CHAPTER 6
“. . . got into Powderhorn on my sled and picked up some supplies from the Meijers yesterday. Any closer to downtown and the zombies are still crawlin’. Lots of them, by golly. How in tarnation are they survivin’? It’s been a little cold don’tcha know . . .”
From: Collected Radio Transmissions of The Fall
University of the South Press 2053
“Another fine day at Guantanamo Bay, Sergeant!” Hoag said as she popped her head up through the roof hatch.
It was dawn and changing of the guard at Building Fourteen Survival Center, Gitmo. A constant watch was maintained on the rooftop. Nobody was, at this point, absolutely sure why. While the infected level had dropped, it hadn’t dropped enough for them to get out. Not nearly enough ammo. And there was, so far, no sign of any relief.
“Another glorious day in the Corps, Sergeant!” Sergeant Andy Weisskopf replied.
“Any change in the infected status, Sergeant?” Hoag asked.
“Infected count for the night was sixty-seven, Sergeant,” Weisskopf said. “All but three were known infected. Al Hoodat managed to run down a previously unidentified and unknown female and have his way with her. He also killed her in the process and a great feast was had by all. Other than that, no major incidents.”
“Ah, zombie snuff porn,” Hoag said. “The highlight of any watch. I relieve you, Sergeant.”
“I stand relieved, Sergeant,” Sergeant Weisskopf said.
“Flag party coming through,” Staff Sergeant Cindy Barnard said, coming through the hatch. “You two yardbirds want to get out of the way?”
“Aye, aye, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said, stepping aside as the flag party came up on the roof.
When General Zick had “turned,” overall command had devolved to Colonel Hamilton. As far as anyone could tell, the colonel was the commander of Gitmo. A such, the flag was raised on Building Fourteen instead of on Eighteen. Eighteen was in sight and still holding out as well. They were mounting their guards. Mostly Navy but they were there at least. When the radios ran out they’d resorted to flag signaling and writing reports or orders on a white board and holding it up to be read. The flag signaling was tough at first—they had to get the instructions via white board—but there was a signals ET over in Eighteen who knew it. They’d learned. They’d also learned international light signaling since using a mirror was generally quicker than flags and you could use lights at night. There was, in fact, a fairly regular conversation going on between the two buildings.
Eighteen had about the same losses as Fourteen and were in slightly worse shape water wise but maintaining rationing and catching what few rains came the way of Gitmo. They estimated based on water use they could hold out for two years. Six if there were some tropical storms. One of the petty officers was a logistics geek and had crunched the numbers.
What they didn’t have was a bugle. One of the Navy seaman had, in all seriousness, suggested he could make up a kazoo and do Reveille on the kazoo. That had been turned down after some discussion of the relative merits. It had become custom to hum the Marine Corps Hymn as the flag was raised on its unfortunately short pole.
Hoag dropped her salute as the flag reached the top of the pole and was tied off.
“Sergeant Hoag, have you accepted the watch?” Staff Sergeant Barnard asked her.
“Yes, Staff Sergeant!” Hoag replied.
“Then perhaps you or Private Capedon should turn around and check the entrance to the bay, Sergeant,” Barnard said. “And use your issued binoculars to check out the small, civilian yacht that has just entered the port . . .”
* * *
“Mr. Walker,” Sophia said, looking through her binoculars.
She knew that Da had used “special privilege” to let her boat be the first into Guantanamo Bay. She wasn’t going to complain. When she saw the American flag, and the Marine flag party, on the distant warehouse she was just trying not to cry.
“Yes, ma’am,” Walker said.
“Green flare, please,” she said, not looking away. “Then mount the flag on its staff.”
* * *
“Staff Sergeant, reply with green flare,” Hamilton snapped, looking through the binos. There was more than the one yacht at this point. The first yacht had been followed by two more, then two fishing trawlers that had apparently been converted to gunboats. All of them sported the American flag. But while he was willing to accept that sign of being friendlies, notionally, at face value, whether to trust the group would be a longer term decision.
“Yes, sir,” Barnard said. “Sergeant Hoag. The signal is green flare.”
“Aye, aye, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said. They kept a ready box of pyro on the roof just for the occasion. She pulled out a green flare and uncapped it. “Fire in the hole. Flare, flare, flare.”
The group of boats spread out and slowed, two of them deploying RHIBs. The group started coursing back forth across the entrance to the bay.
“Sir?” Barnard said. “Question . . .”
“They’re checking the soundings for larger boats or ships, Staff Sergeant,” Hamilton said. “Probably looking for wrecks or obstructions. General order, personnel who want to make the climb can come up on the roof. Designate an area for viewing. Send the same order to Eighteen.”
