To Sail a Darkling Sea

“Oh,” Faith said.

“Think about how we’re going to clear off infected so we can get some containers tomorrow, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “I’ll make sure all the gear and men are ready to rock and roll. And, really, you don’t have to worry about that until tomorrow because we haven’t seen what we’ve got to do, yet. It may be dead simple, it may be nearly impossible. We’ll get it done. But you don’t have to really worry about it until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Faith said. “Are you sure?”

“At this point, there would normally be an after action report to write,” Januscheitis said. “I’ll write up the draft and you can read it tomorrow morning and correct it as you see fit.”

“No,” Faith said. “I’ll write it up tonight. You’ll be handling the equipment. I’ll get you to check it.”

“I thought you were going to crash,” Sophia said as Paula served dinner.

“Mission, men, me,” Faith said, picking up her fork. “Get some food in me and I’ll be good to go… ”

* * *

“Passed out like a light,” Januscheitis said, quietly.

“I thought she was going to fall asleep in her plate,” Derek said, just as quietly. “We going to try to haul her to her bunk?”

“No,” Januscheitis said. “Just do everything real quiet.”

* * *

“Ugh,” Faith said, sitting up and wiping drool off her chin. “I hate it when I do that. How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Januscheitis said. He had her AK stripped down and was carefully oiling it. Using weapons around salt water meant having to keep them oiled to a fare-thee-well. “About twenty minutes.”

“Power nap,” Faith said. “Okay, Paula, you can stop trying to do the dishes quietly.”

“It’s Patrick,” Patrick called. “Sorry about that. Banged a pot.”

“Okay, some razzleberry tea and I’ll be a report writing machine,” Faith said fuzzily, pushing herself to her feet. “Where’s some razzleberry…?”

* * *

“Yeah, I’m gonna need to write this… ” Januscheitis said, pulling Faith up from where she was passed out on the computer keyboard. “ ‘. . it was, like, awesome. .’ is not going to pass review.”

“Wazzat?” Faith said.

“We’re going to have to talk about report writing language, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, getting the lieutenant to her feet. “Tomorrow. Off to racksies, Skipper… ”

* * *

“Okay,” Faith said, consulting her note pad. A ten hour “nap,” breakfast, some apple juice and she was ready to rock and roll. “Day objectives: Clear zone around containers of infected so the supply ship can pick them up. Block the quay with containers. Begin Clearance of the supermax liner. Find a dress for the Marine Corps B… Oh, wait, that’s a personal objective… ”

* * *

“Anybody got a plan?” Lieutenant Chen said. “Cause I’m thinking this is a bust.”

The commercial port of Santa Cruz De La Tenerife had been a bustling center for the transshipment of cargo. The island had to import basically everything except food, and it imported a good bit of that. And the commercial port was set up to support it. It had a long breakwater which was also used as a “tie-up” for ships awaiting transshipment or were doing minor repairs, a fuel transfer point, one of two on the island, and a main cargo transfer point with two massive cargo handling cranes colloquially called “AT-ATs” for their resemblance to the Imperial “tanks” in the Star Wars movies. There were two freighters tied up alongside, half unloaded.

Alas, it also had the usual infected roaming around. Quite a few.

“I don’t know exactly how this stuff works,” Faith said. “But there’s a cargo handling crane on that freighter. Can we use that?”

“If we can get it into operation,” Captain Jesse Walker said, rubbing his bald head. The master mariner, formerly a freighter captain, was clearly unhappy with the mission. “Then there’s all them zombies.”

“They’re in the cargo yard,” Faith said. “We board the boat and clear. There’s a personnel gangway but it’s narrow. We hold that point while your crew offloads the cargo containers onto your ship. Then we pull back and board the Senorita. Your crew moves to the Senorita for boarding. You only come alongside when the cargo is ready to move. And if it gets too hot, we pull back, reboard the Senorita and come up with a better plan.”

“That… might work,” Lieutenant Chen said. “I’d like a back-up plan other than your usual, Lieutenant.”

“Help if we had some claymores, Lieutenant,” Januscheitis said, scratching his chin. “I’m not sure if it’s a back-up plan, but we’re going to want to carry one of the MGs. We’ll set that up on the boarding gangway to increase our firepower. Between that, and the LT’s Saiga and our Barbie guns we can hold any gangway.”

“And on the retreat?” Chen asked. “I’m more worried about how you’re going to break contact.”

“Which is why I wished we had some claymores, Lieutenant,” Januscheitis said.

“Oh, here’s a better idea,” Faith said. “Can you cut away a gangway? From the ship side?”

“Not easily without a crane,” Walker said. “But you can do it.”

“Without the gangway, they’re not boarding,” Faith said. “How do you do it?”

“It ain’t complicated,” Walker said. “But… it’s complicated.”

“Got anybody who’ll board to take off the gangway in a firefight, sir?” Januscheitis asked.

“Hey, Greg!”

* * *

“This is just about a dumb fuck idea,” Greg Dougherty said.

The tall, lanky seaman and maintenance engineer had the look of having once been heavier. He’d apparently found a blue coverall from slops, recovered salvage clothing that was washed and piled in sizes on the recovery ships, and it still didn’t fit right. Not to mention it had some stains that weren’t grease. He’d been “loaned” a 1911 by the Marines and told “don’t draw it unless you absolutely have to.” But he was there on the Senorita, ready to board with his toolbag.

“We’ll come alongside,” Sophia said. She had her H amp;K in a holster and her AK by the seat on the flying bridge. Just in case. “Let Paula and Patrick put up the grapnels. Then get your boarding ladder set, board, and we’ll standby in case you have to book it.”

“I’ll need a line to get this up,” Dougherty said, hefting his toolbag. “And I can throw a grapnel pretty well.”

“You go up with a safety line attached,” Sophia said.

“If you go in the drink, they try to reel you in before the sharks get you,” Januscheitis said, drily.

“You’ll be going up last. Just use that.”

“This is gonna be so much fun,” Dougherty said.

“Patrick, Paula, you set?” Sophia yelled.

“Arrr, we’re all set to grapnel this prize, cap’n!” Patrick said. They already had large “beach ball” or “balloon” fenders set over the side of the yacht to keep it from slamming into the side of the freighter.

“And we’re coming alongside,” Sophia said, lining up to the freighter and letting the wind take her in the last few feet.

Paula was forward with the grapnel and Patrick to the rear. They both made expert tosses to the bulwark railing of the freighter then pulled the yacht alongside with the help of the junior Marines.

“I don’t see a welcoming party,” Faith said. The flying bridge of the Bella Senorita was nearly at the level of the cargo deck of the small freighter. “Generally we have customers by this point.”

Paula threw up the grapnel to set the boarding ladder then Kirby and Pagliaro pulled in on the running end of the doubled line. The ladder reeled up the side of the ship, the rubber “feet” making hardly a clatter, until it connected to the lock-point at the top. A heave and the ladder was solidly in place.

Pagliaro clipped on his safety line and took point. He was wearing “light” combat gear, zombie apocalypse style, basic load-out for an assault with the addition of a gas mask and hood. This wasn’t a mission where, hopefully, they were going to need “full load out” zombie fighting gear. He also had two boxes of MG240, 7.62x51 NATO ammo strapped to the back of his kit.