John Ringo - To Sail a Darkling Sea

“I doubt they keep a tight schedule,” Walker said. “But I see one inbound.”

“Anyone for the Social ?” the zodiac driver asked.

“We’re supposed to meet with the nautical class on the Money ,” Walker said. “Any chance of running us over there?”

“Yeah, sure,” the kid said. “You don’t want to be late. The Coast Guard fellas are bloody bastards about being late. Hop in.”

The traffic was lighter this morning and the driver cranked the zodiac to full, making the crossing in less than a minute.

“Hop out so I can run back,” he said as he slowed by the transom dock. “Don’t bother to tie off. If you can’t make that little hop, just go back to cleaning compartments.”

“I can make the jump,” O’Toole said. He stepped lightly off the zodiac followed by Walker. “Thanks.”

“Cheers mate,” the driver said, splashing off.

“I suppose that’s our future,” O’Toole said. “Being a bloody taxi driver. And now I’m wet.”

“I suspect we’re going to be wet a lot,” Walker said. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Let’s go see if we can con some Russian chick out of a cup of coffee.”

As it turned out, the coffee bar was free. And the coffee was even good. So, apparently, was the tea.

“Gods I missed this,” O’Toole said, savoring the Earl Grey. “The fact that Twinings is no more is a severe blow to the world. I wasn’t going to bring it up with the others, but what do you think of the commodore’s little lecture last night?”

“I think I need to get into the salvage business,” Walker said. “Officially or unofficially.”

“I had the same thought,” O’Toole said. “Problem being, the bloody zombies.”

“The problem being, no guns,” Walker said. “I suppose I could use a machete… ”

“I was having a serious conversation, Yank,” O’Toole said.

“So was I,” Walker said. “You can kill someone with a machete. I’d prefer a gun, though.”

“So you have some experience in those matters?” O’Toole asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said. “But I wasn’t interested in being a master-at-arms.”

“A what?” O’Toole asked.

“Navy security force,” Thomas said. “I’d rather just spend some time on these yachts. Among other things, it will cover the dos and don’ts of salvage in the current climate. There are going to be don’ts.”

There were Marines starting to filter into the area and a Marine corporal walked to the coffee bar.

“Good morning, Corporal,” Walker said, more or less automatically. He even said it with a bit of command voice and reminded himself he was under cover.

“Good morning, sir,” the corporal said. To Walker’s surprise, he fixed a cup of green tea.

“Green tea?” Walker said.

“For the Lieutenant, sir,” the Corporal said as a very young looking blonde walked over. She was wearing pips on her collar.

“For you, ma’am,” the Corporal said, diffidently.

“You didn’t have to do that, Derek,” the girl said, dimpling. “But thank you.”

“Lieutenant,” Walker said. “May I ask if you are Probationary Third Lieutenant Faith Marie Smith?”

“Yes, I am,” the girl said, looking at him with suddenly dark eyes. The Corporal tensed a bit as well. “Why?”

“What is your issue with the 1911 if I may ask?” Walker said.

“You must have taken the fire-arms test,” the girl said, grinning just as suddenly. More dimples. “Seven rounds. Okay, seven plus one. H amp;K has twelve plus one. And I’ve been in too many scrums where twelve was better than seven. And you can shoot it underwater. If you get it out in time,” she added, darkening again.

“You can shoot a 1911 under water,” Walker said.

“Ever done it?” the girl asked. “My Da shot a hammerhead with an H amp;K. Okay, the polymer frame is an issue. I had one crack on me the other day and finding a new one’s going to be a bitch. But other than that, I’m a big fan. Like the response says, it’s a religion thing.”

“I take it that AK was the right answer,” Walker said. “Although, I prefer a custom. The manufactured versions are robust but clumsy. What is your problem with the M4, if I may?”

“Oh, good God, sir!” the Corporal said. “ Please don’t get her started on Barbie guns!”

“Barbie guns?” Walker said. “As in, M4 SOP Mod, Barbie for Guys?”

“As in made of plastic by Mattel,” the girl said. “ And they don’t kill zombies. They’re a bloody toy. AK puts them down with one to two rounds. Barbie guns it’s five to seven. And they zip right through the target. The United States started going downhill… ”

“When the military changed from a round designed to kill the enemies of our glorious Republic to one designed to piss them off… ” the corporal finished.

“Your quote?” Walker asked.

“My father’s,” the Lieutenant said. “But I agree.”

“Do you get many proposals of marriage, Miss?” Walker asked.

“Haven’t had one today,” the girl answered, grinning. “But Lieutenant Fontana pointed out that fourteen is legal in Arkansas. I told him of we cleared Arkansas by the time I was fourteen we’d talk.”

“ ‘By the time you’re fourteen’?” O’Toole said. “How old are you, Miss?”

“Thirteen,” the girl said. “Almost fourteen. So time’s a wastin’.”

“And a Marine Lieutenant?” O’Toole said. “Bloody hell. We must be stretched!”

“She’s earned it, sir,” Corporal Douglas said, loyally. “Shewolf was born a Marine, sir.”

“Thanks, Derk,” the girl said, punching him on the arm. “Love you, too.”

“Fontana?” Walker asked. “One of the Marine Lieutenants?”

“He’s a Special Forces staff sergeant,” the girl said. “He took a direct promotion to Army First Lieutenant. He’s running one of the Marine platoons since we don’t have many officers. Oops, gotta go. Time to go suit up and kill us some zombies.”

“And time for us to make our way to the transom deck,” O’Toole said. “Don’t want to be late.”

* * *

There was a thirty-five foot sport fisher tied up to the transom deck with a man in Coast Guard uniform sitting on its transom.

“Nautical course?” O’Toole asked.

“Climb aboard,” the Coast Guardsman said. “If you fall in, you get an automatic fail when the sharks eat you. Names?”

“O’Toole. Rob O’Toole.”

“Walker, Thomas.”

“Okay, just grab a seat inside. Be with you at eight.”

Eventually, six more people filed into the saloon followed by the petty officer.

“O’Toole,” he said. “Take the helm. If you hit anything, you get an automatic fail. If you can’t figure out how to drive this, it is a demerit. Any questions?”

“Yes, sir,” O’Toole said. The helm was forward, just off the saloon. “Where am I going?”

“Head for the entrance to the harbor,” the Petty Officer said, taking a position by the helm. “And listen up. I’m Petty Officer Ernest Paxton. I’m one of the few actual boat drivers that survived on the USCG cutter Campbell so I am, for my sins, in charge of this course.

“We’re given three days to teach you how to drive these boats, basic safety and how to survive in one of the toughest professions on earth. That is not enough time. So we work all day and into the night. If you don’t like it, quit. You rotate positions, while the classes are going on. We stop the boat, sometimes, for the quizzes and that’s it. All of you will take the helm and you’re going to have to drive and listen to the classes at the same time. Some of you will be in the engine room going over that while classes are going on up here. You’ll have to catch up on your own time and you won’t have much. Walker?”