John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

“Thank you, sir,” Hamilton said.

“Land the Navy people and go ahead and push over as much ammo as you can to Sint Eustatius,” Steve said. “I’ll punch down some more security as it becomes available. Right now, Statia and Gitmo are our linchpins. When you get here, we’ll be prepared to top up the Grace with POL and av gas. You’re going to need a lot of both for this mission. But that’s all the time we have for planning right now. Get a move on.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Hamilton said.

“Gitmo out.”

“Ensign Smith,” Hamilton said.

“Sir?”

“You’re going to need to turn over your division,” the colonel said. “We obviously are not going to be taking yachts on the crossing.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Sophia said after a brief pause.

“The Bella will be there when you get back,” Hamilton said. “Right now, get a working party together. All the Marines and Navy personnel as well as any of the refugees we can get up and moving. We need to cross-load all of the ground combat ammo onboard to Sint Eustatius before dawn. As well as all of the weapons that were designated for local militias. Lieutenant Commander Chen.”

“Sir?”

“Designate two of the divisions that are not Div One to stay behind, vessels and crew, to secure Sint Eustatius as well as Sergeant Major Barney.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Divisions Five and Three, sir. With reluctance, I’m going to leave the chief behind as well, sir. I’ll put Lieutenant Bowman in charge.”

“Take the fifties from all three divisions not being left behind as well,” Hamilton said. “We’ll mount some on Fort Oranj as well as set up a defense point to secure the POL point. That can wait until after we’ve left. After they’ve offloaded the guns, the remaining divisions can follow us to Gitmo and get rearmed and ammoed there.”

“Permission to speak, sir,” Sophia said.

“Go.”

“I would like to take a few of my NavGround people with me, sir,” Sophia said. “If there is material in the research institute, I’ll need porters. And they’ve gotten…okay with being around infected, sir.”

“Agreed,” Hamilton said. “You choose any NavGround personnel you prefer. Any significant questions otherwise?”

There weren’t any.

“Let’s roll.”

“So you’re going to England?” Anna said. She wasn’t great at passing massive ammo boxes but she was turning in with a will.

The problem of landing the ammo was that they, as usual, could not just pull the Grace Tan up to the dock. There were too many wrecks and it wasn’t a big dock. So the ammo had to be cross-loaded to small boats and then carried to the dock, or the beach, and unloaded. The term was “lightering.”

Sophia was in charge of supervising the Zodiacs unloading on the beach and providing security. The actual security of island was demonstrated by the fact that they were unloading predawn and an infected had so far failed to show up for the buffet.

A few of the refugees and locals had agreed to get out of bed and help out. Anna was, unsurprisingly, one of them.

“Looks that way,” Sophia said. She felt kind of like a schmo not helping unload the ammo. But she was busy as a one armed paper-hanger.

“Can I go?” Anna asked, sadly. “It’s…my home.”

“London is a burned-out shell,” Sophia said, signing another damned sheet of paper. The ammo couldn’t just be handed over, willy-nilly. It had to be signed for. She had Olga making sure the numbers were right. “There’s not really anything to see. We’re not taking anybody who’s not critical to the operation and I’m not taking my boat so I can’t smuggle you along. So…I don’t see a way.”

“Are the astronauts going?” Anna asked.

“Oh…crap,” Sophia said. “That question never even came up. Since I handed off quarantine duty…I had completely forgotten about them. I mean, not completely , but…Crap. I need to go. I’ll see if I can get a slot for you on the float, but…I need to go.”

“Go,” Anna said, hefting a case of 5.56. “I can handle hanging out on Statia. But I’d like to at least see England.”

“It’s covered, Ensign,” Hamilton said. He, too, was on the beach supervising the offload.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Sophia said. “I was just wondering.”

“Occasionally, people do think of things before you, Ensign,” Hamilton said. “It’s covered.”

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said. “I’ll get back to counting ammo boxes.”

“Sir,” Lieutenant Bowman said, pen poised over the sheet of paper. “Please tell me that if this is off by, say, a couple thousand rounds it is not going to come back and bite me in the ass.”

Ammo and supplies were piled higgledy-piggledy all over the beaches and piers of Sint Eustatius. There was no way in hell the inventory was accurate.

“Do a recount after we’re gone,” Hamilton said, looking at his watch, then up to the sky which was clearly starting to lighten. “I’ll recertify it. And, no, it’s not going to bite you in the ass, Lieutenant. Holding me up will bite you in the ass.”

“Yes, sir,” Bowman said, taking a deep breath and signing for more ammo than any one newbie straight-from-civilian lieutenant should be responsible for.

“ Grace , up anchor,” Hamilton said, keying his mike. “Get moving. I’ll catch up in a Zod.”

“Roger.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said, taking his copy of the receipt. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bowman said. He stepped back, came to the best position of attention he could muster and saluted. “I’ll make sure the island doesn’t go anywhere while you’re gone.”

“Oorah,” Hamilton said, returning the salute. He stepped into the waiting Zodiac and keyed his mike again. “Gunny, tell me that we’ve got everyone we need off this beach.”

“We are all feet wet except for yourself, sir,” Gunny Sands replied. “ So, with due respect, if you would kindly get your ass moving, sir.”

“Aye, aye, Gunny,” Colonel Hamilton said, making sure the mike wasn’t open. He grinned. “I was getting tired of this island, anyway…”

Councilor Van Der Beek stepped out onto the ramparts of Fort Oranj, scratching his bare and very hairy stomach. It had become his custom to step out each morning and urinate over the wall, hopefully on one of the damned zombies.

He idly looked out into the harbor, then stopped. He looked north. He looked south. He looked down at the beach where some remaining Navy personnel were apparently counting the piles of boxes that had mysteriously appeared overnight. What he did not see—

“Waarom zijn alle boten verdwenen?” he asked. “En waar zijn mijn mariniers? WAAR ZIJN MIJN MARINIERS?”

“Ah, beautiful Guantanamo Bay,” Sophia said as the Grace rounded Corinaso Point. “Again.”

It had been a forty hour run back to Gitmo with the Grace Tan more or less “hauling ass” at its flank speed of 25 knots. Which was not exactly smoking for most combat ships but truly was hauling ass for a support and supply ship.

It was the middle of the night but the dockyard areas were bright as day and tugs were already prepared to take the big support ship alongside.

“That’s got to be attracting some infected,” Faith said, leaning on the railing.