by John Ringo
“This is quote Blount, Commodore. My actual name is Frank Galloway. Prior to the Plague, I was one of several people rotated to secure points to act as NCCC in the event of something like, well, this.”
“Zombies high on the list of possible problems?” Steve asked.
“No,” Galloway said. “Not really. And to give you an idea how bad it is, I was number one hundred and twenty-six on the list. The current Commander of the Joint Chiefs is a brigadier and you can guess how low the rest of the people are. The reality is that there probably are other survivors higher up the chain. There may even be functioning secure points which have just lost commo. But…”
“But possibly not,” Steve said.
“CDC is still there as well. And several other nations have maintained at least one functioning fraction of their former government. Russia, notably. One of the reasons we haven’t called you back is that we’ve been getting…flack from the Russians. They’re insisting on equal access to the vaccine.”
“I don’t have an issue with that,” Steve said. “I mean… I’m not some sort of tranzi, but right now there’s no real point in worrying about borders. They’re basically gone.”
“My Russian counterpart is an interesting chap,” Galloway said. “He’s stated that Russia is no more and that it is again the Soviet Union and that absent supplying all of his nuclear wessels ///sic/// with vaccine, immediately, he will solve our zombie problem with nuclear strikes.”
“What?” Steve said.
“I’d appreciate you keeping that to yourself, Commodore,” Galloway said. “As I said, the reason you’ve been out on a limb is that we didn’t have a secure line. I had considered this method earlier but it was not… I should have done it sooner. I apologize. While this is not exactly a busy job, it’s not all beer and skittles.”
“Going to have to leave that in your lap, sorry,” Steve said. “Any idea if this cruise liner has an x-ray machine.”
“It does,” Galloway said. “But the overall lab supplies and equipment will be miniscule. And the nearest hospital ship with one is in the very south Atlantic. It was on its way from the IO when the plague broke out. And it managed to still get contaminated. Do you think you can clear a land area?”
“Depends on how large,” Steve temporized. “And right now, no. But I have some notional plans for clearing, say, small towns that are remote from major infected presence.
“Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, had barely nine thousand personnel,” Galloway said. “However, it had been upgraded to support not only the detainees but as a support base for disasters in the Caribbean region. Also…sometimes there were refugees with medical conditions from those disasters that needed a better hospital. If there wasn’t a hospital ship available, they could be treated at Gitmo without bringing them to the U.S. So a second hospital was built, which has a full epidemiological lab. It should have everything you need to produce attenuated vaccine. However, there is a significant infected presence on the base.”
“I think I can clear it,” Steve said, rubbing his chin. “Possibly. Probably.”
“How?” Galloway asked.
“Well, you have information I need,” Steve said. “Is there a large source of fifty caliber ammunition somewhere nearby? At sea, I mean. I’m thinking of a SeaLift ship. There aren’t any on the AIS I’ve got. But that’s not complete. AIS stops working when the ship does.”
“Standby… There is a Marine amphibious assault carrier, the Iwo Jima, approximately eight hundred nautical miles southeast of Bermuda. According to my senior Marine that would have a large store of fifty caliber. You need fifty caliber to take Guantanamo I take it.”
“Mount fifties, water cooled, at the level of the docks,” Steve said. “Make lots of light and noise overnight. Open fire at dawn. Then continue clearance on land. If there are survivors on the Iwo Jima… That would increase our chances. So far we’ve only found the one life raft from the Iwo. Most of them probably went east of Bermuda and we’ve been searching west. God knows I could use some Marines. As well as trained Navy people.”
“The question of your ability to prepare the vaccine has been raised again. Is your tech… Without naming any names or… Oh, skip that. Can he or she do it?”
“Quality control is the issue,” Steve said. “We have the recipe if you will. But the doctor checked the quality and we won’t have the materials or equipment he had. Then again… We don’t know what we’re going to get off this cruise ship. In terms of help, that is. There are people alive.”
“Yes, we’re getting a live feed from the Dallas,” Galloway said.
