John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

“I am going to sit on you!” Faith sputtered. “I’ll do it!”

“Have either of you considered that you’re both still jailbait , ladies?” Januscheitis said loudly.

“I. Will. Clear. Arkansas .” Faith said.

“The good news is we can put in on the Tower Green,” Captain Wilkes said, pointing to the overhead. “There used to be trees. Pretty obviously, they’ve been cutting them up for heat. Gives us enough room, barely, to put in the 53.”

“We’ll load up the first sortie in with supplies, sir,” Hamilton said. “Along with a small Marine security detachment. It’s possible that they may want to leave a token force behind. Then pull out all the refugees. We’ll have to determine the pattern of extraction on the ground. I’ll leave that up to them.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said. “Any questions?”

“Comment?” Sophia said. “Navy Security could handle the insertion just fine, sir. It’s not like we’re going to fast-rope in.”

“But it is the correct way to do the operation,” Steve said. “ And, daughters of mine, it is time to stop playing around and focus on the mission, not who gets to…meet the prince first.”

“Marines, Ensign,” Hamilton said drily. “And as your father said, neither of you get to…Ahem. It will be Marines, Ensign. And, yes, that means sending your sister.”

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said.

“Oorah, sir,” Faith said. “But it’s me!”

“Colonel, sir,” Faith said, tapping at his door. “Moment of your time?”

The small convoy of ships had passed Margate, England and was picking its way, slowly, through the bay of the Thames. Slowly, because according to the Louisville , which was preceding them with active blasting, the area was littered with wrecks. Some of them were ships so large that they were definite hazards to navigation. The Thames itself was simply impenetrable by any ocean-going vessel.

They had one more day to get ready for the mission and the last niggling details were being cleared up.

“Enter,” Hamilton said, leaning back in his chair. “Another issue?”

“Possibly, sir,” Faith said. “It overlaps personal and professional, sir. I would prefer to handpick my landing team, sir.”

“My guess is that would include Staff Sergeant Januscheitis?” Colonel Hamilton asked.

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“Approved,” Hamilton said. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” Faith said, slightly surprised.

“I was going to suggest it,” Hamilton said. “And as soon as some Navy personnel get trained in on helo support, he’s moving back to the platoon. All of the Marines except air-crew are moving back. I’m sending the gunnery sergeant as well. So it will be you, a gunnery sergeant, the staff sergeant and I’d suggest letting the staff sergeant choose the rest of the team. My suggestion on that is either the Dutch Marines or Second Squad. Second is Iwo-heavy.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said, clearly puzzled.

“Is there anything else?” Hamilton asked.

“No, sir,” Faith said.

“Dismissed.”

“Okay, why doesn’t this bother me?” Faith shouted.

The tail ramp of the CH-53 Super Stallion was down and she was hanging onto a stanchion while standing on the ramp. She had a safety-strap on but that shouldn’t have been much consolation. It was a long way down.

The view, though, was spectacular. If Armageddon was your choice of views. Everything was burned. Fires had raged through London and its sprawling outskirts. The 53 was following the line of the Thames and the devastation was enormously evident. Ships and boats were sunk all along the river. The houses and wharfs on either side of the river were ruins. There were infected crawling everywhere she looked. It was enough to give her chills. The reason they were following the river was that if they went down, they’d have a better chance in the water than on land .

“Survivors,” Januscheitis shouted, ignoring the question. He was pointing to the north. There were definitely people on a miraculously unburned building, waving at the passing helo.

“We’ll determine if we’re going to do extraction later,” Faith shouted. She looked at her watch and tried to figure out the landmarks. They were passing over a dropped bridge so that meant…

“Time to get on game face,” Faith shouted as the helo slowed and banked. And banked tighter. Then she clutched the stanchion in both hands. “SON OF A BITCH!”

“There it is!” Januscheitis shouted, pointing down.

The outline was engraved on her brain and she even knew most of the portions of the fortress. Develin Tower. The Bloody Tower. The Traitors’ Gate. And there were survivors. Quite a few. Most were in British camo standing sentry or manning machine guns that tracked the helo suspiciously. A few civilians ran out into the open areas, waving at the 53.

As they passed over the Bailey, Januscheitis tossed out a radio attached to a small parachute. The helo banked away and out, spiraling upwards.

Faith pulled a set of cans off a hook and put them on.

“Hello? Jolly good to see you, Yanks. Captain Carl Whiteshead, First Royal Rifles. Over.”

“Lieutenant Faith Smith, United States Marine Corps,” Faith replied. “Plan is as follows. We have supplies in case you wish to leave a token force. Land on Tower Green, unload security element, unload supplies, load refugees. Given the numbers we’re seeing here, at least two lift sorties. Then the last of the last go out. We cannot guarantee resupply any time in the next six months. So we’re bringing in one year’s supply for twenty people. All we can loft. You’re going to need to figure out if anyone stays and if so who. Is that all clear, over?”

“Roger. Define security element, over.”

“One squad of Marines to assist with loading of refugees, over.”

“Understood. Be aware, you will be under guns until we determine you are, in fact, United States Marines. Over.”

Faith looked at Januscheitis. He nodded and mouthed “Makes sense.”

“Understood,” Faith replied. “Make sure all your personnel know to stay away from the rotors at the rear. It would be a real bitch to spread some of your people all over the walls if they walk into them. Clear the Green and we’re inbound.”

“We’re clearing it, now. Come ahead. Out.”

“Captain Wilkes?” Faith said, switching to intercom.

“Preparing to land,” Colonel Kuznetsov said. “Thirty seconds.”

“On your feet, Marines,” Faith shouted, waving for the Marines to stand up. She took off the cans, put on her helmet, then grinned at Januscheitis. “This is the good part.”

“I’m not counting chickens till they’re all in the boat, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, buckling his own helmet. “Remember to stay away from the rotors yourself, ma’am!”

“Roger,” Faith said, holding the stanchion in a death grip as the helo slowly crested the walls of the Tower. She was fine high for some reason. A thousand feet was just sort of surreal. Fifty feet scared the shit out of her. They were low enough she could see the sentries on the walls clearly and was surprised that they were Oriental. Her innate and highly trained paranoia went off like an alarm bell and she started tapping her pistol.

“Ma’am?” Januscheitis said. He could read her like a book.

“The guards!” Faith shouted, pointing. “They’re not English!”

Januscheitis peered at the one guard in sight suspiciously, then grinned.

“Your knife, ma’am!” the Marine shouted as they flared out.