Authors: John Ringo
Tags: #Fiction, #science fiction, #General, #Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic, #Military
Strands of Sorrow (21 page)
The one thing going for the base was it didn’t look like much had burned. And several of the buildings had survivors on them, checking out the flotilla.
The civilian ships had been led in by the
Alexandria
, so the people on the base could have some reasonable expectation that the people in uniform on civilian ships were, in fact, Navy and not pirates come to steal their lucky charms. Or nuclear weapons as the case might be. The
Alex
had previously taken a run up to the base to check out the channel—it was clear enough for the
Grace
, and signal to the survivors that, yes, there was help coming. They’d also gotten a list of known survivors. For good or ill, the base commander, a vice admiral who also commanded most of the boats in the Atlantic, had succumbed to H7D3.
Ill because any loss was a tragedy. Good because the one thing they didn’t need any time soon was a split in the chain of command. The first admiral or general they ran across was probably going to throw a shit fit about “Captain Wolf.” Undersecretary Galloway was the NCCC and that was a trump card. Didn’t mean someone who had the “advice and consent of the Senate” in their appointment to stars was going to just salute and say “Yes, sir” to a jumped-up civilian “playing” at being LantFleet. General Montana had been an aberration in that regard as in every other human trait.
“I’m wondering who’s going to file the environmental impact statement,” Sophia said, pointing to the docks.
The
Nebraska
had been alongside when the Plague hit. It had suffered some sort of catastrophic malady, listed hard over and basically sunk. Barely ten percent of it was above water level.
“Just what we need,” Faith said. “Two-headed alligators.”
“Ensign Smith to the ready room . . .”
“Here we go again,” Sophia said.
“Try to keep it in the air, Sis,” Faith said.
“I’d say ‘stay out of trouble’ but there’s no real point, is there?”
“Lieutenant Smith to the armory. Lieutenant Smith to the armory . . .”
“Probably not,” Faith said, grinning.
* * *
“Think we got enough guns this time, sir?” Sophia asked as she spun the barrels on the minigun mounted on the weapons sponsons. It
was
part of her pre-flight, after all.
Besides the dual miniguns mounted on each sponson, each of the two door gunners had the same system for a total of six of the insanely powerful weapons. And at the insistence of the various personnel involved, the ammo supplies for all guns were five times those normally lofted by helos. The bird was basically a flying ammo dump of 7.62 NATO.
“Aren’t you the one that insists there’s no such thing as overkill?” Wilkes asked as he climbed into his seat.
“I think you’re mistaking me for my sister, sir,” Sophia said. “Bit taller? Wears an ugly camouflage uniform, not a really cool flight suit, sir?”
“Just twitting you, Seawolf,” Wilkes said.
“We used to get mistaken for twins when we were younger,” Sophia said. “Now everybody thinks she’s the older one. It gets old.”
“Understood,” Wilkes said. “Port, starboard, you up?”
“Intercom set and checked, Port,” Olga replied.
“Set and checked Starboard,” Anna said.
“They ever switch me out for Lieutenant Simpson and there’s no stopping this crew,” Wilkes said.
“Feel the estrogen, sir,” Sophia replied. “
Be
the estrogen, sir.”
“Your cycles start syncing and I’m putting in for a transfer,” Wilkes said, as he started the engines. “You all have guns . . .”
* * *
The helo coasted low over the ground, followed by infected.
“Watch your forward speed,” Wilkes said. “This loaded, we don’t have a lot of power or ground clearance to spare.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Sophia said, speeding up.
“Permission to engage, commander?” Olga said. “I’ve got some nice concentrations.”
“They’ll stop and feed, port,” Wilkes said. “We want them in the killbox first.”
The “killbox” was designated as a large open area by the port. It was in firing range of the amtracks that were preparing to plop off the back of the
Grace Tan
and was nicely away from anything they were interested in.
“Those are interesting,” Sophia said, pointing to two ships alongside the pier. They were platform supply ships with their back decks covered in containers. “Are those sub tenders?”
“No,” Wilkes said. “I’m not sure what they are.”
