"I'll note that this is a copy of the original. The distribution list on the original included your office. So you're clearly such a lard ass you didn't even bother to read your mail. Now get your ass up and get out of the chair."
"I don't have to take that from you, Captain," the major snarled, throwing the sheet of paper on the desk and pointing to his collar. "I'm a major. You're a captain. And you don't talk to me that way!"
"I'm a captain sent by your commander passing on an order that you failed to obey," Herzer said, still smiling with a certain amount of strain. "I think you'd better wonder how many more minutes you're going to be a major. Or, you know, you could get your ass in gear and start preparing for the arrival of the Fleet. Your choice."
"We'll see about this," the major said. "There are channels for the 'admiral' to forward a request such as that. And the use of that material for nonoperational purposes is still against regulations. You can tell the 'admiral' that for me. Now get out of my office, Captain. You can consider yourself on report for insubordination."
"What? Again?" Herzer said. "Have a nice day."
Herzer strolled out of the office and through the headquarters beyond. Despite the fact that the fleet was limping back to port, just about out of rations and with heavy damage, the logistics headquarters for the base was not what he would call a sea of activity. In fact the well-manned office was filled mostly with clerks who were clearly trying to figure out something to do. Each of them had a desk, which was more than could be said for the temporary headquarters, and each of them had a pile of paperwork that they were supposedly working on. But the vast majority were chatting or obviously working so slowly they were just trying to pass the time.
Destrang fell into step with him as he walked through the outer office and into the sunshine beyond. Herzer took a deep breath and shook his head.
"What do you think?" he asked, looking towards the warehouses along the shore-front.
"Well, everybody is running around like chickens with their heads cut off over at headquarters," Destrang said, rubbing his chin. "Sure doesn't look like it's filtered down, though."
"True," Herzer replied, stepping off towards the temporary fleet headquarters. "I can't think but that I might have handled that better."
Edmund had actually moved the "war-room" out of the headquarters and into tents set up on a nearby field. His ostensible reason for this was that way the dragons could participate in discussions. Herzer knew it was widely suspected that the new admiral was just trying to put the Navy in its place. And he also knew that there was more than a gram of truth to the suspicion.
The area had been roped off and marines were stationed around it to prevent unauthorized entry. They knew better than to try to stop the general's aides and as Herzer walked through the entrance he nodded at the sergeant on duty.
"Wonderful day, eh?" Herzer said, smiling.
"Lovely, sir," the sergeant replied. "Can't wait for it to rain, frankly."
In the two days since the headquarters destruction Herzer had found time to work out with the marines. He found them to be woefully undertrained by Blood Lord standards, but he knew that was a high standard. The marines, however, had developed a reputation for ability and Herzer had to wonder if it was anything but a reputation. They made much of being able to stake out bars, but with either boarding pikes or short swords even Van Krief had been able to take them with laughable ease. It was something in the back of his mind to discuss with Edmund. If there was ever time.
"How'd it go?" Edmund asked as he entered the tent reserved for the commander.
"I'm on report for insubordination," Herzer admitted. "Something about calling a major a lard ass."
"Well, was he? And do we have a party for the troops laid on?"
"Sailors," Herzer corrected. "No we don't and yes he was. Those materials are for the supply of the Fleet, not for a damned party."
"That's what he thinks," Edmund replied. "You showed him the letter? Hadn't he received a copy?"
"I don't know if he had or not," Herzer said, shrugging. "But when I gave him the copy he still felt constrained to point out that it was against regulations to use the materials in that manner. He also pointed out that there were 'proper channels' for such a 'request.'"
"Oh, he did did he?" Edmund asked. "I've sent down that request twice through the G-4. I think it's time for the G-4 and me to have a little chat." Edmund leaned back and tugged at his beard for a moment, then shook his head. "No, it's not, come to think of it. What was that major's name?"
"Spearman."
Edmund reached into his desk and rummaged until he came up with a manning chart.
"Wait a second," Edmund said, pulling out a fountain pen and writing rapidly, consulting the manning chart from time to time. He handed the paper to Herzer and gestured to the main tent. "Go have a copy made of that, then carry the copy over to the G-4. Just hand it to him and leave."
"Righto," Herzer said, glancing at the paper and shaking his head. "Who is Colonel Trahn?"
"According to my manning chart he's now my G-4," Edmund said, looking back down at his desk which was just about covered in paper. "Let's hope he has the sense not to be passive aggressive with me like his former boss."
As Herzer exited the tent he nodded at the major who was entering. The man was tall and spare, clean shaven and with a very short haircut. It took him a moment to remember where he had seen him before.
"Major." Herzer nodded.
"Captain Herzer," Joel Travante said. "Congratulations on the promotion."
"Congratulations on yours. sir," Herzer said, his brow furrowing.
