Authors: John Ringo
Tags: #Fiction, #science fiction, #General, #Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic, #Military
Strands of Sorrow (7 page)
“No, ma’am,” Sophia said. “Or, not new ones. We get a trickle of them, of course. Almost the first time I’ve shared a compartment, though.”
“Call me Nicola,” Nicola said. “Is Sophia okay?”
“Yes, ma . . .” Sophia said. “That’s fine . . . Nicola. What are you qualed on?”
“Blackhawk, Chinook, Kiowa, IP,” Nicola said. “Seahawk, Little Bird, Super Stallion and some others you’ve probably never heard of. If it’s Sikorsky, I’m qualified. Quite a few others as well.”
“That’s great to hear,” Sophia said. “We’re bleeding for qualified pilots.”
“So I heard,” Nicola said. “I thought the in-process lady was going to ask to have my baby. I’m also an aviation engineer. I was one of the civilian technical instructors at Mayport. I’d guess you were the pilot of the Sea Dragon that pulled us out.”
“Ah, that explains it,” Sophia said, nodding. “Well, really glad to have you aboard. And please feel free to fine-tooth the bird we’re using. It’s the only one we’ve got and our people are sort of green at the maintenance. Our maintenance boss is a Navy nuke that got cross-trained in about a day. Good guy, don’t get me wrong. He’s sharp as hell. But not experienced. If it’s not in the manuals, he won’t know about it. Our experienced people are all Marines who got cross-loaded to infantry. They still help out as needed but they’re not turning wrenches every day. It makes both the captain and me nervous. Do you know the parts situation at the base, ma’am?”
“Intimately,” Nicola said, grinning. “I even know where they’re at. Most of the parts are for MH-60s but there’s a fair suite for MH-53s. There are twenty-three 60s on the pad and nine in hangar. Three MH-53s on the pad, two in hangar. The ones in the hangar were prepped for long-term storage. I think some of the tools disappeared right at the end, but there are sets of those stored as well. That assumes you can clear the base. Can you?”
“That’s the general plan,” Sophia said. “After Blount Island, which is mostly cleared at this point. Zombies follow the sound of helos and don’t seem to mind my crew machine-gunning them.”
“Some of them were my friends,” Nicola said. “I had a fair degree of interaction with Blount since there was a UTC officer over there. And you can feel free. I think they’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sophia said.
“I don’t suppose you’ve had dinner?” Nicola said.
“No, ma’am,” Sophia said. “That was next on my list.”
“I’m starved,” Nicola said. “And I assume it’s something other than MREs or humanitarian rations?”
“There’s no fresh fruits or vegetables,” Sophia said, shrugging and standing up. “But it’s pretty good. We got a lot of cooks from the liners. They knew where the food was stored. So the food’s as good as you’re going to get with prepared. Ready for dinner?”
“Very,” Nicola said. “One last question,” she added as they were walking out of the compartment. “Any clue how to find other people on this ship?”
“You can use the Squadron Net, ma’am,” Sophia said. “That has a list of all the survivors and their general locations and you can send them a message. Anyone in particular?”
“The guy who
should
have spent the afternoon looking up the captain of the ship,” Nicola said, patting her stomach. “But he was last seen leaving in your helo for some reason. As soon as I track him down I’m going to ask him if he’s going to make me a respectable woman before or
after
our baby arrives . . .”
* * *
“Ah, here you are,
Commander
,” Nicola said, walking up to the commander’s table in the dining room. He was talking with Colonel Hamilton and two civilians. “Colonel, Captain Nicola Simpson, U.S. Army Reserve, Aviation and Aviation Maintenance Contractor at the base pre-Plague. Now, apparently a Navy lieutenant. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, but if you’d indulge a pregnant lady for just a second, sir,” she said, turning back to Lieutenant Commander Wiebe and crossing her arms on her bulging stomach. “I don’t suppose you’ve even
asked
if there is a captain on this ship and if he is qualified to perform marriage ceremonies?”
“That’s the captain, honey,” Commander Wiebe said, pointing at one of the civilians with both knife hands. “And I was just getting around to that, honest!”