“Don’t think we have to, sir,” Barnard said. “They’re all up.”
“Send the order nonetheless, Staff Sergeant,” Hamilton said.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Barnard said.
* * *
After about an hour of sounding the main channel, the first group headed farther into the anchorage. It was followed by a line of vessels, most of them yachts or the converted gunboats. There were sixty of those. Those were followed by larger vessels, two megayachts, supply ships, tankers and a small cruise liner. There were even some oceanic tugboats and trawlers that weren’t converted to gunboats.
“That is a sight for God-damned sore eyes, sir,” Staff Sergeant Barnard said.
“Yes, it is, Staff Sergeant,” Hamilton said. “Yes it is.”
The anchorages were sounded and apparently some of the upper ones were found lacking. All the ships anchored in the lower area, opposite Point Corinaso.
At the same time, the smaller yachts and gunboats were deploying all over the anchorage. It looked like chaos and some of it clearly was. There were a few near collisions. However, in another hour or so the gunboats were arrayed by points on the windward and leeward sides, their guns pointing landward.
“There’s a light, sir,” Barnard said, pointing to the liner.
There was, indeed, a signal light flashing on the liner. Just dots and dashes.
“Signal mirror, Staff Sergeant,” Hamilton said.
“Sergeant Hoag, signal readiness to accept communication,” Barnard said.
Sheila took the signaling mirror and signaled “GA” “Go ahead.”
“Captain Steven Smith, commander Wolf Squadron, Task Force One, USN, to senior survivor, Gitmo, over,” Sheila said as the signal came in.
“Signal Lieutenant Colonel Craig Hamilton, USMC, acting commander, Gitmo, over.”
“Wolf Squadron?” Lieutenant Harris asked.
“Send list of surviving personnel civilian and military. Include service and rank for military. Note any medical conditions including pregnancy with note on known complications. Stand by for assault and clearance at dawn. Have personnel prepared for evacuation not later than zero seven thirty. Do not repeat not attempt break-out until ordered. Semper Fi. Stay put. Wolf out.”
“Wolf Squadron?” Harris repeated.
“I have no more idea than you, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “But I am unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even a colorfully named one.”
* * *
“These jokers can’t be Navy,” Hoag said, shielding her eyes. “Even Navy’s got better discipline than this.”
When her watch was relieved she’d gone down into the warehouse and dumped her battle rattle but went back up on the roof. After months of monotony and “zombie porn” being about the only entertainment, watching real live people doing stuff was a relief.
Once it was anchored, the squadron didn’t seem to be doing much. Most of the “on watch” if that was what they were, were catching a tan. Some were washing down the decks. People were up in the promenade of the liner and on the megayachts, looking back at the Marines and looking around the harbor like they’d never seen one. There were about a hundred ocean-capable Zodiacs zipping around, most of them driven by what looked like kids. There were even some people out just zipping around on wave-runners. There were only a few uniforms visible. Even the guys, and some women, working on the machine guns were in shorts and mostly shirtless. Most of the women were wearing bathing suits. People were fishing.
A lot of the women in view were pregnant. That was no great surprise. She, Cindy and a civilian who was “elderly” were the only women in the building not carrying a bun. Idle hands weren’t the only devil’s handiwork. Colonel Hamilton’s only comment was “never give an order that’s not going to be obeyed.” Despite regular PT and even training classes there wasn’t much to do in the Survival Centers.
A couple of the Zodiacs had zipped into the main pier area and waved to the groups on the roofs of the building. But there hadn’t been another major communication. They’d sent the list of survivors and gotten an acknowledgement.
“I think it’s mostly civilian,” Cindy said. “I’ve seen two Marines on the liner and some Navy uniforms. But not many.”
“Same here,” Sheila said. “I’m wondering what they meant by ‘assault at dawn.’ And why dawn?”
“And I know how much more than you do, Sheila?” Staff Sergeant Barnard said. Hoag was off duty and they were close enough in rank for her to use first names. “We’ve waited seven months. We can wait one more night to find out.”
“Nice Christmas present, though,” Sheila said.
* * *
It was a lot like waiting for Christmas morning. The sun set with the quick finality of the tropics and then it seemed like the real party started. All the gunboats and accompanying yachts had their lights cranked up to full and were booming music. It could be heard all the way to their position when it was to windward. Every group seemed to have a different playlist. People were dancing on the deck and drinking. Oddly enough, all the ships and boats anchored away from the land were nearly blacked out.
“I so need to be on that side of the zombie wall,” Sheila said.
