Legion (An Apocalyptic Horror Novel) (Hell on Earth Book 2) (8 page)

He tried to call his ma again but still got no connection.

Growing up in Austin, the ocean had always fascinated Hernandez. He never got to see it until his thirteenth birthday when his school took a trip to the Kennedy Space Centre followed by a day at Daytona Beach. The vastness of the Atlantic had mesmerised him for hours and almost frightened him too much to go in—but once he had…

Everyone in Austin loved water. In the heat of Texas, swimming pools were an everyday part of life, but the ocean was different. The sea was alive. And when Hernandez was around it,
he
felt alive too. That day at Daytona beach, he knew he wanted to spend his life sailing the oceans and seeing the world. He would not be another Latino who never left the city in which they grew up. His ma supported him, and his pops had died when he was young. He had no other family. He decided he would enter a new one: the United States Navy. While it had never been easy, it had also never been hard. While individuals within the Navy had their opinions, the institution itself was blind to everything except talent. Work hard enough, devote your entire life, and you could be admiral.

Like Kirsch.

Naively, Hernandez had only ever seen the benefits of the Navy. It wasn’t until now he realised he might actually have to die in service of his country. The Navy was not his family. It was his master.

He headed back onto deck where things were now more or less back in order. The crew went about their duties. The injured were moved to the infirmary. Only bloodstains suggested they had ever been in a conflict.

Commander Johnson approached Hernandez on the aft deck, motioned for him to follow. He didn’t say a word until they were out of earshot of everyone else. “I’ve had word from Jacksonville,” he said. “We had two-thirds of our east coast fleet at Norfolk. No word on survivors yet, but the USS New Hampshire was destroyed, along with several more of our larger ships. It hurt us bad.”

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Hernandez.

“That’s not even the worst part,” continued Johnson. “We had over four-hundred officers assembled during the attack, including three admirals. The Navy is rudderless. Fleet Admiral Simpson has taken over east coast operations from Jacksonville, but he’s just one man—and his best years are behind him.”

“I heard he was retiring this year.”

“You heard right. He’s pushing on eighty.”

Hernandez sighed. “So what are our orders?”

“To do what we can.”

“What does that mean?”

Johnson shrugged. “Hell if I know. Guess it means we try to help out wherever we can until we receive something more concrete. My current plan is to head north to New York, or south to Jacksonville. I’m waiting on Intel to see which area is most in need.”

Hernandez nodded. “Okay. I’ll head up to the bridge and keep an eye on things.”

“No, I want you to check our munitions. We expended a massive amount of ammo at Norfolk, and I need to make sure we can still defend ourselves if we head back ashore.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have one of the—”

“I want
you
to do it.”

“Any officer can supervise a simple munitions check, sir.”

Johnson glared at Hernandez. “Yes, but there is only one officer to whom I am giving the order.”

Hernandez stood silent for a moment, trying to figure out why he was being treated like a green-eared recruit. He thought better than to argue further. Something about the expression on Johnson’s face seemed to challenge him to try. 

Hernandez saluted. “Right away, sir.”

Johnson dismissed him curtly.

Hernandez started away, and wasn’t sure why he stopped when the ship’s radio buzzed nearby. Perhaps habit made him pick it up. He cringed when Danza’s voice came from the other end. The other lieutenant requested to speak to the captain.

“It’s for you,” Hernandez told Johnson, offering the handset.

Johnson snatched it. “As I was expecting a call, that makes sense. I thought I gave you an order, Hernandez?” He sighed. “Stand there a moment.”

Hernandez stood at attention.

Johnson spoke with Danza across the radio for several minutes, saying little and listening lots. Eventually, he dismissed the other and replaced the handset. He glanced at Hernandez and rubbed at his chin. “There’s a cruise liner docked at Charleston in need of rescue.”

“I agree we should help.”

“You agree? I never even stated my opinion.”

“Oh, I just assumed.”

“Well don’t. Don’t you dare assume my orders. We will head south, yes, but the cruise liner is not our concern. Civilians are not an asset. We need to focus our energy towards launching a counter offensive on our enemy. If Command is moving to Jacksonville, that’s where we should be. A new fleet will be assembling. Our priority should be to join it. I’m sure my fellow commanders will arrive at the same conclusion.”

“So, we’re going to leave the civilians to fend for themselves?”

“I don’t like it,” Johnson snapped, “but I need to think about the big picture. If I need a morality lesson, you’d be the last person I’d ask.”

Hernandez spluttered. “What does that mean? Sir, if you have a prob—”

“What it means is that I saw you throw that young woman to her death back at Norfolk to save your own skin.”

“I…” Hernandez closed his eyes as he recalled his own cowardly actions. “It just happened. I didn’t think about it.”

“I knew her, Hernandez. She served with me on the USS Wickham before I took command of the Augusta. She was a good officer. Better than you. Her name was Gina Landis, in case you were wondering.”

Hernandez couldn’t think of what to say. It was true, he had tossed the woman into the monster, but she would have been dead anyway. Nearly everyone at Norfolk was dead. He hadn’t changed anything except saving his own life. It was simple pragmatism.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you want me to say. We were fighting for our lives back there. That girl—”

“Gina!”

Hernandez sighed and began again. “Gina isn’t dead because of me. She’s dead because monsters attacked us. The same ones now attacking a cruise liner in Charleston, which you have elected to ignore.”

Johnson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to calm himself. “Perhaps you’re right, Lieutenant. Perhaps you’re not guilty of anything.”

“Thank you for seeing that.”

“We’ll leave it for a court martial to decide.”

Hernandez blinked. “What?”

