"Charmed, I'm sure," the commander replied, shaking their hands. "I'll show you to your staterooms, General. Sergeant Toweeoo and the other dragon-riders are quartered by their beasts." He waved to the leather-lunged petty officer and gestured at the two riders. "Have someone relieve this poor man of the baggage, Chief Brooks, and show them the dragon facilities. Then round up Evan and that dragon warrant."
"Aye, aye, sir," the CPO said.
Once on the deck it was clear that the overhang, what was apparently a dragon landing platform, covered a good third of the ship. The commander led them towards a gangway that was actually under the shade of the platform and gestured above.
"That thing's going to be a bloody nuisance, General," the commander noted. "Not only does it mean losing a mast, perhaps two, with the concomitant loss of speed, but it's got a huge sail area. Maneuvering this tub is a stone bitch."
"What do you think about it?" Talbot asked. "Are the dragons worth it?"
"We'll have to see, won't we, sir?" the commander said with a tone of amusement. "From what I understand they don't have much of a means of attacking anything below them. At the moment I'd have to say no. On the other hand, preparing for them has given us this lovely huge ship to play with and if they don't work out we can simply add a couple of masts and have a real fighting ship at our fingers."
He led them down the short flight of stairs to the next deck. The top of the opening to the passageway was covered in padding and painted bright yellow and black.
"Watch your head," he said, ducking in example. "Especially you, Lieutenant. Turn to face the ladder, please; it's safer that way."
The corridor beyond was low and narrow. There were two crewmen, a male and a female, coming from the opposite direction and both of them flattened themselves against the wall as the party passed.
"Sorry about this," Daneh muttered.
"Not a problem, ma'am," the female crewman murmured while the male gave Rachel a raised eyebrow.
"Moving protocols," the commander said as he pushed aside a curtain and entered a room to the right of the corridor. "When you're moving in a corridor, the junior gives way to the senior. Since that means I only have to stand aside for the captain I think it's a lovely deal." He pointed to two bunks along the side of the tiny cabin. "I'm not sure about arrangements. We're a mixed crew but we have separate bunking for males and females. There's this cabin and the master cabin, which is designated for the use of Duke Talbot since it's large enough for meetings. Either the two ladies can bunk in here, or the lieutenant and Mistress Daneh's aide share, or, I suppose, the duke could give up his cabin to the ladies and bunk in here. There's also a large cabin in the dragon-rider's area but I'd prefer to set that aside for the riders if you don't mind. Or one of them could bunk with the riders."
Edmund looked at Rachel and raised an eyebrow to which the girl shrugged.
"I've been living, one way or another, with Herzer most of my life; I don't have an issue with rooming with him."
"I could bunk with the riders," Herzer said at almost the same time.
"No, I want you to work with them but I'll want you handy as well," Edmund said, rubbing his beard. "Bunk here. If there are issues, deal with them."
Herzer shrugged and went into the room, tossing his gear on the top bunk. It had a low wooden railing on the outside and the cushion was made of some relatively soft padding; he wasn't sure what. It wasn't straw or feathers, of that he was sure. There was just enough room for him to turn around, with his head bent, in the small cabin. Climbing into the bunk was going to be an interesting operation. His gear, not much of it, just one bag, went at the foot of the bunk, which gave him about a hundred ninety centimeters to work with. Given that he was two hundred ten centimeters in height, it was going to be cramped. He'd just have to prop his feet on the bag.
"And just down the corridor," Mbeki said, this time opening a door into a room, "we have Duke Edmund's cabin."
The room, while low, was relatively spacious. Besides a large bed it had a table large enough to handle six people, eight if they crowded. There was also a fairly large window made of thick glass, and a few meters of open floor space.
"You're on the port side of the ship here, just forward of the captain's cabin," the commander said. "My cabin is right across the corridor. Wardroom is just down from the aide's cabin on the port side. The rest of the officers' quarters are forward of the companionway."
"This will do well," Duke Edmund said. "Put that over there," he continued, gesturing to the seaman who had been following them.
"Duke Edmund," Herzer said. "I'd like to look up Jerry and get a look at the dragon quarters."
"Warrant Officer Riadou is supposed to be meeting with the captain soon..." Mbeki said.
"I'd like Herzer to attend that," Talbot interrupted. "Herzer's going to be my liaison with the dragon-riders. I'd like him in on discussions of their use."
"Very well," the commander said, nonplussed. "Seaman, show Lieutenant Herzer to the captain's dayroom."
Herzer followed the seaman though a bewildering series of corridors to a door guarded by a sentry.
"Lieutenant Herzer to see the captain, orders of the duke," the seaman said, stepping aside.
The guard looked the lieutenant over and raised an eyebrow. "Blood Lord?"
Herzer leaned forward until his nose was an inch from the sentry and nodded.
