Islands of Rage and Hope

by John Ringo

  * * *

  “FEELING LIKE A CORPS-SICLE, PRIVATE?” Faith screamed at the Marine PFC standing at attention on the quarter deck.

  Acclimatization training comes down to being put into whatever the climate may be for a period of time and then allowed to “recover” for a short time, lather, rinse, repeat with increasing periods “in climate” until the body is adjusted. In this case, it was standing at attention, with occasional bouts of exercise, in the freezing wind of the North Atlantic in winter. Ice-spray added to the misery. Which was par for the course for any acclimatization training.

  Fortunately for Faith, she got to walk around and shout at people. She wasn’t sure if she could just stand there. It was much easier to walk around and be shouty.

  “NO, MA’AM!”

  “WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO TUCK YOU IN FOR THE NIGHT? ARE YOU SNIVELING, PRIVATE? IS THAT A SNIVEL I HEAR . . . ?”

  * * *

  “Okay, I’m getting impressed again, sir,” Gunny Sands said, watching the current evolution from the bridge windows. “That’s the third iteration and she’s still out there.”

  “Agreed,” Colonel Hamilton said. “I’m wondering if we should check for frost bite. It’s like she just doesn’t feel the cold.”

  * * *

  “Oh, that was a bad idea,” Faith said, shivering under a half dozen blankets and anything else in her room that was insulated. Fortunately, she had a compartment to herself and nobody could see what a boneheaded move it had been to stand outside in the freezing cold for hours. “I am such an idiot . . .”

  * * *

  “ARE YOU COLD, PRIVATE?”

  “I AM FROM THE NETHERLANDS, MA’AM!” Marine First Class Vincent Schurink shouted against the wind. “IS THAT A JOKE, MA’AM?”

  “Never mind,” Faith said after a moment. “Forget I asked . . .”

  “There’s no critical need for your involvement, Sis,” Faith said, shrugging. “You’re just here to pick up some vaccine stuff. Do a little light shopping. I’m here to do all the derring-do. Face it, you’re screwed . . .”

  There was no “officers’ mess” or wardroom on the Grace Tan. So the occasional sisterly wrangle tended to be played out in public.

  “What are they arguing about this time?” Januscheitis asked, sitting down next to Olga. Usually Marines and Navy don’t mix but Januscheitis was ready to mix with Olga any time.

  “Who gets the prince,” Olga said, leaning back with her arms folded. “They figure who ever meets him first has a shot . . .”

  “Ten bucks, scrip, on Faith,” Januscheitis said.

  “Yer on.”

  “He’s a pilot,” Sophia said archly.

  “What’s that got to do with it?” Faith asked.

  “You really think he’s going to be interested in someone who’s afraid of heights?” Sophia replied primly.

  “Oh . . .” Faith said, waggling a finger in front of her nose. “If you tell him . . .”

  “Like I’ll have to,” Sophia said, her arms crossed. “Everybody on board knows. Aaaaah!” she said in a high falsetto, clutching her arms to her chest like she was gripping a rope. “It’s so HIGH! WAH! WAH! I’M A MARINE AND I’M AFRAID OF HEIGHTS!”

  “I am going to sit on you!” Faith sputtered. “I’ll do it!”

  “Have either of you considered that you’re both still jailbait, ladies?” Januscheitis said loudly.

  “I. Will. Clear. Arkansas.” Faith said.

  * * *

  “The good news is we can put in on the Tower Green,” Captain Wilkes said, pointing to the overhead. “There used to be trees. Pretty obviously, they’ve been cutting them up for heat. Gives us enough room, barely, to put in the 53.”

  “We’ll load up the first sortie in with supplies, sir,” Hamilton said. “Along with a small Marine security detachment. It’s possible that they may want to leave a token force behind. Then pull out all the refugees. We’ll have to determine the pattern of extraction on the ground. I’ll leave that up to them.”

  “Sounds good,” Steve said. “Any questions?”

  “Comment?” Sophia said. “Navy Security could handle the insertion just fine, sir. It’s not like we’re going to fast-rope in.”

