"Any news?" Erik asked quietly as we watched the lone coffin being escorted off the C-130 by British paratroopers and Soviet VDV.
I shook my head. "He's still eating, Ponatoski swapped with Muller last night…"
"I hope he returns soon Ivanov…" Erik muttered quietly.
"We all do…" I answered, watching as the red banner was dropped over the coffin while it was loaded into a truck.
"The funeral still the 25th?" Ivan asked as we watched the truck pull away.
"Yes… it would have been her 26th birthday…" I answered.
Ivan shook his head, patted my shoulder and walked away. Erik also took his leave, and that left me as the last on on the tarmac after Veria's mother was ushered off the runway with tears still staining her face.
I sighed softly. There was much going on that needed the Commander I chief's attention, yet none of us could bring ourselves to bring it up to him. By next week I'd have to, we were starting to dig dangerously deep into our artillery stocks, the Poles were merrily turning las Vegas into a recreation of the surface of the moon.
They seemed to be taking the embarrassment Ponatoski had blundered and the proceeding retreat of the commander in chief personally, almost as personally as the head of the Spetsnaz, and he was on the verge of beating himself up about it daily since the commander broke down in headquarters.
I looked around the runway as the large C-130 was taxied over to the fuelers. No doubt they were requesting a flight path back to Oklahoma City, refuel again and back to Dulles. Even our erstwhile ally, the commander's brother, wasn't faring much better. The undead to his north continued to multiply, ever sizable population centers in the northeast seemed to be swarming with more undead than each city had housed people before the apocalypse. Likely each was home to a nest of some size, that was going there anyway.
Representatives from the Australian republic and the German Republic of Singapore had arrived a few days ago, I'd directed them to dock at San Diego, sent ambassador Hailey their way and prayed for the best, they seemed intent on meeting the commander in person however, and frankly I didn't know how much longer the ambassador could stall for.
Then there were the upcoming elections, In February for the Premier of the Soviet Republic of Southern California, and in March for the General Secretary of the Soviet Union. I couldn't care less about the new republic, but Premier Merida was running for General Secretary, with the support of a few… amenable politicians I'd managed to get Andrew on the ballet, but if he didn't at least attend the debate on the 5th…
I suppressed a groan. As much as I wanted Andrew to snap out of it, to get back to work with his usual hard working attitude, I doubted I had the heart for it. The man was grieving, and when I'd last spoken with Muller in person he'd tried taking his life.
What was more unsettling was it was the fifth time by Muller's admission. She'd been exuasted, barely any sleep over the last three days up to that point. I'd had her rest and watched the commander in that time…
I closed my eyes and pushed the image from my mind, the lost, hopeless eyes begging for an end.
I walked back to my truck as the C-130 lifted off, banking over the pacific before setting a course back east. Somewhere where at least the problems were simpler in nature. Where my commander's brother ruled with an iron fist and everyone complied.
I had a meeting with Gena later today, it was supposed to be between the admiral and commander in chief… but, I was filling in for now.
I walked into the admiral's office a touch after 1500, a stack of folders still in my arms from my previous meetings with logistics. "Gena, god to see you shoreside again."
"Swamped with work as always are you Ivanov?" Gena quipped, setting his pen down.
"It is likely to continue until… he returns to us…" I said softly.
"I heard it was bad." Gena said, eyes drifting towards the wall he shared with the commander's office.
"It still is… but he's at least eating again… Ponatoski mentioned something about Veria's cooking…" I trailed off.
"Let's get to business, then back to the dreary matter." Gena interrupted. I smiled slightly, feeling the strain.
"The Stalingrad should complete repairs by April at the latest, that should free up the slipway for the Premier's new addition to his rising star plan, the Midway…"
"Isn't that… the Iowa was just put in a slipway wasn't it?" I asked.
"It was, just last week, and his ambitions grow faster than his ego." Gena replied dryly.
"It is unfortunate Hailey lost to him in the elections, it would have been easier to work with her." I groused.
"Maybe, but let's put the arrogant ass to the side for now. We've swept the coast of lebiathans, we can easily let ships proceed alone near the coast instead of in convoys, though with the interstates being fairly clear, not much cargo is taken by sea nowadays."
"Not like a couple months ago, when we were a few desperate garrisons in the coastal cities." I chuckled fondly recalling the old times.
"The fleet is ready, barring a few vessels that are waiting on a slipway…"
"I… I don't even know what to ask you to do… i really don't… just continue normal operations…" I sighed.
"That could mean almost anything." Gena replied.
"I know… but what would he want? Us to wallow in his misery too? I know she wouldn't want that…"
"Will you be at the funeral? He asked softly.
"I wouldn't miss it…"