The recovery had been slow and painful. But if he screwed up this ride, he was looking at a several-thousand-meter fall. That was not even vaguely survivable.
But he really needed to catch up to the formation.
"Up, Chauncey," he yelled. "Go! Forward! Hut! Hut!" There didn't seem to be any way to beat at him. He'd never really seen the riders make any motions except small rein movements.
But. His boot was actually over skin, not on the saddle. He doubted that was unintentional.
"Hi, Chauncey," he yelled, digging his boot into the side of the dragon as hard as he could.
The startled wyvern began flapping its wings, rapidly gaining speed. So rapidly that the formation was coming up much too quickly. And he was still slightly below it.
"Up!" he called, pulling back on the reins. At the last moment he checked his instinctive reaction to yank back and instead applied a gentle pressure, as if he was trying to get Diablo to go to a moderately slower gallop.
The control worked, Chauncey adjusted his angle of flight and went upward, losing some forward speed at the same time, but when they returned to level flight, by simply letting out on the reins, they were above and past the formation. Also slightly farther out to the left and he had no idea how that had happened.
"What the hell are you doing?" Joanna bellowed. "I told you to just go along for the ride!"
"He was in your slipstream!" Herzer yelled back. "I didn't think you should have to tow him!"
"If it had been a problem I would have told you!" Joanna raged back. "Now what are you going to do, hotshot?"
He had to go backwards, down and to the right. The "slot" he was trying to get to was about ten or twenty meters to his right and about the same back. About sixty meters down. He seemed to be in a slightly less efficient glide than the other dragons, probably because he wasn't coasting in the same vortexes.
Well, he'd tried the up reins, and the up and down. And turned left and right.
"I guess I'll try the down reins," he muttered and pushed back, lightly, on the right down rein.
* * *
Rachel had been watching Herzer's fumbling entry into flight with some amusement but she gasped in horror as the dragon turned over on its right wing and plummeted towards the ground.
"Oh, my God!" she shouted.
Joanna turned her head slightly to the side and tisked. "That's what we call a stoop."
"Is he going to be okay?"
"Well, the reason we call it a stoop is that it's fisking stoopid."
* * *
Herzer grabbed at the straps as the dragon seemed to turn, briefly, upside down. He had a very clear view of the underside of Vickie's dragon as he passed and he realized he was screaming, but there didn't seem to be anything else to do at the moment.
However, he was only briefly inverted, if he ever actually had been, and he quickly gained control of the beast, taking the climb straps and pulling back on them slightly less gently than he had been.
The dragon pulled out of its dive in a strong swoop upward and to the left, pushing upward with strong strokes of its wings and Herzer let out a bellow of joy at the incredible feeling of having that power at his control.
"Yes!" he shouted, as the dragon pulled up to the level of the formation. More confident now he let it rise to slightly above the formation then angled it into the slot at a downward glide. At the last Chauncey seemed to sense the vortex and entered the slot of his own accord.
"Oh, my God!" Herzer shouted over to Vickie, a smile plastered on his face.
"You're fisking crazy!" Vickie shouted back. "You could have killed yourself."
"That's what's so great!" Herzer yelled back, still grinning. "Normally it's human beings trying to kill me. This time it was just physics!"
"Give him a break, Vickie," the next rider over shouted. "The first time she stooped she pissed herself."
"Thank you so very much, Jerry!" Vickie shouted back. "You'd better check your straps well for that!"
"It was great!" Herzer yelled. "Let's do it again!"
"Not a chance," Jerry yelled. "The reason we're flying like this is it's a long flight today. You've already pushed him harder than was a good idea. Just let it be. Time for aerobatics on the trip."
"He's not a dragon-rider!" Vickie yelled back.
"Dragon. Rider. Dragon-rider!" Jerry pointed then laughed.
"How long are we flying today?" Herzer yelled.
"Long time, four or five hours," Vickie replied. "That's pretty close to the limit of a dragon's endurance."
"Oh," Herzer muttered. "I didn't know," he added in a yell.
"It should be fine," Vickie yelled. "It's not that they wear out, they just need to feed by then. And full dragons don't fly very well. We usually fly a couple of hours, then feed them, then fly again. This way we'll fly four or five hours, then they'll have to gorge. And once they gorge they won't be any good for hours."
"What if they don't get fed?" Herzer yelled.
"You don't want to be around a hungry dragon," Jerry replied. "You really don't."
* * *
The dragons hissed like giant tea kettles, swinging their heads angrily from side to side. But the chains they were attached to kept them far enough apart that even their tails couldn't strike at the ones to either side.
On the other hand, to get the large platters to them would require getting close enough to get bitten.
The destination of the group had been Newfell Naval Base, a growing facility near the mouth of the Gem River. It was at the very tip of a massive bay that marked the joining of the Gem and Poma rivers, the latter of which was fed by, among others, the Shenan that ran by Raven's Mill.
