Strands of Sorrow (28 page)

“Glad to have you aboard, Master Gunnery Sergeant,” Faith said.

“I’m pleased to be aboard, ma’am,” the master gunnery sergeant said. He almost sounded nervous. “Ma’am . . . I had a radio. I’ve been keeping up with Devil Dog. I just want to say it’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

“They exaggerate,” Faith said, grinning. She wasn’t sure which was worse; the people who couldn’t get their heads around her being a lieutenant or the fans. She hated attention. And liked it at the same time. “But thanks. Way better than the alternative.”

“I’d guess y’all’d be moving out about now,” the master gunnery sergeant said. “Mind if I catch a ride?”

“Load up on my track, Evan,” Sands said. “We can catch up.”

“When the gunny’s loaded we’re rolling,”
Faith radioed, firing at an infected that was poking its head around a house.

The rolled out and left the house burning behind them.

“Tommy, I’m sorry about Charlotte,” Evan said.

“No, you’re not,” Gunny Sands said. “But I
am
sorry about Gladys. I take it she didn’t make it.”

“Died of the fever,” Evan said. “Buried in the back. Deep. The zombies never smelled her.”

“That’s good to hear,” Sands said. “She was one in a million. It’s a damned shame. It really is.”

“Yeah,” the master gunnery sergeant said. “Changing the subject. Which one, though. First, what’s up with the paint jobs? Second, what the hell happened at PI? Something happened. But it wasn’t reported. Wolf Squadron had been rolling hot to PI, then ‘thirty day plus stand-down.’ What the hell?”

“Did you get the announcement that military personnel do not have authority until evaluated?” Sands asked.

“Yeah, and that was another thing,” Evan said.

“The DIs had been locked in with their recruits for ten months,” Sands said. “You know that nightmare you have when you first get to your unit and you’re back in PI and it’s hell and it’s never going to end?”

“I had that nightmare as recently as two weeks ago,” Evan said. “Hell with when I first joined.”

“Well, it was like that,” Sands said. “They’d just been doubling down on boot camp for ten months. Some of the recruits were around the bend. So were some of the DIs in a way. One of the DIs went off on one of our troops. I wasn’t there or I’d have handled it. Guy is a ragbag, admittedly, but the DI was out of line. Faith locked him up. Acting post sergeant major got involved. Faith was having a bad day. She’d gotten half eaten by a gator reconning the landing the night before. She went off on the sergeant major. Colonel decided this salty young officer drunk on power needed ‘counseling.’ When he found out she was fourteen he ordered her to turn in her rank and weapons. She was out. So she went bush on PI.”

“Jesus,” Evan said, shaking his face. “Do I get to punch out the sergeant major? I’m retired. They can only charge me with assault.”

“They didn’t even charge me with that,” Sands said. “Past issue. That was the stand-down. Getting them all back in shape, the ones that were recoverable. Colonel Downing might have been, might not. Wolf gave him a task and more or less the standard we’d have for ourselves. He failed. Then we sent down one of our good staffs, put him in charge of the colonel and his team and showed them how you do it the Wolf Way. Colonel’s now a stevedore. Sergeant major was reduced to sergeant. He’s on the West Coast. And that’s the reason for the ‘unmilitary vehicles’ to answer your other question.”

“That I don’t get,” Evan said.

“You said ‘what’s with the paint job,’” Sands said. “Part of that is you know me and you’ve been on a radio. But you could handle it.”

“Paint’s fairly ship-shape,” Evan said. “Just seems weird. Looks more like a militia.”

“There is that issue,” Sands admitted. “It’s why Trixie was pink, then sand, and now pink again. And when we go back to clearing civilian areas, we may switch back to regular paint jobs. But the bigger issue is people who cannot handle the fact that we’re not
hiding
from enemy forces, we’re trying to
draw them out
, cannot handle command or authority in this world. They’re useless to us, at least as combat officers and NCOs. So we get to test them right away. And if they don’t pass, they don’t have any real authority. And until they’re evaluated, they
definitely
don’t have any authority. They try to lock our people up for unmilitary vehicles, we just log that and they have a long road back to ever being able to give an order.”

“That makes sense,” Evans said. “I guess. Are we evacuating the base?”

“No,” Sands said. “We’re pulling most people off shore until they’re evaluated. You’re already evaluated by the way. Pass. If you want back in, you’re onboard. If not, we’re picking up enough people these days it’s not an automatic reactivation. Up to you.”

“I think I got one more war in me,” Evan said.

“We’ll get you cleared immediately, then,” Sands said. “Can I tell you the truth?”

“Sure,” Evan said.

“I’m glad you made it,” Sands said. “Sort of. If Charlotte was dead and you didn’t make it, I was going to propose to Gladys. So . . . sort of.”

“Bastard,” Evan said, grinning.

“Second finest woman I ever met,” Sands said.

“Second?”

“Okay, so Shewolf is crazy as a bedbug,” Sands said. “And way too young for me. But, yeah, second.”

“Going for the crazies was always your problem, shipmate.”

“Who the hell authorized personalization of vehicles!”

The major was a little wild-eyed and clutching an AR15. This one would have to be handled carefully.

“You’re not real Marines!”

