Islands of Rage and Hope (eARC) (19 page)

"Aye, aye, sir," Chen said, making a note.

"Senior and experienced personnel, such as we have, are to ensure that each gun has traverse limiters in place," Hamilton said. "And ensure that the gunners understand those fire limits and why we have them. I do not want to have fifty-cal rounds dropping around my ears. Are we clear?"

"Clear, sir," Chen said. "With your approval, I'll distribute my senior people to the outlying forces to ensure that. I'd appreciate some assistance from Ma Deuce-experienced Marines for the main landing force. That way I can distribute out the chief and the sergeant major."

"Agreed," Hamilton said. "And the plan is approved with one slight modification."

"Sir?" Chen said.

"
I'm
picking the playlist," Hamilton said.

"Staff Sergeant," Faith stated, as they were leaving the final planning meeting. "Moment of your time in my office."

"Yes, ma'am," Barnard said.

Faith marched to her office, entered and sat down.

"The general plan, as briefed, is that the Marines, oorah, are to quarter here on the
Grace Tan
, oorah, until first call at 0400," Faith said, her jaw clenched. "Thereafter we chow, assemble, final brief and perform landing after clearance by Navy heavy fire at dawn, oorah?"

"Yes, ma'am," Barnard said, standing at parade rest.

"As you may have noticed there is a four-hour preinspection this afternoon on the prep schedule, oorah," Faith said. "I inserted that preinspection in the op-plan. During that preinspection I will instruct you on my task, conditions and standards for combat preinspection. After that you and I will perform an after-inspection review and determine if this is a procedure, oorah, you find conforms to your views, oorah? Do you have any questions?"

"No, ma'am," Barnard said.

"Inspection begins at fifteen hundred," Faith said. "We will not form the personnel. We shall, oorah, take each Marine one by one into the gear locker. This technique, oorah, is currently..." Faith paused and frowned. "There is no SOP, oorah. There should be an SOP. We will establish that SOP, oorah?"

"Roger, ma'am," Barnard said.

"Dismissed."

"I've got a target," Seaman Apprentice Rusty Bennett said nervously.

Rusty was used to shooting up zombies with the .50 caliber BMG affectionately referred to as the Ma Deuce. He'd even gotten pretty damned good, in his opinion, with the monstrous machine gun. He wasn't worried about whether he could hit anything. What was making him nervous was all the Mickey Mouse. The new Marine colonel who was in charge was being a prick. He'd never even heard of a range limiter before and had to dig through all the parts and crap that had come with the gun to find it. And then he'd had to get the sergeant major, before he left, to show him how to hook it up.

"Sorry," Rusty added. "I've got a target, sirs."

"So I see," Colonel Hamilton said as an infected trotted down the beach. It was hunched over as if it was sniffing for something. It was a young black male, nude as all the infected were, his lanky, twisted hair dangling down into his face so Hamilton wondered how he could even see. "Is the SOP to engage any target at will, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Commander Chen was nearly as nervous as Rusty. But he was better at hiding it.

"Infected are drawn to any sign of carrion, such as flocks of seagulls, sir," Chen said. "Our SOP is to engage any infected that are in the target zone early and often. That begins the attraction process. And infected don't seem to avoid the target zones. They cannot make the connection between loud gun noises and other infected dying. So, yes, sir, we engage if they are in the target basket, sir."

"One last check," Hamilton said.

"Uh, sir," Rusty said, swinging his barrel towards the target. Just past it the barrel bumped up against the limiter. "It's about to get off to the side."

The infected was heading north on the beach and approaching the edge of the fire-limit zone.

"Then we shall wait for a better target," Hamilton said. "For that matter...Do we know the current location of Division Five?"

The other four gunboat divisions had already left the rendezvous for their respective fire points. Division Five was going to be crossing the fire zone of Division One at some point. Admittedly, it was going to be nearly four miles away and on the other side of the island. OTOH, .50 BMG had a "general area of effect" range of...about four miles. Meaning if you had, say, a dozen .50 calibers firing at the right angle to drop their rounds into an area, they could, in fact, hole a boat at four miles. And probably sink it.

"No, sir," Lieutenant Commander Chen said. "I can find out pretty quick."

"Let's hold off firing until everyone is in their proper place," Colonel Hamilton said. "Something to add to the SOP for this. In fact, in the future, we probably just need to have all the boats on one side of the island."

