Islands of Rage and Hope (eARC)

by John Ringo

  "This is light infected presence?" Sergeant Hoag said.

  Dawn comes swiftly in the tropics. In northern climes there is a long period of gradually lightening darkness, the "blue time" of Before Morning Nautical Twilight. The Caribbean had the same but instead of twenty or thirty minutes it seemed to pass in seconds, going from nearly pitch black to bright. And as it brightened it revealed a scene from a Durer engraving.

  It seemed like there were hundreds of infected on the beach, most of them feeding on the bodies hit by previous fire. During the night there had been occasional shots from the dual water-cooled .50s on the gunboats. They would wait until a group of infected found one of the bodies, then add to the piles. Eventually, there was enough infected food in scattered groups along the beach that between the available resource, the lights and the music, zombies from throughout the island came for the party and stayed for the banquet.

  "Yes," Sergeant Smith said. "If you think about it, there were a lot more at Gitmo. Worst I ever saw was Tenerife. At least on the ground."

  "I guess that makes sense," Hoag said.

  "And this time we've got multiple divisions firing from multiple points," Smitty said. "That spread 'em out."

  The music, which had been a really eclectic mix of death metal, thrash metal, operatic rock, '70s rock and roll--the colonel was apparently a big Doors fan--and even classical, paused. There was a brief moment of silence on the bay as the light brightened, then it started up again with "Anchors Aweigh."

  "Really, Colonel?" Hoag said. "The Navy anthem?"

  The guns opened fire as the introductory flourish ended.

  She'd previously watched the slaughter of infected they'd grown to know and loathe from a rather distant warehouse. The Grace Tan was anchored a bare two hundred meters off the beach. It was different from this angle.

  "Oh, yeah!" "OORAH!" "Go, Navy!"

  The big dual, water-cooled fifty-calibers were shredding the infected. Bodies were being blown in half. Some of the brighter ones started to run. The Navy gunners were having none of that. The sound track had segued to another metal piece after the Navy anthem, then into the Marine Corps Hymn.

  "At ease!" the lieutenant bellowed. "That's our cue. Board the boats, by teams, junior first. Time to go take that beach, Marines!"

  The Navy gunners had been careful to keep the "bait" away from the cargo pier which was the center of the landing operation. The Zodiacs drove their bows ashore and the Marines clambered over to...silence. The tropical wind was blowing, there was a bit of a smell of carrion, there were some long burnt out buildings and, that was it. That and the wrack and ruin.

  "Force Ops," Faith called, looking around. "Marine Team is calling this zone clear for off-load."

  "Roger, Marine Team. Stand by."

  "Already there," Faith muttered. She was slightly back from the line of Marines, standing a bit over ankle deep in green tropical water and watching a coconut palm waving in the trade winds. "Why is it that we keep ending up in such great looking places and never seem to get any shore leave?"

  She didn't seem to notice that there was a skull right by her left foot.

  "Aren't there remaining infected on the island, ma'am?" Lance Corporal Saul asked.

  "Oh, yeah, that," Faith said, shrugging. "One of these days, Lance Corporal, we are going to clear something thoroughly enough we can have some damned shore leave. I may even be forced to drink something with an umbrella in it."

  She leaned down and picked up the skull.

  "But maybe we'll do a police call first, mon," she said, holding the skull up to her mouth and using a bad Caribbean accent. "Otherwise it might be...grim."

  CHAPTER 15

  In the snow of far-off Northern lands

  And in sunny tropic scenes;

  You will find us always on the job--

  The United States Marines.

  --Marine Corps Hymn

  "Marine Team, clear perimeter buildings and establish security perimeter at base of dock, over."

  "Roger, Ops," Faith said. "Staff Sergeant Barnard, you hear the order?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Barnard said. She was standing more or less at the same position as Faith a bit farther down the beach.

  "You establish the perimeter at the pier with Squad One," Faith said. "I'll accompany Squad Two on sweeping the buildings. Ensure that your squad's weapons are on safe. I don't want any friendly fire 'cause there are human shapes moving around the buildings. Oorah?"

