John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

Next up: Aubrey and Maturin. Which Walker said was more historically accurate. That should be interesting.

“ Friday is low on fuel,” Olga said. “They’re officially declaring they need fuel.”

“How low?” Sophia asked.

“Three hundred and fifty gallons,” Olga said. “I figured it out. That’s about a day’s worth the way we’re going. Assuming they don’t have to make a speed run.”

“LeEllen should have called that in sooner,” Sophia said, frowning. “Okay, I’ll call it in to Flotilla. If needs be we’ll cross=load; we’re nearly topped up.”

When Olga had gone below, Sophia picked up the radio.

“Flotilla, Division Seven, over.”

“Seven, Flotilla, over.”

“One of our boats is nearly out of fuel. The other two are in good state but it’s been luck of the draw on finding boats with fuel and Friday drew the short straw. We can cross-load but we also are about topped up on supplies and have some passengers. Request permission to do a drop-off and tank run. Over.”

“Roger, Seven, I’ll pass that to the flotilla commander. Anything else, over?”

“Be advised, Friday is one day from dry and also low on water,” Sophia said. “Can cross-load to keep her running, but would like a reply as soon as possible. That’s it. Division out.”

“Division Seven, Flotilla Commander. Need to speak to your division commander, over.”

“Division Actual, aye,” Sophia replied.

“Cross-load fuel, then return main squadron for supply and passenger drop and tanking. Do you copy, over?”

“Return main squadron, aye. Cross-load for run, aye.”

“Take crew rest aboard larger vessels, then return to sweep. Flotilla out.”

“Woot,” Sophia said. “Back to civilization, such as it is.”

The first thing that was evident was the cruise ship M/V Boadicea on the horizon. In a sea of darkness it was the sole bright spot. As they closed with the squadron center, more ships became apparent. The Grace Tan . The diesel tanker Ho Yun . The Paul Osted. Other, smaller, support ships. Motor yachts in a ragged formation following along like attention deficit baby ducks. Zodiacs zipping between the ships even at this late hour. A Zodiac filled with a Marine clearance team passed a few miles to port, headed out for some heavy clearance.

“Squadron, Division Seven, over,” Sophia radioed when they were about five miles from the formation.

“Division Seven, Squadron. Switch to Forty-Six for Squadron Traffic Control, copy?”

“Switch Four-Six for Traffic Control, aye,” Sophia said, switching frequencies. “Squadron Traffic Control, Division Seven, three motor yachts, requesting orders. Be advised, one of us needs to tank, over.”

“Division Seven, TrafCon. Unrep not authorized at night absent emergency. Are you declaring an emergency, over?”

“Negative, Squadron. They can probably hang in there till morning. Request early tanking, over.”

“Roger, I’ll make a note. Come to One-one-four. Move to rear of formation. Join motor yacht contingent to the rear. Do not approach within one hundred yards of other motor yachts. Do not approach within two hundred yards of ships. Copy?”

“One one four, aye,” Sophia said. “Rear of formation, aye. Motor yacht contingent rear, aye. Do not approach within one hundred yards other yachts, do not approach within two hundred yards ships, aye.”

“We’ll try to get you tanked after dawn. I’ve made a note to unrep ops. Keep somebody on radio watch that’s actually on the radio. TraffCon, out.”

“ Friday, Business, Bella , over.”

“ Finally Friday , over.”

“ Risky Business .”

“Follow me,” Sophia said, slowing down. “We’re to get behind the rest of the motor yachts. I’ve put in a request for tanking at dawn. No unrep at night. Friday , can you hang in there?”

“Should be fine, Bella , over.”

“They also don’t want us to be closer than a hundred yards to other yachts and two hundred from ships,” Sophia radioed. “Let’s try to actually look like we know what we’re doing. I’m going to come to One-one-four. Try to turn on the same spot I do and get right in line. Copy that, over?”

“ Friday . We can do that, over.”

“ Business . Let’s make a show even though nobody’s probably up at this time of night.”

“Try to maintain a line with regular interval even after we join the formation,” Sophia said. “Turning to one-one-four now.”

“Holy crap,” Ryan Reppe said, looking through binos at the approaching division. The master mariner was the midwatch officer of the deck of the Grace Tan and monitored TraffCon since it was where most mistakes started to show up first. He’d wondered when the division was going to turn but as they tracked like beads on a string, instead of heading to the rear like a gaggle of idiots, he was mildly impressed. “That division may know what it’s doing. Will wonders never cease?”

“Seawolf’s division,” Katie Phillips said. Phillips had been a deckhand before the Plague with some experience as a watch stander on large vessels. Ships like the Grace Tan and modern freighters were largely self-driving when at sea. They followed preprogrammed courses that only needed a human staying awake to watch for emergencies. She’d been with the squadron for two months, unlike Reppe and was now studying for her master’s ticket.

“Seawolf,” Reppe said. “Oh, the admiral’s daughter?”

“Commodore, sort of, but, yeah. She’s pretty good.”

“Hopefully they can figure out how to unrep without sinking their boat,” Reppe said.

“Seawolf could unrep at night,” Phillips said, shrugging. “And her captains could probably do the same…”

“Glad we’re not unrepping at night,” Sophia said, yawning. “Your conn, Mr. Walker. Try not to hit anybody.”

“Will do, ma’am,” Walker said. “Little breezy this morning. Mind if I take the mid-deck helm?”

“Not at all,” Sophia said. “I think I’m going to just hang out for a bit before I head below. It’s nice to see signs of civilization for a change. It’s going to annoy the hell out of everybody, but I want you to do radio checks on the thirty and hour with both the other boats. Nobody is going to go to sleep on this watch. And keep a check on Friday ’s fuel. We should have cross-loaded more. If there’s an emergency, wake me up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Walker said.

Walker did three checks on the other boats, then set the autopilot and made a quick trip to the galley for a cup of coffee. He checked their position and it was still tracking to the Grace Tan. Knowing what he’d find, he went up to the flying bridge.

The fifteen-year-old ensign was curled up at the helm of the boat, shivering slightly, sound asleep. He pulled a blanket out of a drybox and tucked it around her before heading below.

“Ma’am,” Walker said, shaking the ensign’s shoulder.

“Left, left, left!” Sophia said, sitting up. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “Fuck, I hate those…”

“Yes, ma’am,” Walker said, handing her a cup of coffee. “They are a bitch and a half.”

“Know any tricks to handling them?” Sophia said, sipping the coffee. She was gray in the predawn light.

“A few,” Walker said. “They don’t make them go away, just make them less horrible. If they work at all for you.”

“Later, maybe,” Sophia said. “What’s up?”