To Sail a Darkling Sea btr-2

by John Ringo

  * * *

  Getting the pump up onto the deck of the freighter wasn’t just a matter of pulling it up. If they just pulled it up it would bang like hell on the hull and probably break it. The team on the yacht, therefore, had to pull it out from the freighter’s hull while the team on top pulled it up. There were problems. There was a bit of shouting. But they finally got it over the side and got fuel flowing.

  “Stop the pump,” Paxton yelled. “Okay, this time, Bradford, you’re the captain… After you get it onto the deck without breaking anything.”

  * * *

  “How many pumps do you go through?” Walker asked, looking into the water. The pump had disappeared from sight in an instant.

  “That makes five,” Paxton said, leaning over to look as well. “The mechanics on the Grace are getting pissy about it. But at least this time it didn’t hit the deck, break through, damage the hull which then cracks on the freighter’s hull and sinks the boat. Okay, Killian, what did you do wrong?”

  * * *

  O’Toole was sitting at the bar in the main civilian saloon on the Boadicea, holding a scotch in mid air with his head slowly drifting down then bobbing back up.

  “I feel as if I should celebrate,” the former businessman said, then snorted a snore.

  “Rob,” Walker said. “Go get some rest. We’re getting assigned in the morning and for all we know, we’ll be gone by afternoon.”

  “I’m too old for this,” O’Toole said, downing his drink. “But at least we didn’t get zodiacs. Good night, Tom.”

  “Good night, Rob.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life.

  Charles M. Schulz

  “The South Flotilla is already asking for more prize crews,” Isham said, looking at his notes. “They’re sending the boats they found back up here with all the refugees. The boats coming in are short on fuel. They haven’t found much. But that’s about it for prize crews and they’re short handed.”

  “Not surprising,” Steve said. “They didn’t have many to begin with. Lieutenant Kuzma, status on the training program?”

  “The first group is trained,” Kuzma said. “As best you can train people to be skippers and engineers in three days. We’re starting another class. But, again, sir… ”

  “Ask me for anything but time, Lieutenant,” Steve said. “When the boats get here, detail them out to them. As crew not captains til they’ve had some time to adjust. Then pack what you’ve got left and send them down to the Flotilla as prize crews. As for tanking… Have the new skippers tank from the supermax. If they can’t tank from one in harbor, they’re not going to be able to unrep. Call it a final exam. Mister Zumwald. You wanted to talk about the outline of the crossing plan.”

  “Since everybody is busy as a one armed paperhanger, I’ve been chatting up the sub skippers for pointers,” Zumwald said. “We’ve got nine subs hanging around the area. What we’re looking at is this. One Wing, and that’s a term of art, will consist of the small boat flotillas. It will also be, well, one wing of the sweep. The subs will take the other wing with one back to handle any security issues.

  The boat wing will center two flotillas, each with its own mega-yacht and supply ship. The boats will tank from the megayacht and or the supply ship. They’ll rotate inwards as time goes by, hopefully filling up with survivors but whatever. When they get to the supply ship, they’ll crossload survivors and spare supplies, tank up if necessary then probably do fish ops for a day before going back out on the end of the flotilla.

  “The megayacht and supply ship will, if necessary, tank from the tanker. We’ll need to fill that puppy slap up before we leave.

  “Each of the boats will need one, at least, Navy clearance guy for clearing yachts. We’ll have a different group doing the picking them up and getting them running.

  “The divisions will each have a specialist clearance boat. That will be a fairly fast yacht or one of the fast supply boats with a Zodiac and some Marines onboard. The flotilla will have the Marine boss with the flotilla boss on the flotilla boss’s boat and they’ll have another one of those zodiacs. That will be for clearing large vessels such as tankers and freighters. They’ll generally run back from the main wing about thirty, forty miles.

