Authors: John Ringo
Tags: #Fiction, #science fiction, #General, #Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic, #Military
Strands of Sorrow (17 page)
“That’s the ticket,” Montana said. “Keep going . . .”
* * *
“‘Seasons don’t fear the reaper . . . ’”
Montana muttered, watching the evolution of covering the light on the
Jimmy Carter
.
The “crane” on the end of the motorized barge was originally a boat lift found in “abandoned and inoperable” condition at the NALF. Four days of crack Navy nuclear engineering, “crack” being a variable term in this case, had created a “crane” capable of lifting a large steel box sixty feet into the air and forty feet sideways. One where the operator was, furthermore, covered in plates of corrugated steel taken from the same cargo container that had provided material for the “lights-out” box.
“The Beast” having already been taken, they called it “Franky” after Dr. Frankenstein’s monster. Leuschen’s suggestion of “Jaeger” had been ritually shot down in flames.
Leuschen and the barge driver had practiced maneuvering the box but it was still tricky. North Island had a more or less continuous wind from the sea that tended to push the barge off station. And the box was swinging on a single line which meant it wasn’t always lined up to fit over the sail. Then there were the falling zombies hitting the barge, the crane and the box. The impacts of those falling from the flight deck could be heard a hundred yards away. However, after twenty minutes and what was clearly a good bit of swearing they had the box in place and the light at least muted.
“To the strand, driver,” Montana said, pointing south.
Along the strand seven barges, previously cut out by SEALs and boat operators, were now arrayed along the shore. Each of them contained one or more generators and as many powerful lights as the remnants of Pacific Fleet had been able to find. They’d tried them the previous night and gotten some response. But with most of the infected concentrating on the light on the
Jimmy
the response had been muted at best. With that light turned off, hopefully they’d get more response over the subsequent nights.
There were crews on the barges, fixing light bulbs, reinforcing gear, fueling the generators. Despite the long trip down they’d put them in the bay. Less damage from waves that way. Alas, that also meant they were going to lose them. ’Cause it was
gonna
rain.
CHAPTER 13
“You okay?” Sophia said. Nobody had seen Faith since the meeting and she finally tracked her down in her quarters.
Faith was hunched in front of a computer, staring at it like a mouse stares at a snake.
“I’m fine,” Faith said. She didn’t move.
“Homework?” Sophia asked. Despite being “Officers and Ladies” with full-time jobs, they were both expected to keep up with school work. Faith was considered the “bad” student of the two of them and despite being a fourteen-year-old officer in a zombie apocalypse was up to eleventh grade work. Sophia, fifteen, was working on college courses.
“Sort of,” Faith said.
“Need help?” Sophia said. She wasn’t usually so nice but Faith looked . . . scared. She walked into the room and examined the computer. Faith was looking at an iTunes screen. “So, seriously, what’s up?”
“I’m trying to figure out the playlist,” Faith said in a small voice.
“Is that all?” Sophia said, laughing. “I did dozens of those!”
“I know!” Faith spat. “Okay, I know! I was there, okay? For shooting up a beach filled with infected on a
raid
, Sophia! I’m taking an M1 tank ashore in a
city
. You remember
London
?”
“Faith, calm down,” Sophia said, sitting down next to her.
“I almost
lost
in London, Soph,” Faith said, clearly trying not to cry. “I almost LOST. I almost
lost
all my
Marines
, Soph! ’Cause I was stupid and I thought . . .”
“Faith . . .” Sophia said. “I . . . You made the right call. The general backed you up.”
“That’s the
only
reason it was right,” Faith said. “Because, Soph, you were
there
. If it hadn’t been for General Montana, we’d be . . .” She stopped. “And I didn’t
know
that, okay, Sophia? How could I? It was just Walker. It was wrong.
I
was wrong. And now . . . I’ve got to do
this
? Okay? And this is important, okay, Sophia? We’re going into a
city
, okay? Just like God-damned London, okay? And this time there is no way that the fuckers are
getting
my Marines! I’m going to fucking SLAUGHTER them. Those fuckers need to
pay
! And they cannot
stop
me! They just
can’t
, okay? This is where we
prove
we can fucking win, Sophia. So it’s
important
! It’s the most important thing I’ve ever
done
, okay?”
“Okay,” Sophia said.
“And there’s survivors, okay?” Faith said. “And they’re going to
hear
this. And I want it to be right, okay? I have to have that
one
song. That song that I play when we go hot, okay? Like when you played ‘Ready to Die’ when we hit Gitmo. That was awesome! And I’ve never done this. The rest of the playlist . . . Doesn’t matter really. Stuff. But that one song . . . That has to matter. And I’m sitting here and saying ‘Has to be the Marine Corps Hymn.’ But, let’s face it, is that the right choice? I mean . . . It’s
obviously
the right choice but it doesn’t
feel
right, you know?”
