Strands of Sorrow (32 page)

CHAPTER 24

“You know,” Faith said as the LCU entered the cavernous well-deck of the USS
Bataan
. “Maybe having a great big freaking hole in the middle of a ship
isn’t
such a bad idea.”

The
Bataan
had been “cut out” from Norfolk where it had been alongside when the plague broke out, then towed down to Mayport along with the out-of-commission
Iwo Jima
. By cannibalizing the
Iwo Jima
and quite a few other work-arounds, crews had gotten it back into commission in record time. Which was useful since they were going to need it for Operation George.

“Yuh
think
,” Sophia said, leaning her arms on the railing and watching Trixie being brought aboard. She was still in her flight suit, having just brought in “her” Seahawk. She’d qualified as an aircraft commander. Her copilot had been a Marine F-18 pilot who was now a Navy lieutenant, two ranks above her. She was still in charge when they were in the air. Which was cool. Weird, but cool. “Most stuff the Navy does makes sense. Eventually.”

“White caps?” Faith said.

“You can use them to hold water,” Sophia said.

“Bullshit,” Faith said. “I know that’s the supposed reason but it’s bullshit. Bell bottoms. Thirteen-button fly. It’s just a traditional and stupid uniform unlike our
glorious
ones. Manning the rail. On a man-o-war it sort of made sense. People could hang onto stuff and there was a fucking railing on the deck. On a carrier, it’s insane. You’re right by a five-story drop to the water. There’s not even a rail to
man
. It’s just so admirals and captains can jack off.”

“And the Marines are any better?” Sophia said, ticking points off on her fingers. “You start off marching on the wrong foot, you can’t get your rank acronyms into a simple three-letter scheme like every
other
service in the world, and what the hell is the thing with ‘Good night, Chesty’?”

“Those all make perfect sense,” Faith said loyally. “Well, I’ll give you the acronym thing, but we’re sticking with ‘Good night, Chesty.’”

“Lieutenant Faith Smith to Briefing Room Four,”
the tannoy blared.
“Lieutenant Faith Smith to Briefing Room Four.”

“I’m not scheduled for a meeting,” Faith said, looking at her watch.

“Looks like you are, now,” Sophia said, waving. “Have fun.”

“Ensign Smith to the ready room! Ensign Smith to the ready room!”

“Hah, hah!” Faith said, grinning as she opened the hatch. “Have fun in
your
meeting, Sis . . .”

* * *

“Barrels on miniguns do wear out, sir,” Lieutenant Wilkes said. “And once they wear out, replacement is currently problematic.”

“We’ve got a lot more fifty caliber barrels than miniguns . . .”

“Body clearance . . .”

The problem was while Washington, D.C. only had six hundred thousand residents, more or less, prior to the Plague, and most of the affluent had probably fled, there were more than six
million
residents within a ten mile radius from the Washington monument. That meant at current rates of infected survival, something like two million zombies. And zombies were people. They’d travel quite a ways for a nice meal. Any signs of life in the downtown areas and the surrounding hordes would close in. There was no point in clearing D.C. if they couldn’t turn on the lights of the Washington Monument for fear of being swarmed.

The other problem was that they still had barely a regiment. Besides equipment, Da had sent about a battalion strength of Marines to the West Coast. General Montana needed them just to make a dent in the Southern California zombie brigades. The zombies had, unfortunately, survived better than people. Southern California had a great climate with the exception of a decided lack of rainfall. Where the East Coast people could figure out how to make something resembling cisterns and survive on rainfall, many of the redoubt compartments that would otherwise have survived on the West Coast succumbed to lack of water.

Where they’d gotten ten percent survivors at PI, they had found less than three percent at Pendleton and Coronado despite the best efforts of the survivors. Water had just run out.

Then there was the problem of the roads. They were choked with cars. Even more so than Jax. Tighter road network and people had waited later to flee, assuming D.C. couldn’t
possibly
fall. So, many of the roads were impassable to vehicles.
All
of the many bridges were choked. Which also meant that blocking them was going to be an issue. Infected could get through the cars but you couldn’t just set down containers to close them. Then there was the fact that D.C. wasn’t anything resembling an island. It had rivers on two sides and Rock Creek but Rock Creek was open to infiltration and to the north it was
entirely
open. There was no realistic way to close the city with the forces they had.

