To Sail a Darkling Sea btr-2

by John Ringo

  “You will turn over your boat or we will kill your crewman.” The man was heavyset and armed only with a pistol. He had a thick Slavic accent but the voice was… cultured. Something. He didn’t really sound like a thug.

  “Hello,” Sophia replied. “Greetings from Wolf Squadron of the United States Navy. I’m Lieutenant Sophia Smith, skipper of the US Navy Auxiliary Vessel No Tan Lines. To whom am I speaking?”

  “This does not matter. There is no United States so there is no United States Navy. You will turn over your boat. We will spare your lives. If you attempt to drive off, we shall open fire.”

  “That would be the worst possible mistake you could make, sir,” Sophia said, calmly. “If you fire, you will destroy this boat, then we would both be adrift. Please, do not be… nekulturny. We have time. It is a nice day for conversation. You have been out of contact for some time. I would acquaint you with the current conditions. I will not, as you say, drive off.”

  “What are the current conditions?” the man said. She could hear the hunger for information in his voice. Like most castaways.

  “All land areas are under control of infected,” Sophia said. “As are most ships and boats. However, Wolf Squadron is part of the United States Navy. I am a Naval officer and this is a US Navy boat. A US Navy boat or ship, of even the smallest such as mine, has not been captured since the Barbary Pirates days. I am not going to be the first.

  “Now, your actions have been aggressive. But they are not, so far, past the point of real difficulty. Castaways react in various manners. You wish to be able to get to some point of relative safety. You wish to have supplies again, some sort of a life other than eeking out a miserable living on raw fish and what water you can distill with your solar stills. I can sympathize. Most of the squadron has been in your situation at one point or another. We are more than willing to share supplies. We can even get you a boat so that you and some of your companions can go on your merry way. With your weapons. You’ll need them to clear boats of infected so you can salvage.

  “However, we have only two real penalties at this point. We don’t have much in the way of prisons or brigs so you get either the ‘leave us and other uninfecteds alone and we’ll leave you alone,’ the offer I’m making to you now, or death. There, really, isn’t much in the middle. So, you might want to consider that in light of your threat to destroy a US Navy vessel. Because, then, well, ‘leave you alone’ isn’t going to happen.”

  “You are one boat and you are under my guns. And I still don’t believe you are Navy. Where is your uniform? Why would the Navy use yachts? Where are your supercarriers?”

  “Full of infected,” Sophia said. “Although we’re clearing a baby carrier at the moment. And I am the only vessel in view. There are others. So, what do you say? I’ll get you a boat, full of fuel, full of supplies, you can sail off with your… henchmen and we’ll let bygones be bygones. I’ll even throw in a case of scotch. You like scotch? Me not so much.”

  “The boat I am going to take is here already,” the man replied. “And you will either surrender it or be destroyed. You have one minute to tie alongside. I have a rocket launcher, in case you don’t know what that is.”

  “You have a rocket-propelled grenade launcher,” Sophia said. “Slightly different beast. And if we’re playing one-upmanship, I have a submarine. Alex, you monitoring?”

  “ROGER, SEAWOLF,” a powerful transmission came in. “SURFACING AT TWO-TWO-SIX, RANGE ONE THOUSAND YARDS.”

  Sophia didn’t bother to look over her shoulder, she just watched their faces as the Alexandria came to the surface a kilometer out.

  “So, yes, there is still a United States Navy and yes, I am a United States Naval officer and yes, you are in a heap of trouble. But we can work that out. So far it’s no harm, no foul. So you can put down your poxie little crap AK knockoffs and your dinky little RPG or I can sink you. I’ll even give you the choice of machine-gun fire, torpedo, Harpoon missile or Tomahawk. Your call, fucktard.”

  * * *

  Rusty had collected the AKs, dumped the RPG into the drink, left the water and come back to the boat. In the meantime, the Alex had contacted Flotilla. After that it was a matter of a nine-hour wait until Kuzma showed up in the Large along with the Midlife Crisis which was captained by another CG petty officer, the Pit Stop and a sailboat Sophia had never seen before called the Knotty Problem. Appropriate name. The Large had a machine-gun team on the “sundeck” forward. Sophia knew that while the two “security specialists” were both “into” guns-civilian shooters, that is-neither of them had ever handled a machine gun before the Plague. So she was really hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

  “See why the skipper doesn’t do away teams?” Kuzma radioed when he was alongside.

