To Sail a Darkling Sea

CHAPTER 7

“So, Captain, what now?” Galloway asked. The NCCC had his fingers steepled and was, in Steve’s opinion, looking just a bit too much like Doctor Evil.

The Iwo Jima was cleared. They’d found forty-three Naval personnel and sixteen Marines, with Gunny Sands and Lt. Volpe being the most senior. There were two navy Full Lieutenants, including Pellerin and “various other ranks.” No Chiefs. The senior were three PO1s. No pilots, some aviation crewmen, both Marine and Navy.

It was not a great number out of a complement of twelve hundred Navy and nearly two thousand Marines.

“There are several options, sir,” Steve said. “Do you want me to lay out my arguments for and against or just cut right to my preferred plan?”

“The main question is the vaccine,” Galloway said. “The subs are surviving… surprisingly well. But they cannot operate indefinitely.”

“I have the submarine crews very firmly in the forefront of my mind, sir,” Steve said. “There’s a whole list of materials we need for producing vaccine. We’ve been over that, I understand. Gitmo is my preferred target for that. The base hospital, as of just prior to the fall and according to anecdotal data should have the equipment and material. Hopefully with the gear at Gitmo we can make vaccine.”

“So you’re heading to Gitmo?” Commander Freeman said.

“I would prefer not to do so at this time, Commander,” Steve said. “The main reason is the continuing vulnerability of my forces to storm. My boats are mostly small, and while their crews have a lot of experience at sea at this point, I really don’t think they’re up to sailing through a hurricane. We can try to dodge them at sea but… ”

“I’m a Naval officer,” Freeman said, drily. “I’m aware of the power of the ocean, Captain, as well as the fickle nature of hurricanes. With due respect.”

The relationship between the two was tricky. Freeman had yet to be appointed a captaincy but was in some ways, technically, the Chief of Naval Operations and Steve’s boss.

“That is, in a nutshell, my argument against Road to Gitmo at this time, Mister Under Secretary,” Steve said. “Cognizant as I am that, pardon, now my submarine crews are slowly starving to death. On the other hand, they are also fishing quite successfully and have adequate vitamins to prevent nutrition deficiency for the time being. The main ones that I’m worried about are the ones that critical systems busted and are now ashore on desert islands. Especially those on ones who are also subject to tropical storms. I was planning on having a brain-storming session with the sub skippers and Commander Freeman on that subject at a later time. However, to the main point. I really would prefer not to subject the Squadron to a hurricane. The season ends at the end of November. At that time we can easily move to Gitmo and begin clearance operations. That is less than two months. I’m going to take a survey of which boats are unlikely to be able to hang on that long and determine other options. My current plan is a redeployment for aggressive at-sea search, clearance and rescue operations in low-storm zones as well as testing littoral clearance methods after some redistribution of personnel… ”

* * *

“Nice uniform, sis,” Sophia said.

Faith was wearing Marine Pattern Camouflage, colloquially called both MarPat and MarCam, and was carrying a cloth shopping bag.

The No Tan Lines had been “redeployed” back to the main squadron for “refit and resupply.” They were actually okay on the supply part. If anything, they were going to be off-loading. The flotilla had been stockpiling “excess supplies” on the supply ships. Not that Sophia gave up her good stash.

“Thanks,” Faith said, tossing Sophia the cloth shopping bag she was carrying. “There’s yours.”

“Mine?” Sophia said. The bag felt extremely full.

“We got an official suggestion from the CO of the Alex that we find you a uniform,” Faith said. “I got tasked to find your size in the uniform store on the Iwo. There’s tactical boots in it, too. Then I got an unofficial message that you might want to think about wearing something a little more often. Been doing what you can to raise the morale on the subs, sis?”

“Oh,” Sophia said, breathing through her nose. “Those glowing green bastards!”

“Never trust a submariner,” Faith said, giggling.

“How’ve you been?” Sophia said, waving her into the boat.