"It's a lot easier to move around a military base in uniform," Joel said, then frowned. "I'd like to pick your brain sometime, Captain."
"About?" Herzer asked.
"In a more private venue," Joel grinned. "Call it. ground combat issues."
"Any time," Herzer replied. "If I'm not running errands for the general."
"I'll talk to him," Joel replied. "Good day."
"Good day to you," Herzer nodded as the man entered the tent.
"Who was that?" Destrang asked as they headed for the main tent.
"I'm not sure I should say," Herzer answered then shrugged. "He's a spook."
"A what?"
"An intel officer. I don't know what he's doing here."
Chapter Ten
"Hello again. Major," Edmund said. "Have a seat."
"Thank you," Joel said, sitting down languidly.
"I've blocked out most of the afternoon," Edmund continued, getting a cup of coffee from the samovar. "Want some?"
"Please," Joel replied, opening up his briefcase. "I suppose I don't have to tell you about need-to-know."
"Not really," Edmund replied. "But do I decide that or you?"
"I suppose we'll have to discuss it," Joel answered with a grin.
"What name are you using at the moment?" Edmund asked.
"Kolata," Joel said. "When I'm in my official capacity I generally just go by T."
Joel Travante had been one of the few police in the pre-Fall era. The Council Inspectors were independent operatives and most of them worked part-time. But among the group was a smaller core, the Special Inspectors, who were the elite. You became a Special by solving the toughest cases in the best possible fashion. Joel Travante had been a Special Inspector for forty years prior to the Fall.
Just prior to the Fall he had been in the Asur Islands trying to find a serial rapist and murderer. Either was difficult pre-Fall since everyone was protected by personal protection fields. The perpetrator would seduce young women into lowering their shields and then keep them too occupied, mostly by pain, to be able to raise them again.
Joel had been close on his heels when the perp disappeared, apparently off the face of the earth. The inspector had finally found information that indicated the murderer had turned himself into a kraken and was hiding somewhere near the bottom of the sea. The question being, which bottom? He h
ad managed to trace him to the Asur Islands and had been preparing to go hunting in the depths when the Fall hit.
After the Fall he had worked fishing boats. Then, when New Destiny took over the islands, he had taken his small boat and sailed two thousand kilometers to Norau. From there he had reestablished contact with Sheida Ghorbani and gone back to work. This time not as an inspector, but first as a member of her burgeoning intelligence apparatus and then as its head.
He liked his job for several reasons. One of them was that he got to see the real information about the world, messed up as it was. The other reason being that his wife and daughter had been in Briton and Ropasa, respectively, and his position was the only one he could imagine where he might get some inkling of their fates.
"Any word on your wife and daughter?" Edmund asked, handing him a cup of coffee. "I've got cream and sugar."
"Black, sir, thank you," Travante replied. "And no, unfortunately."
"Well, if we can ever get back to Ropasa, hopefully we'll find something out," Edmund said, glad that both his wife and daughter had managed to make it home after the Fall. He could imagine what a hell it must be for Travante. "So, what do you have for me?"
"The anti-dragon frigates were a known weapon," Joel started. "I'd sent both a description and schematics to Naval Intelligence who apparently decided that it was an 'unconfirmed report.' I've also developed intel on their carriers. There are some differences from ours, some significant ones I believe."
"Such as?"
"Shorter legs," Joel said, extracting a sheet of paper. "They're only good for about forty days at sea. Furthermore, the training of the dragon-riders is, my analysts believe, sub-optimum. That is confirmed, I feel, by their lack of success."
"They took out four carriers," Edmund pointed out.
"Yes, sir, but given the number of dragons they can loft-they carry forty-five, which is one reason they are short-legged-they should have been able to sink the entire fleet. Their aim was rather poor."
"Okay, point."
"They currently have six, unfortunately. I'll admit that the additional carrier caught me by surprise. I've been concentrating my gathering efforts in the northern ports and they apparently used Bassay to build and field that one. Their fleet is currently headed for home ports, including the one from Bassay, which is headed to attach to the main fleet. They were caught by the storm and badly battered around; they also don't appear to have as good quality of sailors as we do. Some of their light units and one anti-dragon frigate are reported as lost."
"How many frigates did they have?"
"Ten, which explains our losses," Joel replied. "It's not my place to ask, but are you going to be able to replace those?"
"I've got wyverns flying in from all over," Edmund replied. "Training them, and their riders, will take some time but not as much as you'd think. Once they make a carrier landing, I'll have the ships do further work-ups at sea. And I think I can do some work on the supply issues. But the shipyards are going to have to work like demons."
"You can anticipate them doing a fast turn-around on their end," Joel pointed out. "I don't have any intel on their intentions. So far I've been able to establish a fairly good intelligence group in Ropasa, but penetrating their high level positions is a slow and dangerous business."
