Islands of Rage and Hope

CHAPTER 14

“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.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to,” Weisskopf said, shrugging.

“You want to think about that?” Smitty said. “You were in a warehouse. You could see the sun. You had plenty of air. You knew how long your water was going to hold out. Try being in a pitch-black compartment thinking ‘Hey, the Coast Guard or somebody is going to rescue me any day’ and any day turns into ‘any week’ or ‘any month.’ Before long, for the few who’re still alive, it’s going to be ‘any year.’ And we’re going to be driving right past them ’cause that’s the mission, right? I still gotta wear sunglasses on a cloudy day. There are people dying in those liners. There’s women going to give birth in those compartments. And we’re going to drive right past.”

“Rack your stuff,” Staff Sergeant Barnard said. “And get the lead out. We’re supposed to observe the initial engagement against infected this evening, then catch chow. Then rectify the remaining items on gear. Lights out at twenty one hundred. First call is zero four thirty. You will be fully prepared for the lieutenant’s inspection at zero five thirty. Then the op. So fall out on the quarter deck to observe Navy operations against the infected.”

“Permission to just get chow now, Staff Sergeant?” Sergeant Smith said. “Been there, done that. Seen one slaughter on the beach, you’ve seen ’em all.”

“Was not a question, Sergeant,” Staff Sergeant Barnard said. “It was an order.”

“Aye, aye, Staff Sergeant,” Smitty said.

“Holy crap,” Sophia said as a slow thundering, bass guitar riff echoed across the darkened bay. “Your colonel listens to Sentenced?”

“I was unaware of the colonel’s taste in music, Ensign,” Faith stated. She’d caught a Zodiac over to the Bella Senorita for supper since despite her usual and standard problems with her sister she was sick and tired of dealing with Barnard for the day. Sophia’s shit was kind of relaxing. And Batari was a really good cook. “As he is my superior officer, oorah, I will neither approve nor disapprove, oorah?”

“Sis, I get why the colonel told you to talk like that,” Sophia said. “But it is just fucking weird.”

“An officer and a lady should maintain proper military decorum at all times, oorah?” Faith said. “Which includes, oorah, use of…oorah…crap, not good…improper, oorah? Which includes use of…improper language, oorah?”

“Were you trying for ‘indecent’ there, Sis?” Sophia said, laughing. “Does ‘crap’ count?”

“Oh, hell, I don’t know!” Faith snapped. “I’m just making this up as I fucking go, ok—Oorah?”

Faith pulled on one last strap, stepped back, tapped PFC Robert Lee Edwards on the shoulder, then marched back to her position at the front of the formation.

In this inspection she’d concentrated on ammo and other consumables. And she’d found a few things that still didn’t satisfy her. The Marines all had all their ammo and it was in good condition. But some of the batteries she’d checked were bad and a few of the NCOs had missed a shipping clip on their grenades. She’d wordlessly handed off all the “stuff” she found to Staff Sergeant Barnard. Who had already done a preinspection and missed them.

The Marines were back on the quarter deck for this formation, facing forward. The Grace Tan had massive sodium arc lights that gave more than enough light in the predawn for Faith to perform the precombat inspection.

When Staff Sergeant Barnard approached, Faith simply checked her watch and said: “Post.”

When the staff sergeant was at the rear of the formation in her position, Faith looked around at the Marines.

“In about ten minutes the sun will rise on the island of Anguilla,” Faith boomed. “At that point, the Navy gunboats will lay waste to every living infected in view, oorah. We shall observe this operation until we get orders to board Zodiacs, junior personnel first, by teams. At the colonel’s command, we shall then take those Zodiacs to this fine and beautiful beach to begin clearance of the island, oorah? When you exit the Zodiacs, spread out just up from the water and take a knee, oorah? You have free fire authority to engage any remaining hostiles in view. Once we are sure the area is secure we shall secure the pier and begin off load of the five-tons. We will then take the five-tons to sweep the island, oorah?

“This is a really simple operation, oorah? There’s light infected. Should be a walk in the park. Just remember you can get mugged on a walk in the park, oorah? Don’t let your guard down, pay attention to your sectors, obey your orders and we’ll all get home in one piece, oorah? At my command, fall out on the aft rail to observe Naval gunnery engagement.”

“This is light infected presence?” Sergeant Hoag said.

Dawn comes swiftly in the tropics. In northern climes there is a long period of gradually lightening darkness, the “blue time” of Before Morning Nautical Twilight. The Caribbean had the same but instead of twenty or thirty minutes it seemed to pass in seconds, going from nearly pitch black to bright. And as it brightened it revealed a scene from a Durer engraving.

It seemed like there were hundreds of infected on the beach, most of them feeding on the bodies hit by previous fire. During the night there had been occasional shots from the dual water-cooled .50s on the gunboats. They would wait until a group of infected found one of the bodies, then add to the piles. Eventually, there was enough infected food in scattered groups along the beach that between the available resource, the lights and the music, zombies from throughout the island came for the party and stayed for the banquet.

“Yes,” Sergeant Smith said. “If you think about it, there were a lot more at Gitmo. Worst I ever saw was Tenerife. At least on the ground.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Hoag said.

“And this time we’ve got multiple divisions firing from multiple points,” Smitty said. “That spread ’em out.”

The music, which had been a really eclectic mix of death metal, thrash metal, operatic rock, ’70s rock and roll—the colonel was apparently a big Doors fan—and even classical, paused. There was a brief moment of silence on the bay as the light brightened, then it started up again with “Anchors Aweigh.”

“Really, Colonel?” Hoag said. “The Navy anthem?”

The guns opened fire as the introductory flourish ended.

She’d previously watched the slaughter of infected they’d grown to know and loathe from a rather distant warehouse. The Grace Tan was anchored a bare two hundred meters off the beach. It was different from this angle.

“Oh, yeah!” “OORAH!” “Go, Navy!”

The big dual, water-cooled fifty-calibers were shredding the infected. Bodies were being blown in half. Some of the brighter ones started to run. The Navy gunners were having none of that. The sound track had segued to another metal piece after the Navy anthem, then into the Marine Corps Hymn.

“At ease!” the lieutenant bellowed. “That’s our cue. Board the boats, by teams, junior first. Time to go take that beach, Marines!”

The Navy gunners had been careful to keep the “bait” away from the cargo pier which was the center of the landing operation. The Zodiacs drove their bows ashore and the Marines clambered over to…silence. The tropical wind was blowing, there was a bit of a smell of carrion, there were some long burnt out buildings and, that was it. That and the wrack and ruin.

“Force Ops,” Faith called, looking around. “Marine Team is calling this zone clear for off-load.”

“Roger, Marine Team. Stand by.”

“Already there,” Faith muttered. She was slightly back from the line of Marines, standing a bit over ankle deep in green tropical water and watching a coconut palm waving in the trade winds. “Why is it that we keep ending up in such great looking places and never seem to get any shore leave?”

She didn’t seem to notice that there was a skull right by her left foot.

“Aren’t there remaining infected on the island, ma’am?” Lance Corporal Saul asked.

“Oh, yeah, that,” Faith said, shrugging. “One of these days, Lance Corporal, we are going to clear something thoroughly enough we can have some damned shore leave. I may even be forced to drink something with an umbrella in it.”

She leaned down and picked up the skull.

“But maybe we’ll do a police call first, mon,” she said, holding the skull up to her mouth and using a bad Caribbean accent. “Otherwise it might be… grim.”