by John Ringo
“Well, I’d thought that Shar would feel the same way,” Edmund replied, seriously. “But I was wrong. I’d picked up on some of the politics before, but he finally wrote me a letter that lays it all out, at least from his end. When Sheida became convinced she needed a navy, after I pointed out that control of the sea-lanes was going to be vital, she tapped the only person she knew, Bob Houser, to be the guy to set it up.
“Now, Admiral Houser is a fine guy, but his connection to the sea was racing yachts, specifically from…”
“The Balmoran Yacht Club?” Herzer asked.
“You got it. They’d have races and regattas with other yacht clubs and it was very much a club; you only got in if you were the right kind of people. Invitation only. Now, naturally, Houser drew mostly on people that he knew. But there weren’t enough ‘right’ people to fill all the slots, certainly not ones who survived the Fall and the Dying Time. So, for really obvious reasons that he knew and trusted some people and didn’t know or trust others, all the plum assignments went to guys from the yacht clubs.”
“General Chang wasn’t from one of the yacht clubs,” Herzer said, puzzled. “What was he doing in charge of the dragon-carrier?”
“Dragon-carriers had been, more or less, an order from Olympus,” Edmund said with a grin. “Sheida said: I’ve got dragons and I’ve got ships. Let’s put them together. The admirals from the yacht club, though, thought it was a terrible idea. They were working on various ballista and trebuchet boats, ships designed to do damage at short range and then board with marines. They’d even requested that they be given command of the Blood Lords and retrain them for boarding.”
“Grand,” Herzer said, dryly.
“But when the carrier took out six ships, five of them without ever coming in sight of the enemy, much less letting them get a chance to counterattack…”
“All of a sudden,” Herzer frowned, “carriers got important.”
“And all the new carrier commands go to the yacht guys, and Shar, who is their most successful carrier commander, is shuffled off to a minor base to guard babies.”
“The mer are bloody important,” Herzer said. “No mer, no delphinos; those two are bound like glue. No delphinos, no whalos, because the whales don’t talk to us, can’t most of the time. No whales and their intelligence system is gone, their -communcations… The key to that is Blackbeard Base. I’d thought they were sending him there because he was their best man. Not, in their eyes, the one they could afford to lose the most. Are they idiots?”
“No, they’re just very shortsighted.” Edmund sighed. “I think it’s coming to a head with this plan to forward engage Paul’s fleet. I wasn’t even copied on the information; Sheida asked me about it because it struck her as wrong. If Paul wants to destroy the carriers, why put them in harm’s way? Why not find out what’s going on at the very least?”
“They’ve got surface units,” Herzer said. “Frigates and cruisers. I’d send them in and try to find out what they’ve got. It’s brutal, but even if you lost a few, you’d get intel on their capabilities. Launch wyverns for long-range penetration; just probe them. Stick and move until you know what’s what. They’ve got time and sea-room.”
“The current plan is a straight head-to-head clash, probably off the Onay Islands” Edmund smiled, dryly. “I’m not getting their intel so I can’t make an informed judgment. But it doesn’t make sense to me, either. Sheida, therefore, has ordered me to move my flag to Newfell Fortress.”
“So I take it I’m off the roster of instructors at the Academy,” Herzer said.
“Call it temporary duty,” Edmund replied. “You look displeased.”
“I was enjoying it, tell truth,” Herzer replied, then grinned. “Some of those ensigns are real lookers.”
“Herzer,” Edmund growled, warningly.
“I’m not even looking, much less touching.” The very young captain shrugged. “At least, I don’t think I’m looking. But we’re pretty divorced here from the town and Bast hasn’t shown up in a year or so. On the other hand, there’s always Estrelle.”
“Yes, there is,” Edmund said, pursing his lips. “I’ll admit that in your case, that doesn’t even bother me for some reason.”
“It does me, to tell the truth,” Herzer said with a shrug. “But that’s old history. And the one thing that you know is that if, for some odd reason, she’s got something more important to do, you’re not going to force her.”
