To Sail a Darkling Sea

CHAPTER 16

Faith looked up from the computer at a knock on her door and thought about it. She had a shitload of homework and this damned report to finish.

“It’s open,” she said after a second.

The Boadicea didn’t smell like decaying zombies anymore. It smelled like a hospital. There was a thick reek of disinfectant everywhere.

The cabin she was in had had a zombie in it. But she only knew that cause there wasn’t any carpet. But there were thick rugs, Persian or something she thought. She wasn’t sure where they’d came from but they were nice. The rest of the cabin, except for some minor fittings, was pretty much what she thought a cabin in a cruise she was supposed to look like. She’d never been on a cruise until the Plague and she wasn’t planning on going on one even if somebody hit a button and made the world like it was. But it had a big bed, bigger than the one she’d had on the Alpha, and a really nice head. Big shower and a bath tub which she’d put to good use more than once. The head wasn’t as “refined” as on the Alpha but all the fitting were original at least.

They’d been clearing for a week. Faith wasn’t sure if it was deliberate on Captain Wilke’s part but she hadn’t been near any of the cabin areas on the supermax. All she’d seen was the bowels of the ship. The usual compartments and zombie mess. Some people might have thought that was punishment. For Faith it was sort of relaxing. Once they got past a certain point, there weren’t even many zombies and they had found some survivors.

She had been in on the “spa” clearance. Wilkes had paid attention on that one and they’d hit it with every Marine they had from several different entry points. There were quite a few surviving infected but it was over in ten minutes. Not a single scrum. Faith had been mildly disappointed. But it was the “professional” way to do it. And she was starting to appreciate “professional.”

What she did NOT appreciate was the homework. Captain Wilkes had scrounged textbooks for her to study. Not just Marine manuals, either. Math, science, English. Chemistry. Yuck! With weekly tests. And he was making her do all her platoon reports, then “annotating” them. He had given her a dictionary and thesaurus, among other things, and after the first report after giving them to her told her she was “not allowed words of more than two syllables.” It was worse than fucking school. “Recess” was killing zombies.

“Hey, how’s the report going?” Wilkes said.

“Fine, sir,” Faith said, standing to attention.

“As you were,” Wilkes said, coming in and looking over her shoulder. “I would say that ‘fine’ would be mostly done, Lieutenant. Not stuck on the first sentence.”

“I was reading Lieutenant Fontana’s report, sir,” Faith replied. “And trying to determine a better way to say what I was trying to say, sir. But… sir, what’s an ‘action plan’?”

“An action plan is any plan which involves action, Lieutenant,” Wilkes said. “Direct conflict. When you told me to prepare to fire through the zombies, multiple times, and try to aim my shots so that TnTs would go through the hatch, that was an action plan.”

“Battle field preparation plan, sir?” Faith asked.

“Knock on the door and make sure the zombies are awake,” Wilkes said. “You’re preparing the battlefield to optimize your strengths, kinetic projectile fire, over their strengths, direct contact engagement.”

“So it’s another way of saying ‘get them into your killzone, don’t go into theirs,’ sir?”

“It’s a more modern way of saying it,” Wilkes said. “Your father’s background is historical. Useful, don’t get me wrong. But he tends to phrase things in a way that would be normal in a staff meeting for, say, Operation Overlord.”

“That’s… D-Day,” Faith said. “Sixth of June, 1944.”

“Fifth and sixth, yes,” Wilkes said. “I’d expect that of your father’s daughter.”

“Horrible with dates, sir,” Faith said. “But there’s this band, Sabaton, that’s got this really rocking song about it.”

“Okay,” Wilkes said, chuckling. “Why am I not surprised. Lieutenant, the report will keep. It’s time for some professional education.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“Accompany me,” Wilkes said, waving.

They went out of the cabin, down the corridor and around the corner to what Faith remembered as being one of the “big” cabins, the real luxury ones.

“Senior officer’s country?” Faith asked.

“We don’t have many of those, yet,” Wilkes said, wielding the key. As he opened the door, Faith could hear people laughing. “So we appropriated it. Officially. I wrote a staff study. It was approved.”