“Lieutenant,” the ship’s captain said, gesturing to a chair. “Captain Tarn Fletcher. If you’d care to join us for dinner, it would be an honor and a privilege. And I’ll be happy to perform the ceremony at some reasonable convenience. I’ve had four requests so far today and I’d suggest tomorrow afternoon for a group ceremony if that’s soon enough?”
“Thank you, sir,” Nicola said, sitting down. “You, at least, are a gentleman.”
“Seawolf, you can join us as well if the colonel has no objection,” Captain Fletcher said.
“No objections,” Colonel Hamilton said. “I’m still waiting for the commander’s response, however.”
“I don’t have a ring?” Commander Wiebe said desperately. “Of course, I want to marry you, Nicola. As soon as possible. But I don’t have either the engagement ring
or
a wedding ring.”
“What size do you wear?” Sophia asked.
“A six and a half,” Nicola said. “Normally. My fingers may have swelled.”
“I used to do a lot of small boat clearance,” Sophia said. “I’ve got a stash in my room. Salvage. I’ll let you look it over and find something you want to wear that fits. Or more or less. There’s a guy who can fit it. So . . . ring’s fixed,” she said, looking at the commander and crossing her arms. “Ball’s in your court, sir.”
“Captain Simpson,” Commander Wiebe said, getting on one knee. “
Lieutenant
Simpson. Would you be willing to marry me?”
“Well . . .” Nicola said, looking up at the overhead. “You’re Navy, which is sort of a problem. Mixed marriages
never
work. But . . . wait, now I am too, so . . . Oh, okay! If you insist!”
“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Colonel Hamilton said when the happy couple were both seated again. “You were, in fact, a subject of discussion when you walked up. Although we hadn’t touched on the personal aspects . . .”
“There should be no issues, sir,” Commander Wiebe said, frowning. “Lieutenant Simpson was a civilian at the time and an officer of a different service . . .”
“No issues, Commander,” Hamilton said, holding up his hand. “I’m just glad things worked out with so little drama. You have no clue, yet, how much drama there has been in such things. The point of the discussion, however, is professional. The commander was filling us in on your qualifications although he’d missed the Army captain part.”
“I wasn’t reactivated until I boarded, sir,” Nicola said.
“The automatic ‘Congratulations, you’re back in the military’ screen?” Colonel Hamilton said, smiling. “And welcome to the U.S. Navy. One of the most popular moments of joining Wolf Squadron from what I hear.”
“Did come as a bit of a shock, sir,” Nicola said. “The information was stored in the Hole?”
“Just the basics of the files,” Hamilton said. “No evaluation reports, commendations or for that matter discommendations. It’s sort of a new slate. The point to the discussion being that Captain Smith, LantFleet Commander, is insistent on having a large fleet of helos. The edict has been a limited number of airframe types, notably 60s, 53s and some type of small reconnaissance bird. That is going to consume a high number of personnel resources so I’ll assume he has some plan other than flying around and rescuing people off of rooftops, however noble that may be. However, it will also require instructors and people with maintenance and engineering background . . .”
“So I fill all the billets, sir,” Lieutenant Simpson said, nodding. “I understand, sir. I guess I’ll be busy.”
“Starting as soon as you can,” Colonel Hamilton said. “Captain Wilkes has been actively engaged in flight operations with a very few exceptions since we got the birds. So someone has to design a training plan as well as recruitment and selection. Since I assume the corpsman put you on light duty . . . ?”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Simpson said, trying not to wince.
“Take your three days, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Not interfering with that. Get your feet on the ground, get married, congratulations again, have as much of a honeymoon as you two can, given the circumstances. On that note, I believe the commander is not sharing a room . . .”
“No, sir,” Commander Wiebe said. “And there’s a queen-size bed.”
“So I lose my roommate, too?” Sophia said. “Damn!”
“But when you report for duty, I’d like you to have some outline in your head,” Colonel Hamilton said. “How we are going to turn refugees into crew and maintenance personnel.”
“That’s a tall order, sir,” Nicola said.