  “The boat will be accompanied by another yacht which will have survey and salvage people on it. That’s the ‘prize crews.’ If there’s a good find, we’ll send them out in zodiacs to pick it up. The sub wing will have a similar group but there will need to be, probably, four to six yachts in that one and most of the zodiacs. When a sub spots a prospect, they call it a sierra for some reason, the security guys or Marines in a zodiac head out to it and check it out. If it’s worth picking up, then they pick it up or recover survivors, whatever, usual deal. We’ll send Kuzma’s regular joes to pick it up if it’s a yacht. If it’s something big we want to keep, we’ll send a pro crew from the command ship.

  “The command ship is the Boadicea. It will handle overflow from the megayachts if they get too crowded. The command group will hang back, probably about sixty miles, from the main line. We can use the rotating yachts to bring back refugees. That’s also where the Grace will be and the tanker unless it needs to head forward to resupply the other ships.

  “God help us if we find a fricking liner; the plan goes out the window then. That’s the outline. The devil’s going to be in the details and keeping it all going at sea.”

  “May I interject, sir?” Lieutenant Kuzma said.

  “Go,” Steve said.

  “Unrep at sea is not… the easiest thing in the world, sir,” Kuzma said, frowning.

  “Unrep at sea is bloody dangerous and without an experienced crew, right on the edge of insane,” Steve said. “The only alternative, Lieutenant, is forming up in a group and driving straight to Gitmo. All of the boats we’re getting can, I’ll admit, make that crossing without tanking. However, I have no idea if there are people between here and there still alive in lifeboats. The likelihood gets lower every passing second. But I’m also not going to do my best to find them. And taking the time to find them means using up more stores. Which means, in turn, the boats will have to unrep. At least once, possibly more often.

  “So, Lieutenant, the choice is between unrep or not doing search and rescue. I’m not going to ask you which you would prefer, undergoing a dangerous evolution at sea with inexperienced crews or ignoring a prime imperative of your service. That would be cruel and the decision is made. I’ll add, however, that four people, two of them teenage girls, with no experience prior to boarding a sailboat in Virginia managed to not only unrep from a freighter, at sea, but figure out how to convert some pumps so that they could suck out the water and fuel tanks.

  “Lieutenant, if Sophia, Faith, Stacey and myself could do it, so can they. Is it going to be easy? No. Are there going to be mistakes? Often. Are we going to lose a boat? Almost assuredly and probably more than one. I’d suggest that in your spare time from honing your class you put your mind to how to do it as safely as possible. If I might make one suggestion for your class, it be that no-one passes if they cannot figure out what ‘to lee’ means.”

  “Okay, what’s it mean?” Zumwald said.

  “It’s the downwind side of the boat,” Steve said. “In general, if you’ve got a smaller boat snuggling up to a bigger boat, you want to be to lee. The water’s smoother. On the other hand, if it’s really windy, the bigger boat can sort of roll the smaller boat under. One thing to put into your equation is that if we do hit a squall, all unrep operations have to stop then and there. I chose this time of the year to do this because the southern Atlantic is fairly calm. There is a method to my madness, Lieutenant Kuzma.”

  “I’m aware of that, sir,” Kuzma said.

  “And when something happens and you mentally say ‘I told you so,’ feel free to keep it to yourself,” Steve said. “I already know at least half of the problems that can and will occur. I am accepting them, as the Squadr
on commander, in the interest of performing the mission. This is my decision and my responsibility. Yours is to try to make it the least insane decision possible. I don’t suppose we’ve found a cigarette boat, yet.”

  “Not so far,” Isham said.

  “When we do, that’s mine,” Steve said. “Yes, there is an element of greed to that. But mostly it’s that I’m damned if I’m going to spend the entire trip on the liner. I haven’t met half the people in the squadron at this point and I am going to get out there at the front. I’ll do it in an inflatable if I have to, but something designed for long runs in open ocean would be preferable.”

  “I’ll make a note,” Isham said. “Find the commander a drug runner special.”

  “I’m serious,” Steve said. “I’m not getting stuck in the liner the whole trip. That’s what you’re for, Jack.”

