John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

So her curiosity was piqued.

She typed in the word as a search in the intelligence database. It wasn’t by any means a complete database. The “complete” database had been the whole of SIPRNET, the DoD’s secure version of the internet. But The Hole was designed as a backup in the event of, well, an apocalypse, and it had at least extracts of a lot of stuff.

There were various references. Several operations had included “Marigold” in their operations name. Most of them were black ops but not all.

However, there was also a flag officer code name listed.

Upon retirement, all flag officers as well as “select” others were given a code name and a contact method. The reason was that flag officers held a lot of secrets in their heads. Even after retirement, they were potential targets for espionage or terrorist assassination. If they happened to be travelling in a country where a revolution kicked off, they could call a number and response would materialize. Even if the USA had to send Rangers in quietly—as it had on numerous occasions.

She clicked the link and blanched.

“Oh…” she said, panting. She felt slightly faint. “Ooof-dah. Oh, it can’t be…”

She listened to the voice recording again and compared the information. The four digit code was the last four of the Social. The voice even sounded the same.

Then she pulled up the manifest for the squadron and started hunting, checking names against the file. The basic name wasn’t anywhere on there but she knew it wouldn’t be. But the handle…

“Thomas Walker,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth and trying not to cry. “Son of a bitch. Night Walker . He’s alive. There is a God in heaven.”

“ Bella Senorita , Alexandria , over.”

“ Bella here,” Sophia said, wondering if she should put up the bimini top. The tan was getting pretty deep.

The guys on Columbus’s ships had probably been about ready to mutiny at this point. But that was because they didn’t know where they were going, where they were or when they were going to get there. If you did, the South Atlantic Equatorial Current cruise was a real beauty. Not much to see but ocean, but in winter it was just lovely rolling combers heading in your general direction, clear skies, seabirds, whales, flying fish and the occasional bit of debris from the death of human civilization.

“ Bella , Alex . Prosecuting sierra. Geared freighter. Approx six hundred feet length. Approx twenty-eight kay gross tons. Containerized and noncontainerized deck cargo. Visible infected. Zulu count five visible. Over.”

“Roger, Alex . Send coordinates, over.”

She thought about it for a second, then picked up the other radio.

“Flotilla, Division Seven, over.”

“Division Seven, Flotilla, over.”

“Got a geared handysize with some infected,” Sophia said. “What’s the status on Marines, over?”

“Sort of tapped out working a liner, Division. Recommend give it a pass, over.”

“Flotilla, be advised. Geared and has noncontainerized deck cargo, break. Looks like really nice salvage. Break. Without getting off the boat myself I am confident my people can handle this without Marine assistance. We’re talking walk in the park here. Over.”

“Is she really that laid-back about taking on a freighter with zombies on it?” Petty Officer Third Class Kevin Drum said. “I mean, she sounds bored .”

“The last time Seawolf took a walk in a park it was Washington Square when the zombies overran the last concert in New York,” Lieutenant Gregory Spears said. The flotilla commander was a former stock broker and weekend yachtsman. He hadn’t realized the difference between telling people how to do their jobs and potentially sending them to their deaths until he’d taken the job. He wasn’t enjoying that part of it. “Her definition of walk in the park is not a normal definition.” He thought about it and keyed the radio.

“Washington Square walk in the park or a walk in the park walk in the park, over.”

Sophia giggled and keyed the radio.

“The ‘we’ve got this’ kind, Flotilla. Take your pick.”

“Do not endanger your vessel. Minimize risk to your personnel. Do not go directly alongside.”

“Do not endanger vessel, aye,” Sophia said. “Minimize personnel risk, aye. Do not go directly alongside, aye.”

“Seriously, don’t get yourselves in a scrum. That’s what Marines are for.”

“Will not get in a scrum, Flotilla. Over.”

“Approved. Flotilla out.”

“Hoist the black flag,” Sophia said over the intercom. “Man the grapnels. We have a ship to take me hearties! Arrrh!”

“So, Thomas,” Sophia said. “As an English as a Second Language teacher with ‘some civilian shooting experience,’ how good a shot are you?”

The freighter was pretty big compared to the Bella Senorita but ships like the Iwo Jima and liners like the Voyage had given Sophia a new appreciation for the word “big.” And if any of the gear was running, it was a real catch. The noncontainerized deck cargo wasn’t much—some boat hulls, mostly—but one of the containers had been opened and apparently contained food, based on the well-fed zombies on the deck and the seabirds flying in and out. Probably fresh water as well. Zombies could occasionally figure out how to tear into cases of bottled water.

“I would say fair to good,” Walker said. “But that is on my scale of judging such things. I will also say that catenary is going to be a bitch.”

The freighter was not rocking much in the relatively smooth seas. The Bella , on the other hand, was bouncing quite a bit. And they were not rocking in time.

“Always is,” Sophia said. “Okay, shooting challenge. You, me and Olga. As skipper I’m going to have the edge on both experience and weapon so I’ll spot myself one zombie.”

“Are you sure about that, Skipper?” Walker said. “My definition of good would be most people’s definition of excellent.”

“Choose your weapon, Mr. Walker,” Sophia said.

“Is this a duel?” Olga asked. “Don’t you need seconds?”

“A pistol?” Sophia said. “Okay…”

She’d turned out with her personalized M4 with Leupold scope. Olga had her M4. Walker had a 1911.

“I am capable enough with a rifle, ma’am, but pistol or submachine gun are usually my preference,” Walker said turning his right shoulder towards the zombies clustered by the rail. “Whenever you’re ready, ma’am.”

“I think I’ll spot,” Olga said, setting her weapon down and getting on her stomach.

“Works for me,” Sophia said, getting in the prone and wrapping the sling around her arm. “The one item I will note on this is always miss high if you’re going to miss. The one thing you don’t want is rounds coming back at the ship.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Walker said. “Thank you for that tip.”

“Why do I think you knew it already?” Sophia said, lining up a target.

“I did not, actually,” Walker said. “Makes sense. But this is, in fact, a new experience for me, ma’am.”

“I’ll work forward to aft, you work aft to forward. Engage at will.”

Walker missed his first shot, high, and was less angered than pleased. He knew that he would not be doing any better with a rifle at this range. And he had missed because of the catenary. Which meant he had something new to learn about shooting and that was becoming increasingly rare in his experience.

Sophia missed her first two shots but she was used to that. Catenary was, as Walker had noted, a bitch. The U.S. Navy SEALs had managed to shoot three pirates in similar if reversed conditions, each with one shot apiece, at night, without hitting a hostage. How, she was still wanting to learn. But so far although the Marines were somewhat trained in catenary shooting, no real “expert” had turned up.