Fontana, Lieutenant Volpe, Janu and the Gunny were all sitting around a table playing poker. There was a bar set up on one bulkhead and some snacks laid out.

“There really aren’t enough of us for an O club,” Wilkes said. “So this is the Staff NCOs and Officer’s club.”

“The dues are we gotta scrounge the stuff,” Fontana said. “Seawolf owe you any favors?”

“Being my big sister and a pain in the ass count?” Faith asked.

“I found you some razzleberry tea, LT,” Janu said, pulling some out of a cooler.

“Staff Sergeant,” Faith said taking the can and popping it. “You shouldn’t have. No, wait, you should, you really, really should. Ah,” she said, taking a sip. “Nectar. I shall see what my sister, terror of the seas, has in her stash. That she’ll give up.”

“In that case, I’m a rum drinker, ma’am,” Janu said.

“No rank in the mess, by the way, Faith,” Wilkes said. “Same to you, Jan.”

“Yes, sir,” Jan said. “That’s going to be tough to manage, though, sir.”

“The point to the mess is that in here, you can say to somebody that they’re as full of shit as a Christmas turkey and get away with it,” Wilkes said.

“I’ve heard that quote somewhere before, sir,” Gunny Sands said. “Brotherhood of War?”

“Love that series,” Fontana said.

“It’s also true,” Wilkes said, picking up the cards and shuffling them. “Reports and after action meetings are important. This is important, too. You can just talk and without it being official. Figure out the stuff you don’t figure out in meetings. Tell somebody they’re fucking up, even if they’re a superior. Although, I’d appreciate nobody telling me I’m a ‘cowardly fucktard.’ ”

“You were out of your depth, sir,” Gunny Sands said. “You’re a pilot, not an infantry captain. And this shit really does suck.”

“Appreciate that, Tommy,” Wilkes said, dealing. “Five card draw. No wilds. I really am out of my depth in clearance. I can’t wait to get a stick back in my hand.”

“TMI, sir,” Lt. Volpe said. “TMI.” He tossed a penny on the table.

“What are we betting for?” Faith asked, examining her cards. She’d played poker before but not a lot.

“We are not betting,” Wilkes said. “That would be against military regulations. We are having a friendly game of cards that happens to involve some items of no particular value being on the table. Purely for the purposes of examination.”

“Each cent is a dollar,” Fontana said. “Against back pay.”

“We get paid?” Faith said.

“Eventually, assuming that we ever have an economy again,” Wilkes said. “We should get paid. Armies that don’t get paid have a tendency to wither and die or revolt. We Marines won’t revolt. I won’t speak to wither and die.”

“I think right now we’re basically getting paid in booze, food and loot,” Januscheitis said. “Which goes a long way to making for happy Marines.”

“Then you trade the loot to the skanks on the Money for Nothing and you’ve got all the bases covered,” Faith said.

“Olga is not a skank,” Volpe said, piously. “And our relationship is one of the mind.”

“Now I know where you keep your brain, Mike,” Wilkes said.

“I have an issue with basing our pay on looting, sir,” Gunny Sands said. “It is corrosive to discipline.”

“Totally agree,” Fontana said. “And this is from an SF guy. We’ve had that problem historically. When people start paying more attention to what they can pick up in an area than their jobs… It can get bad.”

“Especially when an officer goes dress shopping,” Faith said. “That really was a bad call on my part.”

“Not absolutely sure, Faith,” Januscheitis said. “It’s one of those legend things. It’s what makes you, you, LT. We thought it was a hoot. And it wasn’t like the infected ever got close.”

“Still, looting is an issue,” the Gunny said. “In general.”

“Also the only way we’re getting any disposable income, Gunny,” Januscheitis said. “I think we need to come up with some regs about it. It’s not looting, anyway. It’s salvage.”

“Salvage only counts on the sea, St… Januscheitis,” Gunny Sands said, gritting his teeth over the “no rank in the mess” thing.