  “I’ll stay on the liner,” Isham said. “You can have your drug runner special. If we can find one… ”

  * * *

  Isham drummed his fingers on his desk thinking. He didn’t really like Smith. He’d gotten to where he sort of respected him, which he hadn’t when they’d met. But he still didn’t like him.

  On the other hand, he didn’t like people who worked for him doing a half-ass job and he refused to do one himself. He’d taken this job and he was doing it, he thought, pretty damned well. He’d thought about subtly fucking the guy but it wasn’t worth the effort. Not to mention, this was the only game in town. He’d talked to the guys in the Hole and the Squadron seemed like the only thing getting organized in the whole world. They monitored radio and were peering through satellites and there wasn’t what you called much in the way of signs of life. Not intelligent and civilized life. That one satellite dude said that he’d been looking at satellite stuff for twenty years and never realized the world could be this dark.

  Which was the answer to the question. The flotillas weren’t finding any cigarette boats as it was going. So… get somebody else to look…

  He tapped his keys and connected to the Boise.

  “Boise, I need a direct link to Master Sergeant Doehler in the Hole… ”

  * * *

  “Puerto de las Nieves,” Doehler said, looking at a screen to the side. “I’d already spotted it. That’s the nearest to your flotilla working the east side of the island. It’s across the straight on Santa Lucia de Tirjana.”

  “Where?” Isham asked.

  “Look out your window, sir,” Doehler said. “Since you have one. Big island across the strait southeast of Santa Cruz de Tenerife. It’s about forty miles due east of their current position.”

  “Okay,” Isham said. “Spell that name… ”

  “Why don’t I just send you an email?” Doehler said.

  * * *

  “We’re crossing the strait,” Lieutenant Chen said, thumbing out the window. “Some place called Puerto de las Nieves. Three large yachts and, specifically, a cigarette boat.”

  “Ooo,” Sophia said. “Who gets that?”

  “Your father,” Chen said. “He apparently needs it to move around the squadron during the crossing. So… Plans… ”

  * * *

  “Well, I’ll say this for the job,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “We certainly go some pretty places.”

  Puerto De Las Nieves translated as “Port of the Snow.” It should have translated as “Port of the Cliffs.” Tall volcanic bluffs reared up two and three hundred feet over the crystal-clear water.

  “And a sort of tricky harbor,” Sophia said. “Not the marina part but you get over by those cliffs and I just know there’s some nasty rocks.”

  “We’ll target the ferry dock and the inner harbor,” Chen said. “First Division will take the inner harbor. I’m going in on a RHIB to check the water. That looks like it could get nasty. Second division, set up to engage at the ferry dock from inside the break water, guns pointed out to sea. First Division stand by.”

  “I suppose there will be more bloody music tonight,” the Sergeant Major said.

  “I could see if anyone has any swing, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said.

  “I’m not that bloody old, ma’am,” Barney said. “However, if you’re going to play rock and roll, ma’am, why couldn’t it be rock and roll for God’s sakes.”

  “Such as,” Sophia asked.

  “Beatles,” the Sergeant Major said. “Rolling Stones. The Birds. Even the bloody Beach Boys or Jimmy Hendrix! This modern stuff has no soul, no heart!”

  “Would you like some Cream with that whine Sergeant Major,” Sophia said, laughing. “How can you like Rolling Stones and not like Avenged Sevenfold? Among other things, they play guitar better than Peter Frampton and there is nothing like a modern drummer compared to those old fogies! Listen to DragonForce some time and tell me that John Bonham could keep up.”

  “John Bonham, ma’am, was a bloody genius,” the Sergeant Major said, proudly.

  “I’ll tell you what, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said. “I’ll set up a playlist for tonight that combines the two. We’ll discuss it.”

  * * *

  “Okay, ma’am!” the Sergeant Major shouted over Through Fire and Flames. “How the hell do they bloody do that?”

  “Are you talking about the guitar or the drums?” Sophia shouted.

  “Yes! I play the guitar and that’s impossible!”

  “I’ve heard their fingers bleed at concerts,” Sophia said. “Well, did. Probably dead. And I’ve done it on Guitar Hero!”