  “Yes, and in agreement, sir,” Sophia said. “On the other hand, wasn’t going to in this case. Knew there was something fishy. How are we going to handle this, sir?”

  “Do we have some clue who are goats and who are sheep?” Kuzma asked.

  “When the guns came out we took video,” Sophia said. “There were seven who were armed. We don’t know who they are, but we know what they look like.”

  “Roger.”

  “Russian vessel, this is Commander Vancel, skipper of the united States Navy Attack Submarine USS Alexandria. There were seven armed personnel who threatened to hijack a Us Navy vessel onboard your ship. Those persons will stand on the wash deck of the vessel. The sailboat Knotty Problem will be brought alongside along with two dinghies. We will toss you lines. Tie it up. Our crew will offload, taking one of the dinghies. Those seven will enter the sailboat. Anyone who wants to accompany the seven may leave with them as long as it is clearly of their own free will. Any evidence of coercion will be dealt with by lethal force.

  “The sailboat has been resupplied and refueled. The engines, peripherals and all sailing equipment are in good running order. There is one, repeat, one pistol onboard for self defense or light clearance for the purposes of salvage. The seven individuals as well as any others who wish to accompany them will then sail away. As long as you are not further known to engage in hostilities, stay away from us, don’t pirate vessels, and don’t kill uninfected, we’ll let bygones be bygones. Come to our attention in a negative way and you will be dealt with. As I believe Lieutenant Smith pointed out, we have ‘go away’ and ‘death’ as our only current penalties. This is the ‘go away’ option. You have fifteen minutes to prepare.”

  The heavyset man was on the back upper deck, by the entrance to the main saloon. He still had the hand-set Rusty had been carrying.

  “Do you know who I am? I am Nazar Lavrenty! This is my yacht. You speak of piracy but you are stealing my yacht.”

  “I didn’t know who you were until I contacted higher,” Vancel replied. “They, in turn, contacted the Russians they are in communication with. General Kazimov’s response was ебать твою мать.”

  The man was waving his arms and shouting into the radio.

  “KAZIMOV! KAZIMOV? HE IS NOT THE RUSSIAN GOVERNMENT!”

  “Think that name touches a nerve?” Paula said, grinning.

  “Sounds like it,” Sophia said.

  “He is what is left,” Vancel radioed. “We might have tried to work with you and left you in some control of the vessel, which we need, had you not shown your inability to be trusted. This has been authorized by higher, and what remains of the Russian government. That is all there is to it. You have fifteen minutes or US Marines will perform a hostile boarding. If you survive that you shall be given a very brief trial, shot, and dumped over the side. The clock starts now.”

  The sailboat was brought alongside. Some of the crew on the Money caught the tossed lines and secured it while the Wolf crew unassed into a dinghy and headed back to the Large.

  In a bit more than fifteen minutes, “Lavrenty” came out with his henchmen and the same number of women.

  “Coincidence?” Paula said. “I don’t think so.”

 
“Lavrenty, leave the women on the yacht. Board the sailboat with your personnel. Put the women on the radio, one by one, on the upper aft deck away from the sailboat with the radio. We have to have assurances they are not under duress. Do not attempt to exit the boat while we are getting those assurances. The machine-gun crew on the Large will take you under fire if you try to exit.”

  “These are girlfriends. And they don’t speak English.”

  “You’d be surprised how many translators survived,” Vancel replied. “Pick a language. It was not a request.”

  The following conversation was in foreign languages. Most of them, after a few gabbled words, dropped the, fortunately robust, radio and darted back into the interior of the yacht. Only two went with Lavrenty in the end.

  “They’re going to be busy,” Paula said, drily. “Not that they weren’t already.”

  Most of the women were visibly pregnant.

  “What happens in the compartment,” Sophia said. “I sincerely doubt any of them were virgins before they got on that boat.”

  “Point.”

