by John Ringo
"Fire."
"Firing, aye."
The latest infected tumbled to the ground, scythed by three 7.62x51 rounds. Hoag had carefully waited until it was clear of the road. There were a few bodies blocking it but just below them was a gravel pit with some front-end loaders. They'd be easy enough to clear come daylight.
"So, you guys are just called 'Marines First Class' and stuff?" PFC Edwards asked. They had one of the cars turned away from the machine gun team and beaming its lights up the hill.
"Yes," Marine First Class Henk Geert Cloet said. "Makes it easier."
"Makes sense to me," Edwards said. "We've got most of the same ranks as Army and people ask me what I do in the Army sometimes. Pisses me off. Well, it used to. I think we've only got one Army guy and he was SF and now he's one of the doctors."
"Do you always talk this much?" M1C Adam Vogels asked.
"Got anything better to do?" Edwards said as the machine gun barked again.
"No, not really," Vogels replied. They were spread out and keeping an eye on their sectors but nothing seemed to be moving in the brush. "What is the American expression? This is shooting fish in a barrel."
"Better than clearing liners, that's for sure... Speaking of which, you guys better get the skinny on Shewolf..."
"Attention on deck!" Sergeant Roosevelt boomed, snapping a parade ground salute as Faith dropped out of the five-ton. "Good morning, ma'am!"
It was just past dawn and the island was "as clear as it's gonna fucking get for now." The Marines had assembled in front of an old church near Fort Oranj. The cars they'd been using were lined up with military precision.
"Good morning, Sergeant," Faith barked, returning the salute. "You guys all straight?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sergeant Roosevelt said.
"Listen up, Marines," Faith said. "Refugees start landing at twelve hundred hours. Between now and then, I want you to do a rotating stand-down, thirty percent on security, thirty percent getting your shit cleaned and chow and thirty percent getting a doze. We've got to keep going all day. We'll get refugees into secure points for overnight, then start training local militia tomorrow. Just hang in there and remember that sleep is for the weak. Oorah?"
"Oorah," the U.S. Marines responded.
"Status, Lieutenant?" Hamilton said, returning her salute.
The Dutch Marines were tearing into the first hot meal they'd had in months. The rotation was by squads and Second Squad was cleaning weapons and gear, having taken a "whore's bath" with baby wipes while First Squad had the unspeakably hard job of keeping awake while manning the walls of a fort.
"All good, sir," Faith replied. "Island's pretty clear. After we get through the training period, I'd like to do some foot patrolling of the outer areas, that volcano..." she said, pointing to the Quill, "and over past the oil point. Probably some betas hiding out, still, but getting all of those is pretty tough, sir. And they're not an excessive threat, sir."
"Sounds good," Hamilton said. "Lieutenant, I got sleep last night. I want you to stand down until tomorrow morning. I've got this."
"I can keep going, sir," Faith protested. "I just told my Marines that sleep is for the weak, sir! Mission, men, me, sir!"
"This is physiology, Lieutenant," Hamilton said. "A thirteen-year-old cannot keep going the way that someone nineteen can. And dealing with the refugees is going to require a certain amount of tact. When you are tired and frustrated, tact is not your strong suit. You're off until tomorrow at zero five. The gunny and I can handle this. You've done your usual excellent job at killing infected and breaking things. Now go get some sleep."
"Aye, aye, sir," Faith said.
"Oooh..." Master Sergeant John Doehler said, holding his head.
The senior imagery analyst in the Hole could blame many things. He could blame the fact that he only had one other analyst, and the kid, while pretty experienced at this point, was still a kid. He could blame the fact that there was an entire world to sweep and only two people to do it. He could blame the fact that, since the remaining birds were the only ones that would ever be up there in anyone's lifetime they could no longer retarget for things they might be interested in. Once their onboard fuel was used up they'd eventually start to degrade orbits and then, well, he'd be out of a job. Most of the world was empty and only occasionally did the spysats on ball-of-twine orbits cross something that they were really interested in. He could blame generally crappy weather in the target area as well as frequent mass-fires that often obscured the rare city shots.
However, he knew that one reason was that nobody thought there would be any critical survivors in London. So he just basically hadn't looked closely enough.
He really, really, should have spotted this months ago. Especially since the imagery had been sitting on the drive for, well, months. He'd just checked two previous passes and each clear pass had the same image.
He looked at the image again and checked it against the file photo. There was no real question. The facial recognition software was just a cross-check and it was saying eighty-seven percent accuracy. The low value was due to the angle and the weight loss, probably.
He looked at the images, especially the placards held overhead, one more time and picked up the phone.
"Sir...We may have a priority target for Wolf Squadron..."
CHAPTER 28
"...sad duty to report that the Queen is dead. We have two survivors of her SAS bodyguards and they confirm that the Queen contracted a non-H7 influenza and died of pneumonia last month shortly after her compound was compromised. The location of the remaining members of the Royal Family is unclear. Prince William and his wife were in the Seychelles on vacation while Prince Harry was on duty with his Army unit..."
From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall
University of the South Press 2053
"I shouldn't state the obvious at this juncture, General," Steve said, looking at the image. "But it would have been nice to have this a month ago. We couldn't have extracted them a month ago but some planning time would have been nice."
"Can you now?" Brice asked, seriously. There was no joking around about the general on this call.
"We have one CH-53 certified," Steve said. "It has been test-flown and is good to go. We've got a Seahawk almost ready to go. I was going over what it would take to insert on USAMRIID yesterday with Captain Wilkes. We're not finding what we need in the Caribbean so going for one of the major research centers that is coastal seems to be the only option.
"The problem is time of float and, well, details. Nobody is trained in air insertion being the top detail. Most of which can get worked out on the float. And the whole weather issue, North Atlantic in winter, but using solely the Grace Tan cuts down on that. Lots of dangers, of course. We'll be putting our primary platform way out on the end of the line. There are wrecks everywhere and if it hits one... None of which matters. I'll recall Kodiak Force immediately. They'll train up on the way."
"Understood, Captain," Brice said. "Good luck."
"We'll need it, ma'am," Steve said. "Good news. We needed another helo pilot and should get some first class soldiers out of it..."
"Oorah, Marines!" Faith said, setting her tray down at the table. "It's a beautiful day to be in the United States Marine Corps!"
"You look better, ma'am," Sergeant Weisskopf said. "You were looking pretty gray, yesterday."
"I was feeling pretty gray," Faith said. "I was upset with the colonel pulling me off duty. It felt and still feels wrong. But I'd have probably killed some stupid refugee the way I was feeling. How'd it go?"
"Easier than we expected, ma'am," Weisskopf said. "Mr. Zumwald apparently got through to them. Some of 'em, anyway. Lot less 'do you know who I am?'"
"Lot more 'I've got a better plan, get out of the way...' Sergeant," Lance Corporal Saul said.
"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 civi
lian 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 kibbitz 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 to 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 Oranj 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.