“Some of them could be doctors,” Steve said. “Biologists or MDs. Possibly. Or not. That’s the problem with making plans with this job. You never know what you’re going to get. You change your plans on the basis of whatever shows up, however it shows up. Fortunately, my masters is based on that.”
“Excuse me?” Galloway said.
“Have you ever wondered why my daughter is called Faith?” Steve said.
“I had assumed you were a fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Galloway said. “Or at least that was suggested by one of my advisors.”
“Never saw it until after she was born,” Steve said. “My masters was on logistics in a low support condition, specifically keeping the Gloster Gladiators flying on Malta during the Siege.”
“I have a lot of history, but… Standby… Ah, my senior Air Force advisor just filled me in. Faith, Hope and Charity. I see.”
“Three obsolete biplanes faced down the Luftwaffe for nearly two years and kept flying, sir,” Steve said. “Their crews had to make parts from scrap metal. Parts would come in for Hurricanes. Hurricanes. They didn’t see their first Hurricane until 1943. So they would rework Hurricane parts to work in Glosters. They would beg, borrow or steal. Rework, refit, literally use chewing gum. When they had chewing gum.”
“That makes sense,” Galloway said. “I guess you are well prepared for your current situation.”
“Does your Air Force advisor know which aircraft had the most kills, sir? That never missed so much as one battle?”
“She admits that as a bomber pilot she’d sort of consider them the bad guys, so, no.”
“Put it this way, sir,” Steve said. “Whenever they went to battle, they always had Faith.”
* * *
“We decontaminated everything,” Sophia said over the loudhailer.
The submariners had taken the “lifeboat” alternative. Although it was a zodiac with an outboard.
They waved as the packet of vaccine floated towards them.
“Thanks for the assist,” Faith said, waving back. It had been quite an assist.
First the Dallas had approached to within a few hundred meters of the cruise ship. The sub was also dwarfed but the sail was fairly high. Then a team clad in MOPP gear came out on the sail. The team first mounted their machine gun, then set off multiple flares as well as repeated blasts from a loudhailer. The combination had drawn a large herd of zombies to the lifeboat deck.
After there was a fair concentration, the team opened fire. Much of the fire struck the side of the ship but quite a bit had managed to hit the zombies. It had taken about thirty minutes of short bursts and two barrel changes but they finally cleared all of the obvious infecteds from the lifeboat deck.
Then the team clambered down, got out the zodiac and the boarding ladder and approached the ship. Getting the line up would probably have been the tough part for the Wolf crews. The submariners made it look easy. Among other things, they used a line thrower. But Hooch had explained that that was not usually considered “the easy way.”
With the ladder in place they backed off to pick up their vaccine.
“We got to get in there before more zombies come around,” Faith said.
“Da said wait til he got here,” Sophia said.
“Bring us in close,” Faith said, picking up the radio.
* * *
“Toy, Shewolf. Da, you there?”<
br />
“Roger,” Steve said. “Closing your position. ETA, one hour.”
“Da, the Dallas cleared off a deck and put in a ladder. If we wait, the zombies are going to come around again. You know how they are. Permission to, I dunno… Get a foothold is what Soph just said.”
Steve thought about that and looked at Stacey. She was looking at him and bending her head as if waiting for a punch.
“Do you have a back-up plan?” Steve said.
“No, but I’ve got lots of guns and knives and a machete. I’m still looking for a chainsaw.”
* * *
“Sir,” the Chief of Boat, Senior NCO, of the Dallas said, standing at parade rest. “Might I suggest, with no disrespect, that it is unseemly for a commander in the United States Navy, skipper of this mighty engine of war, to literally roll around on the deck laughing…?”
* * *
“Authorized.”
“And you had better be okay when we get there or I’ll tan your hide!”
“Yes, Mother,” Faith said. “Shewolf out. Hey, Hooch, let’s LOCK AND LOAD!”
* * *
“Let me go first at least,” Hocieniec said.
