John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

“One of two dialects of Persian used in Afghanistan,” Walker said. “The other being Tajik which has the same translation. General Kamal of the Northern Alliance found it quite amusing to call me by my handle. I should probably go see if anyone wants to come back to the boat, ma’am.”

Steve tapped his fingers on his desk in thought, then hit the connection to The Hole.

“Duty officer,” Lieutenant Colonel Justin Pierre said. “Good…evening your time, Captain.”

“Good evening, Colonel,” Steve said. “I have an unusual request.”

“Glad to be of service if I can, Captain,” Colonel Pierre said.

“The service record extracts you have,” Steve said. “Do they include aliases or handles?”

“In some cases, Captain,” Colonel Pierre said, his brow furrowing. “Do you need me to run a name?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “Thomas Walker.”

The colonel had leaned forward into his keyboard, hands set to type and now leaned back, raising his hands and folding them.

“Could I get back to you on that, Captain?” the colonel said. “Something’s come up.”

“Certainly,” Steve said blandly. “Hope things are okay.”

“Fine, just…something’s come up. Be back if not tonight than tomorrow early.”

“All right,” Steve said. “Have a good rest of your shift.”

He tapped his fingers on his desk again, then sighed.

“Something is fishy in Omaha….”

Steve was just out of the shower, drying his hair and contemplating the fact that Stacey had been rummaging in her lingerie drawer when the phone in his quarters rang. Since that invariably meant some sort of emergency had occurred, he was not in the best of moods when Stacey, wearing not much more than a lacey bra and panties, handed him the phone.

“General Brice,” she said, her hand over the mike.

“General,” Steve said. “You rang?”

“Sorry to call you so late, Steve,” Brice said. “But I didn’t want to leave you hanging on the call you made to us. Thomas Walker.”

“I’d wondered, when the colonel so abruptly changed the subject, ma’am,” Steve said. “I don’t mind having the pros back-channel, ma’am. Considering everything, it’s necessary. But putting someone on my daughter’s boat was sort of…”

“ That I didn’t do,” Brice said. “It was more happy coincidence. Happy because you couldn’t get a better guy to be on your daughter’s boat. At least not alive and in contact. I’ll give you two statements about Walker and that is all you’re going to get. Along with an order. Just leave him be is the order. He’s fine where he is at the moment. That’s my decision and the under secretary’s. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said thoughtfully.

“So here are the two facts. Fact one: he’s former Special Forces. Fact two: He’s retired. That’s all you have the need to know.

“He likes what he’s doing, he’s earned what is effectively downtime and there’s no better hand at training a young officer. Personally, you want him right where he is. Professionally, while he’d be an asset in your shop, he’d more or less automatically boot you out if he returned at rank. And he made the point that for social politics reasons, that wouldn’t work. When you create a splinter cell to go bootstrap the Pacific, the under secretary and I have already pegged him, notionally, as CINCPAC. He doesn’t know that and he doesn’t need to. It’s late your time. Do you have any salient questions?”

“No, ma’am,” Steve said. “That pretty much covers it.”

“Steve, seriously, he’s not a threat, quite the opposite, and I know him personally, not just professionally. He’s a great guy. You’re lucky to have him where he’s at.”

“Sort of got that, ma’am,” Steve said. “I can even see him wanting to play deckhand. I miss those days myself.”

“If you need someone that’s ‘next level,’ he’s there,” Brice said. “But, notionally, we’re looking at next stage. Get some sleep and don’t worry about Night Walker.”

“Walker?” Stacey said worriedly.

“Turns out I can now chase you around the cabin with my mind focused on that,” Steve said. “Super-secret squirrel. As trustworthy as black ops gets I suppose.”

“I was a little worried,” Stacey said, nodding. “That’s good to hear.”

“Hmmm…” Steve said. “Now, you have exactly one second’s head start, then I’m going to tickle the life out of you.”

“I’m just glad you think pregnant women are sexy…”

“So, how was your away time?” Sophia asked, yawning. It was past midnight and she was ready for the rack. “And I see Olga didn’t make it back. No surprise.”

“What they want for parts is crazy,” Celementina said. “I found a new water pump for the engine but they want a case of good booze.”

“We kept back some cases,” Sophia said, shrugging. “I wonder where it came from, though.”

“Like I say,” Celementina said. “Nobody turn in all their stuff they find. They trade it. They only turn in the stuff they can’t trade.”

“We still have the cases,” Sophia said. “And we’ll know better next time. Batari?”

“Plenty of spices and condiments,” Batari said. “Good stuff, too. Prices, not so bad. I can probably get all I need with some of the jewelry and a couple of bottles.”

“Works,” Sophia said. “Okay, tomorrow, we’ll go in shifts, get all the stuff we need we didn’t get from Squadron. Walker, you want to go over tonight?”

“I’ll take the watch, ma’am,” Walker said. “You get some sleep. I can run over tomorrow evening if I want to. Any other stuff we need to know or should know?”

“We can sleep aboard?” Celementina said. “The Boadicea . There’s cabins for us if we want them. Like a hotel. Might be where Olga is.”

“There’s an internet, sort of,” Batari said. “Really more like Spacebook. You can check on people in the squadron. Everybody has an account already set up. Oh, and you’ve got to see the night sky movie.”

“Blackness, I would think,” Walker said. “At least if it’s current imagery.”

“You need to see it,” Celementina said, looking at Sophia with an odd expression. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. All we see is the boat. I didn’t really understand, you know? Just see it.”

“Okay,” Sophia said. “On the agenda for tomorrow. We’ll see if we get Olga back so some of us can go get some…I was going to say shore leave…”

“Big boat leave?” Walker said. “Get some sleep, Skipper. I’ll take the watch.”

“Ensign, welcome aboard,” the red-headed man said, offering his hand.

The Boadicea was in movement, cruising very slowly eastward. Most floating docks were designed to be used in ports and stationary, not at sea and in movement. This “floating dock” was actually the bottom of a lifeboat that had been reconfigured and was held away from the ship’s hull by two davits usually used to raise and lower lifeboats.

“Thanks,” Sophia said, stepping off the Zodiac. She didn’t really need the help but she sort of touched his hand getting onto the floating dock. Most people probably needed a lot of help.

She’d worn her uniform. It wasn’t mandatory but she’d worn it anyway. She’d debated then rejected the Master Savior Badge. The nonsubdued version, cast gold from salvaged jewelry, was authorized for wear with NavCam. She had decided to wear her Small Boats Badge. The badge was unauthorized but most of the small boat people wore one. It was a Viking longboat tossed in a storm. That she could get her head around. The Master Savior Badge was just a touch too gaudy.