“We can use them,” Sophia said. “Especially if that’s military cargo.”
“Save it for later,” Wilkes said. “Port, starboard. What’s the concentration looking like?”
“Most of the infected close to the port seem to be swarming, command,” Olga said. “Getting to the killbox.”
The helo couldn’t continuously hover over the infected and slowly lead them as the Marines did. It was having to pull in, lead them for a while in a certain direction, then pull up and around. It was tedious. On the other hand, the Marines weren’t off the ship, yet.
“There they go,” Sophia said as the first amtrack, commanded by her sister, plopped off the
Grace Tan
and, unfortunately, didn’t sink. One of these days . . . “Bet she’s pissed she has to wait to use Trixie.”
“At least the colonel finally ordered it painted a decent color,” Wilkes said.
The tank was now back to its original desert sand. On the other hand, it still had
TRIXIE
written on both sides of the turret. On the front glacis and the track shields was
MARINES
with a globe and anchor to either side. The deck of the
Grace Tan
had been reinforced to hold it and the crane significantly upgraded. The tank, alone, had cut the
Grace Tan’s
cargo capacity and was one of the reasons the helo had been moved semi-permanently to the
Boadicea
.
“I think we’ve got enough in the killbox,” Wilkes said. “Ground Team, Air. We’re preparing for our first run.”
“Roger,”
Faith said.
“We’ll be there as soon as Freeman gets his act together.”
“Air, out,” Wilkes said. “So . . . let’s see how these work . . .”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” Faith said as the Seahawk dove. The four GAU 17/A miniguns slung on the weapons sponsons put out individual streams of two thousand rounds of 7.62x51 per minute. Olga and Anna had slewed them full forward. Every fifth round was a tracer. With the MG240, the tracers were clearly separated even at highest rate of fire. With the miniguns, they were one continuous stream that looked like a red laser.
When they hit the ground they bounced, and created a small volcano the color of blood.
Since most of them
weren’t
hitting the ground, they were hitting infected, this time much of it
was
blood.
“Let’s join the party,” Faith radioed. “Open fire, forty millimeter.”
The 40mm grenades pumped out of the tracks and soared, slowly, over to the mass of infected a hundred meters on shore. If they were having any effect, it wasn’t apparent. The helicopter, on the other hand, was devastating.
“Okay, so it’s cool,” Faith muttered. “Trixie’s totally cooler . . .”
* * *
“Do this very slowly, Lance Corporal,” Faith said from the TC’s hatch of Trixie.
With the inner port zone cleared of infected and the survivors picked up by the amtracks, the
Grace Tan
had been pushed in by tugs to butt stern-first to the wharf. Then a large ramp, borrowed from one of the MPF ships, had been lifted into place. Now all they had to do was drive Trixie off the ship and onto the land.
Trixie was a significant percentage of the cargo weight of the
Grace Tan
. And although her cargo deck had been reinforced, it wasn’t really designed to support seventy-three tons of tank. Last, when Trixie moved, she was going to throw the balance of the ship off. She was midships, so it shouldn’t list. But it was going to go down by the stern. How much had been an interesting and still theoretical calculation. Which was why only Faith and the lance corporal were in the tank and both were wearing just their uniforms and PFDs. If the tank went in the drink, they’d have some chance of survival. Not much, given sharks and gators, but some.
Condrey rolled forward slowly. As he did, Faith could see the stern of the ship start to settle.
“We’re gonna need a bigger boat,”
Captain Gilbert radioed.
“She’s pretty darn heavy.”
“Should we stop?” Faith radioed back. “And she’s not fat, just big boned.”
“Got it,”
Gilbert replied.
“She’ll take
’
er. Just take it slow.”
“Roger,” Faith said.
The ramp wasn’t all that wide and Faith was taking it on . . . faith that it was really rated for a tank. It didn’t look rated for a tank. Occasionally in Jax, Trixie had almost got stuck when portions of the road crumbled under her from sewer collapse. Then there was the time Condrey “accidentally” ran into a bank and cracked the vault. At this point, Faith had a very firm appreciation for Trixie’s mass.
