John Ringo - To Sail a Darkling Sea

“Yes,” Wilkes said, leaning back. Between his boot and the knife, the hatch wasn’t going anywhere. “So now what?”

“Is the Captain familiar with the operation of the M87 fragmentation grenade, sir?” Faith said, holding up one of the little bundles of fury.

“The Captain has not used an M87 fragmentation grenade since the Captain was in Marine Officer Basic Course, Lieutenant,” Captain Wilkes said. “Where he threw one, once. And please tell me you’re not serious.”

“The operation of the M87 is so remarkably simple that even, say, a thirteen-year-old girl, is capable of figuring it out, sir,” Faith said, pressing the grenade into his somewhat flaccid hand. “I am sure a Marine pilot can do far better, sir. Place the thumb of your strong hand on the lever. You are right-handed, are you not, sir?”

“Yes,” Wilkes said, weakly. “Seriously?”

“Hold the M87 hand grenade firmly with your strong hand,” Faith said, keeping her hand wrapped around his. “Straighten the cotter pin then pull, thusly. Remember that once the pin is pulled, Mister Hand Grenade is no longer your friend, sir. Now, and this is the one slightly tricky part, sir. Reach o-o-over the estimated heads of the zombies and the flailing arms and toss the grenade through the narrow gap into the other compartment, sir. Very important that it lands in the other compartment, sir. Really, really important, sir.”

“This is insane,” Wilkes said, tossing the grenade. Into the other compartment.

“And duck and cover, sir,” Faith said, pushing his helmet into the hatch and down. “Scrunch your neck down, sir.”

“Doin’ it,” Wilkes said.

There was a somewhat muted bang from the next compartment and a lot of shrill screaming over the usual keening and howls.

“And sometimes it takes more than one,” Faith said, pulling out another frag. “You know what they say about hand grenades, sir?”

“Close only counts with them and horseshoes?” Wilkes said.

“The M87, sir,” Faith said, pulling the pin. “When ‘fuck you’ just isn’t enough. And I really like saying ‘fuck you.’ Sir.”

* * *

Wilkes was trying not to barf at the carnage in the compartment. Most of the infected were just wounded and they were screaming exactly like, well, people screamed when they were ripped half to death by grenades.

“What do you do about… about the wounded?”

“We don’t have an infinite amount of.45, sir,” Faith said. “And no idea how much we are going to use in the long term. And no great store of other pistol rounds. Barbie rounds go right through and go bouncin’ around . So no dice there. Sometimes, if we’ve got the time, we cut their throats to put them out of their misery.” She drew her kukhri and offered it to him, hilt first. “It’s not a requirement and it’s not a test, sir. It’s an offer. Just that. Otherwise we’ll continue clearance ops, sir. It’s messy as hell and generally we don’t bother, sir. They’ll bleed out in a while.”

“We’ll continue clearance ops, Lieutenant.”

* * *

“Now, sir, in just a moment, the team’s going to let go of the rope… ”

This time the infected were on the other side of a hatch that opened away from the team. Which necessitated a different technique involving partially cracking the hatch then letting the infecteds pull at it while holding it partially closed with a long rope held by most of the team. That way the point could back up and give some distance to engage. The general term was “zombie tug-of-war.”

“This time we would appreciate it, sir, if you’d get most of the rounds into the targets,” Faith said.

“Sorry about the compartment,” Wilkes said. “I really haven’t used an M4 in a while. Not my thing.”

“I was fully aware of the infected in the compartment, sir,” Faith said. “I also knew that I could handle it without either of us coming to serious harm, sir. But tell me in flight school there’s not a point where the instructors let you screw up, sir?”

“You’d make a real prick of an IP, Lieutenant,” Wilkes said, shaking his head. “And that was actually a compliment.”

“You’re the only pilot we’ve got left, sir,” Faith said. “Da told me if I lost you, he’d have me cleaning compartments for a month, sir. And here I would prefer you succeed, sir. Now, sir, this is kinda important. Don’t get focused on the infected as screaming zombies or even people. Just get, well, zen. You’re just on a target range, shooting silhouettes. Shoot through the silhouettes. They don’t fall down like the pop-ups, either, sir. You’re going to have to hit each silhouette several times but don’t worry about that, either. They do eventually become good zombies. We’ll be firing as well. They are not going to reach this point. We are not going to get in the scrum again. Just, please, fire right down the corridor so the through-and-throughs pass through the hatch into the far compartment and engage all targets until they fall. All clear, sir?”

“Clear, Lieutenant,” Wilkes said, taking an off-hand firing stance. “Ready when you are.”

“Let the Captain initiate,” Faith said. “Let go, Staff Sergeant.”

“Let the Captain initiate, aye, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, nodding to the team. He wasn’t holding a rope. He was aiming his ‘Barbie gun’ as back-up. “Let go, aye, ma’am. Pull !”

Unfortunately, the first infected through the door was a female. And even for a zombie who’d been stuck in a ship for months, not a bad looking one. With all the light that was patently obvious. The Marine Aviator froze.

“Oh, crap,” Faith said, taking the shot and splattering the still somewhat breasty brunette all over the compartment. The splurt of saline from the chest explained the ‘still breasty’ given the rest of the emaciation. “Fire, sir!”

Wilkes finally fired, putting round after round into a zombie until it finally dropped. But there was another one behind that one…

“Jesus, they’re not stopping,” Wilkes panted. He suddenly realized he was out of rounds. How did that happen?

“You’re pulling an empty trigger, sir,” Faith said, calmly servicing targets. “Reload,” she said, switching to pistol.

By the time Wilkes had reloaded, all the infected were down.

“Are you on safe, sir?” Faith asked when Wilkes had reloaded and chambered a round. “Safety is sort of important, sir.”

“On safe,” Wilkes said. “I apologize for not taking the shot. That put the team in jeopardy.”

“I can’t shoot the kids, sir,” Faith said. “Fortunately or unfortunately it looks like they’ve all been eaten on this ship. Lots of them left on the Voyage , sir. Shall we continue?”

“Captain?” Captain Wilkes said, sticking his head in the compartment. “I was told you wanted to see me immediately following clearance ops.” The Captain was out of zombie gear but still wearing the same uniform. Which was fairly grungy.

“Grab a seat, Milo,” Steve said, waving. “You’re not flying any time soon. Are you a drinker, Captain? And what? Bourbon, scotch… ”

“Scotch, sir,” Wilkes said, taking a seat.

“My daughter, Sophia, has cleared two hundred and eighty-six small craft, according to a report I just read… ”

“Good God,” Wilkes said, shaking his head. “Where do you get them, sir?”