Last but not least, they were running out of M1028. There had been a stock at Lejeune and more on the
Iwo
but not, in Faith’s opinion, nearly enough. Of course, in her opinion there could
never
be enough canister.

She and Sophia had ended up in the same meeting in the end, which was going around in circles.

“Ensign Smith,” Colonel Ramos said. He’d taken a voluntary demotion to colonel and taken over all “field” forces, which included the Navy forces forward. Hamilton had stepped aside with total grace. “Everyone has voiced various opinions except you and your sister. Would you care to chime in?”

“I’d start with gunboats,” Sophia said. “The same way we did in the Canaries and Caribbean.”

“Gunboats are not going to clear the city, Lieutenant,” Major Sanskeld said. “We’ve been over that.”

Sanskeld was one of the PI officers who had managed to avoid reduction. He was good enough, but PI officers, in general, were not high on Faith’s “like them” list and were low on the “trust them” list. He also was a huge “what-if Dave,” in that every single suggestion had to be countered with a “what-if” or a “that won’t work.” Not, not, not.

“I said
start
with them, sir,” Sophia said. “D.C. is a river city. Why not use our proven riverine and oceanic abilities?”

“Go on,” Colonel Ramos said.

“That’s all I’ve got, sir,” Sophia admitted. “I agree with Commander Wilkes that clearing from the air is problematic, sir. Just so damned
many
of them. We could look at water-cooled on the helos. But you really don’t need fifty to kill zombies, sir. We’ve never looked at water-cooled two-forties or even Barbie guns. Both have possibility. I’m not sure you can convert a SAW to belt-fed, but if you could, and you cooled it . . . the infected eventually bleed out.”

“Leaving piles of rotting bodies all over the city,” Sanskeld pointed out. “Which without the infected to keep them in check means rats explode!”

“She is making salient suggestions, Major,” Colonel Ramos said. “Objections and issues are for later. So . . . water-cooled machine guns from helos?”

“I’m not very happy with it, sir, but it’s the best I’ve got,” Sophia said. “And it would take both some serious mechanical work and some testing, sir.”

“Understood,” Ramos said, making a note. “Even if we don’t use it here, it’s something worth looking at for the future. Thank you, Ensign. Your suggestion on gunboats is definitely worth looking into. We also need to stop throwing away our brass. At some point we’re going to have to make more ammo and we can do reloading. Remelt the brass at the very least. Any idea how many it would get in terms of population?”

“Depends on how long you did it, sir,” Sophia said. “We only did one attack on each point in previous missions, sir. I would suppose you could do multiples. Eventually you would draw infected from quite a distance. How far I’m not sure. I would roughly estimate five miles if you just kept doing it, sir. How far can you see one of those vertical spot-lights, sir? Have a division with one on a barge as we did in Jax. Fire up at dawn, stand down until the next dawn and do it again, sir. Eventually you’ll reduce the numbers quite a bit, sir. And if fifty is in short supply, we can switch to something else if we water cool them, sir. Two-forties will do the job, sir.”

“All good points,” Ramos said. “Now what are the objections?”

“The same thing will bring infected into the city from the distance,” Sanskeld said. “There is going to be a continuous stream. And the piles of rotting bodies are, again, a major health hazard.”

“Disposal, period, is going to be an issue,” Ramos said, making another note. “But the concept has merit. Ensign, what would you think of being temporarily grounded?”

“Wouldn’t prefer it, sir,” Sophia said. “And Lieutenant Commander Chen has much more experience at this point on small boat ops, sir. If you’re thinking of sending someone up there to get started, Commander Chen is the man.”

“Thank you so much, Sophia,” Lieutenant Commander Chen said. “And I’d second the notion of using something other than fifty. But that is what is currently loaded. So if you wish us to get started and see how it works, we can do so, sir. I’m more than used to converting ideas on the fly. We’re flexible that way,” he said, shooting a glance at Sanskeld. Chen had already raised the point about gunboats.