  “But it is the correct way to do the operation,” Steve said. “And, daughters of mine, it is time to stop playing around and focus on the mission, not who gets to . . . meet the prince first.”

  “Marines, Ensign,” Hamilton said drily. “And as your father said, neither of you get to . . . Ahem. It will be Marines, Ensign. And, yes, that means sending your sister.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sophia said.

  “Oorah, sir,” Faith said. “But it’s me!”

  * * *

  “Colonel, sir,” Faith said, tapping at his door. “Moment of your time?”

  The small convoy of ships had passed Margate, England and was picking its way, slowly, through the bay of the Thames. Slowly, because according to the Louisville, which was preceding them with active blasting, the area was littered with wrecks. Some of them were ships so large that they were definite hazards to navigation. The Thames itself was simply impenetrable by any ocean-going vessel.

  They had one more day to get ready for the mission and the last niggling details were being cleared up.

  “Enter,” Hamilton said, leaning back in his chair. “Another issue?”

  “Possibly, sir,” Faith said. “It overlaps personal and professional, sir. I would prefer to handpick my landing team, sir.”

  “My guess is that would include Staff Sergeant Januscheitis?” Colonel Hamilton asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said.

  “Approved,” Hamilton said. “Anything else?”

  “No, sir,” Faith said, slightly surprised.

  “I was going to suggest it,” Hamilton said. “And as soon as some Navy personnel get trained in on helo support, he’s moving back to the platoon. All of the Marines except air-crew are moving back. I’m sending the gunnery sergeant as well. So it will be you, a gunnery sergeant, the staff sergeant and I’d suggest letting the staff sergeant choose the rest of the team. My suggestion on that is either the Dutch Marines or Second Squad. Second is Iwo-heavy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said, clearly puzzled.

  “Is there anything else?” Hamilton asked.

  “No, sir,” Faith said.

  “Dismissed.”

  “Okay, why doesn’t this bother me?” Faith shouted.

  The tail ramp of the CH-53 Super Stallion was down and she was hanging onto a stanchion while standing on the ramp. She had a safety-strap on but that shouldn’t have been much consolation. It was a long way down.

  The view, though, was spectacular. If Armageddon was your choice of views. Everything was burned. Fires had raged through London and its sprawling outskirts. The 53 was following the line of the Thames and the devastation was enormously evident. Ships and boats were sunk all along the river. The houses and wharfs on either side of the river were ruins. There were infected crawling everywhere she looked. It was enough to give her chills. The reason they were following the river was that if they went down, they’d have a better chance in the water than on land.

  “Survivors,” Januscheitis shouted, ignoring the question. He was pointing to the north. There were definitely people on a miraculously unburned building, waving at the passing helo.

  “We’ll determine if we’re going to do extraction later,” Faith shouted. She looked at her watch and tried to figure out the landmarks. They were passing over a dropped bridge so that meant . . .

  “Time to get on game face,” Faith shouted as the helo slowed and banked. And banked tighter. Then she clutched the stanchion in both hands. “SON OF A BITCH!”

  “There it is!” Januscheitis shouted, pointing down.

  The outline was engraved on her brain and she even knew most of the portions of the fortress. Develin Tower. The Bloody Tower. The Traitors’ Gate. And there were survivors. Quite a few. Most were in British camo standing
sentry or manning machine guns that tracked the helo suspiciously. A few civilians ran out into the open areas, waving at the 53.

  As they passed over the Bailey, Januscheitis tossed out a radio attached to a small parachute. The helo banked away and out, spiraling upwards.

  Faith pulled a set of cans off a hook and put them on.

  “Hello? Jolly good to see you, Yanks. Captain Carl Whiteshead, First Royal Rifles. Over.”

  “Lieutenant Faith Smith, United States Marine Corps,” Faith replied. “Plan is as follows. We have supplies in case you wish to leave a token force. Land on Tower Green, unload security element, unload supplies, load refugees. Given the numbers we’re seeing here, at least two lift sorties. Then the last of the last go out. We cannot guarantee resupply any time in the next six months. So we’re bringing in one year’s supply for twenty people. All we can loft. You’re going to need to figure out if anyone stays and if so who. Is that all clear, over?”

  “Roger. Define security element, over.”