"Some of the islands I wonder if it would be an issue, sir," Lieutenant Commander Chen said. "Islands like Saba, the interior topography is going to make it nearly impossible for us to have rounds go over."

"Point," Hamilton said, looking at the lowlying atoll. "Anguilla, however, is not such a case. Wait until all the divisions are in place, do a final check on the guns for their angles, then we can go to free-fire. In the meantime, have your gun crews unload and stand down. I can see that Rusty here, at least, is itching to kill him some infected. Right, Seaman Apprentice?"

"Yes, sir," Rusty said.

"Call that in to all the divisions. They are not free-fire until all boats are in place, all limits are set and all guns have been checked by senior personnel for limits."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Bloody hell," Sergeant Major Raymond Barney said, looking through the binoculars.

They were cruising east in the Anguilla Channel--which runs between the relatively low and small island of Anguilla and the much larger and more prominent St. Martin. The two islands more or less defined the juncture between the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic in the area and the boat was rolling on waves coming in from the open Atlantic. Which was what had caused the oath on the part of the sergeant major. Not the waves, the mass of wrecked ships, carried in by the Great Southern Current and piled up on the jagged rocks of St. Martin. It looked like some sort of twisted regatta from Dante's Inferno. There were freighters, tankers, yachts, sailboats, megayachts, lifeboats and life rafts, ships that didn't quite meet any description he could come up with. There was even what looked to be a section of an oil platform.

"We came through this sort of stuff at night on the way in," Lieutenant Matthew Bowman said. The skipper of the
Golden Guppy
and commander of Division Five was a thirty-five-year-old who had made his money early in tech and set out to sail around the world just in time for a zombie apocalypse. "But you could still see the outlines."

"I mean, there's usually wrecks," Barney said, lowering the binos and shaking his head. "They were all over the Canaries. But that is bloody
insane
."

The sergeant major was sixty-two, a retired British Army light scouts NCO and NCOIC of the Naval Landing Parties. His position was technically slightly ambiguous. As a British citizen and former soldier he could not, actually, "command" American forces. On the other hand, nobody really questioned who was in charge when Navy parties hit the beach. He'd been detailed to "accompany" Division Five, which was not hitting the beach, to "ensure safe practices" of the Navy gunners. After which he was going to have to take a fucking Zodiac all the way back around the island to link up with Division One. He'd flipped a coin with his nemesis, Chief Petty Officer Kent Schmidt, USN, as to who got the furthest out division and lost.

"Div Five, Flotilla."

"Division Five, over," Bowman replied.

"Status check."

"Passing Forest Harbor at this time, Flotilla," Bowman replied.

"Roger. Supplementary orders. Do not load weapons until all vessels report in position and ready to fire, over."

"Do not load weapons until all boats in position, aye," Bowman replied.

"Flotilla out."

"Wonder what that was about?" Bowman said.

"Fifty-caliber Singer has a maximum range of seven miles, sir," Barney said. "This island is three miles wide at its widest. Those bloody Singer rounds are going to be bouncing off these block houses and going all the way across the bloody island, sir. Our path takes us through
three
possible impact zones. And one of those rounds
will
go all the way through these cockleshells, sir. I'd rather wondered about whether we'd get shot up heading to the anchorage, sir."

"You didn't bring that up in the meeting," Bowman said.

"I was leaving it up to the Yank colonel, Lieutenant," Barney said. "But I'll tell you I've been keeping a bit of an eye out for bits of ocean churned up by descending Singer rounds, sir. You might want to do the same in case others haven't gotten the word, sir."

"And what would that look like, exactly?" Bowman said nervously. He was now scanning the surface of the water intently.

"Bit like flying fish jumping, sir," Barney said.

"Those are all over the place!" Bowman snapped.

"Really, sir?" the sergeant major said, smiling slightly and still looking through the binoculars.

"Oh, now you're just yanking my chain!"

"Am I, sir?" Barney said, grinning. "What gave you that impression? In seriousness, the answer was honest and, of course, useless. The rounds can and will cross the island, spotting them incoming is hard to impossible since the tracers will have burned out and even then only one in five is a tracer. If it happens, by the time we know we'll have a half-inch hole through ourselves, and that is not what you call a survivable wound. So we'd better bloody well hope that everyone's got the word, sir."