“We crossed the Atlantic in boats crewed by people who had two or three days’ training,” Sophia said. “I was in charge of a division and I had no formal training at all. It was all OJT.
“Helicopters are, obviously, lots more complicated than yachts and I’d appreciate it if the people had some clue. But we’re . . . driven. We have to be . . . Fatalistic? Shit is going to happen. Bad shit. But. There is an entire
world
out there filled with people who need to be rescued, towns and bases that have to be cleared.
“We had boats sink, crash, run aground, catch on fire. Most of it from people who were asked to do more than they had the knowledge and in some cases ability. But the
net
effect was more people saved. People like you. And I don’t want to die in a crash because some maintenance guy, or girl, forgot to attach the wiring on a rotor. But before I do, I’ll have saved ten, twenty, a thousand more people. And some of them, like you, will be
good
enough to take my place. So it’s a win. World isn’t perfect. We’re just trying like hell to make it a
little
better.”
“Welcome to Wolf Squadron,” Colonel Hamilton said. “Where the better is always the enemy of the good. So your good, Lieutenant, had better be very good indeed.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Simpson said.
CHAPTER 5
“Plan looks good, Lieutenant,” Colonel Hamilton said, looking over the written plan for getting the Marine equipment up and running. “Only question has to do with all the work being done outside. The island is littered with equipment bays.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “However, the main tracked vehicle depot is Building Fourteen which, according to S and S and the gunny, is stuffed with M1s which are, currently, immobile. So we’ll do the work on the AAVs exterior. Eventually, we’ll get a tank mover operational and pull them out. Or get one to the point of rolling and clear the others. There’s not a lot of use in this world for a main battle tank, sir. Except maybe as a wrecker.”
“I thought you wanted one for your birthday, Lieutenant,” Colonel Hamilton said.
“Personal isn’t the same as professional, sir,” Faith said. “What we need for clearance is the amtracks, especially in this area with the river and all, sir. The only reason to get the tanks running is to clear them out of the building and we can get around to that, sir. We’ll need a tank mover anyway, sir, since one of the AAVs is bound to break down at some point. Which means we’ll also need some way to move it from here to the objective. That’s part of our Navy portion recommendation that they get a barge into operation that can load and unload over a beach. That is until we obtain a landing craft from somewhere. That was one thing the MPFs don’t seem to stock.”
“Marine equipment, not Navy, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “And something big enough to carry a tank is defined as a ship by the Navy. M-ATVs are already up?”
“Worked on them yesterday and last night, sir,” Faith said proudly. “Really have to commend Staff Sergeant Januscheitis and Staff Sergeant Decker on that, sir. They and their people were working until past midnight. Three are up and in good running order. So we can do ground level clearance of the objective. Also two container movers are operational and we’ve already identified some empty containers that can be used to block the bridges. Two of the Marines are qualified on using those, sir. We are ready to roll on that objective at your command, sir. Give us the word and we’ll have the bridges blocked in an hour, sir, and the civilian side cleared to pretty solid green by the end of the day. Biggest hassle will be having to roll all over the zone. Lots of zone, sir.”
“Captain Wilkes?” Hamilton said.
“Pick up additional survivors in Mayport, sir,” Wilkes said. Sophia and the captain were already in flight suits. “General survey of Mayport and nearby areas looking at infected presence and density. As time remains, survey of the outer areas starting with Greater Arlington. Mark survivor or potential survivor points for later pick-up.”
“How’s your bird?” Hamilton asked.
“So far so good, sir,” Wilkes said. “The Marines did good work on it in Gitmo and the Navy maintenance crews are pretty well dialed in at this point. Petty Officer Simmons is damned detailed which is to be expected. He does good work and makes sure his people are doing good work. We’re going to need some parts soon, but parts inventory is sufficient so far.”
“Roger,” Hamilton said. “Lieutenant Commander Kinsey. As soon as Survey and Salvage turn in their report, I’m handing over the base.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Tommy J. Kinsey, Jr. said. The USS
Boise
, one of the older 688s, had suffered several irreparable mechanical failures post-Plague. The former commander was now the designated Blount Island commander. He’d brought part of his crew along to set up the base as well as refugees newly inducted into the Navy and civilian technical experts.