Estrelle was the barmaid for Tarmac’s tavern, the oldest drinking establishment in Raven’s Mill. She was a homunculus, a nonsentient human replica. She was relatively short with long golden hair, high, firm breasts, a heart-shaped face and cornflower blue eyes. Her programming was to serve drinks, clean up, make very small talk and jump into bed with anyone that so much as suggested they might be interested, all other duties being covered of course. And because she was a homunculus, she was as strong as any three human males. Once when Herzer had gotten into a fight in the tavern she had picked the one-hundred-twenty-kilo soldier up off the ground and then wrapped him in a virtually unbreakable wrestling hold.
Edmund did not care for homunculi. He didn’t mind them as people, but he disliked the morality of their existence. He knew they were nonsentient. He knew they weren’t really human. But he still felt that it was a form of bondage slavery which did not sit well with him. Instead, before the Fall, he used nannite servants. Since the Fall he had had hired help who he tried, often despite their best efforts, to treat as his equals. He might have had this dukeship thrust down his throat, but it didn’t mean he had to like being an aristocrat.
Edmund sighed and shook his head.
“Well, that brings up the next little item. I’m going to need some staff to come along. Not much; I’m going to leave the army staff in place with General Ferraz. Which means drawing on the Academy or the Blood Lord facility. What I really need is a group of messengers, the original of aides. You’re going to be my primary aide but I want you there with me. Pick a few of your best and brightest. If they don’t make me grimace, they’re coming with us.”
“Okay,” Herzer said, frowning slightly. “I know a few that I’d choose but don’t get me wrong about one of them just cause she’s female.”
“I won’t; I trust your judgment,” Edmund said, “even when it comes to women.”
Chapter Three
Herzer knocked on the door and entered at a female voice: “Clear.”
He looked around the room and grinned at the startled faces.
“Doing a little cross-pollination?” he asked and avoided grimacing at the unintended double entendre.
“Our engineering assignment is permissible as a group project, sir,” Ensign Van Krief answered after a moment. “And there are only two extant copies of Defeat Into Victory and American Caesar available, sir. We managed to snag both.”
“American Caesar?” Herzer asked.
“The biography of General MacArthur, sir,” Tao answered, getting dagger looks from the other two. “It covers the Inchon landing in some depth.”
“Interesting,” Herzer replied. “We’ll have to see if the library will let us borrow them on long-term loan.”
“Sir?” Destrang said.
“You’ve all been detailed to be General Talbot’s messengers,” Herzer replied. “I’ve got homework assignments from all of your instructors. It’s a headquarters assignment, but you’ll be riding, so pack dress and undress uniforms; we’re leaving in the -morning.”
“We, sir?” Van Krief said, her voice rising an octave to a near squeak.
“I’ve been detailed as his aide, for my sins.” Herzer grinned. “Not that I’m unfamiliar with the position. But bring your armor, as well. As I said, I’ve been on this sort of assignment before.”
* * *
The five of them, and their equipment, made a heavy load for the stage coach. But they all managed to pack it in by the time the scheduled departure arrived.
Duke Edmund gave his wife
a hug before he boarded, then picked up the tow-haired child at her side.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, giving the boy a squeeze.
The boy just looked at him from big, blue eyes and then gave him a hug back that was hard and swift. The child was beautiful, even by the standards of the time, with ears that were faintly pointed. He dropped to the ground lightly and grabbed his mother’s hand, working his face and clearly trying not to cry.
“Headquarters assignment,” Daneh said, pointing at Edmund. “That means you stay safe. Understood?”
“Understood, milady,” Edmund grinned.
“Herzer, too,” she said.
“Herzer, too,” the duke answered.
“We’ve got to board, boss,” Herzer said, stepping up and getting a hug from Daneh as well. “I’ll take care of him,” he said.
“Like you did the last time?” Daneh chuckled.