“Yes we are, sir,” Gunny Sands said calmly. “United States Marine Corps. Full controlling legal authority. Major, you need to put the weapon down or we’re going to fire on you with prejudice.”

“Answer my question, Gunnery Sergeant!” the major said. “Who the hell authorized personalization of vehicles?”

“LantFleet, sir,” Gunnery Sergeant Sands said. “And you shall place the weapon on the deck or you’re not going to survive.”

“You can’t give
me
orders, Gunnery Sergeant! The commandant would never approve personalization of vehicles! You’re not Marines!”

The guy had family or something. Hopefully family. There was a young male watching the tableau from the home he’d emerged from.

“Until you are psych cleared you are functionally a civilian, sir,” Gunny Sands said. “We’ve had this issue before in clearance, sir. Now you are
going
to stand down or my troops are going to have to shoot you in front of your child, sir. I don’t want that to happen, sir.”

The major started as Trixie pivoted and backed. The main gun swung around with a squeal until it was inches from the major’s head.

“PUT . . . THE WEAPON . . . DOWN.” Faith said over the speaker system.

The major put the weapon down.

“Now, sir, if you’d like to go retrieve your son we’ll be happy to transport you to the evac ships for eval . . .”

* * *

“Looking for Master Gunnery Sergeant Evan Walters,” Faith said after sticking her head in the compartment.

Lejeune was a big area. Even with a company of Marines in five times the number of tracks a company would use, it was taking time to clear the whole thing. They were done with the base and working on the nearby towns. That was where they’d stopped at the gunny’s for a cold beer and picked up his friend.

“Be right with you, ma’am,” Evan said, rolling out of his rack.

“Just uniform or whatever, Master Gunnery Sergeant,” Faith said.

Faith led him down to one of the “civilian” bars in the liner and took a table.

“I understand the whole thing about back pay,” Evans said, grinning. “But you may be buying, ma’am.”

“Glad to,” Faith said as a server came over. “Hey. What do you have that has no carbonation and no alcohol that is not coffee or tea?”

“Water?” the woman said. “Fruit juices. I’m not sure what we’ve got available.”

“Water, then,” Faith said. “Give the master gunnery sergeant whatever he’d like.”

“Coffee?” Evans said. “I’ve been out for a while.”

“Anything to eat? We’ve got some frijoles?”

“Sushi?” Faith asked.

“And that, yeah,” the waitress said. “Most people are pretty over that.”

“Sushi if it’s
fresh
,” Faith said. “I mean
really
fresh. I’ve been eating it practically quivering for a while. Tataki if it’s possible.”

“I’m good with sushi,” Evans said.

“I’ll check,” the woman said.

“So,” Faith said. “While we wait on sushi that’s probably stinking . . . I’ve been with the gunny since we pulled him off the
Iwo
.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evans said.

“And the one time that someone brought up . . . female company, he pointed out that he was married. Waiting for the float to be over and get home for his cold-beer. And the first spot that we went to when we hit the civilian side of the bay was the gunny’s house. Which was . . . Well . . .”

“Yeah,” Evans said, nodding.

“I’m sorry for your loss as well, Master Gunnery Sergeant,” Faith said quickly. “I don’t mean to . . .”

“Not an issue, ma’am,” Evans said. “Gladys was my third wife and the first one that was worth a damn. But she died as peaceful as you can from that damned disease.”

“Having had it, I know it’s not the best way to go,” Faith said. “But it’s better than turning.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evans said. “It really wasn’t all that bad. Quick, anyway.”

“Days of agony,” Faith said. “But I was sort of bitten.”

“That’s double tough,” Evans said.

“Think that’s bad,” Faith said, holding up her scarred left hand. “Alligator.”

“Shark,” the gunny said, pulling up his pants leg. “Little one in surf off Phuket.”

“Since we’ve established our CVs,” Faith said. “The gunny just made that one comment. It was his crazy. Everybody’s got at least one. But . . . he must have really loved her. I don’t think he’s ever talked about her except that one time. That’s how people who can’t really handle it . . . deal. They don’t talk about . . . who they lost. I’m just wondering . . . What was she like?”

“You really want to know, ma’am?” Evans said as the waitress came back over. She had a beautifully prepared plate of thinly sliced tuna and their drinks.

“Try it,” the lady said. “The chopping guy says it’s fresh yellowfin. He was also real excited you were in the restaurant but he speaks some weird language. I couldn’t get what he was gabbling about. You famous or something?”

“Or something,” Faith said, taking a bite. “Tell him thank you. That’s great. Really incredible.”

“You got chit or scrip?” the lady asked. “That’s ten chit, eighth piece, or two-fifty scrip.”

“Card,” Faith said, handing over her charge card.

“Scrip it is,” the lady said.

“Eighth piece?” Evans said.

“We get paid some in gold or silver sometimes,” Faith said, shrugging. “We got some from banks, people turn junk in and it’s minted at Blount.”

“Pirate days,” Evans said, shaking his head then grinning. “That could be fun.”

“True,” Faith said. “Some of this stuff is. Not much. So . . . I don’t even know her name. The gunny’s wife.”

“Charlotte,” Evans said, taking a sip of coffee to give himself time. “And the truth is, ma’am . . . You know what a dependapotamus is?”