by John Ringo
“General Talbot,” the admiral said, approaching him when he noticed him, and the cluster of officers around him. The admiral took in the burned arm and shook his head. “I’d have thought you’d be long gone by the time the first bomb hit.”
“My ensign was upstairs,” the general replied with a shrug. “I wasn’t going to leave her to burn.”
“No,” the admiral said, his jaw working. “But I wonder, how did you divine that there would be an attack on this building?”
Edmund sighed and shook his head wearily. “Remember what I said about studying war? I was doing that when you were going through potty training, Admiral. Attacking the headquarters, given that most of your ships were at sea, was the obvious choice. I’d have probably hit the warehouses instead, but that’s not how Chansa thinks. The first time I saw this building I thought: What a lovely target.”
“How did they manage to find it, then,” General Kabadda snarled.
“Because your whole damned base is lit up like a Yule Tree,” Edmund sighed. “Ever heard the term ‘blackout’?” he asked, then shook his head at the sign of bewilderment on their faces. “Lord, give me strength.”
“General, what we need are some positive thoughts right now, thank you,” the admiral replied, coldly. “Not defeatism.”
“Who said anything about defeatism?” Edmund asked. “We’re not defeated, but we damned well are stung. Stung hard. Not this, the shipyards and the fleet.”
The admiral had opened his mouth to reply when one of the bucket brigade shouted: “Dragon!”
The line scattered as the few crossbow-armed marines looked up into the night sky, trying to get a glimpse of the enemy.
Edmund looked up and sighed, then looked around at the tense marines.
“Belay that!” he yelled. “That one is ours.”
The great dragon descended on the quad in front of the burning headquarters, coming in over the fire so that her wings sucked the flames into swirls and caused them to leap higher.
“God damnit!” the admiral swore. “You just made our job harder.”
“Sorry,” the dragon hissed, swinging her head around to look at the admiral. “My mistake.”
“Hey, Joanna,” Edmund said.
“Eddie!” the dragon shouted, delightedly. “I got two of the bastards. Want I should go look for the ship?”
“No,” Edmund said, just as Draskovich said: “Yes!”
“I didn’t ask you,” the dragon said to the admiral.
“No,” Edmund repeated. “They would have launched from maximum range. Probably each of the dragons was only carrying one, maybe two, bombs. You’d have to do a ground take-off. And they would have hightailed it as soon as the wyverns returned. I doubt you’d find them, anyway. Especially at night.”
“Commander Gramlich,” the admiral grated. “I order you to go find and destroy that carrier.”
“You’re in breach of contract,” Joanna said, easily. “I don’t have to listen to you.”
“That is a violation of military regulations,” the admiral said. “And I have no choice but to place you under arrest.”
“You and what army?” Joanna laughed. The great dragon was nearly sixty meters from nose to tail-tip and both ends, and the middle, were equipped for fighting.
“Drask, give it up,” Edmund sighed. “You’re just making a fool of yourself. What’s the breach?”
“Failure to provide adequate support,” Joanna replied. “Failure to provide specified pay and allowances. And I’m overdue for a vacation.”
“You had a vacation in the Isles last year.” Edmund grinned.
“Fisk you, General, sir,” the dragon said, then laughed. The “vacation” had involved, among other things, being dragged nearly to her death by a kraken. On the other hand, the kraken had lost.
“Commander Gramlich,” the admiral said, furious at being ignored. “For the last time, I order you…”
He paused as an officer approached with two pieces of paper in his hand. He looked at the general and the admiral and then handed one to the admiral and one to Talbot. The admiral took one look at the piece of paper, reading it by the light of his burning headquarters, crumpled the paper up and dropped it to the ground. Then he walked away into the night.
“Sir?” General Kabadda called after him.
“Stay,” the admiral said. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Talbot glanced at the paper and then looked at Kabadda.