“He didn’t get a scratch,” Herzer replied, defiantly, then smiled. “Really, we’re going to be in Newfell Base. I won’t say ‘what can happen?’ but we’re not planning on going on an island vacation so how bad can it be?” He tousled the hair of the boy at her side and grinned. “Seeya brat.”
“Seeya, Herzer,” the boy replied. “Kill some bad guys.”
“I’ll try,” the captain replied, trying not to wince. “Gotta run.”
The five of them boarded the coach, which had barely room for six, and took their seats, the three ensigns squeezing in the forward, and therefore less comfortable, seats, with the captain and the general in the rear bench. As soon as they were on board the coachman called to his horses and with a wave from Daneh they were off.
“Okay,” Edmund said, looking across at the three ensigns, “let me get a few things straight. I’d tell you to call me Edmund, but that would just worry you and you’d probably slip up around the Navy, which has gotten really protocol ridden in a very short period of time. So it’s ‘Duke Edmund’ or ‘General Talbot.’ I brought you along for two reasons. The first is that I’m going to need messengers. The Navy has a good communications center but the nearest Army commo center is up at Gemtown Barracks. There’s going to be messages that I don’t want the Navy seeing, so you’re going to be carrying them to Gemtown, which is one hell of a ride. The other thing I want is eyes and ears. I want you to watch what the Navy’s doing and how they are doing it and, drawing upon your vast experience, finding things that you like or don’t like about what they do. I’ll probably ask for input from time to time but if something really springs out at you, bring it to me. Especially if you run across things that you think the Navy doesn’t want me to know. But what I don’t want is mouths. The admirals are some starchy sons of bitches. Herzer I’ll cover if he puts his foot in his mouth and I’ve got a reputation to maintain as an aggressive SOB. But you guys stand around with your eyes and ears open and your mouths shut. If you have anything for me, wait until we’re alone. Is all of that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the three responded.
“Questions?”
“No, sir,” Van Krief responded after a moment. “I don’t know what to ask, sir.”
“Knowing that there are questions, but not what they are, is the beginning of wisdom, young lady,” Edmund said, aware that he was being pompous. “And in any case, we’re both in the same boat. I know that there are questions to be asked, but until I get the information I need to evaluate the situation, I don’t know what they are. And, yes, that bothers me as much as it does you. More.”
“Sir,” Destrang said. “We have standard intelligence briefings, just like everyone else. According to them, we have five dragon-carriers to the enemy’s five. And our dragons have trained in bombing techniques, whereas the enemy has not. I’m not sure that there is any question that we can take out the enemy fleet. But you seem concerned.” He paused, and frowned. “Is there any intelligence that you have that suggests the enemy may be more formidable than he appears?”
“I can’t answer that question, Ensign,” the general sighed. “But… do you think that you should depend upon the enemy’s stupidity? They have known about our capability for nearly a year and a half. They have built dragon-carriers in that time. I find it unlikely that they have not developed the capacity for bombing, whether there is intel or not. And if they have, I think that moving to intercept them when they are clearly courting battle is unwise. Does that answer the question?”
“Yes, sir,” Destrang nodded. “Can I ask what you would do, sir?”
Edmund frowned and shrugged. “I tend to keep my plans close to my vest, Ensign, but in this case, since it’s hypothetical… I would probably retreat the main fleet and break off a small task force. Use the mer and delphinos to keep the position of their main fleet fixed and move for sea-room. At some point, they are going to need fleet replenishment. The Briton Isles are still a basket caseÑthere are still elements holding out in the northern and western hillsÑso they are going to have to replenish at some point and get that replenishment from Ropasa. When they move to replenish, have the task force, task forces if there are enough detachable light units, attack the convoys. At some point, they are going to have to head back to base. When they have turned, moreover, it’s likely that they are on low rations. Unfed wyvern are dangerous wyvern. They cannot fly as far, are harder to handle in the air, and if it goes on long enough they start attacking the crew. It is when they turn for home that I’d pounce. Especially since I had light units at their back. It might even make sense to have a carrier out there, lying doggo and hopefully unnoticed by their orca scouts. It would be demoralizing in the extreme to be hit by a full dragon-strike just as they thought they were safe.”