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "Hooch!" Faith yelled. "Move out."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Sergeant Hocieniec replied.

  "You know," Faith said. "A little paint, some curtains..."

  The Bayside Bar and Grill had obviously been a pretty popular island beach bar. Now it was a fire-scorched shell. They only knew the name by figuring it out from the half burned sign. There was a burned skeleton behind the bar along with shattered bottles and glassware. It was apparent whoever it was had been dead before the fire. There were scraps of clothing so it probably wasn't an infected.

  "Possibly a roof, ma'am," Sergeant Hocieniec said, pointing up. There was a partial roof but through most of it you could see the sky and palm trees.

  "Fiddly bits, Sergeant," Faith said. "That is what NCOs are for."

  "Yes, ma'am," Hocieniec said, smiling.

  "Leave alpha team here," Faith said. "Oriented thataway," she continued, knife-handing southeast. "Staff Sergeant Barnard," she said, keying her radio.

  "Here, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "Leaving one team in the building as a security team," Faith said. "Preparing to sweep west. Check fire, check fire, check fire."

  "Check fire, aye," Barnard said.

  Hocieniec started to step out the door and Faith held out her arm blocking him.

  "Let the word spread," Faith said. After a moment she keyed her radio. "Check fire check, Staff Sergeant."

  "Check fire, aye, ma'am," Barnard replied.

  "Now we go," Faith said.

  The westerly buildings were support buildings for the pier. There was an abandoned storage container, a medium sized warehouse and support building, two large above ground fuel tanks and a parking area. There was the usual scatter of abandoned cars in the parking area as well as a large boat or cargo container forklift. It could be either one; they looked pretty much the same.

  The main doors to the warehouse were open--any infected inside should have been drawn out--but they approached cautiously nonetheless.

  The interior was mostly filled with boat support material including a small machine shop. There were some small outboards up on racks.

  "Check and clear the office," Faith said.

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Hooch replied. "Bravo team."

  "Aye, aye," Hoag replied.

  The door to the offices had been forced and there was another long-dead skeleton in it. Other than that it was clear.

  "Clear," Sergeant Hoag said, before walking back into the equipment building.

  "Can't really use this as a security position," Faith said. "Sergeant Hocieniec, get the team up on top of the storage container. That will give us a better look around."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Hocieniec said.

  Sergeant Hoag waved for her team to leave the warehouse. As Faith started to open her mouth, Lance Corporal Robert "Bubba" Freeman cleared the entrance and immediately took fire.

  "Back!" Faith shouted as rounds began to zing through the equipment shed. It sounded like half the beach group was firing at their position. She dove behind a drill press. "God-damnit, check fire! Check fire!"

  Faith's call was being stepped on by calls of "Movement!" But after a minute or so, and waaaay too many rounds, the firing stopped as did the radio calls.

  "Anybody hit?" Faith asked.

  "I caught a graze, Shewolf," Hooch said.

  "Bad graze?" Faith asked.

  "No, ma'am. Think it was a chunk of concrete or something."

  "Staff Sergeant?" Faith called after
a moment.

  "Here, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "We're about to exit this equipment building and do some stuff in the parking lot," Faith said. "Could you clarify that fact with whoever just tried to kill Lance Corporal Freeman and, by the way, missed. And could you once again ensure that all of your Marines' weapons are unloaded and on safe? Because that shot was too fast for the weapon to not have been locked, loaded and off safe? Pretty please with honey and fucking sugar on top?"

  "Marine Team, Force Ops."

  "Marine Team," Faith replied laconically.

  "Any casualties?"

  "One graze," Faith said. "Fortunately or unfortunately, the marksmanship quality was poor. Continuing the mission. Staff Sergeant?"

  "Here."

  "Check fire, check fire, check fire."

  "Check fire, aye," Barnard replied.

  "You can get mugged on a walk in the fucking park," Faith said, standing up. "Freeman, this time, remove your helmet, stick it on the end of your rifle and wave it out the door before exiting..."