"How screwed up can one sailing cruise get?" Bowman said, shaking his head.

Our flag's unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in every clime and place
Where we could take a gun.

--Marine Corps Hymn

"This technique, oorah, was developed with Lieutenant Fontana's help, oorah?" Faith said, standing in front of Decker. She was in full ground combat gear with her face shield up. She even had her Barbie gun strapped across her chest but no magazine in the well. Added to the ensemble, and not normal, was a bulging messenger bag slung over her shoulder. She'd dropped that before starting the inspection. "It is based upon the way that you...oorah...do the preinspection for somebody who's doing a jump, oorah? Questions?"

"Like a parachutist, ma'am?" Staff Sergeant Barnard said.

"Lieutenant Fontana is a Green Beret, oorah?" Faith said. "They call it something different, oorah? Airport or something, oorah? But it's how they inspect a jumper. Da used to inspect me and Sophia the same way. Da used to be a para. So, we start at the helmet and face shield, oorah? Grab the face shield and flex it in with the base of your palms on the bottom of the face shield, oorah? It should flex a bit but not crack or be too solid, oorah? And it can't be so scratched you can't see through it. Then push up on the bottom while holding your other hand on top of the helmet. All of the shields are supposed to be attached to the helmet. It can't be loose, oorah? Or an infected'll pull it right off in a scrum, oorah? Watch your hand there, you can cut yourself. Been there, done that, oorah...? Decker, you need to pay attention to this. You're going to be doing it, too."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Decker barked.

It took thirty minutes just to walk the staff sergeants through what was essentially a PJMC, pre-jump manifest check, used in "airborne," not "airport," operations.

"You really got to watch the magazines, oorah?" Faith said. "Bunch of 'em ended up sitting for months with multiple rounds or full loads. That really fu...messes up the springs, oorah? If the spring feels weak, it's probably bad."

"Oorah, ma'am," Barnard said.

"Oorah," Faith replied. "Don't know how to say this. Doesn't matter if they need a shave, their boots ain't shined or there's bloodstains on their uniform. All that matters is their gear is right, oorah? Now you and Decker start doing checks on all the rest of the platoon. I'll watch and critique, oorah?"

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Barnard said.

"Decker, check Sergeant Hoag," Faith said. "You check Derk, Staff Sergeant. Derk's been through this and knows the drill. I'm going to go prepare them," she added, hefting the bag. "I'll send them up when it's time."

"Aye, aye, ma'am,"

"Derk," Faith said. "Barbie gun."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Corporal Douglas said, unclipping his M4 and handing it over.

"Nobody saw this," Faith barked. She opened the gun, slid out the bolt, closed it up, latched the dust cover and handed it back. Then she pocketed the bolt. "I should remember to get that back to you. But if I don't, for God's sake don't hit the beach that way, oorah?"

"Aye, aye, ma'am," the corporal said.

"Fumitaka," she said, dipping into the messenger bag then holding out a Ka-Bar to the lance corporal, butt first. "Switch Ka-Bars. Don't go ashore with this one."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Fumitaka said, switching blades. He fingered the edge and shook his head. "You couldn't cut butter with this, ma'am."

"That's the point, Lance Corporal," Faith said, making a note in her notebook. She adjusted one of Filipowicz's sling clips so it was barely hooked, switched out one of PFC Summers's magazines for one with a bad spring and generally spent ten minutes making sure that there were various minor faults scattered through the platoon. She also wrote down each "fault" so her Marines wouldn't actually go into combat with messed-up gear.

"Now it's a
real
test, oorah?" Faith said, walking back to the gear locker.

"Okay," Fumitaka said. "I guess maybe she does know what she's doing."

"O ye of little faith," Corporal Douglas said. "Semper Fi, boys and girls. And keep your mouths shut."

"Douglas!" Faith yelled from the next compartment. "You're up!"

"Inspection complete, ma'am," Barnard said, stepping back from Corporal Douglas.

Faith was standing between and slightly behind the two staff sergeants. At Barnard's words she dropped her head, reached into her pocket and wordlessly handed Douglas his bolt. Barnard's face went white and she winced but didn't say anything.

