by John Ringo
“Long brief. Major! Get everyone loaded! Time’s a wastin’.”
* * *
“Come!” Faith said at a tap on her door. She’d just gotten out of the shower and was drying her hair.
“Lieutenant?” the major who had been in the warehouse said, opening the door.
“Sir?” Faith said, startled. She was in shorts and a T-shirt, which wasn’t nude or anything but she wasn’t expecting a major.
“The general and I have been cleared for duty,” the major said. “He was wondering if you could spare him some time. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I’ll tell him you’d already turned in.”
“No, sir,” Faith said. “But my hair’s obviously a wreck and I’ll need to get dressed. Ten minutes?”
“That will do fine, Lieutenant,” the major said. “We weren’t introduced. Major James Skelton.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Major,” Faith said. “And each second is another I’m keeping the general waiting, sir. What compartment?”
“Seventy-two, thirty-three, Empress deck, Lieutenant,” the major said. “I’ll tell the general about ten minutes.”
“No time for make-up,” Faith said, rubbing her hair. “Damnit, I hate being in the Marines!”
* * *
“Have a seat, Lieutenant,” General Ramos said.
The stateroom was one of the better ones on the liner. Since it was a “mega-liner,” that was very nice indeed. An “ocean view” suite was the general luxury of a suite in a five star hotel, if smaller.
Faith carefully sat at the edge of the indicated chair at attention.
“Would you care for a drink, ma’am?” the major asked solicitously.
“Water, sir?” Faith said, starting to stand up.
“I’ll get it, Lieutenant,” the major said.
“Just water?” the general said.
“I don’t drink alcohol, sir,” Faith said. “It has almost no effect on me and I don’t like the taste of most kinds. If it’s an issue, sir, vodka. It doesn’t taste horrible and it won’t bother me till I’ve had a bottle or so.”
The general started to say something, then just shook his head.
“If you could get the lieutenant some water, please, Major. I’ll take coffee in that case.”
“Yes, sir,” the major said.
“Is my not drinking an issue, sir?” Faith asked. “Vodka is fine, sir.”
“Not at all,” General Ramos said. “Just another . . . I was informed that there is an acronym post-Plague—ZAM.”
“ZAM or zammie, yes, sir,” Faith said. “Zombie apocalypse moment.”
“Just a zammie,” General Ramos said. “I’ve been reviewing the written histories. I was quite surprised by their professional quality given the circumstances. Then I recalled your father’s background pre-Plague. I have also had the various ‘introduction’ videos running. Given your experiences, I had expected you to be a heavy drinker.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Most people do, sir. I think drunk people are stupid and I don’t like looking stupid, sir.”
“You’ve cleared ships like this before,” General Ramos said.
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“How?” Ramos said. “I’ve only been through a very small portion. This is an enormous amount of deck space.”
“One compartment at a time, sir,” Faith said. “At this point, all personnel in staterooms like this are assumed to be dead. No food or water. Therefore we concentrate on crew areas, which the crews often stocked, as well as storage points primarily below the main water tanks. The Voyage took two weeks, sir. We can rough-clear a liner in a couple of days at this point, sir. That is, one that was in service. This one was rough-cleared in a few hours, sir. Took about a week to get it back in operation, although I understand there are still some issues with the plumbing. Sir.”
“I also reviewed the incident with Colonel Downing,” General Ramos said. “I’m not getting involved. The incident should not have been unexpected, all things considered, both your own combat record and the situation. The original DI violated established procedures, and the colonel was given a chance to redeem himself, which he failed. It’s not specifically stated anywhere, but that would seem to be the rationale for the ‘no authority until cleared.’”
“That and other issues, sir,” Faith said.
“Which are?” General Ramos asked.
