Strands of Sorrow Read online

  “Glad you think so,” Nicola said. “I’m not too sure about a cross-service transfer to the Navy.”

  “We’re getting more Army personnel now that we’re clearing land areas,” the woman said. “But for right now, we’re consolidating to Navy and Marine until there’s a skeleton of Army personnel to set it back up.”

  “I suppose that makes some sense,” Nicola said. “But I personally don’t think I should be flying at the moment, though. I have to pee every ten minutes.”

  “Tell me about it,” the civilian said. “I’ve left a note for Captain Wilkes to look you up. Right now you have three days to get comfortable with being back in civilization, such as it is. After that we’ll find a slot for you. Company grade cabin space is at a premium. You’ve got a choice of interior solo, for now, or exterior shared. If you’re sharing, it will probably be with an O-1 or O-2.”

  “Exterior, shared,” Nicola said.

  “Either of the Bobbsey Twins it is,” the woman said. “Would you prefer your roommate to be a fellow, if extremely junior, pilot, Navy ensign, or a vicious, psychotic, zombie-killing Marine second lieutenant?”

  “You make the choice so difficult,” Nicola said, laughing. “I’ll take the Navy pilot.”

  “Shewolf isn’t that bad,” the woman said. “Once you get to know her. Which you will. You eventually get to know everybody in this gypsy band, and Shewolf and Seawolf are two of the main stars. Okay, you’re bunking with Seawolf. Room One-Seventeen, Marquee deck. It’s right by the helo pad ready room.”

  “Okay,” Nicola said, taking the room key.

  “The key acts as temporary ID as well as rations and materials draw,” the woman said. “I don’t know if you want to hit your room, first, or the clothing store. Despite your being an officer, due to exigencies of conditions all uniforms and rations are issue rather than pay. Because that basically is the pay. There are some Navy maternity uniforms. Another reason to have people Navy or Marines is those are the uniforms we’ve got. You also get to draw civilian clothing. You don’t have to be in uniform until the third day of your three days off. Day three, report to the S1 at oh-nine-hundred hours in uniform.”

  “Roger,” Nicola said.

  “Welcome back, Lieutenant,” the woman said.

  “You seem to be pretty experienced at this,” Nicola said.

  “I was a Navy dependent for thirty-two years,” the woman said. “And a civilian DOD employee for a good bit of that. I know the dance. When you get some downtime in your room, I’d suggest you sit down and watch three videos. The usual series is the Welcome to Wolf Squadron video first, but I’d save that for last. Watch the Cruise Liner Boarding video, then the London Research Institute. I didn’t mention it, but your new roommate is a fairly badass zombie-killer in her own right and she used to be a boat skipper and division commander. Then watch the Welcome to Wolf Squadron video. It’s better on a big screen, but you’ve got a fair-sized plasma. At that point you’ll be more or less caught up on the major players in the Squadron and you’ll get my description of Shewolf. She considers ‘psychotic zombie-killer’ to be a compliment.”

  “Okay,” Nicola said, puzzled.

  “But you probably want to get some more comfortable clothes, first,” the lady said, standing up and holding out her hand. “You’re going to fit in just fine, Lieutenant. And by the time your baby grows up, he or she won’t have to fear the zombies.”

  “That’s a cause worth fighting for,” Nicola said, shaking her hand.

  * * *

  “Oh, hi,” Sophia said as she entered her room. There was a very pregnant lady in civilian maternity clothes she’d never met occupying the other bunk. Five eight or nine, black hair with a faintly Asian look, slim for being pregnant but not starved. She looked as if she’d recently been crying. “Um, are you sure you’re in the right place?”

  “Hi,” Nicola said, clambering to her feet. “They’re running out of company grade officer’s quarters. So we have to share. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem,” Sophia said, setting her flight bag down. “I’m Ensign Sophia Smith. And you are . . . ?”

  “Lieutenant Nicola Simpson,” Nicola said, sticking out her hand. “I was ‘Captain’ Nicola Simpson, U.S. Army Reserve. Aviation. Now I’m Navy. Gotta love it.”

  “A pilot?” Sophia said, her eyes going wide and shaking her hand. “Hooray! Wait, fixed or rotary?”