  "Time to regroup," Faith said as she reached the pier. The Navy personnel were starting to unload onto the cargo pier and the Grace Tan was carefully backing up to the end, being tended by two tug boats. "Organization will be as follows. Send one of your teams into the bar to take over from alpha second. Other team between the bar and the road to the left. Alpha second to take the right side of the road in contact with alpha first which will remain on the top of the container. That leaves the beach itself open. I'll get with Navy security and make sure they have that covered. Understood?"

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Staff Sergeant Barnard said.

  "With one exception. Who was it opened fire first?"

  "PFC Funk, ma'am," Barnard said. "I have counseled him on fire discipline."

  "And he's about to be counseled again," Faith said. "PFC FUNK, FRONT AND CENTER!"

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," the Marine said, trotting over. He took the position of attention, looking off into the distance.

  "Go down to the beach, put your feet in the water and assume the front-leaning rest position, oriented landwards," Faith said.

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Funk said, trotting back down to the water.

  "Ma'am," Barnard said. "Marine Corps regulation states that physical training may not be used as corrective punishment."

  Faith just stood there for a moment. She was partially faced away from the staff sergeant so it wasn't apparent that the young lieutenant's face had gone white with anger.

  "Staff Sergeant, I gave you an order to redeploy the squads," Faith growled, very quietly. "I do not recall asking your opinion. You have exactly five seconds to follow my order."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Barnard said, her face tight.

  "Force Ops, Marine Team," Faith said after a few deep breaths.

  "Force Ops."

  "Request a couple of Navy ground teams to anchor the beach," Faith said. "We've got from the equipment building to the bar."

  "Roger, stand by."

  "Standing by."

  "Hi, Sis," Sophia said, walking down the pier.

  "Good morning, Ensign!" Faith boomed.

  "Oh, do not start with the whole command voice thing," Sophia said.

  "I do not know what you are referring to, Ensign," Faith barked.

  "It's 'that to which you refer' technically," Sophia said. "How's it going? Saw your Marines try to kill each other."

  "Frankly, it's going too well," Faith said. "'Cause I'm wondering when it's going to fuck up and it's giving the Gitmo Marines the idea that this is all easy."

  "How long you going to have that guy do push-ups?" Sophia asked curiously.

  "Since he tried to kill me, probably a while," Faith said. "And I'm not having him do-- FUNK, WHY ISN'T YOUR BACK STRAIGHT? WHAT ARE YOU, NAVY?"

  "You know he's carrying like a hundred pounds of gear," Sophia said.

  "That's the point," Faith said. "The more he sweats the less I might bleed. RECOVER! JUMPING JACKS! BEGIN! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR...YOU COUNT! STOP WHEN I GET TIRED!"

  "Hey, I got a call..." Sophia said. "Roger, Force Ops, can do. Roger. Will coordinate with Marine commander. You want us to cover you?"

  "One team on each end of the beach," Faith said, gesturing both ways. "That way if the gunners get twitchy trigger fingers, they kill Navy not Marines."

  "Oh, thank you very much," Sophia said. "But a point. Force Ops, Navy Landing Party..."

  "CEASE EXERCISE!" Faith yelled. "MARINE, YOU HAVE FAILED ON TWO COUNTS, BAD FIRE DISCIPLINE AND POOR AIM! YOU ARE A DOUBLE DISGRACE TO OUR BELOVED CORPS! ON YOUR BACK, MARINE! FLUTTER KICKS! BEGIN! ONE, TWO..."

  "Hold up," Faith said, looking through the printed out sheets. The five-tons had been unloaded and the Marines were now in the process of sweeping the island. For a change she was sitting in the front seat instead of on the gun. For one reason, their "map" was printouts of the overheads. They were at a round-about, which had a post in the middle with some weird triangle thing, and she was trying to figure out the way to the hospital. She looked over at the airport, then down at the map and put two of the sheets together side by side. "I'm pretty sure it's that way," she said, pointing right. "But hang on. Staff Sergeant, I'm pretty sure we take the right fork thingy. You concur?"

  "Concur," the staff sergeant replied after a moment. She was riding in the trail five-ton.