“Use the
Alexandria
for power initially,” Hamilton said. “Tugs are bringing in your old boat. Be planning the power hand-off on that.”
“Yes, sir,” Kinsey said. “All under control. After it comes in, three days to restart the reactor from cold. Then we can hand-off and the
Alex
can resume operations.”
“First priority after getting power restored and the computers cracked will be to set up a land-based helo operations center,” Hamilton said. “I want to get the Sea Dragon off that crow’s nest and in a hangar. Possibly before we get power restored. Second priority, to be handled in tandem, is getting Marine equipment up and running.”
“Aye, aye,” Kinsey said.
“Any questions?” Hamilton asked.
“May not be . . . uh . . . Girl’s name, oorah? . . . germaine, sir,” Faith said. “I understand that the long-term program is to clear multiple bases up the east coast, sir?”
“That would seem to be the plan, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Your father is still keeping some cards close to his vest. You may know better than I.”
“He never really talked about it with us, sir,” Faith said. “Da’s always kept his cards close. The point, and it might be getting ahead of where we’re at, is that this equipment will be useful doing that. And we don’t have amphibs or landing craft, sir. Any ideas on getting it there, sir?”
“It is getting ahead of where we’re at and outside this meeting,” Hamilton said, making a note. “But it’s something we’ll have to fix when we get there. We’ll set up a planning meeting next week to look at that. Off the top of my head, you can drive AAVs off the back of the
Grace Tan
and she should be able to carry at least four. I’m less sure about getting them back on other than alongside with a crane. But we’ll cover that next week. Lieutenant Commander Chen.”
“Yes, sir,” the commander of the small boat flotilla replied.
“We so far don’t appear to need your services,” Hamilton said. “Once you get past the Jacksonville sprawl there are numerous small towns along the river. New mission. Run upriver and do light clearance of small towns along the river. You are not permitted to do landings. We will be way too far off to support your forces, and we’re not going to get a repeat of London. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Northern limit of operations is the Florida 16 bridge,” Hamilton continued. “Take one of the tugboats with a support barge along for fuel and supplies. No landings, but the rural areas . . . People have guns. With luck they’ll be able to self-extract if we can get the infected numbers down.”
“Understood, sir,” Chen said.
“That’s about it for commander’s intent,” Hamilton said. “And it gives your people something to do. Leave two of the yachts here for support, the rest head upriver.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“For now, clearance, salvage, survey and rescue. Oorah?”
“Oorah!” Faith said. “Ready to rock and roll, sir.”
* * *
“We ready to roll, Gunny?” Faith said.
The Marines were gathered by a set of M-ATVs that had been moved closer to the
Grace Tan’s
pier. The ship had been tied off at one of the RO-RO piers and was in the process of disgorging a mass of material to get the base up and going again.
“Please say ‘Yes,’” Faith added. “I just told the colonel we were prepared to begin clearance.”
“All ready, ma’am,” Gunnery Sergeant Sands said. “Teams have been detailed.”
“I suppose this is as good a time for a driving lesson as any,” Faith said, looking up at the M-ATV with a frown. “It’s not like I can wreck this thing and hitting a few things on the civilian side probably won’t be a problem.”
“With due respect, ma’am,” the gunny said. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to wreck one. You might not kill the vehicle hitting something but you might kill
crew
. Also, there are several ponds on the far side. And these are not amphibious, ma’am. Last, officers don’t drive themselves, ma’am. Private First Class Freeman has already been detailed as your driver, ma’am.”
“Very well, Gunnery Sergeant,” Faith said. “If you insist. But at some point, your lieutenant needs to learn how to drive.”
“Possibly when you’re
fourteen
, ma’am?” Januscheitis said.
“Not long on that, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. “But for now . . . let’s go see if my sister left us anything to kill . . .”