"Blood Lord. There is one captain. There are two lieutenants. I'm the other one. And if you give me a look like that again I'll wipe the floor with you. I don't take lip from privates. Especially ones with newly issued armor and who haven't seen shit to make them salty. Do I make my point?"
The sentry flexed a jaw muscle and nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, then knocked on the door.
"What?" Chang called from the interior.
"A Blood Lord lieutenant to see you, sir," the guard said.
"Let him in."
Herzer marched in and saluted the captain, who was bent over a table, head nearly touching Evan's, both of them poring over a schematic, presumably of the ship.
"Message from Duke Edmund?" the skipper asked.
"Actually, sir, he sent me to... look in on the meeting, sir. I'll just stay out of the way."
The skipper stared at him flatly for a moment, then shrugged. "No, if you have anything to contribute, feel free. We've only been working on this project for a year. I'm sure you have all sorts of useful suggestions."
"I'm much more likely to ask questions, sir," the lieutenant said. "But I intend to avoid even that."
"Questions are good," Evan said. "Doing something like this is all about questions. Like, what's going to happen to the handling of the ship when thirty-six wyverns are coming and going all the time?"
"Something we'll have to find out," the skipper said. "Right now, I'm wondering if we can even get them on and off."
"We can do the landing, sir," Jerry said doggedly. "The wyverns can land on a dime."
"This will be a moving dime, Warrant," the skipper growled. "Up and down, side to side, forward and back. I'll limit the movement to the extent that I can, but I can't stop it."
"We'll figure it out, sir," Jerry replied.
"Know anything about logistics, Lieutenant?" the skipper asked. "You've fed those wyverns. How much feed per day?"
"Depends upon the type, sir," Herzer answered. "From what I was told, two hundred kilos per day of the mess, less if it's good quality protein and fats."
"Access to the latter will be restricted at sea," the captain said. "You've helped feed them?"
"Sir," Herzer said, nodding his head.
"Think about doing that on a rolling ship in the middle of a gale," the captain said with a smile.
"Sir, have food bowls set into the stalls, sir," Herzer replied. "Have slots to feed the mess through the slots. Better yet, have some sort of a moving trolley that automatically feeds them; that prevents humans accidentally sliding into the stalls. Have the edge of the food bowls suf
ficiently high that the mess is unlikely to slop over. Feed in increments rather than lots at one time. More time intensive but if there's an automated feeder that's not a problem. Sir."
The captain raised one eyebrow. "Is that an official recommendation, Lieutenant?"
"But..." Evan said then shut up as the captain raised a hand.
"Sir, no, sir, it's just an idea," Herzer barked, standing at the position of parade rest. "I was specifically asked, sir."
The skipper leaned back in a chair and actually appeared to look at Herzer for the first time.
"Who trained you, Lieutenant Herrick?" the captain asked.
"Gunnery Sergeant Miles A. Rutherford was my advanced combat trainer, sir," Herzer replied. "He developed the Blood Lord training system. Along with Duke Edmund."
"Gunnery sergeant?" the skipper asked. "That's a Marine rank."
"If you have an issue with the use of that rank, sir, I respectfully suggest that you take it up with the Gunny, sir," Herzer said sardonically.
"Think you're salty, Lieutenant?" the skipper asked, tilting his head to the side.
"No, sir, never been to sea, sir," Herzer replied. "But..."
"Yes?" Chang said, with a raised eyebrow.
"I've been wounded with arrows, axe, spear and sword, had my hand cut off by a powered blade, fought my way through a cloud of nannites to try to dig my dagger into a man protected by a force field. I've been smashed off my horse, trampled and seen my best friends die on every side of me. I've flown dragons, fought cavalry battles and clashed shield to shield with ten times my number of Changed, all slavering for my blood. For two damned years I've been fighting this war on the front lines, sir. If you're trying to intimidate me, Colonel, you're going to find it a hard row to hoe."
The skipper stared at him for just a moment, then nodded his head.
"We're trying to figure out how to land and recover dragons on this ship and how to keep them alive, healthy in extreme conditions. We're also trying to figure out how to make them more of an offensive weapon. Warrant Officer Riadou has apparently fought with them before, but if the enemy isn't disheartened by their appearance there's not much that they can do except flap their wings and hiss. They're not even very good at using those impressive talons of theirs. Air to air, dragon y dragon, they might just be formidable. But we need to figure out how to make them a formidable force against ground and sea enemies. Now, they make decent scouts but I don't want a ship that's relegated to a scouting mission. I want an offensive weapon. Understand?"
"Sir," Herzer said with a nod of his head.
"Is there some way that you can help with that?"
"Not at this time, sir," Herzer admitted. "I wasn't planning on contributing, as noted. I'm here to be Duke Edmund's eyes and ears. But... sir?"
"Yes?"
