“Not so far,” Isham said.
“When we do, that’s mine,” Steve said. “Yes, there is an element of greed to that. But mostly it’s that I’m damned if I’m going to spend the entire trip on the liner. I haven’t met half the people in the squadron at this point and I am going to get out there at the front. I’ll do it in an inflatable if I have to, but something designed for long runs in open ocean would be preferable.”
“I’ll make a note,” Isham said. “Find the commander a drug runner special.”
“I’m serious,” Steve said. “I’m not getting stuck in the liner the whole trip. That’s what you’re for, Jack.”
“I’ll stay on the liner,” Isham said. “You can have your drug runner special. If we can find one… ”
* * *
Isham drummed his fingers on his desk thinking. He didn’t really like Smith. He’d gotten to where he sort of respected him, which he hadn’t when they’d met. But he still didn’t like him.
On the other hand, he didn’t like people who worked for him doing a half-ass job and he refused to do one himself. He’d taken this job and he was doing it, he thought, pretty damned well. He’d thought about subtly fucking the guy but it wasn’t worth the effort. Not to mention, this was the only game in town. He’d talked to the guys in the Hole and the Squadron seemed like the only thing getting organized in the whole world. They monitored radio and were peering through satellites and there wasn’t what you called much in the way of signs of life. Not intelligent and civilized life. That one satellite dude said that he’d been looking at satellite stuff for twenty years and never realized the world could be this dark.
Which was the answer to the question. The flotillas weren’t finding any cigarette boats as it was going. So… get somebody else to look…
He tapped his keys and connected to the Boise.
“Boise, I need a direct link to Master Sergeant Doehler in the Hole… ”
* * *
“Puerto de las Nieves,” Doehler said, looking at a screen to the side. “I’d already spotted it. That’s the nearest to your flotilla working the east side of the island. It’s across the straight on Santa Lucia de Tirjana.”
“Where?” Isham asked.
“Look out your window, sir,” Doehler said. “Since you have one. Big island across the strait southeast of Santa Cruz de Tenerife. It’s about forty miles due east of their current position.”
“Okay,” Isham said. “Spell that name… ”
“Why don’t I just send you an email?” Doehler said.
* * *
“We’re crossing the strait,” Lieutenant Chen said, thumbing out the window. “Some place called Puerto de las Nieves. Three large yachts and, specifically, a cigarette boat.”
“Ooo,” Sophia said. “Who gets that?”
“Your father,” Chen said. “He apparently needs it to move around the squadron during the crossing. So… Plans… ”
* * *
“Well, I’ll say this for the job,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “We certainly go some pretty places.”
Puerto De Las Nieves translated as “Port of the Snow.” It should have translated as “Port of the Cliffs.” Tall volcanic bluffs reared up two and three hundred feet over the crystal-clear water.
“And a sort of tricky harbor,” Sophia said. “Not the marina part but you get over by those cliffs and I just know there’s some nasty rocks.”
“We’ll target the ferry dock and the inner harbor,” Chen said. “First Division will take the inner harbor. I’m going in on a RHIB to check the water. That looks like it could get nasty. Second division, set up to engage at the ferry dock from inside the break water, guns pointed out to sea. First Division stand by.”
“I suppose there will be more bloody music tonight,” the Sergeant Major said.
“I could see if anyone has any swing, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said.
“I’m not that bloody old, ma’am,” Barney said. “However, if you’re going to play rock and roll, ma’am, why couldn’t it be rock and roll for God’s sakes.”
“Such as,” Sophia asked.
“Beatles,” the Sergeant Major said. “Rolling Stones. The Birds. Even the bloody Beach Boys or Jimmy Hendrix! This modern stuff has no soul, no heart!”
“Would you like some Cream with that whine Sergeant Major,” Sophia said, laughing. “How can you like Rolling Stones and not like Avenged Sevenfold? Among other things, they play guitar better than Peter Frampton and there is nothing like a modern drummer compared to those old fogies! Listen to DragonForce some time and tell me that John Bonham could keep up.”
“John Bonham, ma’am, was a bloody genius,” the Sergeant Major said, proudly.
“I’ll tell you what, Sergeant Major,” Sophia said. “I’ll set up a playlist for tonight that combines the two. We’ll discuss it.”
* * *
“Okay, ma’am!” the Sergeant Major shouted over Through Fire and Flames. “How the hell do they bloody do that?”
“Are you talking about the guitar or the drums?” Sophia shouted.
“Yes! I play the guitar and that’s impossible!”
“I’ve heard their fingers bleed at concerts,” Sophia said. “Well, did. Probably dead. And I’ve done it on Guitar Hero!”
“What the hell is… Never mind. It’s a bloody video game again, isn’t it…?”
* * *
“Commodore,” Captain Wilkes said, saluting. He was still covered in gear and weapons and thus “under arms.” “The last liner is clear. Ish.”
“Ish?” Steve said, returning the salute.
“We’re sure we got all the survivors out,” Wilkes said. “We’re also sure there are some infected in the bilges. I’m a Marine, sir, but I would like to raise objection to sending my men, and women, into the bilges just to hunt down a couple of CHUDs.”
“CHUDs?” Steve said. “Oh… New acronym?”
“You eventually get tired of saying ‘infected’ and Corporal Douglas points out at every opportunity that they are not the living dead,” Wilkes said. “We tried zeds but he figured it out. The Gunny told him to lay off but now we know whenever we say…. Sir, the liner is clear, sir.”
“Faith once suggested Zylons,” Steve said. “Captain, go get your gear off then get some rest. That goes double for my daughter.”
“Yes, sir,” Wilkes said. “She’s a real asset, sir. Motivation goes a long way and motivation combined with… sort of existential fury goes even further, sir. Now if I could just get her to compose a coherent sentence… ”
“Later for that, Captain,” Steve said. “Three days off for the men and junior NCOs. Up to you on the officers. We’ve got to detail the distribution of the Marines for clearance on the trip over. But that will wait until you’re less bleary tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Wilkes said. “I’m at that point where you can’t decide between shower, bed or food.”
“Go, Captain,” Steve said, making a shooing motion. “I’d suggest bed.”
When the captain had left he picked up his phone.
“Communications, to all Flotillas. Return morning Santa Cruz.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hit another speed dial.
“Isham.”
“Marines are done. Three days. Schedule the first planning meeting for tomorrow morning.”
“Got it. I’ll get a count on the boats. Oh, your cigarette boat is on the way. You’re welcome.”
* * *
“Oh, god, what now?” Faith said at the knock on the door. She was stretched out on her bed, too exhausted to bother picking up a book. “There’s nobody here! We went shopping in Santa Cruz!”
“Open the door, Faith,” Sophia said. “I did go shopping.”
“Well, I’m glad you had time,” Faith muttered, getting up slowly. “Hang on.”
“I come bearing gifts,” Sophia said, shouldering past her. “What’s gotten under your skin?”