  There was a good bit of arm waving and angst onboard the Knotty Problem. Apparently, while it was supplied, the supply crew had not bothered to clean it up. Then there was the issue of the women. One of the “henchmen” slapped one of the women right in front of God and everybody which earned him a burst of machine-gun fire from the Large. Finally the aptly named sailboat started up its engines and putted away from the megayacht.

  “If there are any qualified crewmen left onboard, could you pick up the radio, please… ”

  * * *

  “Permission to come aboard?” Sophia said, tossing the line of the dinghy to a sailor on the wash deck of the megayacht.

  “Come aboard, please.” The woman waiting on the wash deck was gorgeous. Most notable were long, incredibly shapely legs. “I am Olga Zelenova, and you are…?”

  “No Tan Lines,” Sophia said, hopping onto the deck.

  “Never leave the boat” referred to boardings of hostile or potentially hostile vessels. Not boarding the new flagship of the flotilla.

  “I… yes, I have no tan… What?” Olga said, confused.

  “Sorry,” Sophia said. “It’s a Navy thing. I’m the skipper of the No Tan Lines. Acting Ensign Third Class Sophia Smith.”

  “Ah,” Olga said, brightening up. “The boat which found us. Thank you. Yes, ‘You may have a rocket launcher but I have a submarine.’ Very funny. And, yes, Nazar was, as you say, a ‘fucktard.’ ”

  “You know where the meeting’s at?” Sophia asked.

  “This way,” Olga said. “I am greeting the visitors.”

  “Nice,” Sophia said as they entered the main saloon. “Much nicer than the Alpha. Of course, you never got overrun with infected.”

  The saloon had taken a beating in use, no question. But it was still reasonably clean and very very ornate. And huge. If anything it was bigger than the Alpha’s. Now that the ship was under power again, it was even pleasantly air conditioned.

  “It is very nice,” Olga said. “At first. When you are on here with no power or water and people you really did not like in the first place… It is less nice. I am pleased there is new ownership.”

  “Were you one of the ones Lavrenty tried to run off with?” Sophia asked.

  “Yes,” Olga said, frowning. “I do not want to go. But they still had guns, you know, pistols. And they are… brutal. Still, all has come out well.”

  “I don’t know about well,” Sophia said as they entered the massive dining room. “But better.”

  “Lieutenant,” Kuzma said, waving to a chair.

  “I’m not late, am I?” Sophia asked.

  “No,” Kuzma said. “And we’re still waiting on Captain Sava. Miss Zelenova, if you could see where the captain’s got to?”

  “Sava?” Sophia asked when the girl had left the room.

  “Skipper of this,” Captain Lloyd A. Behm II said.

  “Who is, probably, going to keep on being the skipper,” Kuzma said. “With some security onboard, of course.”

  “I am sorry I am late.” The skipper of the ship was medium height with dark black hair and a heavily muscled body. “One of the water pumps is still not working. I was discussing it with the chief engineer.”

  “You’re actually right on time,” Kuzma said. “All right, everyone, Captain Vladan Sava, skipper of the… akuba…?

  “Perhaps ‘Money for Nothing’…?” Captain Sava said. “It is the rough translation.”

  “Skipper of the Money for Nothing,” Kuzma said. “From left to right, Captain Behm of the Sea Hooky. Captain Poole of the Noby Dick.”

  “Yo,” Gary Poole said, waving. The skipper of the awkwardly-named 73' Arquela was tall, still quite emaciated, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a broad-brimmed straw hat. “So wish tradition let me change the name… ”

  After Sophia had decided it would honor the owners to keep the name “No Tan Lines,” the tradition had stuck fast. Captain Poole just happened to draw a very short straw.

  “Captain Richard Estep of the N2 Deep. Captain Elias Rostad of the One Toy Two Many. And Captain Richard Purser of the Finally Fishin’.”

  “It is good to meet you all and I look forward to helping in this endeavor.”

  “Captain Sava,” Kuzma continued, “who is an experienced master mariner, thank God, has agreed to assist the efforts of Wolf Squadron. The Money will begin to act, immediately, as the Flotilla One’s flagship. However, all personnel onboard are currently suffering from malnutrition due to lack of stores. We have stores already delivered to the Pit Stop which will be transferred, however all excess stores should be moved to the Money beginning immediately after this meeting. Anybody going to say they don’t have excess? And, yes, I know you’ve got your little stashes, I’m talking regular excess?”