Finally, they were up on shore. On a, fortunately, very solid wharf.
“We definitely need a better way to do this,” Faith said.
“Landing craft, ma’am,” Condrey replied.
“I’m sure we’ll get them eventually,” Faith said. “Now to get the rest of the crew and our battle rattle. And show my sister who’s boss . . .”
CHAPTER 16
“You do not have the clearance to enter this facility, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said, staring at Faith over a pointed and locked M4. Actually, he was staring past her into the distance with “thousand mile eyes.”
They’d found Marine survivors. Five members of the FAST unit securing the special weapons site had managed to hold out in the main guard shack at the entrance. They were currently spread out trying to cover a platoon of Marines in armor with M4s. They did not care if Faith was a Marine lieutenant. She did not have clearance to enter the facility.
“My clearance comes from the National Constitutional Continuity Coordinator, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. If she was nonplussed by having a weapon pointed at her, she wasn’t showing it. Of course, if the Marine pulled the trigger, he and his companions had the survival time of a paramecium in a jar of acid. The Marines didn’t seem to care. Semper Fi. There was a reason that Marines secured Navy special weapons.
“The mission of my platoon is to secure special weapons and destroy the heavy weapons on this base. What are your special procedures in the event of complete breakdown in communication with chain of command, Marine?”
“Those procedures are classified, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said. “You do not have clearance for those procedures, ma’am.”
“Stand by,” Faith said. He had a point. She didn’t even have an ID card. She’d thought about pointing out her authority was a tank and declined. She could tell a Decker when she saw one. “Force Ops, Ground Team One.”
“Ground Team, Force Ops.”
“Surviving FAST on site. Refusing entrance to facility. States do not have authority to know special security procedures in the event of breakdown in chain of control of special weapons. I think we need the Hole on this one, over.”
“Roger, Ground Team. Stand by.”
“We’re getting higher in on this, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. “I’m going to ask you to take a deep breath. I’m not taking another step forward. But your weapon is armed, your safety is off and your finger is on the trigger. If you so much as breathe wrong, you’re going to be turned into paste by my platoon, right or wrong. So would you like me to step back or what?”
“Step back five paces, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said.
“My tank is three paces behind me,” Faith said. “Would you prefer I back it up as well?”
“Step back five paces, ma’am,” the staff sergeant repeated.
“Condrey, back Trixie up so I can step back five paces.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
She could hear the chopper approaching. She didn’t need that.
“Air Team, Ground, over,” Faith radioed.
“Air,”
Sophia said.
“Recommend avoid special weapons site air space,” Faith said. “Surviving very twitchy guards. Little tense at the moment. Would prefer you keep your distance, over.”
“Roger,”
Sophia said.
“We’ll circle outboard and keep your back covered for infected.”
“Thanks,” Faith said. “Ground, out.”
When Trixie had backed up, she took five steps backward.
As soon as she backed up, all five FAST members went to tactical carry while keeping an eye on the entire unit.
“Ground Force, Force Ops.”
“Ground,” Faith said.
“Stand by for transmission from higher.”
“Roger.”
“Shewolf, Colonel Ellington.”
Ellington had recently been promoted to full colonel and was the acting commandant. He was also a former nuclear weapons maintenance officer at King’s Bay.
“Yes, sir!” Faith said.
“I’m going to have to negotiate this directly with the guards,”
Ellington said.
“Give them your helmet.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Faith said, unbuckling it. “Anything before I take it off, sir?”
“Just let me handle it,”
Ellington said.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Faith said. “Staff Sergeant!”
“Ma’am,” the staff sergeant said, still not looking directly at her. His wide-opened eyes were for detecting any hostile movement on the part of her force.
“Acting commandant on the horn,” Faith said, holding up the helmet. “How do you want me to do this?”
“Take five steps forward, ma’am!” the staff sergeant barked. “Place the helmet on the ground. Return to your position. If you please. Ma’am!”
“Right you are,” Faith said, stepping up and placing the helmet on the ground. Then she backed up.
