John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

“We’ll have time to talk on the float,” Faith said. “But for now, mission face.”

“That is sort of…” Sophia said as the Seahawk was slung aboard from a barge. “It’s sort of odd watching a helicopter get loaded . Flown on, I can see…”

“Yeah, well, this ain’t getting signed by itself, Sophia,” Olga said, holding out the clipboard.

“Work, work, work,” Sophia said, looking at the form. “Wait a second. Why am I signing for a helicopter?”

“You’re the officer of the deck,” Olga said, shrugging. “ I’m sure as hell not signing for it.”

“Is it complete?” Sophia asked. “I mean, are all the parts installed?”

“I don’t know!” Olga said. “How the hell would I know? It has to be signed for, though.”

“Looks like I’m just signing for the airframe,” Sophia said dubiously. “And that looks like it’s all there… Hey! Staff Sergeant Januscheitis!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Januscheitis shouted.

“When you sign for a helicopter, are you signing for all the parts or what?”

“Just the airframe, ma’am,” Januscheitis replied. “And it’s got all its parts. It just hasn’t been fully certified, yet.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Sophia said, signing the form. “I know I’m going to regret this. Ah, well, they can take it out of my pay…”

“I don’t sign for ammo until the Navy turns it over to us,” Faith said, holding her hands up. “And that’s on a mission by mission basis. Take it to my sister,” she said, pointing.

“You do sign for weapons,” Walker said, handing her a clipboard. “Spare M4s, two-forties and parts for same. Now you understand why I’m sitting out being an officer at the moment.”

“Work, work, work,” Faiths said, scribbling her name for what seemed the thousandth time.

“You’re supposed to count those, Lieutenant,” Walker said.

“Sir, aware that you are an actual ‘sir,’” Faith said, “and I really should take your advice: One, we’re in a hurry. Two, you’re the one handing it to me. Three, they’d have to actually pay me to take it out of my pay.”

“You have a point, Lieutenant,” Walker said, grinning.

“Mr. Walker,” a seaman said, holding out a clipboard. “Additional medical supplies.”

“Hah!” Faith said. “Your avoidance of responsibility will not avail you now, Flame of Udun!”

“If I didn’t have a perfectly suitable handle, I’d take Balrog,” Walker said, looking at the sheet. “Where are these supposed medical supplies, seaman? Because I am going to count them…”

“How does zero three hundred sound, sir?” Hamilton radioed as the Grace Tan was pulled away from the fueling dock by two harbor tugs.

“It sounds like Captain Wilkes is taking off,” Steve replied. “Any additional questions?”

“No, sir,” Hamilton said. “Although, I’m going to have everyone go back over the inventory of what was just loaded. I’d like you to keep the Pit Stop available to chase us down in case we missed anything critical.”

“Will do,” Steve said. “ FYI, some fellow named Councilor Van Der Beek has been screaming at everyone who will listen. Something about you shanghaiing his Marines. I have no clue what he’s talking about. And apparently you negotiated an oil for food program?”

“Sor…, si…,” Hamilton said. “Skgritch! Sgrrrr! You’re break…up… S’…gain…?”

“Have fun in the North Atlantic, Colonel,” Steve said. “ I’ll take care of it. Come to think of it, sounds like international relations. I’ll get him in touch with the Hole…”

“Whew,” Hamilton said, wiping his brow theatrically. “Missed a bullet, there.”

“They’ll figure it out,” Captain Victor Gilbert said. The captain of the Grace Tan was watching the tugs balefully. “At least we left them the Alan Garcia .”

“Honestly, the Shivak and the Garcia were what we should have taken to the islands,” Hamilton said. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed your company. Question: have you coordinated with anyone on landing the Stallion?”

“You’re assuming I’ve never worked with a helo before, Colonel,” Gilbert said. “We had to get some new radios installed. I’ll talk to the pilot when he’s in the air.”

“Got some Marine on the air frequency wants to talk to you, Captain,” Kolb said.

“Speaking of which…”

“Yeah. I know to come into the wind. And I’m not going to be going fast ’cause ‘into the wind’ is pointed at the shoals. In fact, I ain’t gonna be moving at all if I can help it. Roger?”

“Roger,” Captain Milo Wilkes said, banking the Super Stallion around to line up with the M/V Grace Tan . “Honestly, just hold it there. The winds are light. I can put it on the pad where you are.”

“Going aback. How’s that? Wind and tide are drifting us a bit.”

“Good,” Wilkes said, lowering. “I’ve got this…”

He followed Staff Sergeant Januscheitis’s hand and arm signals and put the bird down on the platform. He stayed light for a bit, then slowly let off on the collective to test the platform.

“Marine Six has landed at zero three twenty-two hours,” Wilkes radioed, going through shut-down procedures.

“Yeah. We noticed. As soon are your jarheads have it tied down to my satisfaction, we are out of here. Might be a bit since I ain’t easily satisfied.”

“Nice working with a professional,” Wilkes muttered, starting his post-flight checklist. “I can tell this is going to be a great float…”

“You have got to be kidding me…” Faith said.

The swells off Kings Bay, Georgia weren’t bad but there were swells. So the fast-rope hanging from a crane was swaying back and forth. And it was just in reach. She was going to have to step all the way to the edge of the catwalk around the bridge, from which a section of railing had been cut away, and grab it. As it was swaying. And the boat was rocking.

“You’re on a secure line, ma’am,” Sergeant Roosevelt said. Two American Marines were belaying the line attached to her harness. “Even if you miss the grab you’re going to be fine.”

“There is nothing fine about this, Sergeant,” Faith snapped. She wished she could close her eyes but there was no way she was fumbling in mid-air, on the edge of a catwalk, with nothing below here but…well, air.

She leaned out and snatched the rope. The combination of swells and the weight of the rope more or less dragged her off the catwalk and fortunately she got both hands around the rope as it did.

“AAAAAHHHHH!” she screamed as she slid down the slick rope.

“You were supposed to get your legs around it, too, ma’am,” Staff Sergeant Januscheitis said. “And you can let go, now. Ma’am? You can let go…”

Faith slowly unclenched her fingers from the rope.

“And that was a really lousy job, with no disrespect, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “Back up and try it again, ma’am.”

“I don’t wanna be a Marine anymore,” Faith muttered, trotting to the ladder. “I don’t wanna be a Marine anymore…” But she kept it down.

“Wheeee!” Sophia squealed, sliding down the rope. She hit the ground with a spring in her step and bounced back up. “Can I do it again?”

“Go for it, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, grinning.

“That was fun!”

“Ooooraaaah!” Faith said all the way down.

“That, ma’am, was better, and admittedly it’s not the first time I’ve ever heard someone scream ‘Oorah’ in terror , ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “With no disrespect intended, ma’am, it was not exactly motivational. And, again, you need to get your legs around the rope, ma’am.”