John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

“Yes, ma’am,” Cindy said, still standing at parade rest.

“Rest, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said, sticking out her hand. “Lieutenant Smith.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnard said, shaking her hand. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“We caught a mission,” Faith said. “We need to…chat about how we’re going to detail it out.”

“Roger, ma’am,” Barnard said.

“Let’s talk about it in my broom closet,” Faith said, waving at the hatch. “Staff Sergeant Decker.”

“Ma’am,” the staff sergeant boomed. He was still at rigid parade rest.

“You’re in charge while we’re gone,” Faith said. “You will recall our discussion about the importance of reestablishing flexibility.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Decker boomed.

“Oorah, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said, gesturing at the hatch. “Staff Sergeant Barnard.”

“I looked at a regular TOE,” Faith said as they walked down the corridor. “We’ve got too many NCOs, don’t we?”

“By TOE, ma’am,” Barnard said. “But I don’t think there’s such a thing as too many NCOs.”

“Not about the mission—but what would you think about trying to set up a mini boot camp?” Faith said. “We need more Marines and unless we find another LHA or take one of the big bases, I’m not sure we’re going to find many more.”

“I think we’re short on hands to do that, ma’am,” Barnard said. “And I think it would be up to Colonel Hamilton and the gunnery sergeant.”

“Agreed,” Faith said, opening the door of her office. “I’m just thinking about the fact that we’ve got three staff sergeants and less than a platoon’s worth of grunts. Besides, I think Decker would be better off as a drill instructor than on active ops.”

Barnard boggled for just a moment at the thought of Decker as a drill instructor.

“With due respect, ma’am,” Barnard said. “I think drills need a bit more flexibility.”

“They need less than is required in field ops,” Faith said, sitting down. “Grab a chair, please, Staff Sergeant. That’s the point. It would be nice if we had some drills with more flexibility but the area where you need the least would seem to be drills. Or maybe just that. That Monty Python sketch, sergeant major marching up and down the square. Decker and Condrey, that’s the only thing they really can do, drills. If it’s not right in a manual they’d read before being castaways, they’re pretty much stuck. When we had a little down time, I’ve had Decker drilling me on marching and commands. He’s as perfect as you can find on all that stuff. Figuring out how to get wheels, how to find power and ammo and food in the ruins, how to interact with the survivors, not so much. And have you ever inspected their gear? I mean, that’s what the basic portion really is, drilling, how to be a Marine and getting your gear shipshape. That Decker and Condrey can teach. And Christ knows we need more Marines.”

“That…does makes some sense, ma’am,” Barnard said.

“If we ever turn up a former Marine who’s too old to run with the young pups, maybe,” Faith said. “Team him up with those two. Let them run the recruits around and drill the hell out of them, have the old guy to keep them from totally flipping out on the recruits. Which is a thought for another time. We’ve actually got two missions, one coming up and one that’s a ‘now’ thing. You’ve probably heard we’re doing a float.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnard said. “Medical supplies.”

“We don’t know where to get them,” Faith said. “There’s no one place that we know there’s a big stockpile of what we need. The critical item is a gel to make the vaccine. But that’s generally where there are other medical supplies. So we’re going to go on a Caribbean cruise. You know, travel to exotic foreign lands, meet interesting zombies and kill them?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnard said.

“This time the plan is to do a rough clear on the towns and even islands we hit and probably leave the inhabitants to their own devices,” Faith said. “We did something similar in the Canaries but it was mostly the Navy doing it. Thing is, there are still going to be infected roaming around even after we blast through. So the locals need some guns since they’re generally in short supply on those islands. We’ve still got spares but it makes more sense to clear up the ones here on base. Which is our first mission. We’re supposed to collect up all the weapons ammo and mags of the ‘fallen,’ check ’em out, decide which are still useable and which aren’t, clean ’em up and rack ’em for issue to local ‘militias’ after we’ve cleared the islands.”

“Roger, ma’am,” Barnard said tightly.

“Yeah, great detail,” Faith said. “But somebody’s gotta do it. Thinking about it, I’d put Staff Sergeant Decker and PFC Condrey on inspecting and cleaning detail. That way they’re bound to be perfect.”

“Roger, ma’am,” Barnard said.

“About the only thing I know about being a Marine and being an officer is what I’ve picked up in books and what I’ve learned in the last few months,” Faith said. “I wasn’t one of those kids who grew up wanting to be a Marine and watching Sands of Iwo Jima or something. The way I ran things with Staff Sergeant Januscheitis was something I got in a book. We get missions. We get missions all the freaking time. All I really need is the platoon to be ready to perform the missions. All their gear straight, able to shoot without hitting each other, able to handle the commo and find their way around. We’ve got no time for training and nobody really knows each other now. But this job ain’t actually all that hard. Like I told the colonel, zombies don’t duck. But all that’s on you. Okay?”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Barnard said.

“When we get out on missions, I’ll dump the simple stuff on you,” Faith said, shrugging. “Sorry, best way I can put it. I’m not big on words. I tell you we need wheels, you find the wheels and get ’em running. I say we need a house cleared, you handle it. I’ll be figuring out where we’re going next and which house to clear. You get it done. Okay?”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Barnard said.

“I’m still a green lieutenant,” Faith said. “Killing zombies I got down pat. Running a platoon, that I’m still learning. So I’m going to be asking your opinion on stuff. And hopefully most of the time we’ll agree and I’ll say ‘Yep, sounds good, go for it.’ But if I say we’re doing it another way, we’re doing it my way, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnard said.

“Bottom line is if something fucks up, people may get pissed at you,” Faith said. “But it’s really on me.

“So, we got a mission,” Faith said. “We gotta pick up all the weapons on the base, get ’em sorted out and get ’em fixed up and cleaned. How do you think we should detail that out, Staff Sergeant?”

“I see they kept the last bullet for themselves,” Sergeant Douglas said, pulling open the back door of the Humvee. A desiccated and bug-chewed female corpse in NavCam tumbled out at his feet. The skull cracked away from the body and rolled onto his boots. A half-dozen rats followed it and skittered under the Humvee. “I do so love my job.”

“You hear anything about what we’re going to do with the bodies, Sergeant?” Lance Corporal Ken Ferguson asked. “That’s our gunnery sergeant in there.”

“We dumped Captain Carrion’s little helpers on the bodies on the points,” Douglas said. There was a .45 on the floor in the rear compartment and an M4. From the looks of things, they’d all shared the .45 at the end. The M4 was out of rounds. “But other than that, I really don’t know. We haven’t been doing much cleanup, but we hadn’t planned on holding any of the places we hit. Maybe they’ll get the civilians to collect ’em up. But don’t figure on a lot of ceremony. There’s not enough of us left to bury the dead and we’ve got more important missions. And we’re done here…Building seven next…”