“The direct reason given is that these sieges people have been in are similar to being prisoners of war, sir,” Faith said. “Everyone coming out of a compartment is dealing with various stressors, sir. They may think they are ready to just get going, and when we were critical on personnel we needed them to get up to speed as fast as possible. But some people have a harder time adjusting than others, sir. Specifically, all of the personnel recovered from Parris Island were . . . not in the best shape, sir. The DIs had had to continue to be DIs night and day for ten months and instead of reorganizing as a combat unit and training for infected combat, they’d essentially kept the trainees in boot mode. They were all highly inflexible, even for Marines, sir. The boots required extensive retraining on initiative and combat actions. The DIs had to be retrained for leadership of combat forces and many of them simply could not cut the mustard, not at their pre-Plague rank. So the new approach is to take a wait and see attitude and in the meantime, to keep from having similar incidents or worse, do some evaluation. Sir.”
“Have you been evaluated?” General Ramos asked.
“I took the evaluation after my leave, sir,” Faith said. “I was found to be fit for duty.”
“Clearly you are, Lieutenant,” the general said. “What are your goals, Lieutenant?”
“A zombie-free world, sir,” Faith replied.
“That is a big order,” Ramos said.
“I am young, sir,” Faith said. “I have time, sir.”
“In terms of your career as a Marine officer, Lieutenant,” Ramos said.
“My career, sir, is to create a zombie-free world, sir,” Faith said. “Currently, sir, my Marine career enhances a zombie-free world, sir. If that were to change, I would find a career which did so, sir.”
“I don’t see us stopping the fight against the infected any time soon,” Ramos said. “But if we were to do so you are saying that you would find some other job that involved killing zombies?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“What if the mission was to help people, instead?” Ramos asked.
“The biggest help we can give people right now, sir, is killing zombies, sir,” Faith said.
“Agreed,” Ramos said. “And as noted that is probably not going to change any time soon. I’ve only spoken to your father briefly. And he was . . . reticent on clearance strategy. Are you aware of his plans in that regard on the strategic level?”
“No, sir,” Faith said.
“Never discussed them around you?” Ramos asked.
“Captain Smith is . . . cautious about discussing plans, sir,” Faith said. “That has always been the case, sir. His reference to that is usually the American general Stonewall Jackson who was notorious for keeping his plans close to his vest, sir. He doesn’t like to make promises he can’t keep and he has a staging process for plans, sir. There is an acronym I forget, sir.” Faith thought about it for a moment. “Desires, Intentions, Goals, Concepts, Plans, Actions, sir. Believe that is the series, sir. Each of those up to ‘actions’ may have several forms of equivalent value until they’re evaluated. Some are discarded leading to the next stage, sir. I’m not sure where the captain is in terms of strategic clearance in that series, sir. My father desires a zombie-free world, sir. So far his actions have been to build forces with very little strategic or even operational clearance. Probably because he’s somewhere in the middle of the series, sir.”
“Are you familiar with mechanicals, Lieutenant?” Ramos asked.
“I saw the ones in the Canaries, sir,” Faith said. “I haven’t seen any of the new ones
in action, sir. I’ve read the reports, sir.”
“What do you think of them?”
“I think they’re slow and somewhat inefficient, sir,” Faith said. “I discussed that with my father on leave, sir. They do well for the first week, sir. But it takes a fairly stupid zombie to walk into one, sir. After the first week, their clearance rate drops, sir. I did more clearance in one night with an Abrams and a platoon in amtracks than all the mechanicals in Miami. On the other hand, they just keep going, sir. A tank is a high maintenance item, sir. And there is a limited supply of M1028 in this fallen world, sir. There are arguments both ways, sir.”
“And they only work on coastal cities,” General Ramos said.
“Or riverine, sir,” Faith said. “And mechanicals don’t drop a city to low orange. The best they do is high orange. Dropped from red but not even to yellow in most cases. I could clear New York or D.C. with my platoon in three or four days, sir. At least Manhattan, sir. Up to the point we run out of M1028 at which point . . . I can’t crush them all, sir.”
“No,” Ramos said. “And you don’t know if mechanicals are your father’s only plan?”
