Free Strands of Sorrow by John Ringo Page B

Boarding video, then the London Research Institute. I didn’t mention it, but your new roommate is a fairly badass zombie-killer in her own right and she used to be a boat skipper and division commander. Then watch the Welcome to Wolf Squadron video. It’s better on a big screen, but you’ve got a fair-sized plasma. At that point you’ll be more or less caught up on the major players in the Squadron and you’ll get my description of Shewolf. She considers ‘psychotic zombie-killer’ to be a compliment.”
    “Okay,” Nicola said, puzzled.
    “But you probably want to get some more comfortable clothes, first,” the lady said, standing up and holding out her hand. “You’re going to fit in just fine, Lieutenant. And by the time your baby grows up, he or she won’t have to fear the zombies.”
    “That’s a cause worth fighting for,” Nicola said, shaking her hand.
    * * *
    “Oh, hi,” Sophia said as she entered her room. There was a very pregnant lady in civilian maternity clothes she’d never met occupying the other bunk. Five eight or nine, black hair with a faintly Asian look, slim for being pregnant but not starved. She looked as if she’d recently been crying. “Um, are you sure you’re in the right place?”
    “Hi,” Nicola said, clambering to her feet. “They’re running out of company grade officer’s quarters. So we have to share. Sorry.”
    “Not a problem,” Sophia said, setting her flight bag down. “I’m Ensign Sophia Smith. And you are . . . ?”
    “Lieutenant Nicola Simpson,” Nicola said, sticking out her hand. “I was ‘Captain’ Nicola Simpson, U.S. Army Reserve. Aviation. Now I’m Navy. Gotta love it.”
    “A pilot?” Sophia said, her eyes going wide and shaking her hand. “Hooray! Wait, fixed or rotary?”
    “Rotary,” Nicola said, sitting back down. “But I’m not going to be flying any time soon,” Nicola said, patting her stomach. “I could, but it wouldn’t be prudent.”
    “Only one airframe at the moment, ma’am,” Sophia said. “But God knows, we can use instructors.”
    “You don’t need to use rank in quarters,” Nicola said. “You’re not used to dealing with many other officers, are you?”
    “No, ma’am,” Sophia said. “Or, not new ones. We get a trickle of them, of course. Almost the first time I’ve shared a compartment, though.”
    “Call me Nicola,” Nicola said. “Is Sophia okay?”
    “Yes, ma . . .” Sophia said. “That’s fine . . . Nicola. What are you qualed on?”
    “Blackhawk, Chinook, Kiowa, IP,” Nicola said. “Seahawk, Little Bird, Super Stallion and some others you’ve probably never heard of. If it’s Sikorsky, I’m qualified. Quite a few others as well.”
    “That’s great to hear,” Sophia said. “We’re bleeding for qualified pilots.”
    “So I heard,” Nicola said. “I thought the in-process lady was going to ask to have my baby. I’m also an aviation engineer. I was one of the civilian technical instructors at Mayport. I’d guess you were the pilot of the Sea Dragon that pulled us out.”
    “Ah, that explains it,” Sophia said, nodding. “Well, really glad to have you aboard. And please feel free to fine-tooth the bird we’re using. It’s the only one we’ve got and our people are sort of green at the maintenance. Our maintenance boss is a Navy nuke that got cross-trained in about a day. Good guy, don’t get me wrong. He’s sharp as hell. But not experienced. If it’s not in the manuals, he won’t know about it. Our experienced people are all Marines who got cross-loaded to infantry. They still help out as needed but they’re not turning wrenches every day. It makes both the captain and me nervous. Do you know the parts situation at the base, ma’am?”
    “Intimately,” Nicola said, grinning. “I even know where they’re at. Most of the parts are for MH-60s but there’s a fair suite for MH-53s. There are twenty-three 60s on the pad and nine in hangar. Three MH-53s on the pad, two