John Ringo Quotes

Son, We're in no mood for Mickey Mouse. Get out of the road.
Chief Miller, Into the Looking Glass

I wanted to be a spy," Olga said, shrugging. "I applied to the CIA. I was turned down. I did not meet the psychological profile. Oppositional Defiance Disorder. Basically, I have a hard time taking orders from idiots."

"Don't think of me as an idiot and I won't give you an idiotic order," Sophia said. "But if I give you one, you'd better do it. Because it's probably going to mean surviving or dying."

"You I don't mind," Olga said. "Or I wouldn't have joined your crew. Don't ask me about Nazar. So I was in Spain with the troupe. When the Plague hit, they shut down travel. And all my guns were in America. In a zombie apocalypse. I was quite upset."

"You should have seen Faith when they told her she had to be disarmed in New York," Sophia said. "Then they gave her a taser and that was mistake. What kind of guns?"

"I like that your family prefers the AK series," Olga said. "I really do think it's superior to the M16 series in many ways. Much more reliable. They say it is less accurate but that is at longer ranges. The round is not designed for long range."

"I can hit at a thousand meters with my accurized AK," Sophia said. "It's a matter of knowing the ballistics. It's not real powerful at that range, but try doing the same thing with an M4. I'll wait."

"Oh, jeeze, you two," Paula said. "Get a room."

"So continue with how you got on the yacht," Sophia said. "We don't want our cook getting all woozy with

You really should do some research for a change instead of just listening to the voices in your head.

Good to see you, Ty," Steve said. "Welcome to Phantom Works." "Shhhh . . ." Tyler said. "Somebody might hear!" "There's a sign," Steve pointed out.

Shall I show him in or tell him to go find a short and unpleasant route to hell?

Sophia "Seawolf" Smith was one of the founding members of the Wolf Squadron. As such, despite being fifteen, she was a shareholder and not a minor one, as well as being a member of the Captain's Board as skipper of the thirty-five-foot Worthy Endeavor. The boat had gotten beaten up by nearly six months at sea, not to mention the zombies that took it over, but it was still her boat.

So he's right?" Sophia said.

"From what I've read, yes. That was known back when you were...Never mind...Just...Technically he is right. Over."

"Ick," Sophia said. "I just...Maybe calling you wasn't the best choice, Da. Over."

"I'm glad you did. We never get to talk. But, I've got to get this straight. This Walker guy thinks she got pregnant from involuntary emissions on the damp bottom of a lifeboat? Over."

"Yes," Sophia said. "She's...virgo intacta. And they're both...Like Olga said, only virgins could be that incoherent about it. Over."

"You're not particularly incoherent about it, over."

"You've been talking to us about it since we were kids in one way or another," Sophia said. "And let's just say this cruise has been a real eye-opener."

"I'd say sorry but I didn't start the Plague. Okay, Walker. What's his medical background, over?"

"I'm not sure," Sophia said. "He said he took a course once that included advanced midwifery. I'm not even sure what that means except it has to do with delivering babies."

"God knows we're going to need it. Okay, I'm going to get the CDC to call you and see if they can confirm what you've said. I'm also going to pass this around in the official news bulletin. Over."

"Uh, isn't this a little private, Da?" Sophia asked.

"Well, it's that or every little old lady on the Boadicea will be beating him with their canes. Squadron,

Triage on a battlefield (where the word originated in the Napoleonic Wars) came down to three choices: Those that don't need help right now, those that can survive if they get help right now and those that are probably going to die whether they get help or not.

[Virginia] has a very sizeable collection of democrats, liberals and moonbats. (Yes, they can be separated.)

The economic answer to the world's problems is John Adams, not [Karl] Marx.

On the deck was a skeleton. Some of the bugs seemed to be fighting for the last scraps of flesh but pretty much everything but bone and some scraps of skin and hair were gone. Bugs were even crawling in and out of the eye sockets, cleaning out the brains.

"Holy crap," Woodman said, "I don't want those getting on me!"

"I just figured out what they are," Gardner said, stepping through the hatch after a flash around with her light. Every step caused a crunch. "And they won't bite."

"They stripped that guy to the bone!" Woodman said.

"That's what they do," Gardner said, bending down and picking up one of the beetles. It skittered along her arm and she shook it off. "They're carrion beetles."

"Carrion?" Woodman said. "So they eat people?"

"They eat dead flesh," Gardner said. "I'd heard Wolf say he'd 'seeded' the boat. I didn't know it was with these."

"Wolf did this?" Woodman said angrily. "To our people?"

"Six of us came off, Woodie," Gardner said softly. "Ninety-four and twenty-six refugees didn't. You've carried bodies. You know how heavy they are. Now . . . they're not."