“Gunny, with respect, everybody in those towns is dead, okay?” Januscheitis said. “If we pick up some stuff from the houses, they don’t know, their relatives don’t know because they’re dead, too. And, no, I don’t like being a damned scavenger, Gunny. But like Miss Faith said, it’s all we’ve got as disposable income.”

“I suppose we need to discuss with command some sort of scrip,” Wilkes said. “There needs to be a better system than loot.”

“What would people buy with it?” Volpe asked. “They’re given food, clothing and shelter.”

“Better food, better clothing, better shelter,” Wilkes said. “We need to have an economy.”

“Christ,” the gunny growled. “Next thing you know there’ll be bankers and loans and pawn stores.”

“There already are pawn stores, Gunny,” Januscheitis said. “At least, places you can trade loot for other stuff. Better stores, better booze.”

“Boats like my sister’s,” Faith said. “They get loaded down with booze. And stores. They offload a bunch of it but they always keep some choice stuff. Not necessarily the Navy boats,” she said, hastily. “But a bunch of the rescue boats are civilian. I’d guess from those. And that is salvage. And you could always trade it for dresses. Or, yeah, better clothes. Just cause a girl gets something from slops, doesn’t mean she doesn’t want something better. Okay, again, bad example.”

“What are they doing with all those dresses, anyway?”

“They haven’t made the announcement, but first pick goes to Marines for the Ball,” Wilkes said. Then he blinked. “For their dates, I should mention. Any Marine showing up at the Ball in a dress will be thrown out.”

“Well, thanks,” Faith said. “I’m supposed to wear MarPat?”

“I mean, any male Marine,” Wilkes said, then sighed. “I give up. You know what I mean. They’ll be given a voucher for a dress that they can give to their date. One dress. Some of them are being held back but most of them will be available to choose.”

“I can see the fights now,” Januscheitis said.

“Speaking of which,” Fontana said. “Miss Faith: Do you have a date to the Marine Corps ball?”

Faith blushed and glanced at Januscheitis. He was studiously looking at his cards.

“On a matter of professional development,” Wilkes said, smoothly. “As an officer, Miss Faith, your date needs to be an officer or a civilian. Not an enlisted man of any branch. And not anyone in your chain of command.”

“I’d love to be your date to the Marine Corps Ball, Lieutenant Fontana,” Faith said. “Since Mike’s dating that Russian sl… lady, Olga, it was you or my sister.”

“Hey, Olga’s a nice lady,” Mike said.

“She is, Mike,” Faith said. “I was just twitting you. And that way Tom gets to go. Cause, like, he’s not a Marine.”

“I am accustomed to being the odd man out,” Fontana said. “Try being pretty much on your own in RC East. But I’m delighted you accepted the offer. I’d been sweating it.”

“I’m sure,” Faith said, batting her eyelashes. “And, no, you’re not getting laid. I will have a knife.”

“Do you ever go anywhere without one?” Volpe asked, grinning.

“Of course, not,” Faith said, flipping out her tactical. “Duh.”

“Looks like a trip to the Money is in my future,” Januscheitis said. “Based on the LT’s reaction, I don’t think I’ll have a hard time getting a date.”

“I can just see it now,” Faith said. “Marines cruising the harbor, voucher in hand. ‘Would you like a Paris original? There are try outs. .’ What is it with guys?”

“There’s a very long explanation,” Fontana said. “And there’s the short one. Which do you want?”

“You sound like Da,” Faith said. “And I know the long one. Da put me through the lecture in various forms, getting a bit more specific each time, from about the time I was ten. The gene is selfish. Males are broadcast procreators, women are conservative. Males want to breed with as many women as possible, at least reasonably high quality ones in terms of breeding, since that’s the best way to spread their genes. Women want the optimum single male. I can talk about it in more detail if you really want. With hand gestures and a diagram if somebody wants to find me a white board.”

“I think we’ll pass,” Wilkes said. “Thank you, Faith.”

“Seriously, ever seen zombies going at it?” Faith said. “I have. Not sure I’m up for that, thanks.”

