Islands of Rage and Hope (eARC)

by John Ringo

  "Nope," Sophia said, shaking her head as she entered her father's office. "Or, rather, sir, there are insufficient consumables, notably separation gel, to make any significant quantity of vaccine. And by 'any significant quantity' I mean so much as ten units of booster or primer. There's maybe a cup left."

  "Damnit," Steve said as the rest of the hospital survey leadership filed in.

  "We've got everything else," Sophia said, slumping into a chair without asking. "And we turned the hospital upside down looking for more. But it's a hospital, not a research center. There probably wasn't much there to start with. It's not used in treatment at all. There's some indication that some was used. The one box we found was open and mostly empty. Maybe someone in the hospital was making vaccine on the side. But that appears to be it in inventory and that's gone."

  "What about the rest?" Steve asked.

  "For making vaccine?" Captain Wilkes asked.

  "Vaccine first," Steve said.

  "Functional X-ray machine, functional, excellent even, centrifuge," Sophia said, looking at her list. "General lab equipment, although not as much as I'd like. Bunch of glassware got trashed. Syringes and pipettes. Not as much of those as I'd like but you can make work-arounds. Basically everything we need except gel. And, Captain, Da? The more I think about it, the more I realize what a problem we're going to have with that."

  "Short explanation?"

  "She covered it on the ride back, sir," Walker said. "The gel is basically the same gel you use in DNA photophoresis, if you're more familiar with that."

  "Pretend I'm not," Steve said, grinning mirthlessly.

  "Okay," Walker said. "It's a gel that allows molecules to slip through. The smaller molecules slip through faster, the larger slower. Make sense?"

  "Yes," Steve said.

  "After you separate the virus bodies you want just certain proteins," Walker said. "Which are a certain size and thus pass through the gel at a certain rate. To make the vaccine you have to dump the centrifuged material into the gel and then wait a specified time."

  "Which is effing tedious," Sophia said. "You remember when we'd get bored on the boat and I'd say 'Better than waiting on a gel'?"

  "That's what you were talking about," Steve said, nodding.

  "You have to have this stuff to make the vaccine, Da," Sophia said, sighing. "Sorry, sir..."

  "Not the big issue," Steve said. "So where do we get it?"

  "That's the problem," Sophia said. "We...the powers that be? They weren't making infected into vaccine as a regular program, you know? But there were a lot of people who were doing it. By the time we finished with...the Program, finding gel was nearly impossible. Everybody was out. And even Dr. Curry said making it was pretty much out of the question. I mean, could somebody make it? Sure. Dr. Dobson may know how. But I guarantee it takes stuff we don't have. One kind is made from some kind of algae. We need more. And we're going to need a lot, at least two hundred pounds or so, to make enough vaccine for all the sub crews. And it was already in short supply at the Fall. I'm not sure we're screwed but...I think we're screwed."

  "Table that for now," Steve said. "General supplies."

  "Essentially it comes down to anything nonconsumable, plenty, sir," Walker said. "There was even plenty of OB materials. At least, plenty in any normal situation. Anything consumable except Viagra was shot. Antibiotics, antivirals, disinfectants, pain medications, all the pharmaceuticals, were if not used up, then essentially used up. There wasn't even a single full bottle of Betadyne in the whole place. The exception is things like anesthetics used in surgery. That we've got. Morphine and codeine, not so much. I think they were either stealing the opiates at the end or using them to tranq the infected."

  "So," Steve said, looking out the window. There was a sub surfaced in the distance. The Boise had suffered a critical failure in their air handling system and was out of action for the foreseeable future. They were keeping well away from any wind-blown source of infection but they had to open up their hatches. "We have to find a source of consumable materials. I'll toss that to Dobson. Captain Wilkes."

  "Sir," Wilkes said.

  "Thank you for handling what I'm sure was another nightmare," Steve said.

  "Probably the worst part was there wasn't any resistance, sir," Wilkes said.

  "But we have a Marine colonel now," Steve said. "And in case you haven't heard the news, functional helos over at the air base."

  "I get a stick back, sir?" Wilkes said, his eyes lighting.

  "You get a stick back," Steve said, smiling. "That's the good news. I'm not sure whether to inform certain parties of the bad news personally or let the chain of command handle it. I think the latter. It will be a learning experience."