“This reads, and I quote; ‘General Wallace Draskovich relieved North Atlantis Command, effective immediately, Admiral Edmund Talbot appointed command vice General Draskovich. Signature, Michael Spehar, Minister of War.’ ” He handed the sheet of paper to Kabadda, who took it as if it were incendiary as the headquarters. “Do you acknowledge this assumption of command?”
The brigadier looked at it as if he couldn’t read, then read it and read it again.
“I do so acknowledge your assumption of command…” he said, gritting his teeth. “Admiral.”
“Kabadda, I’ll tell you something,” Edmund said, softly. “I’m about a centimeter away from having you follow the admiral. Do you want to do that?”
“No,” Kabadda said, after a long pause.
“I’ll tell you something else,” Edmund went on. “The position of chief of staff is thankless, because everything he does right the boss gets credit for. And he gets his ass chewed for anything he does wrong. But he’s the guy that makes the weapon, the commander just wields it. Frankly, with tweaking, this base and the fleet are pretty good weapons. Pretty good. Because the damned logistics are on your shoulders, from that point of view, not the admiral’s. That means that not properly serving the dragons was your fault. But if you think you can get your job done the rest of the way, then I’m going to give you a pass. But from my POV, you’ve already had your strikes. One more and you’re following the admiral. Clear?”
“Clear, sir,” the general said.
“Okay, stop the idiotic bucket chain. That place was burning to the ground before the last wyvern flew over and we’re just getting more people burned trying to put it out. Get the wounded tended to, get a headcount, get somebody besides you doing all this and meet me at the docks.”
“The docks, General?” the chief of staff asked.
“The docks,” Edmund replied. “I’m gonna go talk to the mer. Joanna, Destrang, Van Krief, you’re on me.”
Chapter Eight
“Hey, son,” Edmund said as he walked out onto the mer pier. He looked at the messenger and motioned. “Mind if I borrow that chair?”
“Who are you?” the messenger asked.
Edmund realized that with his tunic off, he was just a slightly sooty guy in a T-shirt.
“I’m Admiral Edmund Talbot, your new commander,” he said, mildly. “Now would you mind getting out of the chair?”
The seaman looked at the two ensigns and the dragon following the person, who did have the trousers of an officer, and after a moment’s shock, shot out of the chair as if it were electric.
“Thank you,” Edmund said, picking it up and taking it over to the side of the pier.
The pier was raised well above the height of the water but there was a floating dock at water-level. Herzer was stomach down, talking to the mer in the water in low tones, with a delphino drifting on the surface, watching.
“Herzer,” Edmund said, “stand up.”
Herzer rolled over and to his feet, looking up at the general.
“Catch,” Edmund said, tossing the chair down to the captain.
He then walked down the slippery stairs to the platform, took the chair away from Herzer and carried it to the side of the floating dock.
“Hi,” Edmund said to the mer. “How’s it going?”
“You’re Talbot,” the mer said, surprised.
“That’s me, should I remember you?” Edmund asked. “I don’t, sorry.”
“No, sir, we’ve never met,” the mer replied. “Asfaw, sir, communic
ations lieutenant. I wasn’t in the Bimi pod when you were there, sir. I joined later.”
“Oh, good, I feel better.” Edmund chuckled. “There were so many mer on the Retreat I never could keep most of them straight.”
“Talbot!” the delphino squealed. “Talbot General.”
“Yes, and you are?”
“T-t-tilly!” the delphino answered. Communicating clearly with a blow-hole was not the easiest thing in the world. It often made the delphinos sound stupid, but they were of normal human intelligence and had abilities in the water even the mer could not touch.
“Good evening, Mr. Tilly,” Edmund said.
“Not good!” Tilly replied. “Fire!”
“Oh, well.” Talbot shrugged. “I never liked that headquarters anyway.”
There was a moment’s pause and then Asfaw started laughing so hard he slipped back into the water and the delphino let out a high squeal of amusement.
“But there are things we need to do,” Edmund continued when the two got their mirth under control. “I’ve got good news and bad news, and it’s both the same news.”
“What’s that, sir?” the mer asked.