“Wait, Faith,” Sophia said, sitting down. “Just calm down. I get it. I really do. I didn’t but I get it now. Just wait . . .” She said. She clicked on the Marine Corps Hymn and nodded. “That’s . . . That’s not right for opening fire with an M1 Abrams, you’re right. You know how when we went into Gitmo, I played ‘Homeward Bound’ last before we opened fire?”
“Yeah,” Faith said. “Sort of wanted to do that one, then I . . . Yeah.”
“Okay,” Sophia said. “That’s the last one before you roll, okay? That’s the last . . .
nice
one. Last one to draw them in.”
“But which one do I play when we go hot?” Faith asked.
“That is up to you,” Sophia said, holding up her hand. “And you’re over-thinking it. What was the first song that came to mind when the colonel told you you were going in with Trixie?”
“‘Immigrant song,’” Faith said.
“Oldie but a goody,” Sophia said.
“But is that the
right
one?” Faith asked.
“Look, don’t sweat it so hard,” Sophia said. “Set up the rest of the playlist. That’s what I’d do. There might be something that comes to mind that’s better. Just let your back brain decide. You’ve got time.”
“It’s gotta be right,” Faith insisted.
“It will be,” Sophia said. “It will be . . .”
* * *
It had been decided, with some caution on Colonel Hamilton’s part, to do the same thing that they did when clearing towns: Play music and make light the night before to draw in the maximum density of infected.
The “utility boat” yachts had, therefore, gone down the night before and shone their lights and played loud music. Added to them was a barge with a rotating spotlight system previously used to advertise a grand opening.
Then the barge containing Trixie was brought down before dawn. It was anchored, carefully, right up against the wharfs. There was a gap between the barge and the wharf. It was close enough the infected could jump had it not been for the
very
high raised ramp. Trixie had to be set up high on the barge due to the way she had to unload. The seventy-three ton tank going “up” to the wharf would have bent any conceivable bridge in half. So the bridge had to be long and thus high. Fortunately, they had some experts on Roll On-Roll Off techniques who’d designed the landing barge. It worked and doubled as a shield against the swarming infected.
Trixie was covered by a large canvas with the Marine Corps globe and anchor spray-painted on it. The canvas was propped up carefully, completely clearing the tank with some space underneath. Even an overhead observer could not determine what was under the canvas. There wasn’t any tactical reason to cover the tank. Faith had suggested it without any logical reason and Colonel Hamilton had agreed, admitting that there was little or no logic. Zombies weren’t going to be afraid of
any
tank, no matter how large. But having it covered just seemed . . . right.
When everything was in place, just before dawn, Faith started her own playlist. It had a variety of tunes she’d chosen from pure gut to start off. “Winterborn,” Cruxshadows. It would set the mood nicely.
“Vater Unser” by E Nomine, ’cause she was going to need some forgiveness for what she was about to do. She knew that blaming the infected for the way they acted was wrong. But she couldn’t help herself. After London, she just purely hated zombies.
“He’s a Pirate,” the David Garrett version. She’d really wanted to meet David Garrett pre-Plague. If there was one guy on earth to lose her virginity to . . . That was, oddly enough, in honor of her dad who was a pirate at heart. Just with a conscience.
“Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner” ’cause she knew General Montana loved it. And if she had to choose another da, or a granda more like, it would be the general. She’d hardly known him before London and now she missed him as much as she missed Mum and Da.
“Meadows of Heaven.” Someday she wanted to find a place that reminded her of that song and just . . . stop. Find someplace where she could raise kids. Buy a farm. A place. Just name it “Home.” That was the future she was fighting for. That was why today had to happen. The road to home led right through the zombies gathering in the square.
“Danse Macabre” ’cause, well, it was appropriate to the current world. Long, but that would give them more time to gather.
“Miami 2017.” Billy Joel was way before her time but . . . she’d
seen
the lights go out on Broadway. Close enough. She’d been there the night the lights went out in NYC, permanently. She hoped, someday, to see them turned back on. But from off-shore: NYC was not her idea of a fun time.
That was almost the last of the intro music. Time to get ready to roll.
“Start the engine,” Faith said, then keyed the radio. “J. What’s the status on land, over?”
“Remember that look we got out a window in London, ma’am?”
Januscheitis said. The Marine NCO actually sounded nervous.
“Like that?” Faith asked.
“Worse. Shouldn’t we . . . soften the objective, ma’am?”
