by John Ringo
“Avec ce, Monsieur?” Steve said. “With what?”
“You have Marines,” Laurent said. “You have the gunboats. You have cleared towns in the Canary Islands. But you have not touched Europe! Are you afraid?”
“Terrified,” Steve said. “But, you can feel free, Monsieur.”
“What?” Laurent said.
“I will give you a Division,” Steve said, shrugging. “Two gun boats. One yacht. I started with far less. When you need more ammunition, well, we’ll keep in touch. Come and get it. Would you like it this evening? I do have many other things I could be doing.”
“I do not know how to run any of those things,” Laurent said.
“And this is my fault, how?” Steve asked. “But, seriously, I would be more than willing to give you a boat. Sail up to La Belle France. Free towns. Free villages. Go right ahead.”
“There is more than France to free,” David Murphy said. The Irishman more or less represented the British Isles bloc in the Squadron’s civilian population.
Not quite behind Steve’s back a democratic movement had started. It made sense except for the fact that they were still a. at sea and b. not exactly out of the woods, yet. He liked democracy except when it looked to derail any forward momentum the Squadron might have achieved.
Times like this he wished he had an Eisenhower around. Just being able to speak more than English and Spanish would help.
“Oh, most agreed, Mister Murphy,” Steve said. “Totally agreed. If you’re asking me what I would notionally do to free Europe, it would be to take it in stages, starting from Ireland.”
“That is absurd!” Laurent said. “Clearing Ireland, alone, would take… ”
“About a year the way I hope to eventually do it,” Steve said. “Possibly less. Msr. Laurent, you don’t care for me and the feeling is mutual. But if I thought you would actually take such a offer, I’m not sure I would give it to you.”
“So first you offer, then you take it away?” Laurent said. “This is so American!”
“Msr., you failed to note my statement that I would be terrified to attempt any action in Europe at the moment,” Steve said. “And although you are quick to argue for some sort of Europe First campaign, you might want to consider why moving to Europe, versus the Caribbean, during this time of the year is the lesser choice.”
“Weather,” Murphy said.
“The weather,” Steve replied. “We are barely able to manage the Squadron’s boats in nearly ideal conditions, Msr. Would you have us take the whole force into the North Atlantic? In December?”
“People are dying,” Laurent said. “People are wondering about their loved ones… ”
“There is a map of the world, Msr.,” Steve said, pointing to the wall. “Please show me the spot where people are not. As to numbers of people from where, were it based entirely on population, we should up stakes and head for Indonesia and the Philippines. Or the United States. The States are closer. So. We go to the States.”
“The fact that you are an American officer and American forces control all the guns has nothing to do with it?” Daimon Eberhard asked. The German represented many of the “continentals” in La Comite.
“Of course it has something to do with it,” Steve said, reaching into a drawer. “So does this,” he said, holding up a round. “Pop quiz for who knows what I’m holding?”
“A bullet?” Laurent said.
“A round,” Steve said. “Bullet, casing, primer and propellant. Specifically, a fifty-caliber Browning Machine-gun round, Msr. We’re using quite a bit of these and we will continue to do so because they are faster at clearing infected than mechanicals from ports. Msr., do you know where I can get some more? We still have quite a few, but at the rate we are using them, we will need ten times the amount we currently have simply to clear the ports I’ve been looking at in Scandinavia and the Baltic.”
“No, I do not,” Laurent said. “And you are planning on clearing Scandinavia?”
“I have what are described as ‘notional’ plans going out some distance, Msr.,” Steve said. “Mister Murphy, would you care to venture a guess as to where there are more of these rounds?”
“At Guantanamo Bay?” Murphy asked.
“Guantanamo Bay,” Steve said. “Key West. Mayport. Blount Island. Cherry Point. Fort Eustis. Gitmo and Key West I know I can take. Fort Eustis, possibly. Mayport and Fort Stony, the primary objective would be the RO-ROs. Msr. Laurent, you noted that quite a few of the members of the Squadron are European. Do you know where I can get some master mariners to run the RO-ROs so that I can, in fact, roll off the ammunition, guns, trucks, supplies and tanks that are onboard?”