  “Rotary,” Nicola said, sitting back down. “But I’m not going to be flying any time soon,” Nicola said, patting her stomach. “I could, but it wouldn’t be prudent.”

  “Only one airframe at the moment, ma’am,” Sophia said. “But God knows, we can use instructors.”

  “You don’t need to use rank in quarters,” Nicola said. “You’re not used to dealing with many other officers, are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sophia said. “Or, not new ones. We get a trickle of them, of course. Almost the first time I’ve shared a compartment, though.”

  “Call me Nicola,” Nicola said. “Is Sophia okay?”

  “Yes, ma . . .” Sophia said. “That’s fine . . . Nicola. What are you qualed on?”

  “Blackhawk, Chinook, Kiowa, IP,” Nicola said. “Seahawk, Little Bird, Super Stallion and some others you’ve probably never heard of. If it’s Sikorsky, I’m qualified. Quite a few others as well.”

  “That’s great to hear,” Sophia said. “We’re bleeding for qualified pilots.”

  “So I heard,” Nicola said. “I thought the in-process lady was going to ask to have my baby. I’m also an aviation engineer. I was one of the civilian technical instructors at Mayport. I’d guess you were the pilot of the Sea Dragon that pulled us out.”

  “Ah, that explains it,” Sophia said, nodding. “Well, really glad to have you aboard. And please feel free to fine-tooth the bird we’re using. It’s the only one we’ve got and our people are sort of green at the maintenance. Our maintenance boss is a Navy nuke that got cross-trained in about a day. Good guy, don’t get me wrong. He’s sharp as hell. But not experienced. If it’s not in the manuals, he won’t know about it. Our experienced people are all Marines who got cross-loaded to infantry. They still help out as needed but they’re not turning wrenches every day. It makes both the captain and me nervous. Do you know the parts situation at the base, ma’am?”

  “Intimately,” Nicola said, grinning. “I even know where they’re at. Most of the parts are for MH-60s but there’s a fair suite for MH-53s. There are twenty-three 60s on the pad and nine in hangar. Three MH-53s on the pad, two in hangar. The ones in the hangar were prepped for long-term storage. I think some of the tools disappeared right at the end, but there are sets of those stored as well. That assumes you can clear the base. Can you?”

  “That’s the general plan,” Sophia said. “After Blount Island, which is mostly cleared at this point. Zombies follow the sound of helos and don’t seem to mind my crew machine-gunning them.”

  “Some of them were my friends,” Nicola said. “I had a fair degree of interaction with Blount since there was a UTC officer over there. And you can feel free. I think they’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Sophia said.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve had dinner?” Nicola said.

  “No, ma’am,” Sophia said. “That was next on my list.”

  “I’m starved,” Nicola said. “And I assume it’s something other than MREs or humanitarian rations?”

  “There’s no fresh fruits or vegetables,” Sophia said, shrugging and standing up. “But it’s pretty good. We got a lot of cooks from the liners. They knew where the food was stored. So the food’s as good as you’re going to get with prepared. Ready for dinner?”

  “Very,” Nicola said. “One last question,” she added as they were walking out of the compartment. “Any clue how to find other people on this ship?”

  “You can use the Squadron Net, ma’am,” Sophia said. “That has a list of all the survivors and their general locations and you c
an send them a message. Anyone in particular?”

  “The guy who should have spent the afternoon looking up the captain of the ship,” Nicola said, patting her stomach. “But he was last seen leaving in your helo for some reason. As soon as I track him down I’m going to ask him if he’s going to make me a respectable woman before or after our baby arrives . . .”

  * * *

  “Ah, here you are, Commander,” Nicola said, walking up to the commander’s table in the dining room. He was talking with Colonel Hamilton and two civilians. “Colonel, Captain Nicola Simpson, U.S. Army Reserve, Aviation and Aviation Maintenance Contractor at the base pre-Plague. Now, apparently a Navy lieutenant. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, but if you’d indulge a pregnant lady for just a second, sir,” she said, turning back to Lieutenant Commander Wiebe and crossing her arms on her bulging stomach. “I don’t suppose you’ve even asked if there is a captain on this ship and if he is qualified to perform marriage ceremonies?”

