“Hunter gatherer society?” Rainey said. “Men hunted, women gathered?”
“Men killed, women gathered,” Sophia corrected. “Men brought in less than ten percent of goods to the tribe in really traditional hunter-gatherer societies. With the exception of special conditions like sub-arctic zones and plains where large ungulate hunting was a mainstay, men really didn’t contribute much in the way of game. What they were hunting was men and women from other tribes. Men to kill, women to steal. Sorry, did a paper on it in school. My teacher really hated it but I still got an A cause it was so well researched.”
“Oh,” Lillie said.
“Yeah, not just a pretty face,” Sophia said. “I’ve been teaching myself calculus when I’ve got the time. I find it soothing. Never mind. Last points, usual stuff. Fire in a boat: bad. When you strip boats, even if you’re not grabbing much, grab fire extinguishers. I’m going to scream and holler to hold on to as many as is feasible. The big industrial ones are the bomb. We really should give them up for the ships but I want at least two in every boat if we can swing it. Salt Water goes outside the boat. Keep an eye on your bilge pumps. If you’re pumping a lot, you’ve got a problem. There are ways to fix it but that’s advanced seamanship. Call your Division Commander if you’ve got a leak or anything similar. Ditto a fire onboard, even if you get it put out. Any emergencies, day or night, call me. Sometimes I know the answer, sometimes I don’t, but I still need to know. Even if you’re embarrassed by it. Understood?”
“Understood,” LeEllen said.
“Roger,” Lillie said.
“Tomorrow morning we have this stupid group photo op,” Sophia said, shrugging. “We’ve sort of done them before but not since we’ve been a real ‘Squadron.’ It is going to be, I assure you, a madhouse. Just don’t ding your boats and don’t let anybody else ding your boats. Then we’re out and away. If you can’t start your boat tomorrow morning, I like you and you seem like great people, but… Make sure your boat is good.”
“Got it,” Lillie said.
“Any questions?” Sophia asked.
“Nope,” Lillie said.
LeEllen just shook her head.
“Be up early,” Sophia said. “We’re going to be jockeying around all morning. Be prepared for a lot of hurry up and wait… ”
* * *
“Skipper McCartney,” Sophia said as the meeting broke up. “Moment of your time?”
“Of course, Ensign,” LeEllen said.
Sophia waited until the saloon cleared, with a significant glance at Olga saying “be elsewhere.”
“Or should I say ‘Colonel McCartney?’ ” Sophia asked.
“Please don’t,” LeEllen said with a grimace.
“Most people are automatically reactivated,” Sophia said, sitting down. “I sort of need… clarification?”
“I’m one of your skippers, Ensign,” McCartney said. “No more, no less.”
“But you were a colonel?” Sophia said.
“US Air Force Academy, twenty-four years as an Air Force officer,” LeEllen said. “Retired as a colonel. Same rank as your Father holds now.”
“Sooo… ” Sophia said. “We need skippers, don’t get me wrong. But I’d say Da needs staff officers more.”
“There’s an issue,” McCartney said, shrugging.
“You got courtmartialed?” Sophia asked.
“No,” LeEllen said, snorting. “Got a couple of people out of them.” She looked at Sophia and shrugged. “I guess you really do need some background. I was an SJA Colonel. I retired as the OIC of the MDW SJA office. Not the national, SJA, just the SJA for MDW.”
“Just the fact that you know all those acronyms points out that you might be useful to the cause somewhere other than driving a boat,” Sophia said. “That’s a backhand way of saying I have no clue what you just said.”
“I was a military defense lawyer,” LeEllen said, smiling. “Like a public defender, but for military personnel facing charges.”
“Okay,” Sophia said. “And the rest?”
“I was in charge of the Washington, DC office,” LeEllen said. “That’s where I retired from. Took up boating and then… ”
“Zombie apocalypse,” Sophia said. “Better than being in DC. So why not come back as a colonel?”
“Don’t get me wrong when I say this,” LeEllen said, frowning. “I support what we’re doing here. I even support how we’re doing it. That does not make anything that we’re doing actually legal.”
“It’s not?” Sophia said, grimacing. “I thought we had… what’s that term?”
“Controlling legal authority?” LeEllen said, chortling. “It’s not. Not really. Not fully and legally. That’s the point. I know what ‘controlling legal authority’ and the difference between ‘Laws of Land Warfare’ and regulations are. And I know what the US military is legally allowed to do and what it is not allowed to do.”
“Like… what?” Sophia asked.
“It might, possibly, be legal to slaughter civilian persons some of whom are and some of whom are not American citizens without due process,” LeEllen said. “If we had a clear Congressional Mandate of such. Possibly. But what we are effectively engaging in every time we kill an infected is genocide.”
“So what in the hell are we supposed to do?” Sophia asked, a touch angrily.
“Exactly what we’re doing,” LeEllen said. “I agree with the plan, I agree with the program. But it’s not, technically, legal. No matter if the NCCC says it’s ‘okay.’ That’s why I said ‘Oh, hell, no, I’m not taking back a commission.’ It probably doesn’t matter but my legal side has been screaming every time I see half the stuff we’re doing. Seizing vessels willy-nilly. Clearing foreign towns without clearance from the legal government. No Rules of Engagement at all. Again, it’s a zombie apocalypse. You do what has to be done. But the hell if I’m going to do it as a commissioned officer. Not with my understanding of the issues. For you, probably doesn’t matter. Above your paygrade. But if I came back as a colonel, with my background and expertise, I’d be obligated to object and basically be a pain in the ass. Obligated. Required. And we really don’t need that. So I said ‘Bring me back as a civilian and I can ignore it.’ ”
“That’s… weird as hell,” Sophia said.
“Law’s like that,” LeEllen said, grinning and standing up. She threw up a salute. “By your leave, Ensign?”
“Carry on,” Sophia said, throwing a salute back. “Skipper.”
* * *
“LOBO DE MAR, LOBO DE MAR!” Sophia boomed over the loud hailer. “STAND OFF! STAND OFF! I DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, BUT YOU’RE NOT EVEN IN THE RIGHT PART OF THE HARBOR!”
“THE NORTH END YOU IDIOT!” the skipper boomed back. “THIS IS OUR SECTOR!”
“THIS IS THE SOUTH END! LOOK AT YOUR GOD DAMNED COMPASS IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME! THE NEEDLE POINTS NORTH! NEEDLE! NORTH! WHICH WAY IS THE SODDING NEEDLE POINTING…?”
* * *
“We’re going to have to do this as a pass in review,” Lieutenant Commander Kuzma said. “We can’t get them arranged otherwise.”
“Have the photo team set up on the end of the cruise liner pier,” Steve said. “Move them out as planned, Boadicea first… ”
* * *
“Flotilla Four, all Divisions, over.”
“Division Seven, over,” Sophia said when it was her turn. She was trying not to laugh at the cluster fuck the harbor had become. Zodiacs with swearing officers were zipping all over the harbor trying to get the boats arranged. So far there had been no major collisions which was a miracle. Her own division was, she was sure, in the right spot and properly aligned with their forward and stream anchors down. Not so much the rest of the Squadron.
“Prepare to weigh anchor for pass in review. Man the rails when passing the breakwater. Repeat back.”
“Weigh anchor, aye,” Sophia said. “Pass in Review, aye. Man rails passing breakwater, aye.”
“Stand by for orders to move out.”