  “One squad of Marines to assist with loading of refugees, over.”

  “Understood. Be aware, you will be under guns until we determine you are, in fact, United States Marines. Over.”

  Faith looked at Januscheitis. He nodded and mouthed “Makes sense.”

  “Understood,” Faith replied. “Make sure all your personnel know to stay away from the rotors at the rear. It would be a real bitch to spread some of your people all over the walls if they walk into them. Clear the Green and we’re inbound.”

  “We’re clearing it, now. Come ahead. Out.”

  “Captain Wilkes?” Faith said, switching to intercom.

  “Preparing to land,” Colonel Kuznetsov said. “Thirty seconds.”

  “On your feet, Marines,” Faith shouted, waving for the Marines to stand up. She took off the cans, put on her helmet, then grinned at Januscheitis. “This is the good part.”

  “I’m not counting chickens till they’re all in the boat, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, buckling his own helmet. “Remember to stay away from the rotors yourself, ma’am!”

  “Roger,” Faith said, holding the stanchion in a death grip as the helo slowly crested the walls of the Tower. She was fine high for some reason. A thousand feet was just sort of surreal. Fifty feet scared the shit out of her. They were low enough she could see the sentries on the walls clearly and was surprised that they were Oriental. Her innate and highly trained paranoia went off like an alarm bell and she started tapping her pistol.

  “Ma’am?” Januscheitis said. He could read her like a book.

  “The guards!” Faith shouted, pointing. “They’re not English!”

  Januscheitis peered at the one guard in sight suspiciously, then grinned.

  “Your knife, ma’am!” the Marine shouted as they flared out.

  “What?” Faith yelled.

  “Gurkhas!” Januscheitis shouted. “They’re Gurkhas!” He leaned over and tapped the lieutenant’s kukri.

  “Oh,” Faith said, walking down the ramp.

  One thing that her da had told her, years ago, was that Gurkhas did not like just anyone carrying a kukri. You had to earn it. In their opinion.

  “Oh . . . crap!”

  * * *

  “Lieutenant Faith Smith, United States Marine Corps,” Faith said, saluting the captain. He wasn’t the prince. From his rank tabs, he was the guard unit commander. “Captain Whiteshead, I guess?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Whiteshead said, returning the salute. “Although shouldn’t it be ‘I presume’?”

  “I’m not sure, sir,” Faith said. “I speak American and Australian, sir, but I’m still working on British. We ready to get unloaded? And are you planning on leaving a contingent?”

  “Yes, we are, Lieutenant,” Whiteshead said, clearly bemused by the reply. “And we’re prepared to unload immediately.”

  “Gunny!” Faith bellowed, turning around. “Hook in and get those stores moved!”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am!” Gunny Sands said. “Start unpacking, Marines!”

  A line of civilians and military, mostly the Gurkhas, started unloading the food, a combination of MREs, “humanitarian service packs” and canned rations.

  “What’s your preference for moving out your personnel, sir?” Faith said, waving to get away from the still cycling helo.

  “We’d prefer to load the women and children, first,” Whiteshead said. “Along with a small military contingent. Then the rest of the men and the soldiers who are going out.”

  “Oorah, sir,” Faith said. “How many you got? We couldn’t get a good count from the satellites. We only have occasional overhead and there’s been weather.”

  “One hundred twenty-three,” Whiteshead said. “That are going out.”

  “Any notable medical conditions other than pregnancy?” Faith said, making a note. “We’ve got a pretty good medic on the ship.”

  “We’ve lost most of those,” Whiteshead said, then paused. “Lieutenant, may I inquire . . .”

  “In another month I’m legal to marry in Arkansas,” Faith said, looking up and grinning. “Thirteen is the answer, sir. Almost fourteen. I always get that question about now.”

  “Bloody hell,” Whiteshead said.

  “Tell you how bad it is,” Faith said. “I’m number . . . six, I think, in the chain of command of the Marine Corps. Another bad day and I’m the commandant. If you’re going out you’ll meet the rest of the Marine Corps in the ship.”

  “Did you bring a helo carrier?” Whiteshead asked.

