Islands of Rage and Hope (eARC) Page 7

  "We've got the grain silos cleared in south Vicksburg and as long as we don't show any lights at night the zombies don't cluster. Bring ammo if you're coming in. Even any reloading material you find. We've got the equipment if you've got the primers..."

  From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall

  University of the South Press 2053

  "...Understood. Division out." Sophia switched back to division frequency.

  "Business, Friday, Bella, over."

  "Risky Business."

  "Finally Friday, over."

  "Here's the orders. We have until day after tomorrow, oh-eight-hundred, for rear area activities, whatever those are. So we've got the rest of the afternoon and all day tomorrow. Rotate your crews as you see fit. Crews and skippers can visit Boadicea or Tan. Tan is for supply issues. Boadicea is for downtime. Either the skipper or two crew members must be onboard. I'm hereby amending that to two crew, period. So figure out your rotation schedule and then send them off to the Bo. Friday, clear, over?"

  "Bella, Friday. Two aboard, day and a half off. Over."

  "Business, clear, over?"

  "Got it, Bella. Will do."

  "Okay," Sophia said, turning around. She'd taken the belowdecks helm for the short conference and the crew were in the saloon directly behind. "You all get that?"

  "Got it, Skipper," Walker said.

  "Tom, you probably want to get your head down?"

  "I could use some sleep, yes," Walker said.

  "I'll take first watch on the boat," Sophia said. "You can be the second onboard. Rest of you can head out if you want. I need at least one of you back by midnight. Any questions?"

  "There's a market on the Bo, ma'am," Batari said. "I could use some spices and condiments. Can I take some stuff to trade?"

  "Go and look, first," Celementina said. "I would like to go over to the Tan, too. For the same. Look and see what they have t'ey're not giving up. We might still have some stuff t'ey want to trade. I can' believe you gave up all my spares."

  "They don't fit our boat," Sophia pointed out.

  "I could have used them to trade with t'ese other boats, Skip," Celementina said. "I bet I find parts for t'e Friday."

  "Just don't lose the offshore," Walker said. "I guarantee that people are just taking off in those. If I may suggest, Skipper, one of us stay on the offshore. I can stay up, run people around. Then go back and get them at midnight. That's plenty of sleep. Probably they can cadge rides around. Then tomorrow, if they've made any deals, we can close them. But that would leave just you onboard."

  "Friday, Business, Bella, over," Sophia said, keying the radio.

  "Business."

  "Friday."

  "Have the second crewman take your people where they want to go. Pick-up will be at the Bo at midnight. If they want to go someplace else, they can catch a ride. Do not leave your dinghies or offshores tied up and unattended. Copy?"

  "Business. Why, over?"

  "They go missing," Sophia radioed.

  "Got it."

  "Friday, aye."

  "Okay," Sophia said. "Any more questions or comments?"

  "When are you going to the Bo, ma'am?" Walker asked.

  "Not sure I am," Sophia said, shrugging. "I'm good onboard. You can either head over on midwatch or you can head over tomorrow."

  "Do we have to be back by midnight?" Olga asked, pouting. "There may be interesting things going on afterwards. Parties don't usually get really going until around eleven. And there might be handsome Marines aboard."

  "No," Sophia said. "That's when the boat's coming to pick people up. If you stay overnight, we'll run another boat over at oh-eight hundred. And I'm sure you can convince somebody to give you a ride."

  "I'm sure of that," Olga said, brightening. "Oh, you meant on a Zodiac? That could be fun."

  "Bella Senorita, Squadron, looking for Bella Actual if aboard, over."

  The sun was slowly setting in the west and Sophia was thinking about getting some more clothes on. She'd been in her usual bikini. But the temperature hadn't really dropped, yet.

  "Bella Actual," Sophia replied. "Hi, Da."

  "You coming to the Bo, over?"

  "Not today," Sophia said. "Gave my crew some time off. Over."

  "Roger. Squadron out."

  "Well," Sophia said. "That was abrupt. Love you, too, Da."

  Sophia had slipped into a track suit when the sun went down. She only had one Navy uniform and she saved that for when she needed it.