“With what?” Faith asked. “I mean, we don’t
have
B-52s, or napalm, J. What’s bigger than Trixie? We’re about to show gunboats how you do it.”
She switched back to intercom.
“Condrey, when the gates drop, you are going to hit it on my command,” Faith said. “You will obey that order unquestioningly, Lance Corporal. You are going to fucking floor it. Don’t even look. Just do.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Condrey said.
“We are going to bring hell and destruction to our enemies this day, Staff Sergeant Decker,” Faith said as the final piano solo started. “We are going to retake our nation, Staff Sergeant. And we are going to lead the way in this beautiful iron monster, Staff Sergeant, you and Lance Corporal Condrey have returned to the service of our nation with your skill and dedication. Oorah?”
“Oorah, ma’am!” Decker said. “Semper
fucking
Fi.”
They were closed up and Faith was in the compartment so she could see the staff sergeant’s face.
“Are you going to be . . . okay, Staff Sergeant?” Faith asked as the Marine Corps Hymn started with a brassy flourish. He wasn’t looking okay. “I need to know
now
.”
“I didn’t even
like
Lieutenant Klette, ma’am,” Decker said, obviously trying not to cry. Marine Staff NCOs do
not
cry.
Especially
on the cusp of combat. Most especially with the Hymn playing in the background.
“He was one of the most
useless
fucktards Marine Armor Officer Course ever
produced
, ma’am. He was more useful to the Corps as a
zombie
! You think
you
get lost, ma’am? Motherfucker couldn’t find his way out of the
mess
! And he was an ANNAPOLIS GRADUATE, not a fourteen-year-old girl! Useless as tits on a fucking boar HOG! But you couldn’t
tell
him! Oh, NO! He was God’s GIFT to the Marine Corps, ma’am! A more arrogant PRICK has never been produced by Annapolis, ma’am! Which EXISTS to produce ARROGANT, INCOMPETENT PRICKS! WHY THE FUCK COULDN’T
YOU
HAVE BEEN MY PLATOON LEADER, MA’AM? YOU’D HAVE BEEN
WORTH
MY SANITY, MA’AM! I am fine, ma’am. Finally. I am SEMPER FUCKING FI, MA’AM! I am fucking
UP
! READY TO
ROLL
, MA’AM! TANKER
UP
!”
Twitchell was pushed up against the side of the compartment, his eyes wide. Faith just smiled.
“Then let us roll fucking hot, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said quietly. “Drop the ramp,” she radioed just as the final flourish ended.
“Ramp down!” the operator called a moment later. “You gonna just
sit
there ’cause there’s . . . ?”
“Lance Corporal Condrey,” she said. “PUNCH IT!”
They couldn’t see a
thing
till they cleared the canvas. As soon as the tank bounded forward, Faith popped the TC’s hatch and took over the commander’s gun.
The sight was . . . intense. The square by the wharfs was packed, side to side, with infected humanity. She couldn’t even estimate how many. There was a solid stench of unwashed bodies mixed with offal and urine. The powerful speakers had actually been turned down for the intro songs. As the tank surged forward she hit the volume controls and “Bodies” by Drowning Pool boomed across the opening, echoing down the streets of the zombie held city.
“
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR
!” Faith screamed, triggering the TC’s gun.
The ramp crushed a dozen infected. More boarded the craft in a tide but they weren’t getting far. The tank filled the barge side to side. As the tank darted forward, the zombies were splashed up in the treads and the tank spun out, creating a massive rooster tail of molecularized infected, blood red mingling with the pink and purple paint of the pimped-out iron and depleted uranium giant. And those were just the first. The infected were packed tight. They couldn’t run even if they wanted to. And the tank was no more slowed by them than by air.
“TARGET CONCENTRATION!” Faith shouted, firing the cupola machine gun with one hand and laying down a windrow of bodies on the square. It was spitting in the wind of all the infected in the square and the ones to the sides were trying to climb onto the track. They were mostly getting caught in the treads. But eventually one of the taller ones would get a hold, then the rest would swarm aboard. Not a problem, she could just close up and have the amtracks scratch her back. But she was about to fix the whole situation in her opinion.
“TARGET!” Decker screamed.
“FIRE!” Faith bellowed. They were having to shout. Even with the crewman’s helmets, the music was so loud they could barely hear themselves.
“ON THE WAY!”
Then it turned out the gun was
louder
.
The M1028 was essentially a four point seven inch diameter shotgun round containing nearly twelve hundred thumb-sized ball bearings. The difference between it and normal shotgun rounds being a) size, it was more than ten times the total area and volume of a 12 gauge shell, b) the fact that instead of lead or steel shot, the shot was tungsten and c) it was driven at really
insane
velocity.