“Good,” Faith said. “Getting there, anyway. Kicking the ass of Marines is sort of fun.”

“Kicking Marine ass?” Paula said. “Do tell.”

“They’re good, don’t get me wrong,” Faith said. “But they’d trained for fighting hajis in the Sandbox. Fighting zombies in a ship is different. And they’re supposed to be trained for fighting shipboard but it’s not really something they’d concentrated on.”

“We found you a present as well,” Sophia said. “Paula, where’s that case of the good stuff?”

“Right under here,” Paula said, opening up the compartment under the bar.

“You know I don’t drink alcohol,” Faith said. “Much.”

“Tada!” Paula said, pulling out a case of Razzleberry Tea.

“Oh,” Faith said, panting. “This is nearly as great as when we found a stash of twelve-gauge on the Iwo!”

“You’re welcome,” Paula said, then opened up the fridge and pulled out a cold one.

“Found a boat that somebody was apparently an equal fan,” Sophia said, pouring herself a glass of brandy. “Cheers, sis.”

“Up your bottom!” Faith said, then took a sip. “Ah, nectar of the gods.”

“You’re really in the Marines?” Paula asked.

“I have been having an abbreviated class on military decorum,” Faith said, making a face. “I was going to get pinned right away but they decided to hold off until you rejoined the Squadron. Since you didn’t have a uniform or ‘accoutrements’ as I’ve learned they are called, we’ll both get pinned this afternoon. And that’s when I’ll get sworn in as a ‘probationary third lieutenant.’ ”

“So you’re a ‘probationary’ Lieutenant and I’m an ‘Acting’ Ensign?” Sophia said, shaking her head. “Is there a difference?”

“Not that I can figure out,” Faith said, shrugging. “I still don’t get most of this military stuff.”

“How was the Iwo?” Sophia asked.

“Compared to the Voyage it was a walk in the fucking park,” Faith said, shrugging again. “We went straight for the food supply areas after the first day of upper deck clearance and found about half the survivors. Most of the Marines, Gunny Sands and a couple others being exceptions, were in good shape. The rest of it was mostly training Marines on the Wolf Way of clearance. And once we found a big, beautiful store of.45 and double-ought… then it was just a matter of rolling hot. Not to mention frags make a dandy compartment clearing tool.”

“Sounds like you had fun,” Paula said.

“Buttloads,” Faith said. “It wasn’t the Voyage. There was just something different about it. There was way less finding people who’d just died for one thing. Or people who might as well be dead. It was pretty much long dead, zombies and survivors in pretty good shape. And most of the long dead had either been chewed up pretty good or were, basically, mummies. And no kids and it wasn’t a fucking play palace that had turned into a horror movie. So, yeah, mostly fun. Fucking Voyage still gives me nightmares. How was your float?”

“Found a family that was uninfected,” Sophia said.

“The Lawtons,” Faith said. “Need to bring up the dad in a bit.”

“Why?” Paula said.

“Just will,” Faith said. “He wants to see you. Has a present for you. All of you.”

“That’s sweet?” Sophia said, puzzled. “Any idea what? It’s not like they had zip on that boat when we found them.”

“Yeah,” Faith said, grinning. “He gave me the same present. But it’s a surprise. Anyway, adventures. Something about a Russian mobster?”

“Oh, that,” Sophia said, grinning. “Not mobster, exactly. Except that anybody Russian with money was basically a mobster. No real big deal.”

“Hey,” Paula said. “It was pretty tense at the time.”

“Sort of,” Sophia said. “We found another mega. Smaller than the Alpha but not much. Bunch of survivors.”

“The big one with the Russian writing,” Faith said, gesturing with her chin.

“Long story, ’nother time,” Sophia said. “Any clue what’s next? We’ve been sort of out of the loop.”

“Local area rescue and clearance is what I’ve got,” Faith said. “Dad sort of hinted that he’s going to stick us together but I’m supposed to ‘manage’ the operation as a good officer should. Have no clue what operations.”

