John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

“And who is Staff Sergeant Decker, Sergeant…?”

“Coming up!”

The person emerging from the roof hatch was a staff sergeant with the nametag “Decker.” He climbed up, then marched, as if he was on parade, to the edge of the roof and looked around. Then he did an about face and marched back to the hatch.

“Begin evolution!” he boomed into the hole. He had bent at the waist to shout and then straightened to the position of attention and did an about face. After that, he marched back to the edge of the roof, did another about face and assumed the position of parade rest.

“May the sergeant inquire what the evolution is, Staff Sergeant?” Hoag asked. She’d never seen a guy wound this tight who wasn’t straight out of Boot Camp. She’d seen some Staffs who were pretty wound, but this was ridiculous.

“Two-forty, Sergeant,” the staff sergeant replied, looking into the distance. “My team is to emplace and maintain a fire-support position against infiltration of additional infected to this zone, pending clearance operations.”

“Are there any additional orders for my team, Staff Sergeant?” Hoag asked.

“Your team’s orders are to maintain a presence on this facility until ordered relieved by your colonel, Sergeant. Does your team have sufficient materials to do so?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

A lance corporal had climbed up the ladder and dropped a rope down, then hauled up a machine gun while they were talking. He then started hauling up box after box of ammo. His movements were almost as robotic as Decker’s.

“Do your watch personnel all remain by the hatch, Sergeant?” Decker asked. “I am unfamiliar with your standard operating procedures.”

“Private Capedon is the roving patrol, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said, taking the hint. “Who should, in fact, be roving, not watching other people work.”

“Roving, aye, Sergeant,” Capedon said, walking down the roof.

“We did determine, early on, that the rover had to move to different paths, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said. “Otherwise the roof tar gets worn down and causes leaks.”

“Understood,” Decker said as the sweating lance corporal finished hauling up a ton of ammo.

“Two thousand rounds, Staff Sergeant,” the lance corporal reported, standing at attention.

“Where is the rest of the team, Lance Corporal?” Decker said.

The lance corporal bent over, at the waist, and looked down.

“Climbing the ladder, Staff Sergeant.”

“Pending their arrival, emplace the weapon on the south wall, oriented to the southeast, Lance Corporal,” Decker said.

“I do not have a compass, Staff Sergeant,” the lance corporal replied as a corporal climbed out of the hatch. He hoisted a PRC over the coaming and dropped it practically on the lance corporal’s feet.

“I’m going to shove one up your ass if you don’t get out of my way, Lance Corporal,” the corporal said.

“Aye, aye, Corporal,” the lance corporal said.

“Lance Corporal Condrey,” Decker snapped. “Two steps back, march!”

“Permission to emplace and prepare the weapon, Staff Sergeant?” the corporal said. His tone was a mixture of bored and pissed.

“Emplace the weapon, Corporal Douglas,” the staff sergeant said. “Weapon shall be emplaced on the south wall, oriented to the southeast.”

“South wall, aye,” Douglas said. “Southeast orientation, aye. Pag, grab the ammo.”

“Grab the ammo, aye, Corporal!” the new lance corporal said, snappily. “Grabbing ammo, Corporal!”

The weapon was emplaced and loaded, then the corporal tapped the assistant gunner “Pag” on the shoulder.

“Maintain the watch, Lance Corporal,” Douglas said. “Staff Sergeant, permission to engage the local expert in intelligence transfer?”

“Permission granted,” Decker said.

“Sergeant, a moment of your time?” Douglas said.

“Granted,” Hoag answered, waving him towards the center of the flat roof.

“Corporal, a question?” Hoag said. “Is there an issue with the staff sergeant?”

“Staff Sergeant Decker’s okay, once you get to know him, Sergeant,” Douglas said. “For being flat fucking nuts, that is. He’s up here mostly to give him something to do that doesn’t take a lot of flexibility. He’s in charge as long as he doesn’t tell me I have to march everywhere with a fricking two-forty.”

“So…that’s wound pretty tight, Corporal,” Hoag said, making a slight gesture with her head.

“Oh, you should have seen the staff sergeant when he boarded , Sergeant,” Douglas said. “This is him being laid-back . Short story, the last order his gunny gave him when they evacced the Iwo was ‘Take care of the LT.’ So when the LT went zombie, instead of, you know, quote taking care of him, strangle or shoot him, have a short ceremony, toss him over the side, as any rational human being would do, they kept him alive . As a zombie. On a life raft . For six months .”

“Holy shit,” Hoag said, trying not to look over at the staff sergeant.

“So, I really asked you over here to fill you in, Sergeant,” Douglas said. “Because with Staff Sergeant Decker around, do everything as if you were doing guard mount at the White House and he’s happy. When you don’t do everything precise and by the book, he starts to get…fidgety. You don’t want Decker the Deranged getting fidgety. It’s not pretty.”

“I so need some time off,” Hoag said.

“Welcome aboard the Boadicea , Lieutenant Colonel,” the officer of the deck said as Hamilton reached the top of the floating dock’s stairs.

He’d already been informed it was a “Navy Auxiliary” vessel so Hamilton saluted the OOD, then turned and saluted the flag.

“Permission to come aboard,” Hamilton said.

“Granted,” the officer wearing NavCam and silver chicken wings said. “Captain Steven Smith, Colonel. Glad you made it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hamilton said, shaking the captain’s hand.

“Let’s get out of the way so my people can get your people settled,” Captain Smith said, taking his elbow. “If the people coming aboard have been severely deprived we generally offer them tomato or chicken soup. In your case, might I offer you a small belt…”

“America,” Smith said, raising his glass. There was a finger’s thickness of scotch.

“The Corps,” Hamilton said, raising his and tossing back the drink. “That’s good.”

“Lots of good hooch to be had on yachts at sea,” Smith said. “Shortest possible in-brief. Then you can go get a shower and a real rack or food someone has cooked or whatever. You are hereby relieved of your duty of holding Gitmo. I’m not sure who we’re going to leave behind when the majority of the squadron sails out, but it’s unlikely to be you. One thing we’ll do before food, shower, et cetera is get you on the horn with the Hole, which is the only remaining headquarters, so you can relieve your suspicions about this outfit. But here’s the in-brief.

“There are no significant land areas not held by infected. There are a few self-sustaining, for the time, one family basically islands that show light. We haven’t contacted any of them; we know they’re there by satellites. Other than that, it’s infected on every continent and major island. This squadron was bootstrapped. There’s a video that’s part of the larger in-brief.

“There are thirty-six submarines still at sea, and nine crews who are on desert islands, which are uninfected. We have to produce vaccine for them. We cannot produce quote modern vaccines. The only choice is attenuated virus vaccines. That requires spines of infected and a radiation generator. The primary purpose of taking Gitmo was to access the base hospital and get its X-ray machine and various other equipment working as well as raid it for supplies. With that, and the spines of poor dead Marines, sailors and civilians, we can make vaccine. Then we can get the subs replenished and in many cases put their people to work on surface jobs. We are critically short of technical personnel. With the sub crews and the shops here and elsewhere, we can really get going. We’re going to give your people three days off here on the Boadicea or in some cases on one of the megayachts. That’s standard. After that, it’s back to work. God knows I can use a professional officer.