“Complete change of subject before we get even deeper in the dunny:” Fontana said, “I think the spa op went well.”

“Sure cleared it in record time,” Faith said. “Not even one scrum. Sort of disappointing.”

“I’m not so sure,” Janu said. “Sorry, sir. The multi point entry was… We nearly had some serious blue on blue. I think we could have done a single point entry and been okay. Pot’s light.”

“Kinda agree, kinda disagree, Jan,” Fontana said. “I think it would have been a nightmare with hajis. But you Marines have gotten pretty good at on-point targeting. Even with a little range.”

“Don’t think so,” Gunny Sands said. “God damn accuracy is going to shit with all this short range shit. We need some range time to dial those Marines in. Preferably a KD. Three.”

“And there speaketh a Marine Gunny,” Fontana said, laughing. “One shot, one kill or it’s a no-go.”

“And the problem with that is?” Sands asked.

“Barbie guns,” Faith said. “Unless you get a head shot, you’re not going to knock down a zombie with a Barbie gun, Gunny, one shot, one kill, even in the heart. They just squirt more. Sometimes I gotta use two or three with my Haji. And I don’t know when we’re going to be fighting at long range. Even when we were clearing the towns we were mostly fighting at under a hundred yards. Okay, so we’re supposed to clear Gitmo. There might be some places where we are going to fire at over a hundred yards, there. I dunno. But we’ve got the MGs for that, right? Mostly we’re going to be doing what we’ve been doing for a long time. I mean, what are we going to clear on the mainland, if we ever get there?”

“You think we’ll clear on the mainland?” Wilkes asked. “That will be… I mean, we’re going to get swarmed.”

“Da doesn’t say what his plan is beyond Gitmo,” Faith said. “But his goal is clearing the US and getting clearance started on places like Europe and Asia. How he’s going to do it, I dunno. And he won’t say. Except that he knows there’s not enough bullets in the world so it won’t be bang-bang shoot a gazillion zombies. That’s what he said when I asked him are we going to just shoot ’em up. ‘Not enough bullets in the world. Cross that bridge when we come to it.’ ”

“Maybe the mechanicals?” Fontana said.

“I could see that for port cities,” Wilkes said. “Anybody know how that’s going?”

“According to Seawolf, you don’t want to sail into the south harbor,” Volpe said. “Three mechanicals and the sharks are rolling to the surface with full bellies and even the seagulls are just sitting on the bodies.”

“That’s gotta suck,” Jan said.

“And they’re fabbing more on the Grace right now,” Volpe said. “You can see ’em working on them.”

“About the clearance and accuracy issue?” Wilkes said.

“Whatever Da uses, there’s going to be stuff to be cleared. Buildings. Sky scrapers… ”

“I just sort of winced at clearing a skyscraper,” Jan said. “Then I realized that one of these damned supermax is just one on its side.”

“Which is why you should wince,” Fontana said. “Cause there’s a lot more skyscrapers in the world than supermax cruise ships.”

“Okay, now I’m getting a long-range picture,” Wilkes said, shaking his head. “Jesus. Clearing New York.”

“Fuck,” Jan said, closing his eyes and bowing his head. “Fuck a freaking duck. We’re gonna need a lot of Marines. These things are seriously a battalion objective. How many batts to clear New York?”

“Well, be that as it may, Miss Faith,” the Gunny said. “They had damned well be able to shoot. That’s a damned requirement to be a Marine. You gotta be able put the bullets on target. Whatever kind of bullets you’re using.”

“Agreed, Gunny,” Faith said. “But I’m just wondering if concentrating on five hundred and a thousand yards is a good idea. I mean… Sophia’s a hell of a shot with a long rifle. Did you know that?”

“No,” Wilkes said, leaning back.