  There were Zodiacs moving around from boat to boat all the time but one was headed her way. Since theirs was alongside it was either crew coming back early or somebody coming for a courtesy call.

  "Bella Senorita, Squadron Actual, over."

  "Bella Actual, over," Sophia replied.

  "Mind if your mom and I come aboard?"

  "Glad to have you," Sophia said. "Sorry about not coming over to the Bo. I wanted to give my crew the time off."

  "Which is why you're an ensign. We're approaching in a Zod. Be there in a jiff."

  "I was planning on coming over tomorrow," Sophia said, hugging her mother.

  "You don't want us on your boat?" Stacey teased. "Not keeping your room clean?"

  "My boat is ready for inspection," Sophia said. "My rack, not so much. And Batari is over on the Bo. So I'm going to have to cook."

  "I think I can remember how to find my way around a galley," Stacey said.

  "I need to head to the helm," Sophia said. "I'd wake Thomas up but he's been running since midwatch last night."

  "I'll join you if you don't mind," Steve said.

  "We see each other plenty," Stacey said. "I think I see him more doing this than when we were home."

  Walker woke up at the sound of voices and slid his hand under the pillow. Then he heard the skipper laugh and went instantly back to sleep.

  "How are things going?" Sophia asked, sitting down at the interior helm. The boat was on autopilot so all she had to do was be there for emergencies and to monitor the radio.

  "As well as could be expected," Steve said. "Better even. The night sky video has helped immensely with some building pressures from the Euro block."

  "That's the second time I've heard about that video," Sophia said. "Description?"

  "Watch it," Stacey said, laying out some sushi rolls. "It's better if it's not described. Then you'll come back and watch it again."

  "We'd gotten a video from The Hole to show to our people," Steve said. "It was powerful but I ran it past Zumwald as a cross check. He said let him have it and he'd get back to me. Came back a week later with a new one. And it was, yeah, better. But you do need to see it. I think it's over the top. Most people don't agree."

  "I suspect you'll hate it," Stacey said. "And not be able to keep from crying. Your cook left these in the fridge. What is the fish? It's good."

  "Something we found under a raft," Sophia said. "It looked like a triple tail but it wasn't. I was sort of afraid of eating it but Batari just chopped it up."

  "Putting cooks on the small boats is making more sense," Steve said. "But there's a bunch of work to do on the large ships, too. And you really can't have people trying to cook for themselves, there."

  "So what's the problem with the Eurotrash?" Sophia asked, taking a sushi roll. The fish was still fresh and richer even than tuna.

  "The Euros are, understandably, interested in when the squadron is going to put some ships over clearing Europe," Steve said, shrugging. "I'm sure that when I do, Americans will ask why we're not putting all our resources to the U.S. And China has officially requested aid."

  "Hell, we don't even have a Pacific squadron clearing the West Coast," Sophia said. "We're not even clearing the East Coast."

  "We're getting there," Steve said. "Now that the tropical season is over we can work our way in. I'm looking at various concepts. We'll do it. And Europe and, yeah, Asia. Somebody has to..." he added, rubbing his face.

  "Da, it's not all on you, you know,"
Sophia said softly.

  "No, it's not," Steve said. "It's on all of us. But we'll get it done. Well, we'll get it more done. I want lights on. I want cities lit. Small cities, mind you. There's not going to be many left of us on the land. But we'll get it done. How is the clearance going?"

  "We find boats, we clear boats," Sophia said, shrugging. "Same old same old. Occasional odd items. No biggie."

  "Having any problems with your skippers?" Steve asked.

  "No," Sophia said. "They're good and they're getting better. Teaching them to teach their crews is the tough part. They're learning. Thomas has been a damned blessing, I'll tell you that."

  "The ESL teacher?" Steve said, taking a bite of sushi.

  "He's more than an ESL teacher," Sophia said. "I don't know what, but he's a damned good shot. He's covered in scars. Not like Olga; I know combat scars at this point and he's been blown up and shot so many times he must be held together with stitching like Frankenstein's monster. And he's like a walking dictionary, not to mention a walking translator bot. He says he's a man of many parts. I'm wondering how many."

