“Clear, sir.”
* * *
“You looked like you were going to pass out, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.
“I thought I was going to pass out, Staff Sergeant,” Faith replied.
The “reception to follow” was all ranks and had heavy hors d’ouvres in lieu of dinner.
“I don’t do attention well,” Faith admitted.
“Seriously, ma’am?” Januscheitis said, grabbing a bar stool while it was unoccupied. “You certainly don’t seem to mind attention from zombies. For you, LT.”
Somehow, over the last few weeks, Isham had managed to repair most of the damage to the Alpha’s main saloon. While essentially nothing matched, it had been rearranged to give the impression of “multiple styles” rather than “salvaged bits of junk from a dozen different boats.”
“Why thank you kind sir,” Faith said. “I accept.”
“What’ll you have, Lieutenant?” the bartender said. He looked vaguely familiar but most of the people at the reception were people she knew or who she had seen at least once. There were a few “new” faces, you could tell the freshies, boaties with deep tans, “ghosts” from compartments with no tan at all and all with a “hollowed out” look, but most were people she sort of knew.
“Water,” Faith said. “Unless you’ve got some good juice.”
“I cannot believe we’ve got an LT that only drinks juice and water,” Derek said. “There should be a law.”
“A Marine officer shall be prepared for duty at all times,” Faith said. “Says so right in the instructions manual.”
“I’ve got a really decent pomegranate,” the bartender said.
“I’ll drink anything that’s wet,” Faith said. “Except wine and beer. Or coffee. Or anything with carbonation.”
“Seriously?” Derek said. “No alcohol, no coffee? What are you, ma’am, Mormon?”
“Just don’t like the taste of wine or beer,” Faith said, shrugging.
“And for you, gentlemen?”
“Beer?” Januscheitis asked.
“We’ve got a very nice pale ale on tap,” the bartender said. “Something called Seven Acres. Pretty decent. Didn’t turn.”
“Works for me,” Derek said. “Now, about the Mormon thing… ”
“I don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, don’t like the taste or smell of coffee,” Faith said. “I don’t do carbonation. I don’t even like black teas. I prefer green. I just don’t like the taste. I like good fruit juice and certain kinds of bottled water. I’m really, really, incredibly picky when it comes to taste or texture. Problem, Corporal?”
“No, ma’am,” Derek said. “Just sort of mind boggling. I’m having a hard time with… With Lieutenant Smith, zombie killer and Lieutenant Smith… ”
“ ‘Don’t drink, don’t smoke, what do you do…?’ ” Januscheitis half sang. “Kill zombies.”
“Got it in one,” Faith said. “I don’t do it for moral reasons; don’t mind if other people drink, though they get kind of stupid, but I don’t like the taste.”
“Ever tried straight booze, ma’am?” Januscheitis asked.
“No,” Faith said, shrugging. “Doubt it would change my interest.”
“Try this and see how you like it,” the bartender said, sliding the glass of chilled juice to her. “And your beer, gentlemen.”
“That is pretty good,” Faith said, taking a sip. “It sat in plastic too long, but it’s not bad. Sophia, bless her black little heart, turned up a case of Razzleberry Tea. Now that is good.”
“Oop,” Januscheitis said, setting his beer down and coming to attention. “Commodore, inbound.”
“Easy,” Steve said, walking up behind Faith. “No rank in the mess or something like that.”
“Yes, sir,” Januscheitis said.
“Then is it, ‘Good evening, sir’ or ‘Hey, Da’?” Faith asked, grinning. “I get confused.”
“ ‘Hey, Da’ works,” Steve said. “So this is your posse. I haven’t had time to get introduced.”
“Corporal Douglas,” Faith said, “Staff Sergeant Januscheitis, Captain Smith AKA Commodore Wolf. Derek, Jan, my Da, Steve.”
“Good evening, Captain,” Januscheitis said.
“Good to see you again, Staff Sergeant,” Steve said. “You’re looking better. I’d like to thank you and your men for clearing the Iwo. That had to be double tough.”
“From what I’ve gotten, not as hard as clearing the Voyage, sir,” Januscheitis said. “Lieutenant Fontana has had a couple of choice words to say on the subject.”
“The Voyage fucking sucked,” Faith said taking a pull of her juice. “The Voyage is why I wish I did drink.”
“Choice words like those, sir,” Januscheitis said.
“Clearing your own ship with your own personnel had to have its own issues,” Steve said.
“Are we going to get it back in operation, sir?” Derek asked.
“Not right now,” Steve said. “I wanted to use the hover craft for future ops but after due consideration, we don’t even have enough technical people, at this time, to flood the wash deck. Or maintain the AACs. We will need it for future operations, when we can use it. But not right now. That brings up a point which I need some honest and open input on. Our usual technique with something like this is to spread dermestid carrion beetles to reduce the logistics effort of clearing the remains. I’m taking an informal poll of how negative the reaction to that would be in the case of the Iwo.”
“Carrion beetles, sir?” Derek said.
“Da’s little black helpers,” Faith said. “Da, did you know one of your nicknames behind your back is Captain Carrion?”
“No, but I’m not surprised,” Smith said. “They are fast reproducing beetles that only eat dead flesh. Depends on how many you start with but open all the watertight doors to areas that have human remains, dump some in, wait a couple of months and what you have is picked clean skeletons. Oh, and decks covered in beetles. Which can then be vacuumed up and in many cases reused.”
“Ugh,” Januscheitis said, twitching. “That’s, uhm… ”
“Simple, brutal and effective,” Faith said. “Sort of like a Saiga. The Coasties didn’t particularly like it when we did it to their cutter. But a team of ten only took a day to collect all the skeletons and we could give them a decent burial. Even if we didn’t know which was which.”
“The infected, in case you hadn’t noticed, even tear off their dog tags,” Steve said. “I’m going to let the surviving Marines and Navy personnel have some time to consider it. But… clearing the dead from the ship is going to be a major undertaking. And while the few people we have left are doing that, they can’t be doing something more useful. Not to mention, it, well, sucks. Bodies are heavy. Skeletons… not so much. Like I said, give it a few days thought, discuss it amongst yourselves.”
“So, different subject, sir?” Faith said.
“Preferably,” Steve said. “What’s next, right?”
“I understand you intend to clear Gitmo, sir?” Derek said.
“Once the tropical season is past, yes,” Steve said. “We’re working on methods of doing so. Which is, in fact, next. Tomorrow we’ll be testing out a new weaponry system for heavy littoral clearance. We needed enough rounds just to do the testing which the Iwo fortunately has. If the test is successful, we’ll then move on to actual clearance tests to see if it really works. They really work since there are two different systems. If those systems work, we’ll use them to clear some minor islands in the Eastern Atlantic, then in early December, move down to Gitmo.”
“That sounds like a plan, sir,” Januscheitis said.
“So what are these ‘littoral clearance systems’?” Faith asked.
“Oh, I think you’ll like them,” Steve said.
CHAPTER 8
37. There is no “overkill.” There is only “open fire” and “I need to reload.”