“She took long distance competitions in her age group back home,” Faith said. “But give her twenty zombies coming at her, she’ll nail five. Maybe three. I’ll nail fifteen. I took the tac competitions in my age group. Including, yeah, zombie tac comps. You know I own a Barbie gun? Well, my Da owned it but it was mine. Sweet trick-out with an Aimpoint and hundred round Beta C. Used to smoke zombie comps which are all head shots at under fifty yards. On the other hand, those zombies moved slow and they weren’t shoving into each other and moving their heads back and forth. And they’d fall down go boom with one shot. I’ve seen infected keep coming after you shot them in the head with a Barbie gun.”

“Where is it?” Fontana asked.

“Back home in the safe,” Faith said. “We loaded out what we needed, not what we had. Some fucker probably broke into it, too. People knew we were preppers. Point is… I can see where you’re going, Gunny. You want Marines to be accurate. I want Marines to be able to put down zombies in compartments and corridors, fast and accurate.”

“Unlike certain pilots,” Lieutenant Volpe said, grinning.

“Okay, this time I’m going to make the point,” Wilkes said, shaking his head and grinning. “Yeah, pilot, okay? Gimme a Seacobra and a 20 and I’ll show you who’s the boss, Mike.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Pilot, sir,” Volpe said, saluting.

“I wonder if that’s the plan?” Fontana said.

“What?” Faith said.

“Okay, your ‘Da’ has hinted that he needed a pilot,” Fontana said. “In fact, remember when we were clearing the Iwo and he was sort of pissed that there were no survivors in the pilot’s quarters.”

“Didn’t need to be reminded of that, Tom,” Wilkes said. “Those were my friends.”

“Sorry, sir,” Fontana said. “But he’s been practically biting his nails for pilots. Helo pilots. So maybe… hover a helo then blow them away with 20 when they cluster?”

“Oh, please, God, yes,” Wilkes said. “If there is a loving God, yes.”

“Not enough 20 in a LHD,” the Gunny said. “Not even in a pre-po. Not for the whole mainland.”

“Finding a pre-po would be sweet,” Volpe said.

“Pre-po?” Faith said.

“Pre-positioned support ship,” Fontana said. “Just a big roll-on roll-off freighter, sort of like a ferry, that’s filled with all sorts of goodies.”

“All the material support needed for a Marine Expeditionary Unit and thirty days of combat,” Wilkes said.

“Sweet is right,” Faith said. “Where do we get one of those?”

“Norfolk,” Sands said. “There was one tied alongside and there was no plan to punch it. Or Blount Island where the MPF ships are unloaded and reloaded. The truth is, we got more ammo and supplies on the Iwo than we got Marines to use it.”

“Which gets back to shoot training,” Faith said. “So, sure, you train them on accuracy. But to be a boarding guy, you need people who can put lots of rounds on target fast and accurate. At mostly short ranges. That’s different than ‘did you hit the center of the black.’ ”

“There’s more to it than that,” Jan said. “We had some training in boarding and clearance. Fair amount. But we’d need more. A lot more. In gear so they get used to the weight.”

“In weighted gear,” Gunny Sands growled. “Over weighted gear. The more you sweat, the less you bleed.”

“Gunny, we have so got to get you laid,” Volpe said. He grinned then winced and looked at Faith.

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Faith said, holding up her hands. “Hello? Thirteen?”

“I think he didn’t want you to be offended,” Fontana said.

“Since I was a kid, I’ve been hanging out with guys,” Faith said, shrugging. “Which was fine. We played ball. I’d threaten to kiss them and they’d run like mad. Then, all of a sudden, all they can talk about is p… girls. It was, like, what? When did that happen? So I’m used to it. No issues. If you say anything I don’t like, I’ll start talking about what happens when you forget to bring along pads. It’s really God awful, you know…?”

“Okay, okay,” Volpe said, holding up his hands. “We surrender.”

“Glad we got that out of the way,” the Gunny said. “And for your information, Lieutenant, I’m married,” he said, holding up his wedding ring. “And I don’t fool around on deployment.”

“Sorry, Gunny,” Volpe said as everyone very carefully did not look around. All the dependents were back at Lejeune. Which was zombie city. “I forgot.”

“No problem,” Gunny Sands said. “Just looking forward to the float being done with. Wanna get home to my cold-beer.”