“Kay,” the staff sergeant said. “Retrieve the device.”
One of the other guards stepped forward warily and retrieved the helmet, then handed it to the staff sergeant at a gesture. The staff sergeant waited until he was back in position, then unbuckled his own helmet and donned Faith’s. It didn’t fit very well but he could hear. He nodded for a moment then said: “Stand by, sir.”
“Remain on post,” the staff sergeant said, then returned to the guard shack.
He was in there about three minutes, then came back out buckling on his own helmet.
“Stand down,” he said, then walked over to Faith. “Your helmet, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said warily, then put it on. “Anyone up?”
“I have cleared you and your group for entry,”
Colonel Ellington replied.
“What you have to say right now is: ‘I relieve you, Staff Sergeant.’ Got it?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Faith said. “I relieve you, Staff Sergeant.”
“I stand relieved, ma’am,” the staff sergeant said.
“What’s next, sir?” Faith asked.
“The guards will assist your personnel in removal of the weapons. Let the gunnery sergeant handle that. He has the background. Listen and learn but do not get in the way. Sergeant’s job, anyway. What you are going to have to do is inspect each weapon, personally, and verify the serial number. Then sign for it.”
“Oh, joy,” Faith said. “I’m about to legally own enough firepower to level the Earth.” She keyed her radio. “Inspect each weapon for serial number, aye. Verify serial number, aye. Sign for each weapon, aye.”
“Has to be a commissioned officer, Faith,”
Ellington said.
“You’ll later sign over the inventory to Colonel Hamilton. Then we’ll figure out whether to keep them or dispose.”
“Roger, sir,” Faith said.
“Questions?”
“Negative.”
“Good job on handling this, Lieutenant,”
Ellington said.
“I’m glad you didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”
“These are about to become my Marines, sir,” Faith said, looking at the staff sergeant. “And we need every Marine we can get. I’ll just have to get them dialed in on boarding and clearance, sir.”
“Roger that,”
Ellington said.
“SAC, out.”
“Gunnery Sergeant!” Faith bellowed.
“Ma’am,” Gunny Sands said a moment later. He’d been in the trailing track.
“These Marines are to assist in the removal of all weapons, nuclear equipment, encryption gear, codes, data, materials, paperwork, doodles and anything else that can give anyone the vaguest indication of how the United States manages, maintains, stores or uses nuclear weapons. Is that clear?”
“Clear, ma’am,” Sands said.
“You and I will verify each serial number against the inventory,” Faith said. “I will
sign
for each weapon but I am damned well going to have a cross-check. Clear?”
“Clear, ma’am.”
Faith looked at her watch and set the timer.
“You have five hours, Gunnery Sergeant.”
* * *
“Oh, no,” Faith said breathily. She flipped the pages back and forth several times, counting under her breath. “Gunnery Sergeant . . .”
“Seem to be missing ten warheads, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said.
Januscheitis and the new staff sergeant, FAST Team NCOIC Dave Darnall, were overseeing the process of removing every scrap of support material. There was a lot of it and it was going slow. Which was sort of good since they were definitely missing some warheads and were not going to make the deadline unless they found them.
“Jan, Shewolf,” Faith radioed.
“Jan,”
Januscheitis replied.
“Ask Darnall if he has any clue where ten warheads went,” Faith said. “’Cause they ain’t here. Or something.”
“Freeze,” Gunny Sands radioed. “Ma’am. The easiest way for ten warheads to go missing is if the guards were the ones that removed them.”
“Jan, countermand,” Faith said. “You there?”
“Roger,”
Januscheitis said.
“Orders from higher. FAST team is to disarm. Draw down, then tell them that’s an order. Then ask them where the hell enough firepower to level a couple of cities went. Stand by on that.”
“Roger. Standing by.”
* * *
“Issues?” Darnall said.
“Fricking lieutenants,” Januscheitis said, shaking his head. “Especially split lieutenants. I think it’s her time of the month.”
“Can you draw down on them successfully?”
“Roger,” Januscheitis said.
“Do it.”
