Under a Graveyard Sky

didn’t give him any more speed. “Ask me for anything but…”

He stopped speaking as an attack boat made a fast surface off his starboard bow at about 1000 yards. He noted in the back of his mind that they’d surfaced upwind.

“Tina’s Toy, USS Dallas, over,” the radio crackled.

“Steve!” Stacey screamed from below.

“I see it,” Steve said, picking up the radio. “Wolf Actual, over.”

“Wolf, all possible support has been authorized for this operation,” the Dallas said. “USS Charlotte is in the process of taking the Campbell under tow to bring it to the cruise ship. We cannot supply clearance personnel but access to all USCG materials are, say again, are authorized and USCG personnel are to place themselves, temporarily, under your command for clearance and rescue support. We don’t have much in the way of shotgun rounds but we’re going to float what we have off in a boat, as will Charlotte upon arrival, to assist your clearance teams. Current weather report is no fronts or tropical activity for this area for a minimum of ten days. Some convection storms are possible but they are scattered. We will be monitoring all area channels but are now authorized to direct communicate. We will be taking over Marine Channel Thirty-Three. We will continue to give what support we can without being contaminated. Do you have any questions at this time?”

“Not that I can think of,” Steve said.

“We will draw ahead of you and drop off a radio on a float,” Dallas said, speeding up.

The Tina’s Toy was a fairly fast yacht. Not a racing yacht but no lubber. The Dallas just left it behind. On the surface.

“That radio is for your use and your use only, Commodore Wolf,” Dallas continued. “Higher would like to have a secure chat. Proceeding to the Sea Fit’s location. Good luck, Wolf.”

A bright orange buoy ejected from a launcher and the Dallas slipped below the waves. Steve was pretty sure by the time it disappeared it was going faster than a cigarette boat.

Stacey sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. Her eyes were misty.

“We’re in contact,” Steve said, hugging her.

“That’s not what I’m crying about,” Stacey said.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” Stacey said, hugging him again. “The commander of a U.S. Navy nuclear submarine called you ‘Commodore.’ And I don’t think he even realized he’d said it.”

“Oh, that,” Steve said, slowing the boat as Pat pulled out a boat hook to catch the buoy. “No worries, wife ’o mine. I’m sure he’s regretting it already.”

* * *

“Where do you want me to put it, Faith?” Sophia asked.

“How the fuck should I know?” Faith said. She sounded desperate. There was reason to be.

The cruise ship was massive. Really seriously stupidly huge. The boats around it were so many mice, no, fleas circling an elephant. A wounded and still bleeding elephant. Because rising as high as a sky scraper, or so it seemed from the water-line, there were state rooms. With exterior balconies. And on at least a dozen of those there were people watching the circling craft. People that looked like survivors of the death camps. Most of them couldn’t even stand. They were leaning against the railings, just staring with glassy eyes at the help just a few hundred yards away.

One of them on a lower balcony lurched to his feet and started to climb the rail.

“No, no, no,” Faith shouted.

“No! No! Sharks! Sharks! Sharks!” Sophia shouted over the loudhailer.

The man couldn’t seem to hear or understand. He more fell than dove over the side.

Hocieniec started firing from the aft deck but there was no way. There were sharks everywhere. It was unlikely that he was the first person who’d taken that way out in preference to starvation or dehydration. The man didn’t even scream as he was taken under.

“Why, damnit, why?” Faith shouted. She picked up the mike for the loudhailer. “STAY WHERE YOU FUCKING ARE! WE WILL COME FOR YOU. JUST HOLD ON!”

“How?” Sophia asked. “There’s no entries. And that promenade…”

It wasn’t really a promenade. It was the life-boat deck. And that was fifty feet above the flying bridge of the Endeavor.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Faith repeated.

“You’re the entry specialist,” Sophia said, calmly. “I’m trying not to stress you. I really am asking.”

“Hooch,” Faith shouted. “How would the Marines board this thing?”

“A helicopter!” Hooch shouted back. “Or a boarding ladder.”

“There’s a helo on the Alpha,” Sophia said.

“You know how to fly one?” Faith asked, somewhat hysterically.

“Faith, take some breaths, sis,” Sophia said, calmly. “We’re going to do this. We are.”

“Okay, okay,” Faith said. “We get a grapnel up. Then… I dunno, maybe with some knots in it or something?”

“There we go,” Sophia said. “It’s going to be a bitch to climb.”

“Yeah,” Faith said. “Especially in armor. And if we drop in the drink… Shit…”

“Keep going,” Sophia said.

“Well…” Faith said, then stopped. “Or maybe we could ask the sub if they’ve got an idea.”

“What su…” Sophia said, looking around, then stopped.

“Local Wolf Squadron boats, USS Dallas. Looking for the boarding action commander. Please switch to Channel Thirty-Three. All captains may monitor but request not break. Again, USS Dallas looking for boarding action commander. Shewolf, you on the Endeavor, over?”

“So we’re Wolf Squadron, huh?” Sophia said, picking up the radio and handing it to Faith. “Faith, honey, take a deep breath and don’t get hysterical when you’re talking to him.”

“I’m not the boarding action commander,” Faith said. “That’s Da.”

“You’re the closest,” Sophia said. “Want me to take it?”

“No,” Faith said, her face firming. She took the radio and cleared her throat. “Thirty three?”

“You’re on,” Sophia said.

“Dallas, Shewolf,” Faith said. “Over.”

“Shewolf, we’ve been monitoring your squadron’s communications. Your reputation precedes you. The man who is filling in as president says that the moment he meets you he’s going to cover you with so many medals, you’re not going to be able to move. Of course the same can be said of everyone in this squadron. But we know you’re the Squadron’s premier clearance specialist. This has got to be a nightmare for you. Over.”

“Got it in one,” Faith said. “Over.”

“We can’t get out of this tin can. We’re still uninfected and can’t change that for any reason. But we are going to do everything else we can to help. Have you discussed how to do entry?”

“Roger,” Faith said. “All we’ve got so far is throw up a grapnel with a knotted rope. Lance Corporal Hocieniec is still not really in shape. And I’m not what you call a great climber. That completely skips the whole man-eating sharks, part. And the zombies at the top. Still thinkin it, over. Over.” ///copy editor: sic///

“We have an assault boarding ladder,” Dallas replied. “We will float that off along with all of our onboard shotgun ammo and the shotguns. We use nine mil onboard. Can you use that, over?”