John Ringo - To Sail a Darkling Sea

“I know,” Steve said. “He wanted to see if he could get you to complain. Congratulations,” he said, shaking her hand.

“I figured that much out,” Sophia said. “I can hack it. But it’s not fair on my crew.”

“We’ll talk,” Steve said, stepping over to Faith.

“Faith, Marine uniforms are always supposed to be spotless and perfect,” Steve said.

“Is there something wrong with my uniform?” Faith asked, panicking. She didn’t like being in front of a crowd, anyway.

“No, but there is something ‘wrong’ with these,” Steve said, showing her the pins. “These were recovered from the body of Midshipman Lin Wicklund, in the CIC of the USS Iwo Jima . Midshipman Wicklund, whose intent after the Naval Academy was to be a Marine officer, was found with a clocked-out forty-five by her body. Wicklund was, as far as we can determine, the last remaining officer fighting for control of the ship. The pips have a discoloration on them. Do not clean that discoloration off.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said, her chin tightening. “Understood, sir.”

“Sophia has already been officially sworn in,” Steve said after putting on the pins. “She just didn’t have the pins. You have not. Raise your right hand.”

“I, state your name… ”

“I, Faith Marie Smith… ”

“Lieutenant Smith,” her father said when the ceremony was complete. “There is not a bloody word in there that says ‘I’m only an officer to kill zombies.’ A Marine officer’s oath is to faithfully discharge her duty to defend the Constitution of the United States. That’s it. Period. Dot. There is also nothing in that oath that has a time limit. It is an oath for life. Clear, Lieutenant?”

“Clear, sir.”

* * *

“You looked like you were going to pass out, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.

“I thought I was going to pass out, Staff Sergeant,” Faith replied.

The “reception to follow” was all ranks and had heavy hors d’ouvres in lieu of dinner.

“I don’t do attention well,” Faith admitted.

“Seriously, ma’am?” Januscheitis said, grabbing a bar stool while it was unoccupied. “You certainly don’t seem to mind attention from zombies. For you, LT.”

Somehow, over the last few weeks, Isham had managed to repair most of the damage to the Alpha’s main saloon. While essentially nothing matched, it had been rearranged to give the impression of “multiple styles” rather than “salvaged bits of junk from a dozen different boats.”

“Why thank you kind sir,” Faith said. “I accept.”

“What’ll you have, Lieutenant?” the bartender said. He looked vaguely familiar but most of the people at the reception were people she knew or who she had seen at least once. There were a few “new” faces, you could tell the freshies, boaties with deep tans, “ghosts” from compartments with no tan at all and all with a “hollowed out” look, but most were people she sort of knew.

“Water,” Faith said. “Unless you’ve got some good juice.”

“I cannot believe we’ve got an LT that only drinks juice and water,” Derek said. “There should be a law.”

“A Marine officer shall be prepared for duty at all times,” Faith said. “Says so right in the instructions manual.”

“I’ve got a really decent pomegranate,” the bartender said.

“I’ll drink anything that’s wet,” Faith said. “Except wine and beer. Or coffee. Or anything with carbonation.”

“Seriously?” Derek said. “No alcohol, no coffee? What are you, ma’am, Mormon?”

“Just don’t like the taste of wine or beer,” Faith said, shrugging.

“And for you, gentlemen?”

“Beer?” Januscheitis asked.

“We’ve got a very nice pale ale on tap,” the bartender said. “Something called Seven Acres. Pretty decent. Didn’t turn.”

“Works for me,” Derek said. “Now, about the Mormon thing… ”

“I don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, don’t like the taste or smell of coffee,” Faith said. “I don’t do carbonation. I don’t even like black teas. I prefer green. I just don’t like the taste. I like good fruit juice and certain kinds of bottled water. I’m really, really, incredibly picky when it comes to taste or texture. Problem, Corporal?”

“No, ma’am,” Derek said. “Just sort of mind boggling. I’m having a hard time with… With Lieutenant Smith, zombie killer and Lieutenant Smith… ”

“ ‘Don’t drink, don’t smoke, what do you do…?’ ” Januscheitis half sang. “Kill zombies.”

“Got it in one,” Faith said. “I don’t do it for moral reasons; don’t mind if other people drink, though they get kind of stupid, but I don’t like the taste.”

“Ever tried straight booze, ma’am?” Januscheitis asked.

“No,” Faith said, shrugging. “Doubt it would change my interest.”

“Try this and see how you like it,” the bartender said, sliding the glass of chilled juice to her. “And your beer, gentlemen.”

“That is pretty good,” Faith said, taking a sip. “It sat in plastic too long, but it’s not bad. Sophia, bless her black little heart, turned up a case of Razzleberry Tea. Now that is good.”

“Oop,” Januscheitis said, setting his beer down and coming to attention. “Commodore, inbound.”

“Easy,” Steve said, walking up behind Faith. “No rank in the mess or something like that.”

“Yes, sir,” Januscheitis said.

“Then is it, ‘Good evening, sir’ or ‘Hey, Da’?” Faith asked, grinning. “I get confused.”

“ ‘Hey, Da’ works,” Steve said. “So this is your posse. I haven’t had time to get introduced.”

“Corporal Douglas,” Faith said, “Staff Sergeant Januscheitis, Captain Smith AKA Commodore Wolf. Derek, Jan, my Da, Steve.”

“Good evening, Captain,” Januscheitis said.

“Good to see you again, Staff Sergeant,” Steve said. “You’re looking better. I’d like to thank you and your men for clearing the Iwo . That had to be double tough.”

“From what I’ve gotten, not as hard as clearing the Voyage , sir,” Januscheitis said. “Lieutenant Fontana has had a couple of choice words to say on the subject.”

“The Voyage fucking sucked ,” Faith said taking a pull of her juice. “The Voyage is why I wish I did drink.”

“Choice words like those, sir,” Januscheitis said.

“Clearing your own ship with your own personnel had to have its own issues,” Steve said.

“Are we going to get it back in operation, sir?” Derek asked.

“Not right now,” Steve said. “I wanted to use the hover craft for future ops but after due consideration, we don’t even have enough technical people, at this time, to flood the wash deck. Or maintain the AACs. We will need it for future operations, when we can use it. But not right now. That brings up a point which I need some honest and open input on. Our usual technique with something like this is to spread dermestid carrion beetles to reduce the logistics effort of clearing the remains. I’m taking an informal poll of how negative the reaction to that would be in the case of the Iwo .”

“Carrion beetles, sir?” Derek said.

“Da’s little black helpers,” Faith said. “Da, did you know one of your nicknames behind your back is Captain Carrion?”

“No, but I’m not surprised,” Smith said. “They are fast reproducing beetles that only eat dead flesh. Depends on how many you start with but open all the watertight doors to areas that have human remains, dump some in, wait a couple of months and what you have is picked clean skeletons. Oh, and decks covered in beetles. Which can then be vacuumed up and in many cases reused.”