“Well, we could use another clearance guy, that’s for sure,” Sophia said. “I don’t know how it fits in but we’re supposed to go over to the Grace tomorrow for ‘refit.’ Not sure what we’re being refitted with.”

“I’m wondering where we’re going to hide the stash,” Paula said.

“Stash?” Faith said. “Oh, salvage.”

“That,” Paula said. “Yeah.”

“So I just found out that as a Naval officer, I’m no longer on shares,” Sophia said. “On the other hand, the crew is… ”

“Pat and I opted to stay civilian,” Paula said.

“… and we resupply first from ‘salvaged stores.’ So what if we keep the good stuff? Besides, I figure Da probably needs some stuff for entertaining.”

“And boy do we have some stuff,” Paula said. “Is Sari still cooking for him?”

“Yes,” Faith said.

“She’s so going to like what we’re bringing in… ” She paused and grimaced. “Speaking of chefs, how’s Chris? We were going to spot him some of it, too.”

“I’ve only run into him a couple of times,” Faith said, shrugging. “Lost his girl, found his girl, lost her again. Gwinn and Rob are married. Got hitched by Captain Geraldine in a really nice ceremony on the Alpha. Gwinn’s doing admin on the Alpha right now. Rob’s doing survey and salvage. They’re good people. Chris just ended up as odd man out.”

“I need to stop by and see him,” Paula said. “He’s got to be heartbroken. I think I was the only one on the boat he’d talked to about Gwinn.”

“It’s Chris,” Faith said, shrugging again. “He just cooks his way out of his misery.”

“He’s been doing ferry work,” Sophia said. “So he hasn’t been doing salvage. Why don’t you make up a little care package for him and take it over? Dinghy’s worth. Say I’ll be by when I can.”

“Okay,” Paula said. “That’s a good way to get rid of some of the stash.”

“Not the Grand Marnier,” Sophia said. “Or, no more than a bottle. I was planning on making that a gift to Da.”

“No Tan Lines, Squadron Ops, over.”

“Hang on,” Sophia said. “Squadron Ops, No Tan Line, over.”

“You have got to change that name,” Faith said.

“Think ours is bad,” Sophia said.

“Lines scheduled to come alongside the Grace Tan at fourteen-thirty for off-load and refit. Crew will be shuttled to the Alpha for pinning ceremony, Master, scheduled for sixteen-thirty. Master will, say again, will be in proper uniform. Reception to follow.”

“Oooo… ” Sophia said. “I need to get some stuff back to Da for the reception.”

“You’ve got time to drop it by before you’re scheduled to go to the Grace,” Faith said, looking at her watch. “I’m sort of at loose ends. Drop me on the Alpha with it, I’ll get it to Sari.”

“Works,” Sophia said, keying the radio. “Lines alongside Grace fourteen-thirty, aye. Pinning ceremony, sixteen-thirty, aye. Reception to follow, aye.”

“Squadron ops, out.”

* * *

“You know I’m really proud to do this,” Steve said, pinning one side of Sophia’s collar while Stacey pinned the other. The pins were gold circles rather than the single bar of an ensign.

“Still not sure why I said yes,” Sophia said. “And while this is not in any way an official bitch, Kuzma has been running our ass ragged.”

“I know,” Steve said. “He wanted to see if he could get you to complain. Congratulations,” he said, shaking her hand.

“I figured that much out,” Sophia said. “I can hack it. But it’s not fair on my crew.”

“We’ll talk,” Steve said, stepping over to Faith.

“Faith, Marine uniforms are always supposed to be spotless and perfect,” Steve said.

“Is there something wrong with my uniform?” Faith asked, panicking. She didn’t like being in front of a crowd, anyway.