  "I'm not following, sir," Wilkes said.

  "What MOS is Staff Sergeant Januscheitis, Captain?" Steve said.

  "They're WHAT?" Faith screamed.

  "It's my MOS, LT," Janu said, continuing to pack his seabag. "It has been...a real pleasure and honor having you as a skipper, Skipper."

  "Oh, hell no!" Faith said. "They are not taking my platoon sergeant!"

  "Ma'am," the staff sergeant said, straightening from his packing. "I've kind of shown you the ropes on some stuff along the way, haven't I?"

  "Janu, without you..." Faith said, shaking her head. "I mean, I'd never have been able to do this. You do it, really. I'm still trying to figure out how to write reports. And...stuff. I've still got no clue about operational planning!"

  "Well, then, ma'am, let this be my last class, for the time being, on how to be a Marine," Janu said, going back to packing. "I've got a job to do. It's actually my job, which infantry stuff isn't, and it's important. We've been needing helos. I fix helos, ma'am. Now, unless you want to try to convince somebody to rebranch a thirteen-year-old without so much as a high-school degree as an aviation maintenance officer, and do nothing for the rest of your Marine career but paperwork, you need to realize, ma'am, that this is how the Marine Corps works. It's not just that you have to go where they tell you to go and do what they tell you to do. You have to watch other people go and do what they're told to do. I'll be around. If you want to get together, on or off the books, if you need me to explain something, ma'am, I will always be there. I'll always be your first NCOIC and, hell, generals go hunting for them for their sergeant majors and, ma'am, I look forward to being your sergeant major one day. But it's time to cut the apron strings. For me to go do the job I'm supposed to do and you to go be the crazed zombie-massacring warrior bitch you are, ma'am. And remember no dangling participles."

  "I could talk to..."

  "Don't even, Lieutenant," Januscheitis said, shaking a finger at her. "You're either a Marine or you're not. If you're a Marine, there should only be two words going through your head right now or you're not really a Marine, LT."

  "Semper Fidelis?" Faith said, tearing up.

  "Oh, stop that, Faith," Januscheitis said, kissing her on the top of her head. "There's still less than four thousand of us. It's not like we're going to lose track of each other. And it's unbecoming of the fine young officer you've become. Now take a deep breath, say 'Oorah' and carry on with whatever crazy ass mission your daddy assigns next. Understood, Marine?"

  "Understood, Staff Sergeant," Faith said, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "Gung ho? Sorry, but I cannot quite get an oorah out, yet."

  "Staff Sergeant?" Pagliaro said, tapping on the hatch.

  "Come," Januscheitis said.

  "Orders for the LT," Pag said. "Report to the colonel at earliest opportunity."

  "Which means, Lieutenant?" Januscheitis said.

  "Right damned now since I don't actually have anything more important going on," Faith said, giving him a hug.

  Januscheitis stepped back, came to attention and gave her a salute worthy of a parade ground.

  Faith carefully returned it with all due form.

  "Carry on, Staff Sergeant," Faith barked.

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Januscheitis replied.


  Faith then turned and left the compartment.

  "Have a seat Faith," Hamilton said, gesturing to a chair.

  The office on the Boadicea had been one of the Staff Side officer's offices and had a nice view of the base, if a burned-out post-apocalyptic Navy base was your idea of a nice view.

  "By now you have heard that Staff Sergeant Januscheitis and some of the other Iwo Marines are being transferred to aviation support?" Hamilton said.

  "Yes, sir," Faith replied.

  "Just 'yes, sir'?" Hamilton asked.

  "Marines go where they're told to go and do what they're told to do, sir," Faith said.

  Hamilton leaned on one hand and regarded her levelly.

  "But you're not happy about it," he said after a moment.

  "No, sir," Faith said. "Not going to bitch about it, sir. Stuff happens, sir."

  "Do you know what my job was here at Gitmo, Lieutenant?" Hamilton asked.

  "I heard it was interrogator, sir," Faith said. "I don't have a problem with that. What with everything that's gone on...I was a kid when 9/11 happened, sir. I'm one of the ones who wondered why we were keeping them alive after we'd gotten all the intel we could from 'em, sir. I'd have thrown them to the sharks like Anarchy, sir."

  "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

  U
niversity 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 for 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, sir. "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.