“Oh, cool,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Paula Handley, recently promoted to skipper of the Linea Caliente. Glad to see you guys. We could use some people who know what they’re doing. Especially after… ” She paused and shrugged and looked around for her drink. “Hey, come on in the saloon. I’ll get you a beer… ”
“Is Lieutenant Chen aboard?” Chief Schmidt shouted. “We’re supposed to report to him.”
“I think he’s up on the sundeck with Soph,” Paula said. “Go on up there. I think there’s a couple of bottles up there anyway.”
“Okay,” Chief Schmidt shouted.
They made their way past the superstructure to the sun deck. There were four people sitting there in mostly darkness, passing a bottle around.
“Is there a Lieutenant Chen present?”
“Here,” one of the men said. “You the new people?”
“Chief Petty Officer Kent Schmidt, sir,” Chief Schmidt said. “And Sergeant Major Roland Barney, late of Her Majesty’s Light Horse.”
“Light Cavalry, you twit,” Barney muttered.
“Cop a squat, Chief, Sergeant Major,” Chen said, with careful diction. “You are probably wondering about the party.”
“I understand it is a wake for your ground clearance commander, sir,” Barney said.
“More or less,” Chen said. “And we also do it fairly regularly. Not, usually, with this much abandon.”
“With due respect, sir, I hope you’re not normally that free with fire,” Sergeant Major Barney said.
“Depends,” Chen said. “I had them stop when they clearly couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn. And they did. I really should keep the briefing for the morning but we have ops in the morning. So here goes. We go to these little seaside towns. We anchor overnight where there is a clear field of fire on shore. We then play music, fire off flares, keep all our lights on and, yes, frequently have a little party. At dawn, we fire up the zombies that have been attracted to the shore. We then go in and either cut out more boats or clear the town, depending. I’m of two minds on clearing this town tomorrow. But we’re going to have to clean out the harbor of all its large yachts. This is called, Chief?”
“You mean a cutting out expedition, sir?” the Chief said. “I don’t think we’ve done that sort of thing since the War of Eighteen Twelve. If then.”
“But that is our current mission,” Chen said, taking a drink from the bottle. “Littoral clearance and yacht salvage. We then get the yachts in running order, if possible, and continue on to the next town where we have a party, lather, rinse, repeat. With, hopefully, minimal casualties and, just as hopefully, picking up some survivors.”
“You’re going to have your work cut out for you tomorrow, Sergeant Major,” one of the women said. The one from the radio. The accent was strong. “There’s a lot of enthusiasm for killing zombies. And sharks. Not so much for grabbing boats.”
“Lieutenant Sophia Smith,” Chen said. “She will be in charge of the away team tomorrow. When it comes to working with the boats, I listen to Lieutenant JG Smith who grew up in a yachting family.”
“Hey,” Elizabeth said, waving. “Welcome aboard.”
“When it comes to pretty much everything else, I listen to Seawolf,” Chen said. “She’s been doing this since she and her father and sister captured the… What was it, Sophia?”
“Tina’s Toy,” Sophia said, thickly. “Put a bit of a burr under Da’s saddle.”
“That would be Captain Smith,” Chen said.
“The boss,” Sophia said. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“How old are you, ma’am?” Chief Schmidt asked.
“Fifteen,” Sophia said, taking a drink. “A fifteen-year-old who’s seen more dead bodies and chewed up children and shit that nobody should have to see than the Sergeant Major there. Guaran-fucking-teed. And I was in charge of the away team when Cody went in the drink.”
“And we have been attempting to convince her that it was not her fault,” Chen said.
“I think you’re trying to convince yourselves,” Sophia said. “I know it wasn’t. It was just… shit happens.”
“No life preserver, ma’am?” Chief Schmidt asked.
“No,” Sophia said. “No point. We’ve tested it. You can’t do the job with a Class Three; you can’t access your gear. And we wear Marine ballistic protection, not those Navy flak jackets. With that and the weight of ammo and gear, an inflatable won’t support you. And if you go in the drink, it’s the first thing you’ve got to take off. When there’s a specifal… specfical… really bad maneuver like climbing a boarding ladder, we’ll rig up with floats and a safety line. Floats if we can. But he was just cutting out a fucking inflatable and slipped. And that was that. Rusty and Olga got to watch him get torn to mincemeat on the fucking bottom.”
“Bloody hell,” Barney said, shaking his head.
“Then we had to fish him out with a grapnel,” Sophia said, taking another drink. “What was left. That was, by the way, this afternoon, Chief. Sergeant Major. So you shall forgive us, I hope, if we drown ourselves in really good booze. Now, what do you drink? And if you answer ‘I don’t,’ I swear to God I’ll see if you can outswim the fucking sharks.”
“I’m trying to figure out if I’m still a recovering alcoholic,” Chief Schmidt said. “My wife of forty-three years finally convinced me I had a problem. On the other hand, she is no longer with us. But you go right ahead, Lieutenant.”
“I take it back, Chief,” Sophia said. “I’ll go find some of the tea I usually hold back for my sister. Or we’ve got some coke.”
“Coca-cola would be great, ma’am,” the Chief said. “I would normally say an officer should not get a Chief a coke, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stand up again without help.”
CHAPTER 24
Now all you recruities what’s drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an’ ’ark to my lay,
An’ I’ll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what’s fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier
Soldier of the Queen
“Oh,” Sophia croaked, holding her hands over her ears to blot out the sound of the guns. “I have got to either give up drinking or give up early mornings.”
The sun was just rising over the marina of Perto De Gulmar and it was another fine morning in the Canary Islands. Seabirds squawked over the dead bodies of infected as fish jumped to avoid the sharks that were swarming to the flowing blood.
“More water, ma’am,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “When is the rest of the team arriving for the operations meeting, ma’am?”
“After they finish firing and secure, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said. She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced again. “And hopefully after the Tylenol kicks in.”
The chosen target zone was a small beach outside the entrance to the marina. The guns had finished off the infected on the beach and the Golden Guppy raised its three anchors and pulled out to sea. There was another group of infected at the end of the seawall protecting the marina. The problem was, if it fired from its current location, it would be firing into the marina and probably hit some of their target vessels. It moved out to sea, into the rolling combers, and prepared to engage again. This time, it was doing so without anchoring.
The fire was much less on target, with rounds going over the zombies as well as below. The problem with “below” was the large rocks of the jetty. They had various angles to them and tracers went everywhere, including towards the anchored boats.
“Guppy, Division. Check fire, check fire, check fire. Try it again, anchored.”
“I told ’em that wouldn’t work,” Sophia muttered, picking up the radio. “Catenary is a bitch. And we don’t have all day. Division, Senorita, over.”