Staff Sergeant Barnard was off duty by that time as well and was leaning on the edge of the roof, watching the party.
“Same here,” Barnard said. “With any luck, tomorrow night. I’m hoping we get some time off.”
“That would be nice,” Sheila said. “This has been downtime and it hasn’t. I could use some real downtime.”
“Staff Sergeant,” Colonel Hamilton said. “A moment of your time?”
“Yes, sir,” Barnard said, coming to the position of attention.
“Please, Staff Sergeant,” Hamilton said. “Rest. Tomorrow morning I want the flag raised at the moment of dawn. Oh Seven Zero Three. When we evacuate, we’ll leave it up and ensure at least a small team of Americans maintain it. I’m aware that the communicator was, ostensibly, a Navy captain. However, he may or may not be aware that if everyone evacuates Guantanamo Bay, even for a moment, it automatically reverts to Cuban hands.”
“Yes, sir,” Barnard said.
“The main point is that the flag go up precisely at dawn,” Hamilton said. “I am not sure if we and the squadron have the same interpretation of ‘dawn’ but I would like to ensure that if so the flag goes up as the assault manifests.”
“Yes, sir,” Barnard said. “I’ll ensure the flag goes up at dawn, sir.”
“Sir,” Hoag said. “Permission to speak.”
“Of course, Sergeant,” Hamilton said.
“Sir, I know that Captain Smith ordered no break-out before ordered, sir,” Sheila said. “But the infected are clustering towards those boat lights and the music, sir. I think we probably could make it to the docks right now. If we signaled for pick up . . .”
“You’ve seen Marine uniforms aboard, Sergeant?” Hamilton said. “I think they are there for a reason. And, yes, the infected are clustering towards those boats, Sergeant. Those boats with fifty-caliber machine guns apparently converted to water-cooled, meaning they can fire continuously as long as they have ammunition, Sergeant. The average trawler that size is capable of carrying about one hundred thousand pounds of cargo. That translates to three hundred thousand rounds of fifty-caliber BMG, Sergeant. I rather think that Captain Smith has the infected exactly where he wants them. And if they detected us breaking out, they would no longer be where the captain wants them. I have no desire to offend a Navy captain. So we shall stay where the captain wants us, Sergeant.”
* * *
“First call, Lieutenant,” Staff Sergeant Januscheitis said, shaking Faith’s shoulder.
“Finally,” Faith said. She’d barely managed to get to sleep last night. Her cabin was fairly sound proofed but the party had been in full swing until late and she had an early first call. Then there was the fact that today they were going to take and hold a position. Gitmo was going to be taken and it wasn’t going to be handed back to the infected when they left.
“Apple juice, ma’am,” Januscheitis said, handing her a cup.
“Above and beyond, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said, taking a big gulp. It was about the only way for her to wake up in the morning and actually worked a bit better than coffee. “Time to go kill us some infected. It’s a glorious day to be in the United States Marine Corps, Staff Sergeant.”
“Glorious indeed, ma’am,” Januscheitis said.
* * *
Sheila had pulled her battle rattle back up to the roof and slept there. And she did get some sleep. The distant music didn’t affect that. It was better than the zombies howling.
She woke immediately when her shoulder was shaken, though, and started pulling on her battle rattle.
She was up and observing the squadron before the first touch of light. There were people moving around the gunboats and some out on the decks of the bigger boats. And she was seeing more uniforms, now. Not everybody was in them but the gunners and some of the people at helms were in NavCam.
There had been various songs playing in the different groups but then they all shut off, some of them in mid tune. There was a moment of silence, then a piano started playing, apparently from all of them.
She could barely catch the tune but she knew it. “Homeward Bound” done by the U.S. Navy Sea Chanter’s Choir.
“Marine Staff Sergeants are not supposed to cry,” Staff Sergeant Barnard said. “Flag party, TEN-HUT!”
* * *
“In the quiet misty morning,” Faith sang in a high perfect soprano, counting off the Marines boarding the Zodiac. “When the moon has gone to bed . . .”
* * *
“Look at the liner,” Petty Officer Granson said, pointing.
Sheila stopped waiting for the gunboats to open fire and looked at the liner. In the predawn light it was apparent that Marines in battle rattle were boarding Zodiacs off the cruise liner.
“I’ll be homeward bound again . . .” she sang as the music died.
* * *
“God, I’m glad we’re in a harbor this time, staff sergeant,” Faith said, taking her seat and not even bothering to strap in for once. “Coxswain, we’re in.”
“Okay,” the coxswain said.
“That’s a way of saying ‘let’s roll,’” Faith said, sighing. “Navy!”