"As I mentioned, Staff Sergeant, I have made just about every mistake possible when it comes to combat," Faith barked, pulling out her little green notebook and scribbling a note. "Next! I screwed that one up on the
Voyage
. The miracle is that I am alive. Staff Sergeant Decker, while I appreciate and often admire your
intense
attention to detail, we have thirty Marines to go through. You
will
learn to be both fast
and
accurate. Oorah?"

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Decker said. He was barely halfway through his check on Sergeant Hoag's gear.

"Begin again, Staff Sergeant Barnard," Faith said.

"Attention on deck!" PFC Randolph bellowed. Since he and Fumitaka were facing the hatch they were the only ones that saw the colonel enter the compartment.

"Carry on," Colonel Hamilton said. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

"Good afternoon, sir!" Faith barked.

"I was mildly curious about a four-hour inspection period on the plans," Hamilton said.

"Checking that all combat gear is shipshape, sir," Faith responded. "Lieutenant Fontana and I developed an evolution to ensure that during the early days of the squadron, sir. Instructing the staff sergeants on that evolution, sir."

"And how is it going?" Hamilton asked.

Barnard had drawn Fumitaka's Ka-Bar and fingered the edge. She glanced at the lieutenant who switched it out with the original. The dull one went back in the messenger bag.

"Better and better, sir," Faith replied as Randolph's loosened clip popped free under a tug from Decker. Decker reclipped it and tugged again so hard the PFC, who was standing at parade rest, nearly went on his face. "Once we have this evolution down it will take less time, sir."

"I see," Hamilton said, standing at parade rest. He didn't seem in a mood to leave.

Faith wasn't going to let that get to her; she just continued with the evolution.

"Hold it," Faith snapped about ten minutes later. She dipped into her pocket and pulled out a firing pin, then handed it to Lance Corporal Saul. "Make sure that gets back in its right place, Lance Corporal. Carry on."

"May the Staff Sergeant inquire when the Lieutenant forgot to put in her firing pin, ma'am?" Staff Sergeant Barnard asked through gritted teeth.

"I did not make that error," Faith replied, making another note in her book. "It was someone else. But I've come close more than once."

"Carry on," Colonel Hamilton said, turning around and leaving the compartment.

"As the colonel said, Staff Sergeant," Faith said, checking her notes. "Carry on."

"And evolution is almost complete," Faith said, checking her notes. She nodded a few times, then pulled the now refilled messenger bag off her shoulder. "Staff Sergeant Barnard, go ahead and take this into the next bay and switch out anything you'd like on your gear. Just keep a list in case I miss anything. I'll inspect Staff Sergeant Decker while you do that. Bring the rest of the platoon into the bay when you come back."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Barnard said.

"Staff Sergeant Decker," Faith barked, pointing in front of her. "Front and center."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Decker replied.

"You can do this both quickly
and
accurately, Decker," Faith said, starting at the top. What had taken Decker, repeatedly, at least seven minutes took Faith less than two as she sped through the check from top to bottom. "You
will
get to the point you can do this in under three minutes, Staff Sergeant. That is the standard that I set and you
will
make that standard."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Decker said.

"Admittedly," Faith said, dropping out of command voice, "a big part of it is practice, practice, practice. You'll get plenty on the float. You're doing well, Staff Sergeant," she added, looking him in the eye. "You're doing
well
, Decker. You're a credit to the Corps."

"Thank you, ma'am," Decker said.

"The colonel wants you to instruct me on drill commands, Staff Sergeant," Faith said, resuming command voice. "When we have time on the float I am supposed to drill some of the enlisted with you instructing me. I know I have got a lot to learn in that regard and I also know that you know the manual back and forth. You oo--gung ho with that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Decker said, his face working. "Gung ho."

"Hang in there, Staff Sergeant," Faith said quietly. "We've all got our problems. And Trixie really likes you," she added in a whisper.

"Thank you, ma'am," Decker said, then frowned. "Permission to ask a question, ma'am?"

"Speak, Staff Sergeant," Faith said.

"I am unaware of a member of the squadron named Trixie, ma'am," Decker said.

"That's right," Faith said. "You haven't met Trixie, yet. I'm sure you will at some point. Probably at some point when we clear the island. Or you can ask Sergeant Hocieniec. But I would appreciate it if you would ask him in private. Trixie
doesn't
like Staff Sergeant Barnard..."