“I’ve just assumed command,” Edmund replied, handing him the sheet of paper. “Send that out. Tell everyone to rebroadcast it.”
“Willll!” the delphino trilled.
“Wait,” Edmund said. “There’s more. All remaining ships, retreat towards coast, assemble when possible near the Granbas area where Merillo is.”
“Storm come!”
“Where then?” Edmund asked.
“Soooouth!” the delphino squealed. “Bamud!”
“Okay, I stand corrected,” Edmund replied. “To all the ships with wyvern; feed them meat from normal stocks. Do not attempt transfer at this time unless senior dragon-riders concur. Understood?”
“’Stood!” the delphino squealed.
“All whalos run silent until mer and delphinos are on station. Any that are under attack, move to the nearest fleet. Fleets are to use wyvern to attack the orcas.”
“Orca meat!” the delphino squealed happily. “Taste sweet!”
“To Merillo and the group assisting him; draw the orcas to the nearest wyvern armed fleet units.”
“’Stood!”
“Last order,” Edmund said. “To all carriers: Forage wyverns when possible. Tell the mer to meet with the senior dragon-riders and amplify. They all know the story.”
“Will!” the delphino squealed.
“Okay, we’re done for now. I’m appointed command, Admiral Draskovich relieved. Retreat towards Bamud. Feed the dragons, on orca and ixchitl if possible. Protect the whales. That’s all I can expect them to handle right now.”
“Done!” the delphino said and dove under the water.
Edmund leaned back in the chair, planted his feet and tipped it back to look at the stars. He looked over at Herzer and had to chuckle; the captain had a pad of paper out and was clearly taking notes of the orders.
“They’re really big on written orders, sir,” Herzer said.
“That they are,” Edmund replied, looking up at the stars.
* * *
“Ge… Admiral,” General Kabadda called from up on the pier. “We’ve pulled everyone but a fire-watch back from the headquarters. I’m shifting it to the officers’ club.”
“Nah,” Edmund said. “Shift it down here.”
“Here, sir?”
“Yep. Where are your communications?”
“Here, sir,” Kabadda admitted. “But…”
“Got any mer sitting around the O-club for advice?”
“Advice, sir?”
“Yes, Kabadda, advice,” Edmund replied, tiredly. “Look, work with me here, do a bit of thinking. Have you ever flown a dragon?”
“I’ve flown on one, sir…”
“Yeah, so have I,” Edmund snorted. “In that so-called briefing you thought was so great, the most experienced dragon-rider, dragon wrangler for that matter, was Herzer, who kept his mouth shut the whole time. The most experienced person at coordinating mer and delphino forces in the attack was me. When we rebuild a headquarters, and I’ll admit we’re going to have to, the meeting area and war-room will be suspended over the water, like a boathouse, and it will have a way for great dragons to participate, if by no other means than sticking their heads through the window. Clear?”
“Clear, sir,” the general said in a stricken voice.
“Joanna.”
“Dude,” Joanna said.
“We’re back playing soldiers, now, Joanna,” Edmund said.
“Yes, sir,” the dragon said with amusement in her voice.
“Forget the failure to provide adequate support,” Edmund said. “I’m sure there are some nice juicy bullocks around and if not I understand most of the horses in the stables are ready for the glue factory. What’s your back pay?”
“Eight hundred chits,” Joanna snarled, angrily. “And by contract I can request that it be in specie. I’m so requesting.”
Edmund sighed at the tone but kept looking up.
“Pay her, Kabadda,” he said.
“But, sir…”
“I said pay her,” Edmund snarled. “Joanna, silver do?”
“Sure.”
“Kabadda, get a working party started on ripping the fixtures out of the VIP quarters bathroom. Ditto anywhere else that they used silver for fixtures. If it comes down to it, get all the silver table settings in the dining room. And then find someone who’ll give us a pence on the chit in silver or gold for the damned bathtub.”
“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff said in a voice that mingled resignation and anger.