“Many of your mariners already are,” Laurent said. “Which is why if you do not take action to free Europe, soon, you will face a strike.”
“But finding any of them is a matter of happenstance,” Steve said. “Do you know where there is a stockpile of such mariners? On submarines. American. Submarines. Filled with American. Naval personnel. And do you know who paid for those submarines? The training of their crews? The RO-RO pre-positioned ships? This ‘bullet’ as you put it? American taxpayers, Msr. Laurent. So, yes, the primary objective is and remains, America First.
“Once I have the sub crews, Msr. Laurent, and once the summer is upon us, I fully intend to send flotillas, squadrons in fact, to various points around the globe. Including, but not limited to, Europe. Can I guarantee this? No. But when summer comes, I will gladly avail you of your own boats to go clear La Belle France. Feel free. You can even leave as soon as we clear Guantanamo. If you are stupid enough to do so.
“But when and where I send my ships, my men, my boats, is up to me, gentlemen. And as to your threat to strike, Msr. Laurent, this is not the land. This is the sea. And the law of the sea says that even organizing such a movement is mutiny which is punishable by death. I would not, of course, kill you or any of these fine gentlemen. Nor the captains and mates who performed various acts to show their solidarity. I would simply strand you somewhere until there is some town you can be dropped off upon. Or, possibly, if I am feeling generous, a stout ship and you can find your own star to sail her by. In the meantime, there are people to rescue and deeds to be done by the brave. Good evening, gentlemen.”
CHAPTER 28
They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;
24 These see the works of the LORD, and his wonders in the deep... .
Psalm 107: 23–24
“I need something more than shorts and a T-shirt,” O’Toole said, his arms crossed.
The morning wasn’t cold but it was cool and there was a stiff wind. Thomas was enjoying the wind too much to notice the cold. Unfortunately, it was from the direction of the liners which meant it was a bit whiff. But he’d smelled worse for months.
“It sounds like there is more,” Walker said.
He’d met the former businessman for breakfast. Breakfast wasn’t awful but it wasn’t haute cuisine. Reconstituted scrambled eggs and more fish. There was, however, really good freshly made bread.
“I looked at the market,” O’Toole said. “They wanted five bloody chits for a pair of jeans in my size. I’m told that if we pass the course we get a free dive into what’s available. I’m waiting for that. Penny saved and all that. Where’s that bloody zodiac?”
“I doubt they keep a tight schedule,” Walker said. “But I see one inbound.”
“Anyone for the Social?” the zodiac driver asked.
“We’re supposed to meet with the nautical class on the Money,” Walker said. “Any chance of running us over there?”
“Yeah, sure,” the kid said. “You don’t want to be late. The Coast Guard fellas are bloody bastards about being late. Hop in.”
The traffic was lighter this morning and the driver cranked the zodiac to full, making the crossing in less than a minute.
“Hop out so I can run back,” he said as he slowed by the transom dock. “Don’t bother to tie o
ff. If you can’t make that little hop, just go back to cleaning compartments.”
“I can make the jump,” O’Toole said. He stepped lightly off the zodiac followed by Walker. “Thanks.”
“Cheers mate,” the driver said, splashing off.
“I suppose that’s our future,” O’Toole said. “Being a bloody taxi driver. And now I’m wet.”
“I suspect we’re going to be wet a lot,” Walker said. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Let’s go see if we can con some Russian chick out of a cup of coffee.”
As it turned out, the coffee bar was free. And the coffee was even good. So, apparently, was the tea.
“Gods I missed this,” O’Toole said, savoring the Earl Grey. “The fact that Twinings is no more is a severe blow to the world. I wasn’t going to bring it up with the others, but what do you think of the commodore’s little lecture last night?”
“I think I need to get into the salvage business,” Walker said. “Officially or unofficially.”
“I had the same thought,” O’Toole said. “Problem being, the bloody zombies.”