  "That sounds like an issue," Steve said, frowning. "If he's been less than forthcoming, that's a trust issue."

  "He's been less than forthcoming," Sophia said. "But I trust him. Totally. I don't know why I do. Yes, I do know. He's former military. U.S. He feels like Fontana, you know? He says he was a truck driver but his records got lost. Bull. He was an NCO or something. A senior one. He sort of has that feel. Not like a gunny. Army. But he doesn't, too. Like, he has a quote for everything, like you, Da. But, I dunno. There's more. All I know is I trust him and he's one hell of an asset."

  "Should I look into it?" Steve asked.

  "I'd prefer you didn't," Sophia said. "You're the boss and it's up to you. I don't know why he doesn't come out and say what he really was, but I'd hate to lose him."

  "I ever talk about the French Foreign Legion?" Steve asked.

  "Not really, no," Sophia said. "I sort of know what it is."

  "More like was," Steve said. "Formed by Louis the Fourteenth to build up his forces. It only takes non-French volunteers as enlisted men. All the officers are French. The 'enlisted' over the years have included generals from other armies, usually ones that were on the run for some reason. They're given new names and new identities and as long as they do their full term of service, with honor, they can live under them for the rest of their lives as full French citizens. After World War Two it was filled with former SS, many of them under death sentences for their actions in World War Two. You practically had to speak German to be in a French unit."

  "That's screwy," Sophia said.

  "It worked for centuries with one notable exception," Steve said. "A mutiny in the 1960s that was an attempted coup. Point being, I'm sure there are all sorts of people in the squadron who have taken the opportunity to become someone else. To forget what they were. As long as they don't screw up, badly, I'll take that. The problem being, leopards don't usually change their spots."

  "I'd say his spots are red, white and blue," Sophia said.

  "I'll take that."

  "You missed me mum and da," Sophia said as Walker came up from the cabins. He was showered, shaved and his iron gray hair neatly styled. Not bad for four hour's sleep after a nearly twenty-four-hour run.

  "Heard them, could tell they were friends, went back to sleep," Walker said. "Any food left?"

  "We made more," Sophia said. "When I heard you getting up I made fish tacos."

  "You, Skipper, are a drunkard's dream," Walker said, uncovering the dish and spooning some of the meat onto a pita.

  "Da was curious about you," Sophia said. "And a touch paranoid."

  "Why?" Walker asked.

  "Because I know a fraud when I see one," Sophia said. "Which isn't quite right. You're not a fraud in the classic sense. You're just not saying everything."

  "True," Walker said, shrugging. "If that's an issue I will, reluctantly, ask for a transfer."

  "I told him you were former military," Sophia said. "Certainly more than four years. Probably a retired senior NCO although you've been an officer. Probably an instructor in something technical with combat experience. From the languages and combat experience, that says Special Forces. And you're not really like a gunny or a sergeant major. And that I didn't consider you a threat or I wouldn't have given you a weapon. Also that I'd pitch a tantrum if he tried to pull you off my boat being a 'good da.'"

  "You, young lady, live up to your name," Walker said, smiling. "Correct on virtually all particulars. Is it an issue?"

  "Nope," Sophia said. "As long as it's not an issue. Da said most people who change their background can't change their spots. I said yours were red, white and blue. If that's not the case, then there's probably an issue."

  "I wouldn't put it quite so patriotically," Walker said, shrugging. "I've never been one to wrap myself in the flag. Probably because many who do didn't really accept all that it represented, good and bad, and others did so for personal gain rather than true patriotism. But what I do wrap myself in is what this squadron represents. Soldiers do not, by and large, create. They destroy. The question always is whether what they are destroying promotes the value of civilization and the advancement of man and specifically Western concepts and philosophies or degrades them. If it degrades them, valid target. If it promotes them, invalid target. Terrorists? Valid targets. Infected? Valid targets."

  "That makes sense," Sophia said. "One question, pure curiosity between the skipper and her crewman. Senior NCO or senior officer?"