"That's horrible," Woodman said.

"No," Gardner said, flashing her light around. "It's efficient, simple and brutal. It's Wolf all over if you think about it. These things only eat dead flesh. They may get into some of the electronics but those are mostly thrashed by the infecteds, anyway. It cleans the

Zombies don't bother me, sir," Faith said, dimpling cutely. "They're insane, hungry, angry animals. They won't kill me from professional courtesy, sir.

Oh, dear," Sophia said, looking through the binos. "What happens in the compartment, stays in the compartment. What happens in the...Oh, screw that!"



"It's not his fault!"

Lee Ann McGregor was just turned twelve and an orphan. Also extremely pregnant. She was shivering under a blanket in the relative cool of the saloon, drinking tomato soup as if it was nectar and arguing to spare the life of the young man sitting next to her.

The hangdog young man in question, Kevin White, was seventeen. And currently surrounded by women who were looking at him like a zombie that was in their targeting reticle. Wisely, he was keeping his mouth shut.

I have been to the speed of God, sir ... and I discommend it.

This is what you get for letting rednecks play with antimatter, boss

The purpose of a free press, in which I believe believe it or not, is so that people can make rational decisions in a democracy. They'd already perverted the process so bad that was hard, but the point is valid.

Lieutenant Smith was asked by Mister Zumwald to get him a drink," Wilkes said. "She responded with physical violence. I counseled her on conduct unbecoming of an officer and, when she reacted with foul language, on disrespect to a superior officer, sir, and I'll stand by that position. Sir."

"I agree that her actions were unbecoming, Captain," Steve said, mildly. "She really should have resolved it with less force. Which I told her as well as a strong lecture on respect to a superior officer. On the other hand, Captain, Mister Zumwald physically accosted her, grabbing her arm and, when she protested, called her a bitch. Were you aware of that, Captain?"

"She did say something about it, sir," Wilkes said. "However… "

"I also understand that you spent some time with Mister Zumwald afterwards," Steve said. "Rather late. Did you at any time express to Mister Zumwald that accosting any woman, much less an officer of… what was it? 'The United States Naval services' was unacceptable behavior, Captain?"

"Sir," Wilkes said. "Mister Zumwald is a major Hollywood executive… "

"Was," Steve said.

"Excuse me, sir?" Wilkes said.

"Was a major Hollywood executive," Steve said. "Right now, Ernest Zumwald, Captain, is a fucking refugee off a fucking lifeboat. Period fucking dot. He's given a few days grace, like most refugees, to get his headspace and timing back, then he can decide if he wants to help out or go in with

If I may, Miss," Sands said. "What you call 'a mascot' is more what should be termed 'an icon.' A subject not just of morale but of veneration or even worship. These men are United States Marines, yes, and they will continue to do their duty. But they are Marines who have lost everything. Family, friends, buddies, country. We are one and all lost and adrift on a darkling sea. You, Miss Smith, have become not their pin-up girl but their heart and soul. They would follow me into hell. Charge any shore, face any fire. I am their Gunny. That's what Marines do. If you hinted that Satan had a case of ammo you particularly liked, they would charge in without a bucket of water. As Staff Sergeant Januscheitis said when he, separately, brought the idea up: 'The only thing we've got left, Gunny, is Faith.

There is a god somewhere that is angry because we're combining stuff like Cutty Sark with fifty-year-old Laphroaig,

That's the way to get the chicks for free. And getting the chicks for free is the only true pursuit for a grown-up male. Before puberty, of course, it's avoiding them like the plague.

Team Inara, commence Operation Joss-Whedon-Is-A-God.

Well, if I use Hispanic culture I get corruption and really good salsa music. If I use Chinese culture I get rigid thinking and decent Szechwan. If I use Islamic culture I get ... not damned much of anything. And ditto for Africa although at least the rhythm is good and you can dance to it. But if I use Western European Culture I get industry, higher standards of living, longer lifespans and a generally happier society. Damn, I think I'll just have to go with WesternCiv even if I do have to put up with the Lutherans.

Hello, my name is Noam and I have the answer to all your problems. It's all the fault of the evil Americans, the bad conservative ones that fill the airwaves with their lies and are in power and want to oppress the world. There. Now give me money so that I can soothsay again and assuage your guilt.

But it's pretty hard to get a liberal off their mental grooves.)

Yeah, I'm gonna need to write this . . ." Januscheitis said, pulling Faith up from where she was passed out on the computer keyboard. " '. . . it was, like, awesome . . .' is not going to pass review." "Wazzat?" Faith said. "We're going to have to talk about report writing language, ma'am," Januscheitis said, getting the lieutenant to her feet. "Tomorrow.