* * *
“Do you have any idea how awesome it would be to have a professional facility to fly out of, sir?” Sophia asked. They were hovering over a building hoisting up refugees but she’d gotten experienced enough to be able to look around while in a hover. And at the moment she was looking at the hangar at the Mayport Airfield and the lines and lines of Seahawks and Dragons. “I mean, a real hangar and shops and everything?”
The airfield was small as such things go but it was well stocked with helicopters. The base had not only been the support base for a squadron of surface warfare ships, each of which had a helicopter, but the training base for Seahawk and Sea Dragon pilots for the east coast as well as pilots from foreign navies which had bought the well-tested aircraft.
“I’d be damned thrilled to have the
Iwo
back,” Wilkes said. “Which would also resolve your sister’s point about how to move the stuff around. But, yes, that would be a wonderful thing.”
“Screw a tank,” Sophia said. “I want a hangar and a decent shop for my birthday.”
“I’ll be sure to tell the colonel that, Ensign,” Wilkes said. “We had that at Gitmo, you realize.”
“Cuba is not the primary objective, sir,” Sophia said. “And the
Iwo
was trashed, sir. I was inside it more than you were, sir. Totally trashed. Dockyard job.”
“We’re in and secure,”
Olga commed.
“One of them’s having some labor signs. Again.”
“Roger,” Wilkes said. “RTB, Wolf.”
“RTB, aye,” Sophia said, nosing down. “You’d think we could at least
refuel
from the
Bo
.”
“Again, something to put on the list of birthday wishes,” Wilkes said, grinning.
“Dear Santa . . .”
* * *
“Well, I know where to get a car, anyway,” Faith said.
The masses of containers, which contained Ganesh only knew what, were probably more impressive in their own way. But they were just closed steel boxes and since they could be stacked they covered far less area than the vehicles. So what was noticeable on the civilian side was the cars and trucks. And vans. And everything else.
They were currently driving between lines of cars, SUVs and vans. Every kind imaginable.
“Since I can’t get a tank for my birthday, I’ll take a Mustang,” Faith said. There were about a thousand of those. “Or maybe an Expedition.” Two thousand. “Charger?” Five hundred. “Seriously, I can take a driving lesson in one of these. Any of these. Ooh! Mini Cooper!”
“Shewolf, J, over,”
Januscheitis radioed.
“Wolf,” Faith radioed back.
“Recommend divert to west river area,”
Januscheitis said.
“Interesting activity this AO.”
“Infected, over?” Faith said.
“
Negative. Just . . . interesting, over.”
“Thataway, Freeman,” Faith said, making a chopping knife-hand gesture to the west.
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Freeman said.
* * *
“Son of a
bitch
!” Faith said as they pulled up to the cluster of vehicles. The “interesting activity” was apparent.
The helo run the day before had dropped a mass of infected bodies at the edge of the car park. Part of the plan to get the base up and running involved eventually gathering them up, using front-end loaders, then probably burning them. There weren’t any good areas for a mass grave.
However . . . body clearance was being taken care of for them. There were the usual flocks of seagulls and vultures but in this case, alligators were crawling out of the nearby river in a virtual tide. As she watched, a gator that seemed be the size of one of the parked Expeditions dragged an already partially dismembered corpse towards the water. Another, smaller, gator grabbed the corpse by the leg and the two engaged in a tug-of-war that resulted in a ripped-in-half corpse. The first gator dragged its partial prize into the water, leaving behind a trail of intestines.
A coyote, or a dog that looked a lot like one, darted in and grabbed the trailing intestines, then ran with them as a gator lunged at it. There were more coyotes, and even recognizable dogs, circling the pile of carrion and avoiding the snapping gators.
That sort of thing was going on everywhere, well up into the car park area.
The Marines were keeping a safe distance and generally staying up on or in their vehicles.
“Don’t go near the water
,” Januscheitis radioed.
“We’re Marines, J,” Faith replied. “It’s sort of what we do.”
“Ground ops, Force ops, over.”
“Ground ops,” Faith replied.
“State nature of unusual activity, over.”
“Reptilian, mammalian and avian local inhabitants doing body clearance, over.”
