There were lights moving their way, though, and he slit his eyes against them, then covered them entirely.
“Sorry about her,” a voice said. “Chemlight coming through. Once she starts a song she’s impossible until it’s done. And that wasn’t enough infecteds to run through Warrior. Thank God it wasn’t Citadel or Winterborn. We’d be here all day.”
“No issues, dude,” Januscheitis said. “Never been gladder to hear fire. Or meet new people. I guess you’re not guys from the Iwo.”
“One of us is,” the dude said as the split continued to sing. And apparently dance. “Hooch is with the other team. But, no, Wolf Squadron. Volunteer group. Mostly civvies with some odds and sods of others. Staff Sergeant Thomas Fontana, Fifth Special Forces Group. And I was just a castaway myself.”
“It’s that fucked up?” Januscheitis said.
“It’s that fucked up. Pretty much totally fucking gone. Chain of command is guys on a radio in the Hole in Omaha. And they’re not moving.”
“Jesus.”
“As I stand before you. With a warrior’s heart now. I can feel the strength that will.
Ensure my victory this tiiiiiiiime… ”
“Okay,” Fontana said. “I guess we can get going now… ”
CHAPTER 3
You cannot exaggerate about the Marines. They are convinced to the point of arrogance, that they are the most ferocious fighters on earth-and the amusing thing about it is that they are.
“Lieutenant, Lieutenant, Staff Sergeant, have a seat,” said “Wolf,” gesturing to the table.
Januscheitis sort of knew the Marine Lieutenant. He’d been an XO in Charlie. The Navy Lieutenant, equivalent of a Marine Captain, he didn’t know. "
“Wolf” looked tired. He should, from the little Januscheitis had picked up. He wasn’t sure how big the “Voyage” thing was but from what people had said it was the size of a supercarrier with about as many compartments. And now here the “Commodore” was clearing the Iwo with one Marine, one SF Staff and a thirteen-year-old split. Who, admittedly, was pretty fucking bad-ass.
“The pamphlet you were given only covers rough details,” Smith said. “And it glosses over a lot of things. The Joint Chiefs is a group of colonels or equivalent and one general… ”
“Excuse me, sir?” the Navy LT said.
“You heard me, Lieutenant,” Smith said. “There are probably more senior officers who’ve survived. Somewhere. But the current acting CNO, being someone who is actually in communication and in direct contact with the NCCC, is a commander. Given that our current count on Navy personnel who are not essentially trapped in subs is… ” He consulted a list. “Seventeen, he’s actually overranked. But we are, now, starting to have some semblance of an actual military force, US military at that, and the question of who is legally permitted to give orders has come up. So, I had a talk with the Chiefs and the NCCC and now you are going to have a chat with the Chiefs, or at least the Navy commander in the Hole and a sub commander that slightly outranks him. Their decision… surprised me. And not in a good way. But they’ll explain it to you.”
He turned his laptop around and nodded as he got up.
“I apparently have to go find a uniform somewhere… ”
* * *
“Lieutenant Joseph Pellerin?” the commander on the screen asked. It was split three ways. The person talking was in some sort of meeting room. One of the guys was a civilian, also in a meeting room; one was another Commander with the background of a sub con.
“Yes, sir,” Pellerin said, cautiously.
“I’m Commander Louis Freeman. The gentleman in the suit is Under Secretary Frank Galloway, the National Constitutional Continuity Coordinator.”
“I was formerly the Under Deputy Secretary of Defense for Nuclear Arms Proliferation Control,” Galloway said. “I was number one hundred and twenty-six on the list of potential NCCCs or Acting Presidents.”
“Hundred and twenty-six?” Januscheitis whispered.
“Also present is Commander Alan Huskey, skipper of the Florida,” Commander Freeman said. “Although I am, technically, the head of the Navy by various regulations, Commander Huskey has me by date of rank as well as being a boomer commander. I have not yet had a command of any vessel as a Commander. It’s not a split in command in any way. But we thought he should be present.”
“Yes, sir,” Pellerin said, blinking.
“You’re barely out of the ship, Lieutenant,” Huskey said, his arms crossed. His uniform fit him loosely and he had the look of prolonged malnutrition. “Are you sure you and your people are up for a difficult conversation?”
“Possibly,” Pellerin replied.
“That would be yes or no, Lieutenant,” Huskey said. “Possibly is not the correct answer.”
“Sir… ” Pellerin said, with a touch of rancor. “It’s not that I just got out of a compartment. Mine had plenty of food and water. I… maintained discipline… ”
“I’ll ignore the pauses,” Galloway said, smiling thinly. “If you’re wondering about the question of ‘what happened in the compartment’… ”
“I’m wondering about the whole thing, Mister Under Secretary,” Pellerin said. “From my perspective, I’m looking at some people in ill-fitting uniforms on a computer. You could all be sitting in the bowels of this ship for all I know. And, yes, I saw a sub on the surface and a couple of people in Coast Guard uniform. But… ”
“You’re suspicious,” Huskey said. “Okay. You saw a sub. How many subs would it take to convince you that Mister Galloway is, functionally, the Acting President and that I and Commander Freeman continue to control all military personnel who are in contact? Because, Lieutenant, that’s the reality. As is the reality that we’re still in a cleft stick. Which we need Wolf Squadron to pull us out of and thus we need Wolf.”
Januscheitis tapped the Navy Lieutenant on the shoulder and waved for some screen time.
“You have input, Staff Sergeant?” Pellerin said, coldly.
“How many subs are there around here, sirs?” Januscheitis asked. “Can you say? With due respect?”
“Not many, frankly,” Huskey replied. “Most of them are in position… elsewhere. Or deep. But are most of the attack boats in the Atlantic around Wolf Squadron? Yes. No reason for them not to be. There is not much else going on. The rest are generally maintaining security for our boomers-such as this one-and providing security to the extent they can for certain coastal installations. What is it going to take for you to recognize that you have a chain of command again, short as it is, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, I… ” Pellerin said then paused as the compartment door opened.
“I was told I should be present for this, sir,” the Marine Gunny said. He was skinny as a rail and his eyes were glossy but his back was still ramrod straight. “Gunnery Sergeant Tommy J. Sands, sir, reporting for duty.”
“Gunny Sands,” Januscheitis said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Jesus.”
“No, a Gunny,” Sands said, walking over and shaking his hand. “But I can see where people get confused. Janu,” he said, clapping him on the back. “Good to see you made it.”
“Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant,” Januscheitis said. He was clearly trying not to cry.
“Get your shit together, Marine,” Sands said. “Sorry, sirs. Old home week.”
“Not a problem, Gunny,” Pellerin said. “We are discussing… We are discussing the CV of persons who are allegedly the remaining chain of command. I am not dismissing that, sirs, it’s just… ”
“I guess caution is in order,” Galloway said, drily. “Gunnery Sergeant, if you’d care to join us.”
“Yes, sir?” Sands said. Januscheitis was already up and waved him to the seat. “And we’re meeting with…?”