Humans talk about 'fight-flight.' Isn't binary, quaternary: fight, flight, bluff, submit. Every human is different pattern for different conditions, but all humans have all four to an extent ... All human interaction works on those four responses ...

No, Faith ain't gonna get charged with assault. I'm not even sure the incident occurred cause neither are you. You get three days off on the Alpha to get your head back together. Then you decide if you want to help out or go in a hold. Or, hell, I'll drop you off at a little town and you can fight zombies for supplies and fish for your supper. If you decide you want to help, God knows we need people who can organize and you should be able to do that. But if so, you're going to have to climb down. And you sure as shit had better figure out a way to apologize to Lieutenant Smith or at some point you're going to end up shark bait. Because the Marines, with the exception of Captain Milo 'I'm scared of zombies' Wilkes, just absolutely hate your fucking guts. And the one group you do not want pissed off at you in this Squadron is the fucking Marines. And of all the Marines, the one you seriously do not want to get on the bad side of is Faith Marie Smith. They call her Shewolf for a reason…

Tyler said, taking a sip of Coke. He'd begun to notice a bit too much blood in his alcohol system lately.

Open-market democratic capitalism isn't the best system of government in the world, it just works the best.

Islam was really strict about the whole "premarital sex" thing. The penalty for being raped, not for the rapist but for the girl who was raped, was stoning. Generally the family of the rapist paid a nominal fee and it was all good. Rape was, in fact, a way of exacting punishment on someone in (really backward) Islamic societies.

Peace through superior firepower.

What she did NOT appreciate was the homework. Captain Wilkes had scrounged textbooks for her to study. Not just Marine manuals, either. Math, science, English. Chemistry. Yuck! With weekly tests. And he was making her do all her platoon reports, then "annotating" them. He had given her a dictionary and thesaurus, among other things, and after the first report after giving them to her told her she was "not allowed words of more than two syllables." It was worse than fucking school. "Recess" was killing zombies.

Creating lines that went straight into the interior [of a space station] was a recipe for disaster. Some knucklehead in an X-wing was bound to come along and drop an energy torpedo into your main power plant, and everyone knows how that ends.

Permission to speak, sir?" the chief of boat of the Alexandria said.

"When do you ask, COB?" Vancel replied. "Sure."

"Hate the situation that we're in, sir," the COB said. "Really getting to hate fish. Don't want to think about what's happened ashore, sir. But this Wolf Squadron thing is like the best soap opera ever."



"And turns out she got knocked up by sitting where the guy had spewed in his sleep!"

"No fuckin' way!"

"That has got to be the lamest excuse ever! 'No, seriously, Mom, I got pregnant from a life raft deck!

Man-induced global warming was an hypothesis that had been repeatedly disproven. Anthropogenic (man-caused) global warming proponents weren't scientists, they were religious zealots.

She wasn't sure if she could just stand there. It was much easier to walk around and be shouty.

The gunnery sergeant didn't crack a smile at the radio intercept of Faith's concept of a backup plan, an intercept that had caused Commander Bradburn, skipper of the Dallas, to literally fall out of his command chair laughing. Sands managed to watch the video stone-faced as she boarded the Voyage and began her "fifteen minutes of mayhem," set in the video to the tune of Chumbawamba's Tubthumping. He managed to keep a straight face the third time she popped back up like a jack-in-the-box after being dogpiled by zombies. He held it in during her overheard running commentary as the rest of the Marines, even the NCOs, started rolling on the deck.

It was when she got the Halligan tool stuck in a zombie's head and overbalanced that he snorted. When she unstuck her bent machete and it caught a male zombie in the groin he started laughing out loud. When the, admittedly not petite, girl stuck a boot knife in a zombie's eye then threw him over the side, tears started running down his face and he completely lost his composure as a senior NCO of the United States Marine Corps.

To most people in a bureaucracy, the main thing is that they've got a steady paycheck, because who ever lays off a bureaucrat?

Nuke them until they glow and shoot them in the dark.
No questions.

Is it just me or is this like a bad TV sci-fi show?

Yes, my bug-out bag is packed," Faith said and grimaced. "'Where's your bug-out bag?' 'Is your bug-out bag packed?' 'What's your inventory?' 'Why did I get the insane parents?

So the starting point and the basis of their liberal wails of anguish always and always is guilt. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THESE MOTHERFUCKING ZOMBIES ON THIS MOTHERFUCKING . . ." She screamed at the top of her lungs.

This is too complicated. What about I shoot him? If he comes back, he really likes me.