“Hooch, you’re a Marine,” Faith said, tightening the strap on her helmet. She was wearing what had become her standard “extreme zombie fighting” kit. Tactical boots and tacticals. Firefighting bunker gear. Nomex head cover tucked under the collar of the bunker gear. Full face respirator. Helmet with integrated visor. Body armor with integral MOLLE. Knee, elbow and shin guards. Nitrile gloves. Tactical gloves. Rubber gloves. Assault pack with hydration unit. Saiga shotgun on friction strap rig. 45 USP in tactical fast-draw holster. 2x.45 USP in chest holsters. 14 Saiga 10 round 12 gauge magazines plus one in the weapon. Nine pistol magazines in holster plus three in weapons. Kukri in waist sheathe. Machete in over shoulder sheathe, right. Halligan tool in over shoulder sheathe, left. Tactical knife in chest sheathe. Tactical knife in waist sheathe. Bowie knife in thigh sheathe. Calf tactical knife x 2. Few clasp knives dangling in various places.
There was the head of a teddy bear peaking out of her assault pack.
“And you’re a grown up. That says you should go. But you’re also not back in shape, it’s been a while since you’ve done a boarding ladder, you’re still in training at zombie killing and I’ve done these things a few times, lately. Just make damned sure the soft part of the boat stays under the ladder. And if I drop in the drink, you’d better get me in fast. Kay?”
“No, but… I guess you’re in charge.”
“Damn straight,” Faith said, clipping the safety line to her waist. “And no paying attention to my butt. Keep your mind on the job.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hooch said.
“Here goes nothing,” Faith said, jumping up and grabbing the ladder.
“Faith, you’ve already got company,” Sophia called from the Endeavor. “One. Male. Decent shape.”
“No worries, mate,” Faith muttered to herself. “I hate heights.”
“Make that, two.”
“Easy. As long as I don’t look down.”
“Four.”
“Six a dollar.
“Five…”
“Target rich environment.”
“More…”
“You have got to be shitting me,” Faith said, keying her radio and whispering. She was nearly to the top of the ladder.
“I think they’re feeding on the ones the Dallas shot.”
“Okay,” Faith said looking up at where the grapnel was connected to the bulwark. She could hear them. “Okay. What’s my back-up plan? Oh…fuck it.” She keyed her iPod and rolled over the bulwark.
* * *
“Oh, shit, no,” Sophia said as Faith clambered the rest of the way up the boarding ladder and rolled over the side of the ship. She could see more zombies moving towards the piles of dead. “No, no, no.”
Faith straightened up and started firing her Saiga to aft. Which was great except for the zombie that appeared from behind cover to her rear and tackled her.
“HOOCH GET UP THERE!” Sophia screamed over the loudhailer. The Marine started to climb the ladder, painfully slowly.
Faith suddenly reared up into sight again, a pistol in her hand and firing into the deck. She stomped once or twice, then turned with her back to the landing ladder and fired one handed to aft, where the zombies were closing and pulled another pistol out and fired forward, turning her head from side to side like she was watching a Wimbledon match. She was missing a lot, but zombies in view were dropping. Unfortunately, not enough and she got dog-piled.
Then she was up again, with a pistol in one hand and a kukri in the other. She slashed down with the kukhri, kicked again, shot a couple more and then went down. Again.
And back up. This time with the Saiga. Got two more. Went down.
Back up, holding a zombie over her head. It had a tactical knife in its eye. The zombie went into the drink. And she went down again.
And up again, Halligan tool in a two handed grip, pounding down. Tackled.
“Okay, this fucking sucks,” Faith panted over the radio. There was a background of constant snarls. “Trying to reload your fucking pistol with a zombie biting your fucking ass fucking sucks… Quit chewing my ass you dummy…”
There was an “open circuit” button on the radios for hands free operation. Sophia realized that had happened to Faith’s radio in the scuffle and her sister didn’t realize that she was broadcasting.
“Careful, careful, Faith, don’t shoot yourself in the ass. That would be embarrassing…” There was a shot. “Dinkum… I’m wearing fucking bunker gear, you dumbfuck.” Two shots. “You cannot bite through it. And that’s my shin pad!” Another shot. “Oooo, I’ll call you melon head. Let go of my arm or I’m going to… Oh, there you are my rugged Nepalese beauty. What were you doing hiding under there? Come to momma… There, I cut off your hand. Happy now? Are you ready?”