  “Civilian oil platform supply ship,” Faith said, making a note and not looking up. “The Grace Tan. And another support ship and a big yacht for the evacuees. The only LHA we know the location of is the Iwo Jima, and we don’t have enough people to man it. Most of the Marines came from the Iwo or Gitmo. We’re holding Gitmo right now. Took it last month. Stand by, sir.

  “Kodiak Ops, Kodiak Ops, Shewolf, over. Okay, Louisville it is. Count is one twenty-three, say again, one-two-three, coming out. No major medical. Malnourishment as usual. Three sorties should do it . . . Roger. You going to be able to get up on retrans any time soon? Roger . . . Shewolf, out.

  “Okay, sir, you’re good to go. Look like the gunny’s got the bird unloaded. Let’s get to loading . . . Oh, hello,” she finished as the prince walked up.

  “Captain Wales,” Captain Whiteshead said. “Lieutenant Faith Smith, United States Marine Corps.”

  “Thank you for coming to our assistance,” Harry said, flashing a smile.

  “No problem,” Faith said, shaking hands. “So far I’ve rescued a princess on a tower and a whole bunch of people who think they’re important. You’re my first prince so I can check that off on my bucket list. I’m hoping you’re going out. We need helo pilots.”

  “That is the plan,” Prince Harry said, looking slightly confused for a moment. The response was, again, not what anyone would anticipate. The gunny had dubbed his reaction FEWSS: First Encounter With Shewolf Syndrome. “Lieutenant, is there any plan to pick up other survivors? We are sure there are some . . .”

  “Right now, no, sir,” Faith said. “We’ve got one other mission planned which is to raid a research center for some vaccine production materials. That’s planned for tomorrow. Then, as far as I know, we’re going to float back to Gitmo. The priority right now is get the vaccine production up and get the sub crews vaccinated so we can get some trained personnel. You’ll have to take up any further rescue ops with the colonel or higher, sir.”

  “I . . . understand,” Harry said. “Did you happen to see . . .”

  “Saw some on the way in, sir,” Faith said. “Could you give me a second? I’ve got to coordinate with the gunny on the extract, sir.”

  “Of course,” Harry said. “Mission comes first.”

  “Excuse me, sirs,” Faith said, walking back to the bird.

  “Is she as young as she appears?” Harry asked as soon as she was out of earshot.

  “Thirteen,” White
shead said. “Month shy of fourteen. And number six in the Marine chain of command. Which sort of covers how bad it is, sir. They’re operating off of a civilian boat. No Navy platforms survived.”

  “Bloody hell,” Harry said, shaking his head.

  * * *

  “Gunny,” Faith said.

  “Ma’am,” Gunny Sands said. “Last of this lift is onboard. They even had them chalked for a 53.”

  “Good to hear,” Faith said. “Let’s get clear . . . Gunny, moment of your time?” she said, as they cleared the bird to let it lift off.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Could you please handle interacting with the prince?” Faith asked.

  “I . . . can, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said. “But it would normally be the platoon leader’s job.”

  “I had to go all Marine or I was going to babble,” Faith said.

  “If you would like the recommendation of your gunnery sergeant, ma’am,” Sands said, trying not to smile, “stay all Marine.”

  “I wanted to meet him, now I’m trying not to act like a brain-dead cheerleader,” Faith said, grinning tightly. “I don’t do this well. Where’s some infected to shoot?”

  “Tomorrow, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said. “All you can wish for, unless I miss my guess.”

  * * *

  “Oorah,” Faith said, walking back over to the two officers. “Thanks for having them chalked up.”

  The Gurkha guards were busy getting the rations stored in the White Tower and the Marines were getting names of the evacuees. All was in order so she sort of had to make small talk.

  “Not a problem,” Captain Whiteshead said. “We assumed it would be Marines or Navy coming in so it would probably be Super Stallions, according to Captain Wales.”

  “So what’s with the Captain Wales, thing?” Faith asked.

  “Captain Mountbatten-Windsor sounds sort of pompous, don’t you think?” Harry asked, grinning.

  “I dunno,” Faith said. “Is it your name?”

  “Yes?” Harry said.

  “Then it’s just your name,” Faith said.