To Sail a Darkling Sea

They didn’t have much in the way of melee weapons but if the rescuers needed help they were going to give it. Januscheitis figured that it must have been a group like themselves who had somehow held out long enough to access a magazine. And the rescue team’s noise had drawn the infecteds away from hatch 943.

Derek popped the hatch and Januscheitis went through, crowbar up and at the ready.

What he had forgotten was that there was little or no way that any rescue group could clear without having lights. Derek popped the hatch at almost exactly the same time as the rescue group opened theirs. He wasn’t even in direct line and the lights had him blinded. They must have been using about fifty tac lights or some sort of super-power spot.

Then he heard the singing. Everybody heard the singing.

* * *

“I’m one with the warrior sign,” Faith caroled. “My dominance can’t be denied! Your entire world will turn into a battlefield tonight!”

She was taking point, multi-tapping in time with the rhythm and dancing as she backed up from the oncoming infecteds. When she hit the end of the chorus she rolled to the left, popping out her magazine as Fontana took over. After a quick reload, she had taken the back position as Fontana continued to engage the infecteds. When he was out, she took over again. “Come on bring it, you can’t see it… ”

* * *

Januscheitis had taken cover behind the hatch at the fire from down corridor but while there were some bouncers from pass-throughs, the fire was remarkably accurate, given that the shooter seemed to be a split with an addiction to Disturbed. What was… disturbing was that the shots were in time to the music. There was a second shooter that took over with what was to his ears really solid timing. He’d tuned his ears to combat in plenty of actions and he caught the very quick reload, in time to the song again but fast. This was an experienced two- person team that had worked together a lot.

The firing finally settled down and Januscheitis stuck his head back out. The months had really wrecked his eyes but he could sort of pick up, from the singing and the way that the lights were flashing around, that the split had continued to dance after the firefight was over.

There were lights moving their way, though, and he slit his eyes against them, then covered them entirely.

“Sorry about her,” a voice said. “Chemlight coming through. Once she starts a song she’s impossible until it’s done. And that wasn’t enough infecteds to run through Warrior. Thank God it wasn’t Citadel or Winterborn. We’d be here all day.”

“No issues, dude,” Januscheitis said. “Never been gladder to hear fire. Or meet new people. I guess you’re not guys from the Iwo.”

“One of us is,” the dude said as the split continued to sing. And apparently dance. “Hooch is with the other team. But, no, Wolf Squadron. Volunteer group. Mostly civvies with some odds and sods of others. Staff Sergeant Thomas Fontana, Fifth Special Forces Group. And I was just a castaway myself.”

“It’s that fucked up?” Januscheitis said.

“It’s that fucked up. Pretty much totally fucking gone. Chain of command is guys on a radio in the Hole in Omaha. And they’re not moving.”

“Jesus.”

“As I stand before you. With a warrior’s heart now. I can feel the strength that will.

Ensure my victory this tiiiiiiiime… ”

“Okay,” Fontana said. “I guess we can get going now… ”

CHAPTER 3

You cannot exaggerate about the Marines. They are convinced to the point of arrogance, that they are the most ferocious fighters on earth-and the amusing thing about it is that they are.

Father Kevin Keaney, 1st Marine Division Chaplain. Korean War

“Lieutenant, Lieutenant, Staff Sergeant, have a seat,” said “Wolf,” gesturing to the table.

Januscheitis sort of knew the Marine Lieutenant. He’d been an XO in Charlie. The Navy Lieutenant, equivalent of a Marine Captain, he didn’t know. '

“Wolf” looked tired. He should, from the little Januscheitis had picked up. He wasn’t sure how big the “Voyage” thing was but from what people had said it was the size of a supercarrier with about as many compartments. And now here the “Commodore” was clearing the Iwo with one Marine, one SF Staff and a thirteen-year-old split. Who, admittedly, was pretty fucking bad-ass.

“The pamphlet you were given only covers rough details,” Smith said. “And it glosses over a lot of things. The Joint Chiefs is a group of colonels or equivalent and one general… ”

“Excuse me, sir?” the Navy LT said.

“You heard me, Lieutenant,” Smith said. “There are probably more senior officers who’ve survived. Somewhere. But the current acting CNO, being someone who is actually in communication and in direct contact with the NCCC, is a commander. Given that our current count on Navy personnel who are not essentially trapped in subs is… ” He consulted a list. “Seventeen, he’s actually overranked. But we are, now, starting to have some semblance of an actual military force, US military at that, and the question of who is legally permitted to give orders has come up. So, I had a talk with the Chiefs and the NCCC and now you are going to have a chat with the Chiefs, or at least the Navy commander in the Hole and a sub commander that slightly outranks him. Their decision… surprised me. And not in a good way. But they’ll explain it to you.”

He turned his laptop around and nodded as he got up.

“I apparently have to go find a uniform somewhere… ”

* * *

“Lieutenant Joseph Pellerin?” the commander on the screen asked. It was split three ways. The person talking was in some sort of meeting room. One of the guys was a civilian, also in a meeting room; one was another Commander with the background of a sub con.

“Yes, sir,” Pellerin said, cautiously.

“I’m Commander Louis Freeman. The gentleman in the suit is Under Secretary Frank Galloway, the National Constitutional Continuity Coordinator.”

“I was formerly the Under Deputy Secretary of Defense for Nuclear Arms Proliferation Control,” Galloway said. “I was number one hundred and twenty-six on the list of potential NCCCs or Acting Presidents.”

“Hundred and twenty-six?” Januscheitis whispered.

“Also present is Commander Alan Huskey, skipper of the Florida,” Commander Freeman said. “Although I am, technically, the head of the Navy by various regulations, Commander Huskey has me by date of rank as well as being a boomer commander. I have not yet had a command of any vessel as a Commander. It’s not a split in command in any way. But we thought he should be present.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellerin said, blinking.

“You’re barely out of the ship, Lieutenant,” Huskey said, his arms crossed. His uniform fit him loosely and he had the look of prolonged malnutrition. “Are you sure you and your people are up for a difficult conversation?”

“Possibly,” Pellerin replied.

“That would be yes or no, Lieutenant,” Huskey said. “Possibly is not the correct answer.”

“Sir… ” Pellerin said, with a touch of rancor. “It’s not that I just got out of a compartment. Mine had plenty