“TARGET!” Januscheitis shouted, lifting his M4 and pointing at Darnall. “STAND DOWN, FAST, STAND DOWN!”
“Son of a bitch!” Darnall said, raising his hands. “You fucking traitors.”
“Where are the other ten warheads, Darnall?” Januscheitis said. “There are ten missing. And the only people who had access were you and your men.”
“We did not remove any warheads,” Darnall said angrily. “Fucking jackers.”
“We’re not jackers,” Januscheitis said. “But it looks like you’re thieves. Who’d you sell them to?”
“Sell them?” Darnall said. “We’ve been stuck in that fucking guard shack for months, you dipshit! Who the fuck would we have sold them to?”
“We’ll figure this out back at the maintenance shed,” Januscheitis said. “This is an order. Place your weapons on the ground and kick them away. You may think we’re jackers. But the paperwork says you’re thieves. And we’re going to find out where the fucking weapons went. Every guy here has had a master’s level class at killing over the last few months. You may be tough, but you are not going to survive.”
“Neither are you,” Darnall said hotly.
“My life is my country’s,” Januscheitis said.
“So is mine,” Darnall said, his hand on his weapon.
“Jan.”
“Go,” Januscheitis said, without taking his eyes off the other staff sergeant.
“Status?”
“Mexican stand-off they’re going to lose,” Januscheitis said. “They claim they didn’t take them.”
“Which means we have a paperwork problem,”
Faith said.
“Tell them they are to stand down. That is an order.”
“They think we’re jackers,” Januscheitis said.
“Christ,”
Faith said. “
Tell them to keep their weapons and wait. Do not get into a firefight.”
* * *
The tableau was being held outside. Faith took a walk.
* * *
There was a rumble and a squeal of treads. Then Trixie came into sight.
Faith directed the tank over to the tableau and had Decker point the main gun right at the FAST staff sergeant.
“Just so we understand the situation,” Faith said, walking over with the clipboard in her hand. She held it up and started pointing. “Missing weapon. Missing weapon. Missing weapon. Now, Staff Sergeant, I may be a kid, and a girl, and look like fucking Barbie. But I am A COMMISSIONED OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. And when I am given a mission, I fucking PERFORM IT. Oorah? I have PROVEN I will sacrifice myself, I will sacrifice my Marines, to perform that mission! Oorah? And I will happily kill ANYONE or ANYTHING that gets in the way of performing my mission! Oorah? My mission is to find every fucking nuke, then let someone else figure out what to do with them. Oorah? Because we can’t HOLD THIS BASE! Oorah? That should be fucking OBVIOUS! WE ARE NOT STEALING THE NUKES! We’re MOVING them! Someplace we can keep an
eye
on ’em! Someplace NOT HERE! And I’m missing ten,
TEN
NUCLEAR FUCKING WEAPONS. So, Staff Sergeant, WHERE THE FUCK
ARE
THEY?”
“No weapons! Have been removed! From this site! Since I went on duty NINE MONTHS AGO,
MA’AM
!” Darnall bellowed. “We sure as HELL didn’t take them, ma’am! And we didn’t fucking steal them!”
“Jesus Christ!” Faith shouted, throwing the clipboard on the ground. “This is an order, Staff Sergeant.
Stand down.
Stand down,” Faith said, walking up and putting her face right into his. “Stand down
right now
. That is a direct order. Or this is your last day as a Marine alive or dead. You will stand down or never ever be a Marine again.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Darnall said, his jaw working. But he unclipped his weapon and set it on the ground.
“
Everybody
stand down,” Faith said waving her hand. “Weapons down. Weapons down! FAST. Pick
up
your weapons. If you were willing to stand down you’re not thieves. My personal and professional apologies for doubting you. But we gotta get this unfucked. Where could they have gone?”
“We’d have to go back over every piece of paper on them, ma’am,” Darnall said, cautiously picking up his M4. “And we just packed that all up.”
“Mother
fucker
,” Faith said. “I
hate
fucking paperwork. Close the gates, transport the truck drivers back to the port on the amtracks. We’re going to be here after dark. Gunny!”