To Sail a Darkling Sea

“Shall I shoot the Zylons with my Barbie Gun?” Faith said, hefting a USCG M4.

Faith did not like the M4. Calling it a Barbie Gun was an indictment not a compliment. She also didn’t like Barbie Dolls if for no other reason than her having a passing resemblance to the doll. Her main problem with the M4 came down to its round, the NATO 5.56mm.

It was hoary legend in the military that the 5.56 had been developed to wound the enemy so as to create a greater logistics burden on the enemy. The truth was that it was a light round with a high velocity, giving the M-16, the original of the M4, the ability to, ostensibly, fire accurately on fully automatic. The round also was light, permitting more of them to be carried by an infantry soldier as well as more moved logistically. And it, yes, did not “overkill” as had the previous.308 of the M14 much less the brute force.30–06 of World War II. It did just enough damage in the opinion of the technologist oriented defense department weanies and generals of the Vietnam era.

Faith’s opinion could be summed up in one line, taken from a webcomic she’d enjoyed before the Plague: “There is no overkill. There is only ‘Open fire’ and ‘Reloading.’” The first weapon she’d used for zombie clearance was a variant of the AK47 called a “Saiga” that fired 12-gauge shotgun shells. A zombie hit by a 12-gauge was not getting back up. When she ran out in a magazine and didn’t have time to reload, she would switch to her H amp;K.45 USP. Zombies hit by.45 ACP also rarely stood back up. When they had run low on 12-gauge she had switched to her custom built AK firing the original 7.62X39 round, again a decent zombie killer.

When, desperate and with one of the largest cruise liners in the world still to clear, they had started using M4s and 5.56mm salvaged from a Coast Guard cutter, her normally sunny disposition had taken a downward turn. She disliked that she had to shoot zombies four or five times to get them to lie down and be good.

“Or we could use a, you know, machine gun,” Fontana said.

“Ah,” Faith said. “There’s only like thirty of them. Back the Toy up to this tub and let’s just shoot them off one by one.”

“I thought you liked machine guns?” Fontana said.

“The whole belt fed is so last week,” Faith said. “I still think it’s a design flaw that you have to let up on the trigger.”

“We’re working on some you don’t,” Steve said.

“How?” Fontana said. “I mean, the only way to do that is coolant and… ”

“Coolant,” Steve said, nodding. “I’ve got the shop over on the Grace working on a water-cooled Browning.”

“Doing the sleeve is going to be a bitch, sir,” Hocieniec pointed out. “And that whole pump thing is… ”

“Tech has changed remarkably since World War One, Hooch,” Steve said, drily. “Think coiled copper tube and an electric pump. But that’s for later. Shoot them off with aimed fire or break out the 240? As usual, I’m more worried about bouncers than anything. If we use the 240, even with these light rolls, we’re going to have lots of bouncers.”

“We could ask the Dallas to come up on it for us again,” Faith said.

“That… Is not a bad idea,” Steve said. The subs’ hulls were made of thick, high-tensile steel, which was largely invulnerable to small arms fire. “Dallas? You monitoring as usual?”

“Wolf, Dallas.”

“Got a zombie entry problem again,” Steve said. “You up for some kinetic clearance?”

“We’re out of seven six two, Wolf. Stand by… ”

“Standing by,” Steve said.

“They floated theirs off for us,” Fontana said. “Remember?”

“If it was during clearing the Voyage, the answer is ‘It’s all a blur,’ ” Steve said.

“Wolf, bringing up the Boise. Be about twenty. You might want to clear your boats.”

“Roger,” Steve said. “Squadron Ops, you monitoring?”

“Roger, Commodore. We’ll send out the word.”

“Get them well back and to the side,” Steve said. “Five miles by preference. Stacey!”

“Moving!” Stacey Smith called. She put the Tina’s Toy under full power and pulled away from the assault ship.

“Okay,” Fontana said. “The Dallas has been in contact all along. Then the Charlotte tows the Coast Guard cutter down. Now it turns out the Boise’s out there. How many fricking fast attacks are around us?”

* * *

“Your continued buildup of nuclear vessels in this region proves that you have access to vaccine!”

General Marshall Sergei Kazimov was the acting commander of Russian Strategic Forces or, as he frequently referred to it, Soviet Strategic Forces. He had bluntly stated that he was Chairman of the Soviet Union. Also that if the “renegade Anglo-Sphere forces” did not immediately “vaccinate all his crews” he would “turn all of America’s cities to ash.”

Every time he used the term “nuclear vessels,” Frank Galloway, National Constitutional Continuity Coordinator, tried not to break into a hysterical giggle. The general had no capacity at all to pronounce the “v.”

“Mister Smith has stated, and our very few naval personnel who have gone through vaccination and quarantine have confirmed, that there are less than forty units of primer and booster in Smith’s control,” Galloway stated, again. It was always this way negotiating with the Russians. You just repeated the truth until they either gave in or the truth changed. “Our nuclear wes… vessels in the area are purely for what support they can provide to Wolf Squadron’s clearance operations… ”

“You lie!” Sergei shouted. “Wolf lies!”

“I wish he did,” Galloway said, sighing. “I wish that he could immediately begin production of the vaccine. But until he has more clearance personnel and can clear a land base with the right facilities, that’s impossible… ”

“You will provide us with the vaccine or I will blow you to hell!”

“And we shall retaliate,” Galloway said, trying not to sigh this time. “With what we have left. Which is, Sergei, far, far more than you have. You will be dead, I might be dead, there will be some radioactive wastelands that used to be infected-filled cities and what’s the point? Oh, yes, there is the point that right now, Wolf is the only chance we have to get the world back in shape…!”

* * *

“Thanks, Boise,” Steve commed.

“You’re welcome, Wolf Squadron,” the Boise’s commander replied. “Please consider us for all your future kinetic clearance needs.”

The team had rigged up while the Boise was potting zombies at long range with their MG240 and they now approached the wash deck of the assault carrier in a center-console inflatable.

Rigged up has a special meaning when zombie fighting. Troops in combat just thought they rigged up. Then there was “extreme hazard close-quarters biological clearance.”

Each of the foursome were wearing multiple layers of clothes, including fire-fighting bunker gear, respirators, helmets and so many weapons and clearance tools it would have been ludicrous if they hadn’t proven, at least once, that all of it was necessary. Not a single square inch of skin was uncovered or was in any way, shape or form “biteable.” It was hot, it was heavy and it was cumbersome. It was especially hot in the Horse Latitudes, which were well inside the tropical zone.

It also meant that, as Faith and Hooch had proven, you could be absolutely dogpiled by zombies and still keep fighting. Faith, in particular, added a knife whenever she found a good one.

“Everyone remember where we parked,” Faith said, stepping off the inflatable.

“Everyone remember to drink,” Fontana said. “And how come you get to make the first landing, again?”

“I’m the cute one,” Faith said. “You coming or not?”