“Yes, sir,” the Sergeant Major said.
“There are a million places I could use two former senior NCOs here in the main squadron,” Steve said. “God knows we need the experience and stability. That being said, we have an… opportunity with our littoral clearance flotilla. It’s already gotten a bit large for one Navy Lieutenant to manage and they’ve just lost their only ground combat leader with any significant experience. US Army tanker Specialist. He was the best they had since the Marines are all busy clearing these liners. Sergeant Major, do you have any experience with the fifty-caliber BMG?”
“We used them on our Ferrets, sir,” Barney replied. “Extensive.”
“I’ve got experience with them as well, sir,” Schmidt said. “And in a marine environment. Which I take it this is.”
“Small boats,” Steve said. “Yachts and fishing trawlers converted to gunboats… ”
“Sounds like we’re back to the War, sir,” Barney said.
“My masters thesis was on the defense of Malta,” Steve said. “I’m familiar with Her Majesty’s Navy’s ingenuity in the early part of the War, Sergeant Major. So, yes, very much so. The Flotilla needs some experienced hands. If you turn it down, no foul. As I’ve said, I have plenty of places to put you. This is small boats out on the sharp end. Rocks and shoals and falling over the side in a shark infested harbor in full kit. Which was how we lost Anarchy.”
“I spent my whole career in scouts, sir,” Barney said. “Except for the boat part, it will be old home week, sir.”
“I spent my entire career on carriers,” Schmidt said. “But there ain’t nothin’ I don’t know about the Navy, sir.”
“Few more points I want you both to consider,” Steve said, leaning back. “You’re never going to get what you think of as ‘discipline’ out of these crews. You never do with small units that are frequently out of contact with higher. You didn’t with motor gunboats in the War, you didn’t with PT boats. They’re small boat crews. That’s what they’re like. It’s about motivating, not alienating. That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t follow orders if given orders. They’ve been doing that. But… It’s not carrier ops and it’s not Her Royal Majesty’s Scouts. They’re a bunch of mostly kids who signed up to go shoot zombies without so much as a day of basic training. And you’re going to be the only professionals, except Lieutenant Chen, in the flotilla. That can be, assuredly will be, frustrating. That’s the first point and it’s an ongoing one.
“The second point is getting to the Flotilla. It is continuing operations down the coast. It is, currently, two hundred miles away and getting further away as we speak. Which means we’re going to have to run you down there in an open inflatable fast-boat. It’s not rough today, but it’s going to beat the ever living shit out of you, anyway, gentlemen.
“Last. I’m not quite sure how this happened but about half of the sailors and commanders in the Flotilla are women. Some of the boat commanders are civilian, some military. The gunboats are all commanded by Navy Ensigns and Midshipmen, two out of three are women. They’re willing to take direction but unless you want me to make you officers, and I can in your case, Chief Schmidt, most of your bosses as well as co-workers are going to be women. And they are, even for women, a screwy bunch. You know what the compartments are like. And you’re going to have to manage that, as well. I suspect it’s especially bad with losing Cody. He was a great kid and everybody liked him.
“So, last chance… ” Steve said, raising an eyebrow. “Yay or nay?”
“I’ll need some bloody Dramamine for the ride, sir,” Sergeant Major Barney said.
“Scopalamine patch,” Steve said. “Takes about twenty minutes to kick in and it works better.”
“You’re still going to puke your guts up,” Schmidt growled. “If the Limey’s up for it, how can I say no?”
“By saying no,” Steve said.
“I’m Irish, Chief Petty Officer,” Barney said. “So that would be Mick, Yank.”
“I’m in,” Schmidt growled. “Reporting for duty, sir.”
“Sergeant Major, we have no contact with the British Government,” Steve said. “I therefore cannot reactivate your enlistment nor, as a British Citizen, make you a sergeant major, or Chief, in the US forces. You are therefore a civilian given control over US military personnel due to exigencies of service. There are precedents. I’ll ensure that Lieutenant Chen knows to have you referred to by your former rank. The rank and file won’t have a fucking clue about the difference.”
“Understood, sir,” the Sergeant Major said.
“Chief Petty Officer Schmidt,” Steve said. “With the concurrence of the Acting CNO and the National Constitutional Continuity Coordinator, you are hereby reinducted into the United States Navy with no loss in rank for the duration of hostilities.” Steve slid a piece of paper over. “Sign at the bottom.”
“Married forty-three years, four months, nineteen days, sir,” Chief Schmidt said, pulling out a pen. “Twenty-three of those were in the Navy. Dorene was a great Navy spouse but she never liked it. She said she’d strangle me if I ever joined the Navy again. I guess it’s a good thing I had to do it to her when she turned, sir.”
He signed on the line.
* * *
Puerto De Gulmar was just another damned town with another damned marina. With more damned boats and more damned zombies. And sharks.
“What are you doing?” Sophia asked, walking up on the flying bridge. The pop, pop, of an M4 discharging had made that obvious.
“Shooting sharks,” Olga replied. She had her M4 pointed at the water. “You shoot one, the other ones close in for the kill. Then you’ve got a target rich environment. And they’re not at the bottom of a fucking marina and out of range.”
“Olga,” Sophia said, carefully. “Unload your weapon and hand me the magazine.”
“They ate Cody!” Olga said, angrily.
“I saw,” Sophia said. “Helped pull him out. Remember?”
“You weren’t there!” Olga said. “You didn’t see him. He was trying! He nearly got his… ”
“Seaman Recruit, put down the weapon,” Sophia said. “Put it down. Now.”
“Screw this,” Olga said, throwing the M4 down. “Screw this. Screw this Navy shit… ”
“Olga,” Sophia said. “Sit.”
“No,” Olga said, crossing her arms.
“Sit,” Sophia said. “Now. That was not a request.”
Olga sat down with her arms folded. She looked like she was saving up spit.
Sophia picked up the M4 and unloaded it. She noticed that Olga had put it on safe before tossing it down which showed she wasn’t really round the bend.
“Olga… ” Sophia said, then paused. “Okay, let’s start with, ‘this Navy shit.’ ”
“It’s stupid,” Olga said. “Aye, aye this and three bags full and port and starboard and sheets go on a bed!”
“That’s not a big town,” Sophia said. “And tomorrow, whoever we get to climb aboard a dinghy is going to go in and pull out survivors. And you are going. You’re going not because you want to. But because I’m going to order you to. And if you don’t, Olga, I’m going to put you up on charges.”
“Oh, thanks a lot, Sophia!” Olga said. “Thanks a lot!”
“You’ll spend the rest of your time in the Squadron in a little cabin with other people who have committed crimes,” Sophia said. “Because you raised your right hand and said that you swore to obey orders. You don’t want to go onshore. I know that. But the choice is between going and spending years in a cell. And it will be years, Olga. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be old and white and gray by the time you see a town like this again.”
“I thought you were my friend,” Olga said, crying.
“I am,” Sophia said. “And I’m your commander. And you are going to get in the boat. And you are going to cut out some of those yachts. And you are going to sweep the town. Because if I let you slide, nobody will get on the boats. Nobody will get those yachts. And one of those yachts will find more than the number of people we’ll lose getting them. That’s it. Cold, hard, math. And that’s what all this Navy shit is all about. When it gets down to something like tomorrow, it’s about forcing people to do things they don’t want to do because the alternative is worse.”