  “Plenty,” Behm said. “We were getting ready to shift some of it to the Pit Stop anyway.”

  “We will also begin rotation of personnel to the Money for crew rest,” Kuzma said. “I know you all could use some time in a bunk that’s not rocking quite so much.”

  “All for that,” Sophia said.

  “With the exception of the Lines which I’ll get to,” Kuzma said. “You’re going to get screwed a bit; sorry, Lieutenant.”

  “No worries,” Sophia said.

  “The first boat to unload will be the Lines. Soph, what’s your fuel status?”

  “Not full,” Sophia said. “Close. More than three-quarter’s tank. We unrepped from a sailboat we found that still had onboard.”

  “That should be enough for this,” Kuzma said. “Lines will then proceed to 30.532,-28.169 where we have report of a small tanker. I’ll send a prize crew and another security officer with you to check it out. If it’s diesel, we’re golden. If not, you’ll need to rendezvous with the Pit Stop at another freighter we found. That had plenty of diesel in its bunkers. This ship is going to need way more than the Pit Stop had to deliver.”

  “What about Squadron?” Behm asked.

  “As in getting it from squadron, or their situation?” Kuzma said. “They unrepped to the Grace and Alpha from the Iwo so they’re in good shape. If necessary, we can run the Pit Stop up to the Iwo to unrep but we should be able to get it from the freighter. Best would be if the tanker has diesel. From the reports, it sounds like it’s one of those small tankers that is used to resupply local ports. Sometimes it’s gas, sometimes its diesel. You never know.

  “Once we have this boat fully resupplied and refueled, the squadron will form a rough line perpendicular to the Equatorial Current. The Large will take and hold the center point with the Money and any other support type vessels we recover in trail. Small boats will spread out on either side, each with a packet to cover. The ones to the center will come in to the Money for off-load of recovered personnel and materials. If we can get a supply ship like the Grace at some point, they may be taken aboard for repair. Start ripping out any parts you find. We’ll find a place in the s
upport zone to hold and inventory them. Vessels will stay inboard for a few days after recovery doing local support. Including ‘fishing ops.’ Turns out the subs have been using their active to knock out schools of fish. They generally get more than they can use. Most of you have cold fish storage. We’ll scoop up their excess. That is the general outline of the plan until we’re recalled to squadron. Lieutenant Smith, do you have any questions?”

  “No, sir,” Sophia said, trying not to sigh. She knew they were planning on rotating people to any big vessel they found, and she’d been looking forward to a few days off. But…

  “Get with Gary on your security and prize crew,” Kuzma said. “They’re already detailed off. If you don’t have anything, we need to get cracking on finding some fuel.”

  “Will do, sir,” Sophia said, standing up. “Have a nice chat.”

  * * *

  “Okay,” Sophia said. “Here’s the thing with tankers. You really don’t want to fire onboard.”

  The “augmentation” for Rusty was a former Army armor cav sergeant named Cody “Anarchy” Mcgarity. With a nickname like “Anarchy” she wasn’t thrilled to have him as a clearance specialist but he seemed more on the ball than Rusty. It’s possible that Rusty was just fine before his experiences onboard the Voyage but he was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe it was drinking too much ammoniacal urine.

  She’d already circled the vessel named the M/V Eric Shivak and she knew two things. One, it was diesel. Two, as usual, there was a leak somewhere. It wasn’t just a tanker, though. There were two ship containers chained down on the deck.

  “So… Melee?” Mcgarity asked. “Half-life Two fail: No crowbar.”

  “We’ve got about six,” Rusty said.

  “And some hammers,” Sophia said. “And Halligan tools. This is more a Faith deal than mine, but you really want to avoid fire and sparks. However, there are no evident infecteds so you may get lucky.”

  * * *

  “Three KIA,” Anarchy radioed. “All appear to be former infecteds. Crew boat is missing. Plenty of supplies left onboard. I think some of them turned and the rest abandoned ship. Ship’s clear. Well, we didn’t check the containers but they’ve got seals on them so they don’t look like they’ve been opened.”