  "If it's truly between you and me," Walker said. "Both. Serially. NCO then officer then senior officer. And this may be a trust issue for you. I've been in contact with General Brice. I knew her before the Plague. On a purely personal note, I was pleased to know Shelley survived.

  "Shelley and Under Secretary Galloway are onboard with me just cruising for now. There are many reasons. Your father has things under control. As much as it is possible given the conditions. He has the, the term is 'social capital,' to pull this off. The majority of this squadron is not made up of professionals, and long-term social bonding items are in disarray. Your father and your family act as a social bond for this squadron, which is much more post-apocalyptic gypsy tribe than a professional military force.

  "I could probably take more useful roles than being a deckhand on a boat. However, the addition of my expertise would be relatively minimal and I'm enjoying what we do. I also enjoy training bright young officers. A point of which General Brice is fully aware. So absent objections from yourself or Squadron, or your da, here I remain. Unless things change and my former position becomes necessary."

  "Now I'm going to have a hard time not calling you 'sir,'" Sophia said, her brow furrowing.

  "You've always been polite, Ensign," Walker said. "Mr. Walker more than suffices. Tom is fine. Neither is my real name. Calling me 'Walker' works best. It was part of my handle."

  "What was your handle?" Sophia asked. "If I may ask."

  "Skaeling, actually," Walker said. "It means Night Walker."

  "More like 'Boogie man,'" Sophia said pointedly. "Those who walk in the dark. Things that go bump in the night. The Native American tribe that drove out the Vikings from Newfoundland."

  "And in Dari it turned out to translate as prostitute or street walker," Walker said, grinning. "Caused a bit of an issue at one point."

  "Dari?" Sophia said.

  "One of two dialects of Persian used in Afghanistan," Walker said. "The other being Tajik which has the same translation. General Kamal of the Northern Alliance found it quite amusing to call me by my handle. I should probably go see if anyone wants to come back to the boat, ma'am."

  Steve tapped his fingers on his desk in thought, then hit the connection to The Hole.

  "Duty officer," Lieutenant Colonel Justin Pierre said. "Good...evening your time, Captain."

  "Good evening, Colonel," Steve said. "I have an unusual request."

 
"Glad to be of service if I can, Captain," Colonel Pierre said.

  "The service record extracts you have," Steve said. "Do they include aliases or handles?"

  "In some cases, Captain," Colonel Pierre said, his brow furrowing. "Do you need me to run a name?"

  "Yes," Steve said. "Thomas Walker."

  The colonel had leaned forward into his keyboard, hands set to type and now leaned back, raising his hands and folding them.

  "Could I get back to you on that, Captain?" the colonel said. "Something's come up."

  "Certainly," Steve said blandly. "Hope things are okay."

  "Fine, just...something's come up. Be back if not tonight than tomorrow early."

  "All right," Steve said. "Have a good rest of your shift."

  He tapped his fingers on his desk again, then sighed.

  "Something is fishy in Omaha...."

  Steve was just out of the shower, drying his hair and contemplating the fact that Stacey had been rummaging in her lingerie drawer when the phone in his quarters rang. Since that invariably meant some sort of emergency had occurred, he was not in the best of moods when Stacey, wearing not much more than a lacey bra and panties, handed him the phone.

  "General Brice," she said, her hand over the mike.

  "General," Steve said. "You rang?"

  "Sorry to call you so late, Steve," Brice said. "But I didn't want to leave you hanging on the call you made to us. Thomas Walker."

  "I'd wondered, when the colonel so abruptly changed the subject, ma'am," Steve said. "I don't mind having the pros back-channel, ma'am. Considering everything, it's necessary. But putting someone on my daughter's boat was sort of..."

  "That I didn't do," Brice said. "It was more happy coincidence. Happy because you couldn't get a better guy to be on your daughter's boat. At least not alive and in contact. I'll give you two statements about Walker and that is all you're going to get. Along with an order. Just leave him be is the order. He's fine where he is at the moment. That's my decision and the under secretary's. Are we clear?"