“One of our stewards kept trying to open the door,” Arras said, wincing. “We couldn’t keep him from trying. And we couldn’t keep him tied up all the time. Finally, there was an… incident.”
“What happens in the compartment, stays in the compartment,” Januscheitis said. “We’ll get some of the ‘Welcome to Wolf Squadron’ brochures printed up. Mostly it’s about making sure that people don’t think that what happened in the compartment is still okay after you get out. As soon as we’ve ensured the ship is free of infected, you can have the run of it.”
“However,” Faith said. “There is the issue of usage. And support. We’re almost entirely marine-based at this point. We’ve only cleared a few of these small towns and they’re only rough-cleared. We need people to help and we need this ship to tote those people. We’re running out of room with the ships that we’ve got. Which is good, it means more survivors. But we still need this ship. It’s in good shape compared to most we find and it’s fully ocean capable. So… ”
“I can’t exactly contact the owners for permission,” Kyle said, drily. “I’m not sure how the passengers will take it.”
“I generally start with ‘it’s better than being eaten.’” Faith said.
* * *
“Is your Lieutenant as young as she looks?” Kyle asked Januscheitis when they had a moment alone.
“Younger,” Januscheitis said. “Thirteen.”
“Bloody hell,” Kyle said. “How does one become a Marine lieutenant at thirteen?”
“Well, it helps that her father is the senior officer that’s not trapped somewhere and is acting Commander Atlantic Fleet,” Januscheitis said. “But mostly it’s a matter of being one of the four people who cleared the Voyage of infecteds. And from what they said, about half the passengers and crew survived. As infecteds. How’d you put it? ‘Bloody abattoir.’ They went through twenty thousand rounds of ammunition in three weeks.”
“Oh,” Kyle said, clearly envisioning what the blindsided battle must have been like in the cave-black caverns of the massive “super-max” cruise liner. “Hell. That had to be… ”
“Clearing this was a walk in the park for her,” Januscheitis said. “You can tell she’s happy we found so many survivors and bored with the few dozen infected. There’s a video of her boarding the Voyage that’s both frightening and hilarious. She gets repeatedly dogpiled by infected and comes up over and over again, having killed them all. Which is why we call her Shewolf and us big, tough devil-dogs follow her around like, well, puppies.”
“You do know who Boadicea was, right?” Kyle said.
“No,” Januscheitis said. “We figured it was Spanish or something.”
“Really?” Kyle said, obviously trying not to laugh. “Seriously…?”
* * *
“Okay, so, mission for today is… ” Faith said, then paused, flicking off her safety. “Kirby, two steps left.”
“Two steps left, aye,” Kirby said, taking two steps to the left.
Faith lifted her AK and fired twice.
“Clearing this town,” she continued, flicking her safety back on as the two infected that had been loping down Paseo De Fred Olsen dropped. “Which obviously needs some additional clearance.”
“Ma’am,” Januscheitis said, raising his hand.
“Staff Sergeant?”
“Point of order. Found out what ‘Boadicea’ means. Sorta funny story… ”
* * *
“Command, Team Two.”
“Command,” Faith said. She could hear the crack of rounds over the radio call from Januscheitis team.
“We’ve hit a big concentration of infected on… Calle Mahona or something. About fifty. Oh, and we’re sort of lost… ”
“Can you break contact?” Faith asked, waving for Derek to stop.
“Roger,” Januscheitis said.
“Try to rendezvous at… Calle de la Era. It’s back towards the port. There’s a little square on the map. We’ll meet you there.”
“We’ll try to find it,” Januscheitis said.
“We’ll set up a kill zone there,” Faith said. “Try to lead them back.”
“Don’t think that’s going to be a problem… ”
“See if you can get this thing turned around, Derek.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
* * *
“So why don’t we use.308 as a rifle round?” Faith asked looking through binoculars at the oncoming infected tumbling before the MG240.
“It’s heavy, ma’am?” Januscheitis said, taking a sip of water. It had taken the team some time to find their way around the twisty streets of the town and back to the square at the intersection of Calle De La Era and Calle Del Guincho. “It overkills?” he added as one of the tracers passed through an infected and pinged into the distance.
“There is no such thing as ‘overkill,’ Staff Sergeant,” Faith said.
“There is only ‘Open fire’ and ‘Reloading,’ yes, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “You can carry more five five six. And, yes, I am doing the math, ma’am. Given five rounds of five five six, it would be less weight to carry three oh eight. You can’t fire it on full auto. But nobody who has any sense fires full auto anyway. I dunno, ma’am. One of those mysteries of the military, I guess.”
“I suspect it’s some deeply laid plot,” Faith said. “There were Pentagon weanies involved.”
“There usually are, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “I think they’re all winnowed down.”
“And I can see survivors waving from a rooftop,” Faith said, lowering the binos. “Now if we can just figure out how to find them in this maze… ”
* * *
“Hello!” Faith said through the bullhorn. “This rescue is courtesy of the American taxpayers and the United States Marine Corps… ”
* * *
“Where the hell are these all coming from?” Derek asked, reloading.
“See all these little alleyways?” Faith said. She’d unassed from the little Toyota SUV they’d been using and was covering the rear.
“It was sort of rhetorical, ma’am,” Corporal Douglas said.
“Who gave you permission to use a three letter word, Corporal?” Faith said, dropping three infecteds with three shots.
“Freaking Barbie gun!” Kirby shouted, as the infected continued to stumble forward despite putting what felt like half a mag into him. “Die already!”
“Oh, let me handle this,” Faith said, turning around. She dropped the remaining five infected forward and dropped her still partial magazine for a reload. “I swear five five six is designed to just piss bad guys off.”
“I’m starting to see what you mean, Skipper… ”
* * *
“Any other issues?” Lieutenant Chen asked.
Most of the survivors of the Boadicea were pitching in with a will to help clear it. A survey and recovery team, including a master mariner and a qualified engineer, were on the way from the Squadron. The Division was to stay in place until they arrived.
There had been thirty-two survivors found in San Sebastian De La Gomera. Together with the survivors from La Puntilla and La Playa, that made forty-eight survivors from a total of about four thousand inhabitants. Which was bloody awful.
“Patrick tells me we’ve sustained what appears to be a deadline,” Sophia said, raising her hand. “Oil pump for the tranny is out. He can probably jury-rig something, but there aren’t any parts in any of the parts places here in Gomera for it. And it would be a jury-rig. I’d hate to have it crap out on us at sea. You know how rough it can get.”
“I’m sure,” Chen said, drily. “I find this convenient, Lieutenant. Wouldn’t have anything to do with a really sweet seventy-five, would it?”
The marina of San Sebastian De La Gomera was huge compared to La Puntilla or La Playa. And it still had quite a few boats in it. Most were sailboats, which the flotilla couldn’t use, or small “fast” boats, outboards or inboard outboards. But a few large motor yachts had been left behind. And one of them, a 75' Maiora, Bella Senorita, was just sweet as hell. Benefits included that it was in working order and hadn’t been torn up by infecteds. Not to mention the marble counters and hot tub.