  “What the hell is… Never mind. It’s a bloody video game again, isn’t it…?”

  * * *

  “Commodore,” Captain Wilkes said, saluting. He was still covered in gear and weapons and thus “under arms.” “The last liner is clear. Ish.”

  “Ish?” Steve said, returning the salute.

  “We’re sure we got all the survivors out,” Wilkes said. “We’re also sure there are some infected in the bilges. I’m a Marine, sir, but I would like to raise objection to sending my men, and women, into the bilges just to hunt down a couple of CHUDs.”

  “CHUDs?” Steve said. “Oh… New acronym?”

  “You eventually get tired of saying ‘infected’ and Corporal Douglas points out at every opportunity that they are not the living dead,” Wilkes said. “We tried zeds but he figured it out. The Gunny told him to lay off but now we know whenever we say…. Sir, the liner is clear, sir.”

  “Faith once suggested Zylons,” Steve said. “Captain, go get your gear off then get some rest. That goes double for my daughter.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wilkes said. “She’s a real asset, sir. Motivation goes a long way and motivation combined with… sort of existential fury goes even further, sir. Now if I could just get her to compose a coherent sentence… ”

  “Later for that, Captain,” Steve said. “Three days off for the men and junior NCOs. Up to you on the officers. We’ve got to detail the distribution of the Marines for clearance on the trip over. But that will wait until you’re less bleary tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wilkes said. “I’m at that point where you can’t decide between shower, bed or food.”

  “Go, Captain,” Steve said, making a shooing motion. “I’d suggest bed.”

  When the captain had left he picked up his phone.

  “Communications, to all Flotillas. Return morning Santa Cruz.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He hit another speed dial.

  “Isham.”

  “Marines are done. Three days. Schedule the first planning meeting for tomorrow morning.”

  “Got it. I’ll get a count on the boats. Oh, your cigarette boat is on the way. You’re welcome.”

  * * *

  “Oh, god, what now?” Faith said at the knock on the door. She was stretched out on her bed, too exhausted to bother picking up a book. “There’s nobody here! We went shopping in Santa Cruz!”

  “Open the door, Faith,” Sophia said. “I did go shopping.”

  “Well, I’m glad you had time,”
Faith muttered, getting up slowly. “Hang on.”

  “I come bearing gifts,” Sophia said, shouldering past her. “What’s gotten under your skin?”

  “You?” Faith said. “I’m exhausted, okay?”

  “Good, all the more reason to go to the spa,” Sophia said. “So am I. And I need a hot-tub. There’s a new bathing suit in there for you.”

  “I do not like spas, sister dear,” Faith said. “There are bad things in spas.”

  “This spa does not have bad things,” Sophia said. “It has a hot tub and a massage guy named Eduardo who is smoking hot. Put on the suit. You’ve got ten minutes.”

  “And who are you to boss me around?” Faith said. “I can and will sit on you and make you cry.”

  “I’ve got two weeks date of rank on you, Faith,” Sophia said. “Not to mention way more smarts. That’s who. Just put on the suit and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Faith pulled out the suit and contemplated it grumpily. The biggest problem was it was beautiful and she knew it would look good on her.

  “I hate her,” she muttered.

  * * *

  “So, we’re rolling along through the picturesque town of Puerto De Las Nieves… ” Sophia said, taking a sip of wine.

  Faith had to admit that the hot tub was better than the dinky little tub in her room. And the suit really did look good.

  “Really was picturesque. Beautiful place. Hardly any infected. Hadn’t found any survivors, yet. We weren’t split up, all moving along in a convoy of, you know, Fiats and Toyotas, whatever we could pick up.”

  “Been there,” Januscheitis said, taking a pull on his beer. “Take it it didn’t go well?”

  “So, we’d cleared the town. Freaking gunners had made piles of infected. But there were two little towns off to the side. And you know how the infected come to those flocks of seagulls.”

  “Like, well, seagulls,” Lieutenant Volpe said.