“No, but there is something ‘wrong’ with these,” Steve said, showing her the pins. “These were recovered from the body of Midshipman Lin Wicklund, in the CIC of the USS Iwo Jima. Midshipman Wicklund, whose intent after the Naval Academy was to be a Marine officer, was found with a clocked-out forty-five by her body. Wicklund was, as far as we can determine, the last remaining officer fighting for control of the ship. The pips have a discoloration on them. Do not clean that discoloration off.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said, her chin tightening. “Understood, sir.”

“Sophia has already been officially sworn in,” Steve said after putting on the pins. “She just didn’t have the pins. You have not. Raise your right hand.”

“I, state your name… ”

“I, Faith Marie Smith… ”

“Lieutenant Smith,” her father said when the ceremony was complete. “There is not a bloody word in there that says ‘I’m only an officer to kill zombies.’ A Marine officer’s oath is to faithfully discharge her duty to defend the Constitution of the United States. That’s it. Period. Dot. There is also nothing in that oath that has a time limit. It is an oath for life. Clear, Lieutenant?”

“Clear, sir.”

* * *

“You looked like you were going to pass out, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.

“I thought I was going to pass out, Staff Sergeant,” Faith replied.

The “reception to follow” was all ranks and had heavy hors d’ouvres in lieu of dinner.

“I don’t do attention well,” Faith admitted.

“Seriously, ma’am?” Januscheitis said, grabbing a bar stool while it was unoccupied. “You certainly don’t seem to mind attention from zombies. For you, LT.”

Somehow, over the last few weeks, Isham had managed to repair most of the damage to the Alpha’s main saloon. While essentially nothing matched, it had been rearranged to give the impression of “multiple styles” rather than “salvaged bits of junk from a dozen different boats.”

“Why thank you kind sir,” Faith said. “I accept.”

“What’ll you have, Lieutenant?” the bartender said. He looked vaguely familiar but most of the people at the reception were people she knew or who she had seen at least once. There were a few “new” faces, you could tell the freshies, boaties with deep tans, “ghosts” from compartments with no tan at all and all with a “hollowed out” look, but most were people she sort of knew.

“Water,” Faith said. “Unless you’ve got some good juice.”

“I cannot believe we’ve got an LT that only drinks juice and water,” Derek said. “There should be a law.”

“A Marine officer shall be prepared for duty at all times,” Faith said. “Says so right in the instructions manual.”

“I’ve got a really decent pomegranate,” the bartender said.

“I’ll drink anything that’s wet,” Faith said. “Except wine and beer. Or coffee. Or anything with carbonation.”

“Seriously?” Derek said. “No alcohol, no coffee? What are you, ma’am, Mormon?”

“Just don’t like the taste of wine or beer,” Faith said, shrugging.

“And for you, gentlemen?”

“Beer?” Januscheitis asked.

“We’ve got a very nice pale ale on tap,” the bartender said. “Something called Seven Acres. Pretty decent. Didn’t turn.”

“Works for me,” Derek said. “Now, about the Mormon thing… ”

“I don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, don’t like the taste or smell of coffee,” Faith said. “I don’t do carbonation. I don’t even like black teas. I prefer green. I just don’t like the taste. I like good fruit juice and certain kinds of bottled water. I’m really, really, incredibly picky when it comes to taste or texture. Problem, Corporal?”

“No, ma’am,” Derek said. “Just sort of mind boggling. I’m having a hard time with… With Lieutenant Smith, zombie killer and Lieutenant Smith… ”

“ ‘Don’t drink, don’t smoke, what do you do…?’ ” Januscheitis half sang. “Kill zombies.”

“Got it in one,” Faith said. “I don’t do it for moral reasons; don’t mind if other people drink, though they get kind of stupid, but I don’t like the taste.”

“Ever tried straight booze, ma’am?” Januscheitis asked.

“No,” Faith said, shrugging. “Doubt it would change my interest.”

“Try this and see how you like it,” the bartender said, sliding the glass of chilled juice to her. “And your beer, gentlemen.”

“That is pretty good,” Faith said, taking a sip. “It sat in plastic too long, but it’s not bad. Sophia, bless her black little heart, turned up a case of Razzleberry Tea. Now that is good.”