“The problem being, no guns,” Walker said. “I suppose I could use a machete… ”
“I was having a serious conversation, Yank,” O’Toole said.
“So was I,” Walker said. “You can kill someone with a machete. I’d prefer a gun, though.”
“So you have some experience in those matters?” O’Toole asked.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “But I wasn’t interested in being a master-at-arms.”
“A what?” O’Toole asked.
“Navy security force,” Thomas said. “I’d rather just spend some time on these yachts. Among other things, it will cover the dos and don’ts of salvage in the current climate. There are going to be don’ts.”
There were Marines starting to filter into the area and a Marine corporal walked to the coffee bar.
“Good morning, Corporal,” Walker said, more or less automatically. He even said it with a bit of command voice and reminded himself he was under cover.
“Good morning, sir,” the corporal said. To Walker’s surprise, he fixed a cup of green tea.
“Green tea?” Walker said.
“For the Lieutenant, sir,” the Corporal said as a very young looking blonde walked over. She was wearing pips on her collar.
“For you, ma’am,” the Corporal said, diffidently.
“You didn’t have to do that, Derek,” the girl said, dimpling. “But thank you.”
“Lieutenant,” Walker said. “May I ask if you are Probationary Third Lieutenant Faith Marie Smith?”
“Yes, I am,” the girl said, looking at him with suddenly dark eyes. The Corporal tensed a bit as well. “Why?”
“What is your issue with the 1911 if I may ask?” Walker said.
“You must have taken the fire-arms test,” the girl said, grinning just as suddenly. More dimples. “Seven rounds. Okay, seven plus one. H&K has twelve plus one. And I’ve been in too many scrums where twelve was better than seven. And you can shoot it underwater. If you get it out in time,” she added, darkening again.
“You can shoot a 1911 under water,” Walker said.
“Ever done it?” the girl asked. “My Da shot a hammerhead with an H&K. Okay, the polymer frame is an issue. I had one crack on me the other day and finding a new one’s going to be a bitch. But other than that, I’m a big fan. Like the response says, it’s a religion thing.”
“I take it that AK was the right answer,” Walker said. “Although, I prefer a custom. The manufactured versions are robust but clumsy. What is your problem with the M4, if I may?”
“Oh, good God, sir!” the Corporal said. “Please don’t get her started on Barbie guns!”
“Barbie guns?” Walker said. “As in, M4 SOP Mod, Barbie for Guys?”
“As in made of plastic by Mattel,” the girl said. “And they don’t kill zombies. They’re a bloody toy. AK puts them down with one to two rounds. Barbie guns it’s five to seven. And they zip right through the target. The United States started going downhill… ”
“When the military changed from a round designed to kill the enemies of our glorious Republic to one designed to piss them off… ” the corporal finished.
“Your quote?” Walker asked.
“My father’s,” the Lieutenant said. “But I agree.”
“Do you get many proposals of marriage, Miss?” Walker asked.
“Haven’t had one today,” the girl answered, grinning. “But Lieutenant Fontana pointed out that fourteen is legal in Arkansas. I told him of we cleared Arkansas by the time I was fourteen we’d talk.”
“ ‘By the time you’re fourteen’?” O’Toole said. “How old are you, Miss?”
“Thirteen,” the girl said. “Almost fourteen. So time’s a wastin’.”
“And a Marine Lieutenant?” O’Toole said. “Bloody hell. We must be stretched!”
“She’s earned it, sir,” Corporal Douglas said, loyally. “Shewolf was born a Marine, sir.”
“Thanks, Derk,” the girl said, punching him on the arm. “Love you, too.”
“Fontana?” Walker asked. “One of the Marine Lieutenants?”
“He’s a Special Forces staff sergeant,” the girl said. “He took a direct promotion to Army First Lieutenant. He’s running one of the Marine platoons since we don’t have many officers. Oops, gotta go. Time to go suit up and kill us some zombies.”
“And time for us to make our way to the transom deck,” O’Toole said. “Don’t want to be late.”