“No, sir,” Faith said. “At least, I don’t think they are. Again, Da keeps things pretty close to the vest. But he’s said mechanicals are only part of the plan, sir.”
“I’d considered asking you to be my aide,” General Ramos said. “Then I realized that would be a bad idea. Good because you are, unquestionably, the best known and one of the most knowledgeable fighters of the post-Plague environment. Having your experience close would be an asset. Bad because it would be far outside your skill-sets and you would probably hate it. Especially since it would be junior aide, mostly handling the social side. You’ve been a second lieutenant for more than six months, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “The general idea, sorry, is that I’ll probably stay a two LT until I’m at least sixteen if not older. Which I’m fine with, sir. I’m really not about rank, sir. Just want to clear zombies, sir.”
“Are you continuing your education?” Ramos asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s that going?”
“I’m up to eleventh grade class-work, sir,” Faith said. “Mostly self-taught through computer classes with some occasional assistance from other officers, sir. I’m not sure I could go back to a classroom, sir. Meetings are bad enough, sir.”
“It will be a while before we stand Annapolis or the Point back up,” General Ramos said. “But you need to get your head around going back to school at some point. You’ll need the professional education as your career advances.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said.
“Disagree?” the general asked.
“My career is killing zombies, sir,” Faith said. “Not sure what decimating Chaucer has to do with that, sir.”
“I believe the word you were looking for there, Lieutenant, is deconstructing,” Ramos said after a moment of furrowed brow.
“As you say, sir,” Faith said. “It will be a while before it becomes an issue, sir.”
“Agreed,” Ramos said. “Very well, Lieutenant. Thank you for your time. It was a good chat. Look forward to working with you in the future.”
“Thank you, sir,” Faith said, setting down her nearly untouched water. “By your leave, sir?”
* * *
“She meant decimation, didn’t she?” Ramos said.
“I suspect she did, sir,” Major Skelton said.
“Turn in, Jimmy,” the general said, picking up another briefing book. “I’m going to keep doing my own homework. If a fourteen-year-old Lieutenant can trip me up, I clearly need to get my brain in gear.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
* * *
“Ugh,” Faith said, taking off her blouse and hanging it up. “That was worse than spinning out on infected.”
She looked at the stack of books by her bed, then sat down at the computer and brought up her latest class. She had a full day of clearance tomorrow but she also had a ton of homework. She popped the top on a Razzleberry tea and started the video.
“No rest for the wicked,” she muttered, taking a sip. “Ah. Sweet nectar of a lost world. What shall I do when you are no more . . . ? And I meant delineating, General. The Lyf So Short, the Craft So long to Lerne . . .”
* * *
“Got a civilian sailboat approaching from the west,” Petty Officer Third Class Marc Dunross said, looking through the binos. “Fifty-five foot ketch.”
They’d been getting a trickle of refugees at Gitmo. People who had radios and were able to break out by boat had been steadily streaming in. This looked like another group.
On the off chance that some group had “bad” intentions, there were two “forts” guarding the entrance again. They had Mk19 40mms which didn’t have much range compared to previous generations of “coastal artillery” batteries but could take on most of what they would expect in terms of post-Plague piracy. Which had so far failed to materialize.
What people didn’t see was the fast attack boat sitting deep and silent. Anybody with bad intentions the Mk19s couldn’t handle were going to be in for a very brief shock.
Mayport had a similar set-up.
The standing watch on the East Harbor Watch Tower had been fairly bored up to this point in the watch and would probably go back to being bored. The boat didn’t seem heavily armed.
“Roger,” Petty Officer Second Class Andrew Stagg said. “I’ll call harbor control.”
* * *
“Welcome to Guantanamo Bay!” Master-at-Arms Mate Second Class Warren Hall said as the Zodiac came alongside the ketch. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted,” the captain said. He was a tall and very handsome man with a bright blond beard, long unshorn hair, blue eyes and unsurprisingly a dark tan. He was wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt and worn cargo shorts. The shirt had stains on it that might have been from fish blood. Might.