The base had been formed in response to the apparent intended invasion from Ropasa and it was a scene of remarkable industry.
There were twelve large piers, each of which was in use by a veritable fleet of small vessels. Most of the vessels seemed to be barges and lighters that were carrying material from the interior, but a few were larger sailing vessels that had probably reached the base by sailing up or down the coast. Herzer recalled that to the north were the growing cities of Balmoran and Manan, either of which might have sent the ships.
The material being unloaded from the ships made its way to a set of warehouses lining the waterways. From the warehouses some of it spread to support the rest of the base. There were foundries that provided the iron-work for the ships, saw mills that roughed the trees that were rapidly being turned into hulls and masts, rope manufactories that took the rough hemp from the interior and made it into strong manila lines, and sail-factories where heavy cosilk bolts were sewn into the vast sails needed for the growing ships.
But all of it paled to the efforts of the shipyards themselves.
The wyverns had been parked at the edge of the shipyards along the Gem River. On every side ship hulls lying on ways were in the process of being built, surrounded by scaffolding. From every direction came the sound of sawing and hammering, and besides the smell of tidal marshes there was an overpowering smell of curing wood and sawdust.
And all of it was contributing to the unease of the wyverns.
The platters were large, over a meter in diameter, with raised edges and metal handles. The smell from the steaming mess they contained mixed with the stench of the tidal marshes to create an aroma that Herzer found truly nauseating.
But what he really wanted at this moment, rather than a mask to cut the stench, was his armor. Those wyverns had big teeth.
"What's in this?" he asked, lifting one side of the platter as Jerry took the other. Herzer probably could have lifted one himself but it for most riders it was a two-person job.
"Offal, soybeans, vegetable oil and ketchup," Jerry said. "Now they know the smell of this stuff and they don't like it. So they're going to be inclined to get a bite of fresh meat. We stop just outside of lunge range and slide it to them. On three."
"Ketchup?" Herzer asked.
"They like ketchup.
One, two..."
From behind them there was a roar and Joanna landed to the side in a blast of wind.
"Cut it out!" she bellowed, leaning over to peck the nearest wyvern on the back. The wyvern ducked its head to the ground and got as close as it could to scraping its belly, letting out a faint mewing sound.
"Now feed 'em," Joanna bellowed, pecking at another of the wyverns that had leaned towards the platters. "I need you guys alive."
Jerry and Herzer crabbed forward and dropped the platter under the wyvern's nose and then picked up another and dropped it in front of Chauncey. By that time the other three had been fed as well.
Like it or not the wyverns immediately buried their nose in the mess, sucking at it since it had little in the way of texture.
"Well, that's done," Jerry sighed. "Now we check them over."
The dragon's pebbly skin was fairly strong but it could be badly gouged by a misplaced strap. Jerry, with Vickie occasionally giving acerbic advice, showed Herzer how to check for gouges or scrapes. They then spent some time working on Chauncey, trimming his toenails. Jerry had a large set of bolt cutters for the job but Herzer gently lifted one of the talons and inserted the tip into his clamp.
"They're strong," Jerry said.
"Not a problem," Herzer said. "Probably." Herzer flexed his forearm and the tip of the nail flew off with a "snick" sound.
"Cool," Jerry said. "Very useful."
"Also opens bottles and makes julienne fries," Herzer said with a grimace. "I'd rather have a hand."
"How's it work?"
"If I grasp like I'm grabbing with forefinger and thumb it clamps," Herzer said. "If I grasp with middle and ring finger it engages the cutters. If I pull with the pinkie it engages a gear on the cutters and the clamps. Gives me about six times the grip or cutting strength."
"Did you use the clamp?"
"Nope, didn't need it," Herzer said, running his hand up Chauncey's leg as he cut the other nails. "That's done this one."
"Chauncey's one of our newer wyverns," Jerry explained as Herzer worked on the other talons. "He's just out of the rookery but since he's biddable and didn't have a designated rider and we were told we needed one spare we brought him along despite the fact that he's not full grown."
"Big enough," Herzer said. "How fast do they grow?"
"Ten years to get this big," Jerry said. "He'll add another sixty, maybe eighty kilos before he stops in another ten."
"Ten years?" Herzer said. "Then... he was born before the Fall?"
"Yeah," Jerry said with a smile. "Nobody's been able to do time travel yet. There was a wyvern racing league; we came from that."
"I'd thought that Sheida had had them bred," Herzer said then paused. "Why did you join up?"
"Well, we had to keep them fed somehow," Jerry replied with a shrug, giving Chauncey a last wipe with a rag. "And between Sheida and New Destiny there wasn't much choice, was there?"
"No, I don't think so," Herzer answered honestly. "I... I was involved with some folks that were allied with New Destiny at first. I didn't know they were until after I'd left. They weren't very good people even before that, though."
