “Looks that way,” Sophia said. She felt kind of like a schmo not helping unload the ammo. But she was busy as a one armed paper-hanger.

  “Can I go?” Anna asked, sadly. “It’s . . . my home.”

  “London is a burned-out shell,” Sophia said, signing another damned sheet of paper. The ammo couldn’t just be handed over, willy-nilly. It had to be signed for. She had Olga making sure the numbers were right. “There’s not really anything to see. We’re not taking anybody who’s not critical to the operation and I’m not taking my boat so I can’t smuggle you along. So . . . I don’t see a way.”

  “Are the astronauts going?” Anna asked.

  “Oh . . . crap,” Sophia said. “That question never even came up. Since I handed off quarantine duty . . . I had completely forgotten about them. I mean, not completely, but . . . Crap. I need to go. I’ll see if I can get a slot for you on the float, but . . . I need to go.”

  “Go,” Anna said, hefting a case of 5.56. “I can handle hanging out on Statia. But I’d like to at least see England.”

  * * *

  “It’s covered, Ensign,” Hamilton said. He, too, was on the beach supervising the off-load.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Sophia said. “I was just wondering.”

  “Occasionally, people do think of things before you, Ensign,” Hamilton said. “It’s covered.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sophia said. “I’ll get back to counting ammo boxes.”

  * * *

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Bowman said, pen poised over the sheet of paper. “Please tell me that if this is off by, say, a couple thousand rounds it is not going to come back and bite me in the ass.”

  Ammo and supplies were piled higgledy-piggledy all over the beaches and piers of Sint Eustatius. There was no way in hell the inventory was accurate.

  “Do a recount after we’re gone,” Hamilton said, looking at his watch, then up to the sky which was clearly starting to lighten. “I’ll recertify it. And, no, it’s not going to bite you in the ass, Lieutenant. Holding me up will bite you in the ass.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bowman said, taking a deep breath and signing for more ammo than any one newbie straight-from-civilian lieutenant should be responsible for.

  “Grace, up anchor,” Hamilton said, keying his mike. “Get moving. I’ll catch up in a Zod.”

  “Roger.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said, taking his copy of the receipt. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Bowman said. He stepped back, came to the best position of attention he could muster and saluted. “I’ll make sure the island doesn’t go anywhere while you’re gone.”

  “Oorah,” Hamilton said, returning the salute. He stepped into the waiting Zodiac and keyed his mike again. “Gunny, tell me that we’ve got everyone we need off this beach.”

  “We are all feet wet except for yourself, sir,” Gunny Sands replied. “So, with due respect, if you would kindly get your ass moving, sir.”

  “Aye, aye, Gunny,” Colonel Hamilton said, making sure the mike wasn’t open. He grinned. “I was getting tired of this island, anyway . . .”

  Councilor Van Der Beek stepped out onto the ramparts of Fort Oranje, scratching his bare and very hairy stomach. It had become his custom to step out each morning and urinate over the wall, hopefully on one of the damned zombies.

  He idly looked out into the harbor, then stopped. He looked north. He looked south. He looked down at the beach where some remaining Navy personnel were apparently counting the piles of boxes that had mysteriously appeared overnight. What he did not see—

  “Waarom zijn alle boten verdwenen?” he asked. “En waar zijn mijn mariniers? WAAR ZIJN MIJN MARINIERS?”

  CHAPTER 29

  I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,

  They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

  I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:

  His day is marching on.

  (CHORUS)

  —“The Battle Hymn of the Republic”

  “Ah, beautiful Guantanamo Bay,” Sophia said as the Grace rounded Corinaso Point. “Again.”

  It had been a forty hour run back to Gitmo with the Grace Tan more or less “hauling ass” at its flank speed of 25 knots. Which was not exactly smoking for most combat ships but truly was hauling ass for a support and supply ship.

  It was the middle of the night but the dockyard areas were bright as day and tugs were already prepared to take the big support ship alongside.

  “That’s got to be attracting some infected,” Faith said, leaning on the railing.

  “I
heard that every now and again there’s a boom from over at the fence line,” Sophia said. “When they hit the minefield.”

  “That’s one way to get rid of them,” Faith said.

  “You don’t sound your usual chipper self, Sis,” Sophia said. “This is me being supportive.”

  “You heard the colonel, Soph,” Faith said. “Two words: Air Assault.”

  “Oh . . .” Sophia said, trying not to laugh. “Seriously? I’m looking forward to it!”

  “You like roller coasters,” Faith growled. “And I thought you were being supportive?”

  “The heroic, the indomitable, Lieutenant Faith Smith, darling of the Marine Corps!” Sophia said.

  “Terrified of heights,” they both said in unison.

  “Bite me, Sophia,” Faith said.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let them see you sweat,” Sophia said seriously. “You can do it. ’Cause you have to. You know that.”

  “I know I can do it,” Faith said. “I know. Doesn’t mean I want to. I’d almost rather fight my way in on foot if that made any sense at all.”

  “I asked Colonel Hamilton about the astronauts,” Sophia said, changing the subject. “He told me it was covered. Do you know what the plan is?”

  “Nope,” Faith said. “But it’s above my pay grade. I need to go get ready to take aboard all the gear and ammo we need for this. I don’t know who is signing for all the helo parts but I know it’s not me. Or, at least, it better not be. I don’t know for helo parts.”

  “My question is, where the hell are we putting it all?” Sophia said.

  * * *

  “So, basically, we’re going to have to break down your quarantine,” Walker said, shrugging. “You’re eight days into the cycle. If you have an immune system at all, it’s either working or it’s not. And we need to get this container off the ship.”

  “Doctor, do you concur?” Commander Daniels asked.

  “We’re probably going to get sick,” Dr. Price said. “But we’re going to get sick, anyway. Breaks of the job. You always do. We should be sufficiently resistant to the neurological packet we should not ‘turn’ at this point if that is what you are asking. Even assuming some reservoir of H7D3. Most of which should have burned out at this point. We should be fine.”