* * *
The song died on the last ping of piano and was replaced by a bouncy J-Pop sounding tune Sheila didn’t recognize.
“Oh,” Granson said, laughing. “Somebody has a sense of humor.”
“You know it, PO?” Sheila said.
“Andrew W. Kay,” Granson said. “‘Ready to Die.’”
* * *
“This is your time to pay,” Faith sang. “This is your judgment day. We made a sacrifice, and now we get to take your life . . . Lock and load!”
* * *
“All boats, prepare to open fire,” Sophia said, over the freq that was not being used to carry the combined broadcast.
Her division had been “augmented” by the Golden Guppy and the Wet Debt and assigned “Radio Point” just off the main piers area. Into which the infected had clustered nicely. And it was almost time to send them beyond the veil.
But Da wanted every gunboat to open fire at once.
She knew the words to the song . . .
“. . . it’s just a thing we like to do . . . FIRE!”
* * *
“YOU BETTER GET READY TO DIE!” Faith caroled as just about every Ma Deuce in the bay opened fire simultaneously. “You better get ready to kill! You better get ready to run ’cause here we commme. . . .”
* * *
The bouncy J-Pop sounding tune had shifted to thrash metal. Sheila couldn’t quite catch the words but she did hear intercoms all over the bay suddenly boom “FIRE!” It seemed like the back of every gunboat exploded as the .50 caliber rounds started shredding the crowded infected. Zombies were being blown in half by the concentrated fire and she found herself screaming “OOORAH” at the top of her lungs. But she was drowned out by the rest of the Marines. Sheila looked over her shoulder from the beautiful sight of a dozen gunboats hammering the infected into so much meat and the flag had just reached the apex of the pole. It was officially the dawn of a new day.
That was beautiful timing.
So was the timing of the Zodiacs inbound full of Marines. They hit the pier seconds after the fire started. There were still a few infected who hadn’t managed to figure out the party was over on Corinaso and Radio Point. The first Marine ashore jumped from the Zodiac onto the wharf and promptly blew that zombie rapist motherfucker Al Hoodat into mush with what looked a hell of a lot like a Saiga shotgun. Then he used the Saiga to wave for the rest of the Marines scrambling up onto the dock to pass him by. Some of them saluted as they passed and the officer would just tip his helmet with the smoking barrel of the Saiga.
“Okay, that dude’s got style,” she said, pointing.
“Chick,” Sergeant Weisskopf said, looking through the binoculars. “Pardon me, that would be lady. Second Lieutenant. And, Jesus, she had to be just out of OBC when the Plague hit.”
“Weisskopf,” Staff Sergeant Barnard said. “Your watch is extended. Everyone else, downstairs and prepare for evac!”
“Roger, Staff Sergeant,” Sheila said. “You heard the staff sergeant. Move it, people!”
* * *
“Sir,” Faith barked. “Second Lieutenant Faith Marie Smith, U-S-M-C.”
Faith had been practicing under Gunny Sands’ tutelage and gave the lieutenant colonel a parade-ground salute worthy of the Marine Guards.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said, returning the salute just as formally. “What’s the game plan?”
“We’ll evac your people on foot to the boats, sir,” Faith replied. “Any who have movement difficulties we’ve got stretchers. The squadron Marine team will remain to hold the base, sir, and begin clearance operations. Your personnel will have three days off on the Boadicea to get their headspace and timing back, sir.”
“You do intend to hold the base?” Hamilton asked.
“We’re holding Gitmo for the indefinite future, sir,” Faith said. “It’s the first land base we’ve done that. The primary purpose is to assure the security of materials, sir.”
“Would the captain permit leaving some of my people in place temporarily?” Hamilton asked.
“The captain anticipated that question, sir,” Faith said, grinning suddenly. “The answer is by all means, sir. He would like to meet with you, sir, so that you can be relieved of any anxiety regarding controlling legal authority, sir. There is an NCCC and a chain of command, sir.”
“So something survived,” Hamilton said, nodding. “Good. Good to hear. No land bases, not so good. Some remnant, good.”
“If you would care to accompany the sergeant to the boats, sir,” Faith said, gesturing, “we can begin the evacuation whenever you’re ready, sir. Stand by . . .” she said, holding her ear. “Just wax ’em, Janu. We don’t collect till we have the facility up and running. Roger. Sir?”
“We’re moving out, then,” Hamilton said. “Staff Sergeant, one team to remain here, the rest move to the boats.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Barnard said. “Hoag, your watch. You just drew the short straw. Go relieve Weisskopf.”
“Aye, aye, Staff Sergeant,” Hoag said, trying not to curse.