  “That’s the captain, honey,” Commander Wiebe said, pointing at one of the civilians with both knife hands. “And I was just getting around to that, honest!”

  “Lieutenant,” the ship’s captain said, gesturing to a chair. “Captain Tarn Fletcher. If you’d care to join us for dinner, it would be an honor and a privilege. And I’ll be happy to perform the ceremony at some reasonable convenience. I’ve had four requests so far today and I’d suggest tomorrow afternoon for a group ceremony if that’s soon enough?”

  “Thank you, sir,” Nicola said, sitting down. “You, at least, are a gentleman.”

  “Seawolf, you can join us as well if the colonel has no objection,” Captain Fletcher said.

  “No objections,” Colonel Hamilton said. “I’m still waiting for the commander’s response, however.”

  “I don’t have a ring?” Commander Wiebe said desperately. “Of course, I want to marry you, Nicola. As soon as possible. But I don’t have either the engagement ring or a wedding ring.”

  “What size do you wear?” Sophia asked.

  “A six and a half,” Nicola said. “Normally. My fingers may have swelled.”

  “I used to do a lot of small boat clearance,” Sophia said. “I’ve got a stash in my room. Salvage. I’ll let you look it over and find something you want to wear that fits. Or more or less. There’s a guy who can fit it. So . . . ring’s fixed,” she said, looking at the commander and crossing her arms. “Ball’s in your court, sir.”

  “Captain Simpson,” Commander Wiebe said, getting on one knee. “Lieutenant Simpson. Would you be willing to marry me?”

  “Well . . .” Nicola said, looking up at the overhead. “You’re Navy, which is sort of a problem. Mixed marriages never work. But . . . wait, now I am too, so . . . Oh, okay! If you insist!”

  “Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Colonel Hamilton said when the happy couple were both seated again. “You were, in fact, a subject of discussion when you walked up. Although we hadn’t touched on the personal aspects . . .”

  “There should be no issues, sir,” Commander Wiebe said, frowning. “Lieutenant Simpson was a civilian at the time and an officer of a different service . . .”

  “No issues, Commander,” Hamilton said, holding up his hand. “I’m just glad things worked out with so little drama. You have no clue, yet, how much drama there has been in such things. The point of the discussion, however, is professional. The commander was filling us in on your qualifications although he’d missed the Army captain part.”

  “I wasn’t reactivated until I boarded, sir,” Nicola said.

  “The automatic ‘Congratulations, you’re back in the military’ screen?” Colonel Hamilton said, smiling. “And welcome to the U.S. Navy. One of the most popular moments of joining Wolf Squadron from what I hear.”

  “Did come as a bit of a shock, sir,” Nicola said. “The information was stored in the Hole?”

  “Just the basics of the files,” Hamilton said. “No evaluation reports, commendations or for that matter discommendations. It’s sort of a new slate. The point to the discussion being that Captain Smith, LantFleet Commander, is insistent on having a large fleet of helos. The edict has been a limited number of airframe types, notably 60s, 53s and some type of small reconnaissance bird. That is going to consume a high number of personnel resources so I’ll assume he has some plan other than flying around and rescuing people off of rooftops, however noble that may be. However, it will also require instructors and people with maintenance and engineering background . . .”

  “So I fill all the billets, sir,” Lieutenant Simpson said, nodding. “I understand, sir. I guess I’ll be busy.”

  “Starting as soon as you can,” Colonel Hamilton said. “Captain Wilkes has been actively engaged in flight operations with a very few exceptions since we got the birds. So someone has to design a training plan as well as recruitment and selection. Since I assume the corpsman put you on light duty . . . ?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Simpson said, trying not to wince.

  “Take your three days, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Not interfering with that. Get your feet on the ground, get married, congratulations again, have as much of a honeymoon as you two can, given the circumstances. On that note, I believe the commander is not sharing a room . . .”

  “No, sir,” Commander Wiebe said. “And there’s a queen-size bed.”

  “So I lose my roommate, too?” Sophia said. “Damn!”