"Well, keep at it," Edmund sighed. "What else do you have?"
"Quite a bit, actually."
* * *
Edmund was leaning back in a comfortable chair, a glass of wine in his hand and his feet propped up when there was a knock on the door.
He looked at it irritably and sighed. It was after midnight and he had been meeting with one person or another all day and most of the day before. He certainly was in no mood for more company. But there was no one else to answer it. He'd sent Herzer and the rest off when he got back to his quarters.
He set the cup down and walked over, mentally grumbling to himself. It seemed as if no one on the entire base, possibly in the entire Navy, had the slightest clue how to organize and manage a military force. Oh, they could move food around and they could sail ships. But that seemed to be as far as they'd thought. No one that he had encountered seemed to think in terms of bringing harm to the enemy.
For Edmund, who thought about it even when there wasn't an enemy to bring harm to, it was like being the one-eyed man in the country of the blind.
He jerked the door open, intending to ream a new asshole, and then smiled when he saw it was Shar Chang.
"I can come back later," the general said. He'd gotten a new uniform and washed up but he still looked worn out from the long flight.
"No," Edmund said, waving him into the room, "I said as soon as you woke up. One of the things I'm trying to get this cluster of school boys to understand is the concept of doing the work when it needs to be done."
"Sailors generally understand that," Shar pointed out. "A storm doesn't care what time it is."
"Most of these guys were sailors when you knew exactly when there would be a storm," Edmund pointed out, pouring another glass of wine. He handed it to Shar and sat back down, waving at the chair across from him.
"Point," Shar said. "Do you know how the senior officers were chosen?"
"No. I know they all come from that same sailing club."
"Every year the club has a regatta, a race," Shar said, taking a sip of wine and looking at the ceiling. "Quite the do. Yachts come in from across the world. It was one of the big events right at the end of the yachting season. Anyway, absent any other way to choose, the senior officers were chosen from the captains that had the best time in last year's race. Draskovich was the winner; the man really can sail. Kabadda was in second place, by a nose if I recall correctly. Et cetera."
"That's just peachy," Edmund said. "And I suppose their XOs are in their usual place?"
"Oh, yes," Chang replied. "If they were around. Trahn, now, the second guy in Logistics, is a pretty good guy. I don't know if he knows diddly about logistics, though."
"We'll see," Edmund replied. "I'll admit that they are good at moving food and spares. But we have to teach them to fight. Did you know there wasn't an at-sea commander? That each of the carrier skippers was in charge of their own battle-group and Draskovich was in command of the fleet?"
"Well, he's the fleet commander, isn't he?" Shar asked.
"No, he's the North Atlantis commander," Edmund said. "Was. He's not supposed to oversee the entire battle. That's what a fleet commander is for. And the skippers of the carriers are the skippers of the carriers. They're not there to run a battle group. It's like the entire concept of chain of command is gibberish to them. Micromanagement raised to the nth degree."
"Is that what you called me up here for?" Chang said, motioning with his head at the new stars. "To be the 'at-sea commander.'"
"Fleet commander," Edmund corrected. "And to pick your brain. But you're no more prepared for it than any of the rest of the captains. So what you're going to be doing, in your munificent free time, is read. There's a library here and from what I've been told by one of my ensigns, it's brimming with good biographies. I want you to cram every biography of every fighting admiral you can read over the next week or so. And I mean every waking moment that you're not working on something more important. I'd give you a list, but I don't know what they have. Halsey, Nelson and Provock at the very least. Oh, and Ensign Van Krief has Slim's biography. He's a soldier, not a sailor, but I think you can learn some things from him. You up to it?"
"Reading biographies has never been at the top of my choice of how to spend my free time," Chang said with a shrug. "But if you think it will help."
"Immensely," Edmund replied. "Now, I want to pick your brain. Not about the battle, but about managing the fleet. First of all, do we have to feed everyone salt beef? We've been starting to can stuff at Raven's Mill and the legions are going in the direction of all canned materials. It's coming on to harvest time; if we can set up a canning facility we should be able to can just about anyt
hing we want."
"Well, canning for vegetables would be a good idea," Shar replied. "But on the Hazhir we've got even better for meats; we've got a sub-zero freezer."
"A freezer?" Edmund said. "Doesn't that require electricity? And doesn't the Net just suck it off?"
"No electricity involved," Shar grinned. "Refrigeration just involves compressing gasses. All you need for that is pumps and piping. Evan found a good source for the pumps, right up the Gem River, and the piping is coming out of factories in quantity. Refitting the ships isn't even particularly hard. You just insulate two holds and, presto, you've got refrigeration. Keeps meat for a treat. Even for the dragons."
"Which reduces the volume of material they need," Edmund said, nodding. "And you can keep your beer cold."
John Ringo - Council Wars 03 - Against the Tide Page 12
