John Ringo - To Sail a Darkling Sea

And now fucking Squadron wanted him to crew these new boats with the odds and sods they were carrying and “continue the mission”! “If any combat personnel become available, they will be moved to your location. Continue the mission.”

“Sir,” Seaman Recruit Erlfeldt said. “Seawolf just boarded. Requests a minute of your time.”

“Send her in,” Chen said. Just what he needed.

Sophia was carrying a bottle of booze. With a shot glass on top.

“Not what’s needed at this time, Lieutenant,” Chen said.

“Booze is officially forbidden on US Navy vessels, sir,” Sophia said, cracking the top and pouring a shot. “Except for two, count ’em, two shot bottles of medicinal bourbon per person aboard carried on all large vessels in the event of a significant trauma that requires broad tranquilization of the crews, sir.” She held out the shot. “And this was Anarchy’s favorite tipple.”

Chen took the shot, toasted and downed it.

“Specialist Cody Anarchy Mcgarity,” Chen said. “May he rest in peace.”

“Paula is taking the big yacht,” Sophia said. “Patrick is going aboard the smaller one as engineer. There is a guy with boating experience in the prize crews. He’ll take over as skipper. Ensign Bowman and I detailed off people to the boats and they’re being shuttled around. That should take about another thirty minutes. Then, we need to leave, sir.”

“Continue the mission,” Chen said, handing the shot glass back.

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said. “With due respect, recommend stopping offshore for burial at sea.”

“Concur,” Chen said. “Continue the mission.”

“Grab a seat, gentlemen,” Steve said, tapping at his computer. “Be with you in just a second… ”

He looked up after a moment and frowned.

“I used to get to kill zombies,” Steve said. “These days I spend most of my time reading spreadsheets and reports. Which one is retired Chief Petty Officer Roland Schmidt?”

Both of the men were probably pushing sixty. They weren’t alike, visually, but he had only been given the names.

“Here, sir,” Schmidt said in a gravelly voice. He was silver haired with dark brown eyes, nearly black, and a compact frame.

“And that would make you retired Sergeant Major Raymond Barney, her Majesty’s Royal Army,” Steve said, looking at the second man. He was had the look of being formerly heavyset with sagging jowels. He’d recently shaved his head but it was apparent he was mostly bald, anyway.

“Yes, sir,” the Sergeant Major said.

“There are a million places I could use two former senior NCOs here in the main squadron,” Steve said. “God knows we need the experience and stability. That being said, we have an… opportunity with our littoral clearance flotilla. It’s already gotten a bit large for one Navy Lieutenant to manage and they’ve just lost their only ground combat leader with any significant experience. US Army tanker Specialist. He was the best they had since the Marines are all busy clearing these liners. Sergeant Major, do you have any experience with the fifty-caliber BMG?”

“We used them on our Ferrets, sir,” Barney replied. “Extensive.”

“I’ve got experience with them as well, sir,” Schmidt said. “And in a marine environment. Which I take it this is.”

“Small boats,” Steve said. “Yachts and fishing trawlers converted to gunboats… ”

“Sounds like we’re back to the War, sir,” Barney said.

“My masters thesis was on the defense of Malta,” Steve said. “I’m familiar with Her Majesty’s Navy’s ingenuity in the early part of the War, Sergeant Major. So, yes, very much so. The Flotilla needs some experienced hands. If you turn it down, no foul. As I’ve said, I have plenty of places to put you. This is small boats out on the sharp end. Rocks and shoals and falling over the side in a shark infested harbor in full kit. Which was how we lost Anarchy.”

“I spent my whole career in scouts, sir,” Barney said. “Except for the boat part, it will be old home week, sir.”

“I spent my entire career on carriers,” Schmidt said. “But there ain’t nothin’ I don’t know about the Navy, sir.”

“Few more points I want you both to consider,” Steve said, leaning back. “You’re never going to get what you think of as ‘discipline’ out of these crews. You never do with small units that are frequently out of contact with higher. You didn’t with motor gunboats in the War, you didn’t with PT boats. They’re small boat crews. That’s what they’re like. It’s about motivating, not alienating. That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t follow orders if given orders. They’ve been doing that. But… It’s not carrier ops and it’s not Her Royal Majesty’s Scouts. They’re a bunch of mostly kids who signed up to go shoot zombies without so much as a day of basic training. And you’re going to be the only professionals, except Lieutenant Chen, in the flotilla. That can be, assuredly will be, frustrating. That’s the first point and it’s an ongoing one.

“The second point is getting to the Flotilla. It is continuing operations down the coast. It is, currently, two hundred miles away and getting further away as we speak. Which means we’re going to have to run you down there in an open inflatable fast-boat. It’s not rough today, but it’s going to beat the ever living shit out of you, anyway, gentlemen.

“Last. I’m not quite sure how this happened but about half of the sailors and commanders in the Flotilla are women. Some of the boat commanders are civilian, some military. The gunboats are all commanded by Navy Ensigns and Midshipmen, two out of three are women. They’re willing to take direction but unless you want me to make you officers, and I can in your case, Chief Schmidt, most of your bosses as well as co-workers are going to be women. And they are, even for women, a screwy bunch. You know what the compartments are like. And you’re going to have to manage that, as well. I suspect it’s especially bad with losing Cody. He was a great kid and everybody liked him.

“So, last chance… ” Steve said, raising an eyebrow. “Yay or nay?”

“I’ll need some bloody Dramamine for the ride, sir,” Sergeant Major Barney said.

“Scopalamine patch,” Steve said. “Takes about twenty minutes to kick in and it works better.”

“You’re still going to puke your guts up,” Schmidt growled. “If the Limey’s up for it, how can I say no?”

“By saying no,” Steve said.

“I’m Irish, Chief Petty Officer,” Barney said. “So that would be Mick, Yank.”

“I’m in,” Schmidt growled. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

“Sergeant Major, we have no contact with the British Government,” Steve said. “I therefore cannot reactivate your enlistment nor, as a British Citizen, make you a sergeant major, or Chief, in the US forces. You are therefore a civilian given control over US military personnel due to exigencies of service. There are precedents. I’ll ensure that Lieutenant Chen knows to have you referred to by your former rank. The rank and file won’t have a fucking clue about the difference.”

“Understood, sir,” the Sergeant Major said.

“Chief Petty Officer Schmidt,” Steve said. “With the concurrence of the Acting CNO and the National Constitutional Continuity Coordinator, you are hereby reinducted into the United States Navy with no loss in rank for the duration of hostilities.” Steve slid a piece of paper over. “Sign at the bottom.”