“Indirect approach, sir,” Van Krief said, nodding. Then she looked at the captain quizzically.
“But, sir, we have the steam hammer,” she pointed out. “Why not crush them while we can?”
“No,” Herzer replied, “we think we have the steam hammer. There is a whole world of difference between the two, Ensign. Piling on when you think you’re grabbing a house cat and finding out you’ve got your hands on a house lion, is a recipe for hurt.”
* * *
Herzer was uncomfortably aware of the ensign sitting opposite him. The countryside outside the coach was boring in the extreme, a patchwork of plowed fields and uncleared timber with very occasional small towns. And the coach lurched as it moved down the Via Apallia. The pre-Fall road had been constructed and maintained by reenactors and in keeping with the continued social distaste for “real” roads was constructed in the Roman manner with paving stones. It was incredibly smooth compared to most of the burgeoning post-Fall road network. And the coach was well sprung, on good metal leaf springs, with the new vulcanized rubber tires. But it still rocked and occasionally lurched uncomfortably. Looking sideways in it was painful after a time. And the landscape across from him was a hell of a lot better than the landscape outside. The ensign had the tip of her tongue sticking out ever so slightly as she reread Slim’s autobiography of the Myanmar campaign. And she set off her undress blues quite fetchingly. Herzer had just started to fantasize about uses that the tongue could be put to when he realized he needed to think about something else and closed his eyes.
Unfortunately the future held too many uncertainties to think about clearly. With the New Destiny combat fleet at sea, the invasion fleet it was meant to protect could not be far behind. Paul Bowman, the leader of New Destiny, the man who had planned the coup against the Council of Key-holders that had started the civil war, considered himself to be the good guy. Since it was clear that the Freedom Alliance resistance to his plans was evil, any action taken by him was clearly on the side of the angels. Which was why he had announced that if the UFS could not see the light, it would be forced to by a reign of terror.
Celine Reinshafen, another of the council members who had sided with Paul, was not nearly so high-minded. When Duke Edmund had been living the life of a feudal baron and crafting swords and armor, she had been creatin
g genetic monsters that pushed the envelope of the pre-Fall biological protocols. Since the start of the war, she had apparently gone into overdrive and they had already faced several of her monstrosities. The Changed humans that made up the backbone of the New Destiny hordes were but one example; brutal, strong and remarkably durable, they made fearsome soldiers in the assault. When they had first been faced by Blood Lords, they were named “orcs” on sight. Not so disciplined at holding a shield-wall, especially in the face of a flight of arrows from UFS longbowmen or assaulting Blood Lords, they were still a damned tough enemy.
But she was rumored to have created others. The ixchitl, pre-Fall, had not had poisonous nematocysts, so that was probably one of her little “tweaks.” And she had managed to infiltrate a few others into the UFS. One of them, a horrible giant humanoid beast that was inhumanly strong, quick and deadly, had woven a web of terror through Washan until it was run to ground and destroyed by a group of citizens. It had chosen to immolate itself when the manor it was using as a base was burned to the ground. They still weren’t clear on what it had been or how she had created it. And there had been others. Would be more.
He wondered what changes she might have made to the dragons on the New Destiny side. Firebreath came to mind. It had been impermissible under Council rules prior to the Fall but many of the rules had been struck down when the Council split. Not the prohibitions against explosives, which prevented them from using guns or internal combustion engines, or even high-pressure steam engines for that matter, nor the uniform protocols against self-replicating microorganisms or nannites. Both had been implemented with near unanimity by previous Councils and only a unanimous Council, impossible in these days, could waive them.
But firebreath she could do, with enough power. She might be able to draw it from the bodies of the dragons themselves; that was how the orcs were created. But the best material for firebreath would be jellied gasoline, and while it was producible by biological organisms, the Change was complicated and dangerous. Not to mention learning to use it.