“We’re a military force, not a bunch of Persian potentates,” Edmund amplified. “Joanna, you’re gonna get paid. Question: How far can you fly?”
“Pretty far,” the dragon said, warily.
“All the way to Blackbeard Base?”
“I don’t know,” the dragon said, honestly. “I wouldn’t want to try it.”
“You’re gonna have to,” Edmund said. “Asfaw, another order.”
“Yes, sir,” the mer said.
“Effective immediately, Brigadier Shar Chang brevet promoted Lieutenant General. Will proceed via… what’s the name of that carrier down there?”
“Hazhir, sir,” Herzer said.
“Proceed immediately to Newfell Base via carrier Hazhir. Carrier will leave all but one wyvern. Expect contact en route by greater dragon. Make all sail. Anybody know where Evan is?”
“Who?” Kabadda asked, clearly lost.
“Blackbeard,” Herzer said.
“You’re sure?” Edmund asked.
“I took the trouble to find out.”
“Bring civilian engineer Evan Mayerle. Joanna, you’re going to head for Blackbeard. Hopefully you’ll meet the carrier on the way. If not, feed at Blackbeard and then go find it. Get Shar up here, soonest. Bring Evan if you think you can handle the weight.”
“It’d be easier if I had some sort of powered assist on takeoff,” the dragon grumbled. “Even a cliff. But this place is flat as a board.”
“Kabadda, in the morning get working on a dragon-launching platform,” Edmund said. “It’s stupid that dragons attacking us have assists and our defensive forces don’t.”
“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff said. “But if the dragon leaves, we won’t have any cover for the base, sir.”
“What about the wyverns?” Edmund asked.
“What wyverns?” Joanna said. “I’m the only dragon here.”
Edmund covered his face with his hands and shook his head.
“Send a runner over to the message center. Message follows: Send flight of wyverns and riders to Newfell Base. Immediate. Coastal forces prepare for dragon attacks. More follows. Signature Talbot.”
“Will do, sir,” one of the messengers said, scribbling hastily.
“Kabadda, I want that platform done in less than a week,” Edmund said. “At least twenty meters high,
strong enough to support a great dragon. With a catapult.”
“Yes, sir,” Kabadda said. “But… that’s a lot of material.”
“And manpower,” Edmund said. “Which you will find in whatever is left of the shipyards. We’re out of the shipbuilding business for the time being. What do we have in the way of supply craft, and materials, to send out to the fleet? And do we have any idea what we have in the way of supplies?”
“With the headquarters burned we lost most of the records,” Kabadda admitted. “But we can reconstruct some of them from records in the warehouses. There are two transport ships available, but nothing to cover them with.”
Edmund thought about that and sighed.
“Get them ready for sea, loaded with wyvern food and ketchup,” he said.
“Sir, we’re… out of ketchup,” Kabadda admitted.
“Oh, grand,” Joanna said. “In that case, I want those bullocks cooked, General.”
“Care to amplify that, Kabadda?” Edmund sighed. “Never mind. Get them ready with all the salt beef and pork you have available. Canned if you have it. Or smoked fish. Anything protein with high fat content. And find some ketchup.”
“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff said.
“There’s another carrier out there, somewhere,” Edmund muttered.
“Agreed, sir,” Kabadda said. “The geometry is impossible for the ones that struck the fleet to have struck here as well.”
“Lieutenant Asfaw.”
“Sir?” the mer said.
“Ask Jason to get some delphinos deployed over this way,” Edmund said. “Find that damned carrier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want to be dealing with these details, Kabadda,” Edmund said. “Get the supplies collected, stat. Handle it.”
“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff replied.
“But get at least a couple of hours sleep sometime tonight; it’s gonna be a long day.”
As the chief of staff hurried away, Edmund dropped the chair back to the dock and leaned over to look at the mer.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think I’m glad you took over,” Asfaw replied.
“Well, you’ll find I’m going to be poking into your affairs more than Draskovich did,” Edmund said. “So, anything you need down there?”