  “But when you report for duty, I’d like you to have some outline in your head,” Colonel Hamilton said. “How we are going to turn refugees into crew and maintenance personnel.”

  “That’s a tall order, sir,” Nicola said.

  “We crossed the Atlantic in boats crewed by people who had two or three days’ training,” Sophia said. “I was in charge of a division and I had no formal training at all. It was all OJT.

  “Helicopters are, obviously, lots more complicated than yachts and I’d appreciate it if the people had some clue. But we’re . . . driven. We have to be . . . Fatalistic? Shit is going to happen. Bad shit. But. There is an entire world out there filled with people who need to be rescued, towns and bases that have to be cleared.

  “We had boats sink, crash, run aground, catch on fire. Most of it from people who were asked to do more than they had the knowledge and in some cases ability. But the net effect was more people saved. People like you. And I don’t want to die in a crash because some maintenance guy, or girl, forgot to attach the wiring on a rotor. But before I do, I’ll have saved ten, twenty, a thousand more people. And some of them, like you, will be good enough to take my place. So it’s a win. World isn’t perfect. We’re just trying like hell to make it a little better.”

  “Welcome to Wolf Squadron,” Colonel Hamilton said. “Where the better is always the enemy of the good. So your good, Lieutenant, had better be very good indeed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Simpson said.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Plan looks good, Lieutenant,” Colonel Hamilton said, looking over the written plan for getting the Marine equipment up and running. “Only question has to do with all the work being done outside. The island is littered with equipment bays.”

  “Yes, sir,” Faith said. “However, the main tracked vehicle depot is Building Fourteen which, according to S and S and the gunny, is stuffed with M1s which are, currently, immobile. So we’ll do the work on the AAVs exterior. Eventually, we’ll get a tank mover operational and pull them out. Or get one to the point of rolling and clear the others. There’s not a lot of use in this world for a main battle tank, sir. Except maybe as a wrecker.”

  “I thought you wanted one for your birthday, Lieutenant,” Colonel Hamilton said.

  “Personal isn’t the same as professional, sir,” Faith said. “What we need for clearance is the amtracks, especially in this area with the river and all, sir. The only reason to get the tanks running is to clear them out of the building and we can get around to that, sir. We’ll need a tank mover anyway,
sir, since one of the AAVs is bound to break down at some point. Which means we’ll also need some way to move it from here to the objective. That’s part of our Navy portion recommendation that they get a barge into operation that can load and unload over a beach. That is until we obtain a landing craft from somewhere. That was one thing the MPFs don’t seem to stock.”

  “Marine equipment, not Navy, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “And something big enough to carry a tank is defined as a ship by the Navy. M-ATVs are already up?”

  “Worked on them yesterday and last night, sir,” Faith said proudly. “Really have to commend Staff Sergeant Januscheitis and Staff Sergeant Decker on that, sir. They and their people were working until past midnight. Three are up and in good running order. So we can do ground level clearance of the objective. Also two container movers are operational and we’ve already identified some empty containers that can be used to block the bridges. Two of the Marines are qualified on using those, sir. We are ready to roll on that objective at your command, sir. Give us the word and we’ll have the bridges blocked in an hour, sir, and the civilian side cleared to pretty solid green by the end of the day. Biggest hassle will be having to roll all over the zone. Lots of zone, sir.”

  “Captain Wilkes?” Hamilton said.

  “Pick up additional survivors in Mayport, sir,” Wilkes said. Sophia and the captain were already in flight suits. “General survey of Mayport and nearby areas looking at infected presence and density. As time remains, survey of the outer areas starting with Greater Arlington. Mark survivor or potential survivor points for later pick-up.”

  “How’s your bird?” Hamilton asked.

  “So far so good, sir,” Wilkes said. “The Marines did good work on it in Gitmo and the Navy maintenance crews are pretty well dialed in at this point. Petty Officer Simmons is damned detailed which is to be expected. He does good work and makes sure his people are doing good work. We’re going to need some parts soon, but parts inventory is sufficient so far.”

  “Roger,” Hamilton said. “Lieutenant Commander Kinsey. As soon as Survey and Salvage turn in their report, I’m handing over the base.”