"Well, I joined up with Sheida almost immediately," Jerry said. "I had a rookery near her home in the Teron mountains. After the Fall I flew over and she saw the benefit immediately. So I and a couple of others flew around to the rookeries and recruited."
"Where did Joanna come from?" Herzer asked.
"I don't know. Sheida found her someplace."
"Do you mind her... sort of being in charge?"
"Not at all," Jerry replied with a shrug. "She's like a god to the wyverns, which helps as you might have noticed. And when she gets into a battle the other side doesn't have much of a chance. The wyverns really aren't very good at fighting; all they can do is bite or claw down, and when they do they lose airspeed. Joanna goes through the enemy like a mechanical reaper. She can really use that tail for some serious damage. I'm glad she's on our side."
Herzer and Jerry were gathering up the rags and cutters when Herzer spotted Rachel picking her way through the wyverns. The dragons had settled down after their feed but a few of them hissed at her as she passed.
Rachel ignored them, making a beeline for Herzer. When she got close she stood with her hands on her hips and shook her head.
"So this is where you've been hiding?" she asked. "I thought you were happy in the infantry?"
"I am," Herzer admitted. "But we're going to be working with the dragons a lot. I figured it was a good idea to get to know them as well as possible."
"Well, Father thinks it's a good idea if you two attend the mission briefing, whatever that means," Rachel said. "Which is why I'm here."
"Are we done?" Herzer asked.
"Done enough," Jerry answered. "Let's go."
CHAPTER NINE
Joel had permitted the enthusiastic ensign to recruit him; it seemed like the simplest way to manage the insertion given the complications. Ensign Weilis had even picked up the ticket from Tenerie to Newfell. So after arriving at Newfell Base, the ensign led him to the recruiting station and then took off to report for duty.
Joel shook his head at that, wondering at many levels about the ensign's naivet‚. They had stopped overnight south of Washan, staying at one of the coaching inns; the price of the cramped room was included in the fare. So it had been midmorning by the time they arrived. Technically, the ensign did not have to report until just before midnight the day of his arrival. If he reported now, he'd either sit around in an office all day or be assigned busywork until somebody figured out what to do with him tomorrow.
The other level of concern about Weilis' naivet‚ was Joel's conviction that whoever was running counterintel couldn't find their ass with both hands. The ensign had gladly told him all of his duties in Balmoran and some of what he thought he would be doing in Newfell. In fact, the kid was such a chatterbox, Joel now knew half the story of his life. He either had his cover down pat, or he was an idiot. No, the kid wasn't an idiot, he'd been trained by idiots. And that was worse.
Joel shook his head again and opened up the door to the recruiting office. There was a desk in the room with two comfortable chairs placed in front of it. Behind the desk was a stern-faced older guy in a uniform just about covered in medals. His face broke into a friendly grin when Joel came through the door.
"Hello there, son," the NCO boomed, coming to his feet and walking around the desk. "Glad to see you, I'm Chief Rishell, but you can call me Chief."
"Hi, Chief," Joel said. When the chief limpingly cleared the desk it became apparent why he was behind it; his right leg was gone from the knee down. "Got bad news for you, I think this must be the recruiting office, right?"
"That's right, son," the chief said, pumping his hand. "It's a man's life in the Navy, but we only take the best. Good strong hands there-you working as a plow-hand before?"
"No, Chief," Joel said. "The point is, that nice young lieutenant directed me here. I'm looking for receiving."
"You already got recruited?" the chief replied, dropping Joel's hand.
"Yeah, I used to work fishing boats, before and after the Fall," Joel replied with a grin. "They said something about making me a petty officer."
The chief looked at him with a blank expression for a moment, then pointed to his left.
"Receiving's three buildings down."
"Gotcha, Chief," Joel said, trying not to grin.
"You on orders?" the chief asked, looking at his shabby traveling clothes.
"Verbal is what they told me," Joel replied with a shrug. "Basically they swore me in and put me on a stage coach for Newfell."
"Hmmm..." The chief peered at him for a second and then went back behind his desk. "Siddown, son."
Joel did so, cocking his head to the side.
"The thing is, you're not required to report until just before midnight," the chief said with a slight frown. "If you go over there this time of day, they won't have any way to use
you. They might tell you to take off and take care of personal business. But they'll probably put you on some temporary detail nobody wants to do, like raking grass or shoveling shit. Now, everybody has to do those sometimes, anyway. But there's no damned reason to put yourself in the way of them, if you know what I mean."
"I appreciate that," Joel said. "But I don't know what there is to do."
"If you've got any cash, I'd suggest going over to the Post Exchange. They've got a snack bar and there's even books you can buy now in the PX. Maybe take a walk around the base, but if you're out of uniform people are going to ask you questions and if you run into some officious young prick he's gonna tell you to report in right away. Go get a book and some lunch and find an out-of-the way spot to hide. I'm only letting you in on this, you realize, 'cause you're a fellow sailor."
John Ringo - Council Wars 02 - Emerald Sea Page 12