"There's nobody that I know of who is better at wringing an offensive edge from a weapon than Duke Edmund."
"Perhaps he'll have some ideas, then." The skipper shrugged. "By the way, you came up with the same plan that Evan has for feeding the wyverns. Mr. Riadou has some issues with it."
"Wyverns are pack animals, sir," the rider said. "I'm afraid that if they spend much time battened down and completely separated they're going to be pretty unhappy. Depressed. A depressed dragon is a noneating dragon."
"We'll cross that problem when we come to it," Chang said. "And that's your problem unless there's something specific that I have to approve."
"Yes, sir," the rider said.
"I want you to be thinking along offensive lines," the skipper continued. "I want you to figure out ways that your dragons can sink ships. Capture them for that matter."
"Well, we can drop rocks," Jerry said. "But we have to toss them over the side and hope we both miss the wyvern's wing and hit the enemy. It's not very efficient."
"You and Evan talk it over," the skipper said. "I've spent enough time on this problem. Take Herzer with you. Figure something out."
"Will do, sir," the warrant officer replied. He straightened up and saluted, fist to chest. "By your leave, sir."
"In the Navy we salute to the brim of the cap," Chang said, tossing him a salute in return. "And not indoors. Gads, classes on basic military courtesy for riders. Add that to the list."
"Is he in the Army or the Navy?" Herzer asked. "Sir."
"He's damned well under my command on this ship, Lieutenant," the skipper replied tightly. "He can damned well follow Navy protocols."
Herzer nodded in reply and pushed open the door.
* * *
Joel had been assigned a bunk in the transient quarters and the next day hurriedly assigned uniforms and filled out a myriad of forms. The only one that gave him any trouble was the last will and testament. He had no one, at least no one he was in contact with, to leave his belongings to. On the other hand, "Joel Annibale" didn't exist, anyway. Finally, he left the form blank and when he turned it in the clerk in charge pointed to the empty line.
"You gotta leave it to someone or something," the clerk said.
"I don't have anyone," Joel said, his face hard.
"Most of us don't," the clerk replied. She was a young woman and she shook her head, sighing. "You can leave it to the Navy fund. This is my family, now. I guess it's yours, too."
Joel filled in the line and signed the form with a strange feeling. He knew he probably wasn't going to be with the Navy long, but for the time he had a home.
He was sent down to the docks with his ill-fitting uniforms, bulging seabag and new boots that slipped on his feet. He was assigned to a boat and got the first look at his new ship.
The damned thing was huge, a clipper ship if he recalled the design right. But the masts were all screwed up because of the big platform on the back.
There was a working party loading on the starboard side and before the new hands were even assigned quarters they were put to work hauling up the supplies. There were hogsheads of salt beef and pork, steel barrels of ration biscuit, bag after bag marked "Soya" and innumerable other items. Winches had been secured to the crosstrees and the material came over in large cargo nets. Then it had to be hand carried below and stuffed away in the holds. On his first trip down he was surprised to see that the material was only supplementary to what was already on-board; the ship was stuffed tighter than a tick.
As soon as the lighters had pulled away from the ship he was accosted by a female petty officer.
"I'm PO Su Singhisen," the petty officer said. "You're Seaman Annibale, right?"
"Right," Joel said. "Joel Annibale." The PO was a medium-height blonde with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
"You looked like you knew what you were doing, there," she said, waving at him to follow her below.
"I've worked ships before," Joel said. "None this big, but it's pretty much the same."
"And they made you a steward?" Singhisen laughed.
"They did?" Joel replied. "Nobody told me what my duty station was going to be."
"Grand," the PO chuckled. "The navy finally finds somebody with experience on ships and they make them an officers' steward."
"Sounds like any bureaucracy to me," Joel chuckled.
"What did you do before the Fall?" Singhisen asked as she led him below. The companionway was short and while the PO didn't have to stoop, Joel did.
"I mostly sailed in the Asur Islands," Joel replied. "After the Fall I took up fishing for a living."
"How'd you get here?" she asked. She opened a door on an incredibly cramped room with four tiers of bunks spread across it in six rows. "Home sweet home."
"Grand," Joel replied as she led him down the narrow aisle between the bunks.
"You're the newbie," she said, pointing to the top bunk. "So you get the worst spot."
Joel had already seen that the seabags were set at the base of the bunks. He climbed up and lashed his in place.
"What next?"
"Galley and then I get somebody to show you the route to officers' country. Then we
put you to work."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Herzer followed the two far back into the bowels of the ship. The corridors were impossible to figure out, or so it seemed; most of the time he didn't know if he was facing the rear of the ship or the front. But finally they entered a high, wide corridor that was unmistakable.
"This is where the dragons walk?" he asked.
John Ringo - Council Wars 02 - Emerald Sea Page 14