“Soon as we get a handle on this thing, I’ll be discharging you and having you stand trial. You’re a coward, Hernandez, and you’ll answer for it. Now get out of my sight. You have munitions to count, and if I find you’ve missed a single bullet you’ll spend the night in the brig.”

Hernandez walked away, shell-shocked. 

A court martial?

So much for his unblemished record.

* * *

D
anza came
to see him two hours in. By that time, Hernandez thought he would faint if he had to count another bullet. As much ammunition as they had spent back at Norfolk, they still had more than enough for another conflict—an amount painful to count.

“Least the captain doesn’t have you cleaning the latrines,” said Danza, beaming.

Too miserable to give a comeback, Hernandez carried on with his count, sorting the 5.56mm NATO rounds into boxes, ten by ten.

“What did you do?”

Hernandez considered the answer.
Oh, you know, just killed a girl the captain probably used to screw. No biggie.
“I have no idea,” was his eventual reply. “Just leave me to it. I can’t count with you bothering me.”

Danza picked up a clipboard and studied it. “You counted the .62 cal shells yet?”

“No.”

“All right.” Danza picked up a pen and started counting the heavy boxes of large shells for the MK 45 gun.

Hernandez sighed. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you out. Actually, I came to tell you that we picked something up on the radars, something moving along the seabed. We think a ship went down recently. Now that I’m here, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Danza carried on counting. “I know, I know. You don’t need anybody’s help, Hernandez. You have that big, giant chip on your shoulder to carry you through.”

“I can accept help. Just not from assholes like you.”

Danza whistled. “Ouch. And I thought I was a nice guy. You still sore about what I said to you earlier? Maybe if you’d seen my point and admitted I was right, you wouldn’t be down here playing number monkey.”

“What point?”

“That you should think about what you’re doing, and how it will look to the crew. Did you get a hold of your ma?”

“No.”

“Then it was all for nothing. You acted in your own interests, and as an officer, that’s not acceptable. I told you what would have happened if you’d started open season on cell phones.”

Hernandez clenched his fists and tried not to explode. Danza had been right—even at the time he had seen that—but why did the smug son-of-a-bitch have to make such a big issue out of it? “Yes, okay, Danza, you were right. It was a bad decision trying to call home. I’m worried about my ma, and I didn’t think.”

Danza smiled, still smug. “See, that wasn’t so hard. I know you didn’t think about it, but right now you have a boatload of frightened men and women who need you to keep a calm head. The crew will be looking to us and Johnson to make the right calls.”

Hernandez huffed. “Yeah, right. Tell that to Johnson. He just ignored a plea for help from a cruise liner full of civilians. You would know because you gave him the report.”

Danza nodded. “Not our place to question the captain. He needs to consider the big picture.”

“You sound just like him.”

“Good, because he’s led a distinguished career, and getting on the wrong side of him hasn’t done you any favours.”

Hernandez curled his lip in disgust and let his current handful of bullets fall back into the crate. “You agree with his decision? You think we should just leave civilians to die, to get murdered by those things?”

“And what if I did disagree? Would Johnson change his mind?”

“Command told us to do what we can. Johnson isn’t following that order. If he’s violating an order from above, then we have a duty to—”

Danza waved a hand. “Oh, give it up, Hernandez. A minute ago, you couldn’t stand me, and now you’re talking about the two of us relieving the captain of his command. I was there when Command gave the order. The subtext was that they were barely in possession of their sanity. Fleet Admiral Simpson is in charge, but he’s yet to give any firm orders, so whoever is manning the phones told us to just do whatever we can. The truth is that there are
no
orders to disobey, so the captain can do whatever he wants.”

“No he can’t! He has a duty to his country. We all do.”

Danza sighed. “I don’t disagree, Hernandez. The thought of all those innocent people... But let’s just hold off on the mutiny talk for now, okay? We are one of the few ships lucky enough to get away from Norfolk in one piece. Let’s consider ourselves lucky and not push things until we know more.”

Hernandez rubbed a palm over his face. What was wrong with him? He was overreacting. He was so angry at Johnson’s treatment of him that petty revenge clouded his thoughts. Or was it fear? Johnson wanted to see him dishonoured and disgraced because of some stupid girl. Humanity was at war, but the man was acting upon personal agendas? Hernandez now worried about America getting its act together and dealing with this crisis. Would there be time for a Court Martial? Would Hernandez end up in prison after surviving death back at Norfolk? It seemed likelier that they would all perish at the hands of monsters, but what if…?

Johnson was a fool. Hernandez stood guilty of nothing.

“Just forget I said anything, Danza,” he said.

“Already forgotten. Unless I need to use it against you later.” He clicked his fingers, firing them like pretend pistol, and laughed. Then he started up the ramp that led back out to the aft deck. 

The ship listed. 

Danza fell to the ground, struck his head against a pipe. “What the f…?”

Hernandez dropped a handful of 5.6mm NATO rounds onto the floor and cursed. He hurried over to Danza and helped the man back to his feet. “A wave?”

Danza rubbed at his head. “From where? The sea is calm.”

They hurried up the ramp and went out onto the deck where the two Seahawks stood idle. A couple of the ship’s mechanics huddled there, having been working on the broken fuel line. “What was that?” Danza demanded of them.

The two mechanics shook their heads. One of them, Seaman Lyle Crane, sported a greasy smudge across his forehead. “Dunno, sir.”

The sound of gunfire made all of their faces fall at once. It came from the bow, the opposite end of the ship.

Hernandez waved an arm at the two mechanics. “Battle stations.”

At once, they ran off to arm themselves. Hernandez and Danza did the same, grabbing rifles from the armoury and heading for the front of the ship. The gunfire grew continuous.

“How are we under attack?” asked Hernandez. “We’re twenty miles off the coast.”