Faith came up with a zombie on her back and shrugged it off, spinning in place with the kukhri and cutting its throat as she fired her.45 into the back of one grabbing her waist.
“I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THESE MOTHERFUCKING ZOMBIES ON THIS MOTHERFUCKING…” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Hocieniec cleared the railing and finally saw what was going on. He clearly was frozen trying to figure out what to do, pull zombies off Faith or engage the ones still closing. Faith swung the Halligan tool, jamming the claw-hammer into a zombie’s skull, then overbalanced and went down again.
“GET THE OTHERS,” Sophia boomed. “FAITH’S DOING FINE.”
* * *
Bradburn waved a finger at the periscope repeater.
“COB.”
“Sir?”
“Remind me never to piss that young lady off.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER 29
“Dibs on direct commission.”
Lieutenant Colonel Justin Pierre had been missing meetings due to a recurrence of, of all things, malaria. He’d picked it up in Afghanistan. Doctors at Walter Reed thought they’d gotten out every trace with a new drug regime but it turned out they were, well, wrong. Which hadn’t been spotted before he was put on this assignment or he’d never have had it. In fact, malaria was now one of those things that was ground for medical retirement. Or, possibly, a letter of reprimand since you were supposed to take prophylaxis medication.
Colonel Pierre had not been lax in his use of prophylaxis medication. He had ended up way in the back of nowhere and cut off for about thirty days until he could E &E to friendly lines. Unlike the SEALs who had ended up in a similar situation, his team had never made the news. Probably because he had managed to extract all of them without any deaths. Wounded, yes, but they had an 18 Delta with them. Regular medics and corpsmen were trained to stabilize a patient until they could be evacuated. Special Forces medics were trained to heal people. They admitted they were not doctors, nor anywhere close, but Sergeant Ford had gone above and beyond.
Ho
wever, they were planning for a seven day mission. Not thirty. All of them had gotten malaria.
But he was back in the saddle and determined to get that girl as a commissioned officer in the United States Army.
“I’ll throw in submitting a Memo for Record to the CJCS that they waive normal restrictions against women attending advanced combat schools, set up a quicky Q course and automatically pass her.”
“She’s thirteen, Colonel,” Brice said, drily.
“I think the youngest officer the U.S. Army ever commissioned was fifteen,” Pierre said. “ I can gin up a recommendation to the Joint Chiefs that given current global conditions we can waiver some people.”
“That’s a lot of waivers, Colonel,” Freeman said. “Besides, I think all things considered, she’s more the SEAL type.”
“Got any available SEAL instructors?” Pierre said. “I’m a qualified Q course instructor.”
“Actually I was thinking Marines,” Mr. Galloway said. “Colonel Ellington. I now have a better appreciation for your paladin in hell metaphor.”
Galloway looked over at Ellington and saw that the colonel’s face was covered in tears.
“Colonel?” Galloway said, carefully.
“She reminds me of my wife, sir,” the colonel said. “She was a lieutenant in the MPs when we met.”
“I am…” Galloway said. There was an unspoken rule against speaking about family. At least in these sort of circumstances. “Sorry. I hope to have the opportunity to meet her someday.”
“That would be difficult, sir,” Ellington said. “She was killed in Iraq. Long before this…debacle. Suicide bomber. I was standing about ten feet from her. Facing her, sir. They…picked parts of her out of my face at Walter Reed, sir.” He pointed to an odd bump on his face. “Then again, parts of her are still with me, sir. They believe it is a portion of a tooth. My wife had beautiful teeth.”
“Holy fuck, Ellington,” Brice whispered. “That wasn’t in your service report. Just that you’d been hit by an IED in Iraq.”
“That was personal rather than professional,” Ellington said with a shrug. “She essentially shielded me from the blast. I survived. She did not. It was tough, but we’d arranged to be on the same team, doing analysis of the Iraqi WMD program. She was commanding the security team. She was always…” His face tightened and he breathed hard.