  There was a burst of fire from the gunner overhead and Faith looked up in time to see a dog come apart.

  "Seriously, Quade?" Faith yelled. "It was the size of a collie! Save your rounds for infecteds!"

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," Lance Corporal Quade said.

  She looked over at Sergeant Smith, who was driving, and rolled her eyes upwards. He just shrugged.

  "Take the right fork thingy, Sergeant," Faith said, going back to shuffling papers. "We'll find it eventually..."

  "Son of a bitch," Faith muttered as they approached a beach on the south side of the island. "Staff Sergeant, turn around. How in the hell can we keep getting lost on an island this small?"

  "Found the fire station, ma'am," Sergeant Smith said.

  "And a fire truck," Faith said. "Which isn't specified on this map. But I think we're in this area..."

  "Stop at this gas station," Faith said.

  "We've still got nearly a full tank, ma'am," Sergeant Smith said.

  "I'm getting a fucking map, Smitty..."

  "Shit, she is crazy," Barnard muttered, shaking her head as the lieutenant bailed out of the five-ton and headed into the interior of the gas station. They hadn't encountered many infected but they were random. They seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Lieutenant, we should deploy a security team."

  "You gotta be joking me," Faith replied. "Negative. I'm just looking for a--"

  "Lieutenant?" Barnard said. The call had cut off mid sentence.

  "Skipper is looking for a better map," Sergeant Smith radioed.

  The lieutenant appeared out of the block building a moment later holding a map over her head and headed to Barnard's truck. She had another stuffed in her cargo pocket.

  As she did an infected burst out of the bushes and charged her from her right. The direction her rifle was not pointing.

  "Too close," Barnard shouted to the machine gunner, scrabbling at her rifle. There was no way to get fire on the infected before it got to the lieutenant. And the Marines were not wearing "close contact" gear. If it got a bite in on the girl...

  The lieutenant looked over her shoulder, drew her pistol, fired one round one-handed into the infected's chest then another into its head. She decocked her pistol, dropped it back in its holster and went back to reading the map. The entire event had been one continuous motion. She didn't even seem to notice.

  "Oh..." Faith said, climbing up on the running board of the five-ton. "Oorah. I think I've figured out where we are...."

  "Staff Sergeant," Faith barked, standing at parade rest.

  "Ma'am," Barnard said.

  They were standing outside the Pr
incess Alexandria Hospital as the Marine teams swept the building. The hospital was a two-story construction, not much larger than a McMansion, with large windows and airy arch construction.

  Like most of the island it had been swept by fire. Faith was pretty sure they weren't going to find much in the way of supplies.

  "We need to get some training in on the float," Faith said. "I'm seeing a lot of sweeping going on on this clearance. And then there's the fire discipline issue coupled with the accuracy issue. We can only really train on shooting on land. Not sure how to handle that. Maybe take a day on a desert island; lots of those around here. The lack of basic marksmanship worked in our favor in this instance but it's not generally a good thing. The sweeping issue and general CQB we can do in the Grace Tan. Oorah?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Barnard said.

  "Left wing is clear of all infected," Hocieniec radioed.

  "Roger," Faith said.

  "Right wing is cleared," Sergeant Weisskopf called a moment later.

  "Roger," Faith said, changing frequencies. "Force Ops, Marine Team."

  "Go, Marine Team."

  "Hospital is clear," Faith said. "No way to secure it. Cannot guarantee security for Navy sweep personnel. Be advised, been on fire. Probably a bust."

  "Roger," Force Ops replied. "Stand by."

  "Don't we always," Faith said. "Call in the dogs, Staff Sergeant. Odds we go on to the medical school."

  "Marine Team, Force Commander. What's the security situation on the ground?"

  "Complicated," Faith replied. "There is a higher infected presence than I would have guessed. Most of them didn't make it to the beach. Constant minor leakers. Stand by. Quade, is there something wrong with your eyes?"

  "Ma'am?" Quade called.

  "Hello!" she yelled, knife-handing. "Target in your sector, Marine!"

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," LCP Quade called, targeting the infected with a three-round burst.