To get everyone into the compartment meant crowding around the lieutenant and Staff Sergeant Barnard in a huddle. The Marines behind Faith quickly learned another use for their helmets and face shields. Packed in the way they were there was no room to dodge when Faith found something she didn't like and it went flying over her shoulder...

"Did I miss anything, Staff Sergeant?" Faith asked, handing back the staff sergeant's pinless bolt.

"Not that I caught, ma'am," Staff Sergeant Barnard said.

"There's still items that were not planted that did not meet my standards," Faith stated. "Deal with that this evening. There will be another inspection, with all weapons and ammo, at zero five thirty. Dawn is at zero six forty-seven. We are scheduled to go ashore at zero seven hundred. To make sure that everyone is aware of the plan, we will go ashore and form a perimeter for the off-load, by Navy and civilian personnel, of the five-tons. Once we have secured the five-tons, Naval ground landing personnel will take over the security position while we will sweep the island looking for additional infected and survivors, oorah? Survey and salvage personnel, oriented on the hospital and medical school, are scheduled to land at eleven hundred hours. We will accompany them to the target facilities, clear them if necessary and provide security for the extraction of any high value materials. Back to the docks to reverse it all by sixteen thirty. We are to be off the island by sunset, oorah? Anchors are to be aweigh by nineteen hundred and we are away to sunny Saint Barthelemy to lather, rinse and repeat. Everybody but the staff sergeants rack your gear and fall in on the troop bay. Fall out.

"Staff Sergeants. We were going to do an after action review on this but the inspection's run late, oorah? Don't focus on this tonight, we've got the action tomorrow which is more important. But start thinking about how to draft this as an SOP, oorah? Other than that, make sure the troops are fed, watered and bedded down by twenty one hundred, oorah? We have an early first call, chow and ammo draw before the inspection. Tomorrow morning, concentrate on ammo quality and proper mag loading, oorah? Only NCOs will carry grenades. Ensure that all shipping clips are
off
the grenades. Keep the shipping clips handy since we're probably not going to use up all our grenades. Questions, comments, concerns?"

"Fuck a freaking duck," Sergeant Weisskopf said, racking his gear. "I know you want to have her babies but I am getting sick and tired of Barbie telling me how to be a Marine. I mean, she went from 'Hi, I'm Faith!' to Hitler. What the fuck is up with that?"

"I will say that
something's
crawled up her ass," Sergeant Smith said, checking again to make sure he'd put his bolt back. "But the way I'm looking at it, we've got two senior NCOs, one of which is a clerk and the other's a tanker with...flexibility issues. I think the skipper's just trying to make sure every fuck-up she can prevent is prevented."

"What?" Weisskopf said, sarcastically. "Like somebody's going to leave their firing pin out of their weapon?"

"One little mistake," Smith said.

"Seriously?" Weisskopf said, snorting. "You really did that?"

"We were supposed to have the crossing as an easy cruise," Smitty said, shrugging. "After clearing liners in Tenerife we needed the fucking break. Kick back and relax for whatever horrors awaited us in the sunny Caribbean. Instead we spent practically every damned day in fucking Zodiacs going a hundred miles an hour across the middle of the fucking Atlantic. Clear a boat, either head back to the
Bo
or sometimes doss on one of the small boats. And we'd have to get all our gear cleaned up whenever we had the chance and the time. Which wasn't much of either. We got to where we were clearing in our sleep, okay? We cleared four
liners
on the crossing. We'd end up covered in blood. I had to pull my weapon all the way down I don't know how many times. And I mean
all
the way. Washing out my fucking action was a daily thing. Sorry, Sergeant, but you know you're a post-Fall Marine when rinsing down your magazines to get the blood and hair and brain matter out of them after an op doesn't make you puke.

"So, yeah, I forgot to put in my pin one time and didn't find out till I'd opened up a hatch with about two bazillion screaming infected on the other side. And do you know who saved that from turning into a scrum? The fucking lieutenant, okay? 'Cause while I'm cycling my weapon over and over and forgetting that I'm in everybody else's way, not to mention I've got a backup, the LT's firing
past
me and nailing fucking infected. Tomorrow is probably going to be easy as shit. Clearing an island like this is a walk in the park. This cruise is a fucking vacation so far. It's clearing liners that's a nightmare."