“Oop,” Januscheitis said, setting his beer down and coming to attention. “Commodore, inbound.”

“Easy,” Steve said, walking up behind Faith. “No rank in the mess or something like that.”

“Yes, sir,” Januscheitis said.

“Then is it, ‘Good evening, sir’ or ‘Hey, Da’?” Faith asked, grinning. “I get confused.”

“ ‘Hey, Da’ works,” Steve said. “So this is your posse. I haven’t had time to get introduced.”

“Corporal Douglas,” Faith said, “Staff Sergeant Januscheitis, Captain Smith AKA Commodore Wolf. Derek, Jan, my Da, Steve.”

“Good evening, Captain,” Januscheitis said.

“Good to see you again, Staff Sergeant,” Steve said. “You’re looking better. I’d like to thank you and your men for clearing the Iwo. That had to be double tough.”

“From what I’ve gotten, not as hard as clearing the Voyage, sir,” Januscheitis said. “Lieutenant Fontana has had a couple of choice words to say on the subject.”

“The Voyage fucking sucked,” Faith said taking a pull of her juice. “The Voyage is why I wish I did drink.”

“Choice words like those, sir,” Januscheitis said.

“Clearing your own ship with your own personnel had to have its own issues,” Steve said.

“Are we going to get it back in operation, sir?” Derek asked.

“Not right now,” Steve said. “I wanted to use the hover craft for future ops but after due consideration, we don’t even have enough technical people, at this time, to flood the wash deck. Or maintain the AACs. We will need it for future operations, when we can use it. But not right now. That brings up a point which I need some honest and open input on. Our usual technique with something like this is to spread dermestid carrion beetles to reduce the logistics effort of clearing the remains. I’m taking an informal poll of how negative the reaction to that would be in the case of the Iwo.”

“Carrion beetles, sir?” Derek said.

“Da’s little black helpers,” Faith said. “Da, did you know one of your nicknames behind your back is Captain Carrion?”

“No, but I’m not surprised,” Smith said. “They are fast reproducing beetles that only eat dead flesh. Depends on how many you start with but open all the watertight doors to areas that have human remains, dump some in, wait a couple of months and what you have is picked clean skeletons. Oh, and decks covered in beetles. Which can then be vacuumed up and in many cases reused.”

“Ugh,” Januscheitis said, twitching. “That’s, uhm… ”

“Simple, brutal and effective,” Faith said. “Sort of like a Saiga. The Coasties didn’t particularly like it when we did it to their cutter. But a team of ten only took a day to collect all the skeletons and we could give them a decent burial. Even if we didn’t know which was which.”

“The infected, in case you hadn’t noticed, even tear off their dog tags,” Steve said. “I’m going to let the surviving Marines and Navy personnel have some time to consider it. But… clearing the dead from the ship is going to be a major undertaking. And while the few people we have left are doing that, they can’t be doing something more useful. Not to mention, it, well, sucks. Bodies are heavy. Skeletons… not so much. Like I said, give it a few days thought, discuss it amongst yourselves.”

“So, different subject, sir?” Faith said.

“Preferably,” Steve said. “What’s next, right?”

“I understand you intend to clear Gitmo, sir?” Derek said.

“Once the tropical season is past, yes,” Steve said. “We’re working on methods of doing so. Which is, in fact, next. Tomorrow we’ll be testing out a new weaponry system for heavy littoral clearance. We needed enough rounds just to do the testing which the Iwo fortunately has. If the test is successful, we’ll then move on to actual clearance tests to see if it really works. They really work since there are two different systems. If those systems work, we’ll use them to clear some minor islands in the Eastern Atlantic, then in early December, move down to Gitmo.”

“That sounds like a plan, sir,” Januscheitis said.

“So what are these ‘littoral clearance systems’?” Faith asked.

“Oh, I think you’ll like them,” Steve said.