There were a bunch of refugees on the deck; the boat was loaded just to the point of over-loading. Most of them were women and children with the exception of the captain and two other men. Several had side-arms and one of the men was carrying an M4 as if he knew how to use it.
Hall pulled himself aboard and smiled at the group.
“Where are you out of?” he asked the captain.
“Tampa,” the man replied.
“Good to see more new faces,” Hall said. “I am Master-at-Arms Mate Hall. I need to give a brief familiarization class before you proceed.
“When you arrive you’ll be given the choice of land- or sea-based refugee housing. Sea-based is on a cruise liner and is more secure than land-based. There are still a few infected on the land side. Sea-based, no weapons, explosives or ammunition are permitted carried onboard. You’ll have to turn them in to a master-at-arms for storage in an arms room. You’ll be given an opportunity to clean them either at the time you turn them in or afterwards if you prefer. When you leave the boat you can pick them up.
“On land, open carry is permitted and encouraged. There are, as mentioned, still a trickle of infected on the land. Any use of a weapon other than on infected is charged in the normal sort of way with the exception that it’s . . . quick. If you kill someone because you got into a drunken brawl and shot him or her, you’re given a very short trial, a very limited appeal, then shot as well. Period. Rape with intent if proven before a jury of your peers is also a capital crime for both military and civilians. We’ve had some people come out of compartments that got used to not hearing the word ‘No.’ We have fewer now. Or you’ll end up with a short trial and a bullet in your brainpan. For lesser crimes like theft, the sentence is hard labor, which is mostly body clearance. You’re back in civilization. Be civil, be safe.
“Any persons who are current active duty military or reserve are automatically reactivated as are most former military who are in the age range for reactivation. Veterans outside the age range who wish to volunteer can do so. Anyone wanti
ng to volunteer for military service, you’ll get the opportunity. And I probably shouldn’t mention this but probably stuck either up on the watch tower that spotted you or doing something like this. There are civilian jobs as well. Plenty of work to go around.
“When you get into the harbor, dock at the liner,” Hall said to the captain. “Your people will be given the choice of land or sea. Then get vaccinated, not an option if you’re staying in cleared zones, get some food in them, get quarters and a shower. No ration, currently, on water. Shower as long as you’d like.”
“That sounds fabulous,” one of the women said. She was holding a new baby in her arms. She wasn’t the only one.
“We’ve got some medical care freeing up,” the petty officer said. “Now that the baby wave is passing. Not much, only one MD and you’ll probably never see him. But corpsmen and some others with training. Babies get vaccinated as well if they’re old enough. Are there any questions?”
“When do we report in?” the captain asked.
“As soon as you fill in your social security number you’re activated,” the petty officer said. “What were you?”
“Admiral Josh Hiscock,” the captain said. “I’m the SOCOM Commander.”
* * *
“Admiral,” Steve said, saluting as the admiral landed from the Zodiac. He’d “checked in” at the liner, gotten showered, shorn and changed and headed over to the piers. “Welcome to Guantanamo Bay, sir.”
“Commodore Wolf,” Admiral Josh Hiscock said, returning the salute and sticking out his hand. Someone had found him a set of NavCam and he’d brought his own stars. Like Steve, he had an H&K USP on his hip, which he’d also brought along. “I’ve been keeping up with your exploits by radio. To say the least, I’m impressed but not surprised. I’d worked with Aussie paras before and you represent them well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Steve said. “Very glad to have you aboard.”
“Nobody seems to know what to do with an admiral,” Hiscock said. “I agree with Night Walker that booting you out is not in the best interests of the nation.”
“We’re getting a bigger and bigger force, sir,” Steve said, waving to the waiting car. “This world needs all the help it can get. We’re extending ops all over the world at this point and having an experienced flag officer who gets this is a zombie apocalypse is a boon. Very glad to have you aboard, sir.”