“It’s worth a shot,” Ramos said. “Any other suggestions we haven’t already covered? Lieutenant Smith, I note that you’ve been engrossed by your laptop. I take it you’re not watching movies.”

“I
was
looking at the satellite images, sir,” Faith said. “Currently I’m reading Patton’s biography.”

“No inclusions to the meeting, Lieutenant?” Ramos asked.

“Words, sir,” Faith said. “Not liking talking. Especially around autonegators, sir. And more goal-concept than plans, sir.”

“General order,” Ramos said. “Let the lieutenant talk and don’t insert what-if or other objections until I so direct. Lieutenant, just . . . talk.”

“Sophia beat me to gunboats, sir,” Faith said, looking up. “Maybe we’re stuck in our ways but they work. And if you do it day after day, maybe move around a little, you’re going to get the numbers down. But what the major said is right. There’s the bodies, which are going to be a big problem. And there’s going to be more moving in. Not just attracted in, sir. The infected have territories, sir. They fight over them some. When you take them out, there’s going to be a big movement of territories shifting. Not sure how to use it to our advantage but until you hit the edge of the suburbs in clearance, there’s, yeah, going to be infected infiltrating in for freaking ever.

“So you got to go out and round those up. Then kill ’em. Then dispose of the bodies, sir. Best way to dispose of the bodies is probably burn pits, sir. So you need them in burn pits and you want them as close as possible just for the logistics, sir.

“So . . . The piles from the gunboats you can’t get in burn pits. So you just burn them . . . there. Words. Institute?”

“
In situ
,” Sophia said, rolling her eyes.

“
In situ
,” Faith said. “I don’t know how smart it is or anything, but I’m thinking using one of the tankers or a support ship and mounting big flamethrowers on them. Maybe not
on
them. Maybe a pipe to a ship or a barge that’s the flamethrower ship. Fire up a particular point for a day or two. Bodies start rotting. Come in with the flamethrower rig and just keep burning them till they’re bones or ash or whatever. Probably should bring in some of the fire-fighting boats to keep the buildings around them from burning or whatever. Use pure petroleum, sir. We got a shit ton of it at Statia and we’re not refining it. But it’s a glut compared to diesel or kerosene, which we need. So if that’s an idea we go with, get the petroleum. Hell, it will burn, which is all you need. Sir.

“So then you go ashore and start digging up the Mall . . .”

“The
Mall
?” Sanskeld said.

“Major?” Ramos said dangerously.

“Shit grows back, Major,” Faith said. “Parris Island was going back to nature when you were there, Major. Shit grows back. Big fucking . . . osteoporosis or something in France, which is all the dead from some big battle in World War Two. Do that in fifty years or whatever. Make a memorial. We can replant or whatever later. Yeah,
the Mall
. It’s got trees, too. Which we’re gonna need. Send in a combat engineering team during the day and dig trenches, pits or whatever in the Mall. All the grassy areas. Maybe except around the Washington Monument. I get that’s sort of . . .
Not
around the Washington Monument. But down past the Smithsonian, over on this Ellipse thing . . . Put a bunch of wood in the bottom. Bunch of wood. Cut trees all over wherever we’ve taken, take down busted-up houses, whatever. Bunch of wood. Cover it in petroleum to get it burning nice.

“Then send ashore heavy armored platoons like we already do, sir. That’s going to be a
big
logistics thing. Fuel, repairs, recovery, support . . . Going to have to look at how many amtracks and such we can stand up and support, sir. And get there. I’m talking about more than you can fit on a LHD. Send them in night and day. Night more than day. Maybe an M88 in the lead. HERCULES can run over cars just like Abrams and they can stay buttoned up. Once the cars are crunched, amtracks can roll over the crunched cars most of the time. Follow with an Abrams. They can pull amtracks out that get stuck and the HERCULES can pull out the Abrams. Infected might be able to swarm HERCULES. That’s what forty mike mike is made for. If a Herc gets stuck or breaks down, send a Herc from a nearby team. Combined arms teams with a wrecker ’cause we’re gonna get stuck and getting out of a scrum when you’ve got a stuck armored vehicle sucks, sir.