* * *
There was a thirty-five foot sport fisher tied up to the transom deck with a man in Coast Guard uniform sitting on its transom.
“Nautical course?” O’Toole asked.
“Climb aboard,” the Coast Guardsman said. “If you fall in, you get an automatic fail when the sharks eat you. Names?”
“O’Toole. Rob O’Toole.”
“Walker, Thomas.”
“Okay, just grab a seat inside. Be with you at eight.”
Eventually, six more people filed into the saloon followed by the petty officer.
“O’Toole,” he said. “Take the helm. If you hit anything, you get an automatic fail. If you can’t figure out how to drive this, it is a demerit. Any questions?”
“Yes, sir,” O’Toole said. The helm was forward, just off the saloon. “Where am I going?”
“Head for the entrance to the harbor,” the Petty Officer said, taking a position by the helm. “And listen up. I’m Petty Officer Ernest Paxton. I’m one of the few actual boat drivers that survived on the USCG cutter Campbell so I am, for my sins, in charge of this course.
“We’re given three days to teach you how to drive these boats, basic safety and how to survive in one of the toughest professions on earth. That is not enough time. So we work all day and into the night. If you don’t like it, quit. You rotate positions, while the classes are going on. We stop the boat, sometimes, for the quizzes and that’s it. All of you will take the helm and you’re going to have to drive and listen to the classes at the same time. Some of you will be in the engine room going over that while classes are going on up here. You’ll have to catch up on your own time and you won’t have much. Walker?”
“Sir?” Walker said.
“How the hell did you score a eighty-nine on the test?” the PO said. “We’ve got Master Mariners with tickets didn’t score that high.”
“I read the book a while back, sir,” Walker said. “And I’ve got a good memory. I’m not a master mariner.”
“Damned straight,” Paxton said. “But you’ve got the book down pretty well. The thing about the sea is, about the time you think you’ve got it figured out, it rears up and bites you in the ass. And the evolutions that they’re planning for with you guys are insane. You’re not going to be taking over boats immediately. You’ll be crew. But even then, what they are planning is crazy. But it’s got to be done. It’s the only way to complete the mission.
“So we’re go
ing to train you, as well as we can, in three days. You will be on this boat constantly. You won’t be sleeping here but you’ll be eating here and otherwise living on this boat. Part of the class is how to survive in a galley. That’s actually what that portion is called: How to Survive in a Galley. And… Killian. What’s a galley?”
“The kitchen on a boat?” Killian answered.
“Or… ? Bradford, what’s the other meaning of a galley?”
“I… don’t know,” Bradford said.
“I don’t know, Petty Officer,” the PO said.
“I don’t know, Petty Officer?” Bradford parroted.
“It’s a type of ancient rowboat,” the PO said. “And I need a cup of coffee. Find the galley that is not an ancient rowboat and fix me one.”
“Yes, sir,” Bradford said.
“Yes, Petty Officer,” Paxton said. “And we’re beginning with basic nautical terms… ”
* * *
“Which side of the ship is to lee?” Paxton asked. “Bradford?”
“The lef… Port, side, Petty Officer,” Bradford replied.
“Bradford, Killian, mount the fenders then standby with boat hooks,” Paxton said. “O’Toole, Rogers, on the grapnels. Martin and Bush, heave ho on the grapnels. Walker, you’re the captain. Which side are you going to approach?”
The group had been going constantly for the last two days from 0800 to 2200. Man overboard drills. Recovery from lifeboats. How to board a lifeboat. Fire drills constantly. Maintenance. How to survive going alongside another yacht first in harbor then at sea. How to cook in a galley, first in harbor, then at sea. How to stow things away so they didn’t come loose in heavy seas. How to come alongside a supply ship and “unrep” in the harbor. Now how to unrep from a drifting freighter. Live. At sea. The freighter had been “cleared” by Navy security and now they were, as a sort of final exam, having to come alongside, board, and pump out the freighter’s fuel into their tanks. It had been determined to be diesel which was not always the case.
