Against the Tide tcw-3

by John Ringo

  “Get in here,” the woman said, standing to the side.

  Joie slipped through the door, pulling her wings in around her, and looked around. The kitchen was light and airy with a scrubbed table, copper pots, a large wood stove and hams and herbs hanging from the ceiling. It smelled strongly of onion, as if the floor had been washed with it.

  That was about all the impression Joie got as the woman hustled her to a door and down into the basement. The basement was half filled with various oddments, bits of furniture that had waited for repair until they were dust, covered boxes, broken barrels. But the back half was filled with wine racks. The woman went to one of these and swung it back revealing a small room.

  “In here,” the woman said.

  “I’m starving,” Joie replied. “And I need to go to the beach tonight. It must be tonight.”

  “We’ll see,” the woman replied. “Going to the beach does no one any good if the area is crawling with Change, girl. Go in there and I’ll find you some food. Quickly.”

  Joie folded herself into the room, which was too low for her, and sat on a chair that was too small. The room was instantly dark but she fumbled on the table and found a match. The match led to a candle and the candle led to an examination of the room. There wasn’t much to it. A bed too short. A chair too small. A table too low. And a very short ceiling. It was apparently ventilated, but Joie couldn’t find from where. The woman returned with a large bowl of thick stew and a loaf of excellent bread and cautioned Joie to remain quiet no matter what she heard. After eating, Joie blew out the candle and settled down on the too short bed, pulling her wings around her for warmth and comfort.

  Later she half remembered thumping but it passed from one bad dream to another where something was chasing her through the night. There was a silver cord around her heart and no matter how far or how fast she flew it couldn’t break. She awoke as the door slid back and the old woman waved at her.

  “Lucky it wasn’t Changed,” the old woman said, much more friendly. “There was one Sniffer but with the herbs in the garden and the onion and pepper on the floor there was no way for him to pick up your scent. You were seen but no one was sure what you were. Most said a large seabird, maybe an albatross badly off-course.”

  “I do not look like an albatross,” Joie said.

  “No, you don’t.” The woman chuckled. “It’s nearly nightfall. You need more to eat?”

  “If you please,” Joie said. “I might have to fly again tonight.”

  The woman set her down to another bowl of stew and more bread but when Joie looked up piteously the woman sniffed and brought out cold chicken, more bread, more stew, until Joie finally waved her back.

  “It takes a lot of energy to fly,” Joie said in embarrassment at the feast she had been served. The old woman had contented herself with one bowl of stew and a bite of bread.

  “I can believe it,” the woman said, taking a sip of wine.

  “My name’s Joie,” Joie said, filling up the silence. “What’s yours?”

  “Mine is my own,” the woman replied with a grimace. “And yours is yours. No names. No names and no questions, that way if you’re caught you can’t give anything away. I take it you weren’t trained for this?”

  “No, I’ve been in a brothel for the last four years,” Joie answered, tartly. “I don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”

  “There you go, telling me things,” the woman said, throwing up her hands. “Although, I’ll admit that my description of you is distinctive.”

  “So what do we talk about?” Joie asked.

  “Nothing, by preference,” the old woman said grimly, standing up and picking up the dishes. “It will be dark in less than an hour. I will tell you where to go on the beach and give you a lantern. After that it is up to you.”

  * * *

  The selkie point popped his head above the water and glanced at the shore then dove again. He gestured at the team leader and signed: “Lantern.”

  The team leader was less than thrilled. They’d used this drop-point before. Eventually it was going to be compromised. If it wasn’t already. But they had their orders. He waved the point in and the rest of the team followed, twisting through the water in the aquabatics that were their forte.

  The point popped his head above the water again and watched the lantern for a moment. At first it was steady, then the light winked once, twice, three times. He dove again and headed for the beach, mentally saying his prayers.

  When he reached the wave-line he poked his head out of the water again and looked around carefully. The lantern was out, which was right. But there was a white figure where it had been. He watched it for a moment, then looked around, reading the shadows, looking for anything out of place. It looked right, but one more time he scanned the beach, then humped forward as fast as he could, headed for the distant scree.

  * * *

  Joie had been told to watch for heads in the water but when the selkies came up she was surprised. She wasn’t sure at first if they were her contact but she uncovered the bullseye lantern. When the heads disappeared she covered it again. Then, when they appeared again, she uncovered it and sent the recognition sign, mentally preparing to take off for altitude if they were with New Destiny.

  Her surprise was complete, however, when they burst out of the water in a welter of spray and started to cross the beach towards her. A small one was in the lead but right behind him was a huge specimen, at least three meters, with a crossbow on his back the size of a small ballista. As she watched, the big selkie reached the edge of the beach and started setting up the crossbow on a tripod as the smaller one scanned the darkness.

  “You have something for us?” a selkie asked. He had moved so quietly, despite his ungainly method of travel, that she hadn’t even noticed him approach.

  “A message tube,” Joie said. “And I was told to tell you this is very important. Nobody, nobody opens it but Joel Travante or Edmund Talbot.”

  “I’ll pass that on.”

  “I’m supposed to be free, now,” Joie said. “They said you would get me out.”

  “That is tough,” the selkie leader admitted. “I’ll pass it on, but I can’t guarantee anything. There are no ships in this area right now and the New Destiny fleet just sailed. And I doubt you could swim out.”

  “I have to get out of Ropasa,” Joie said, desperately. “Technically I’m an escaped slave. They’ll cut off my wings if I’m captured.”

  “Bastards,” the team leader said. “Look, we’ve had some contact with the McClure clan in Gael. Go there. I’ll pass on the word that you’re there and we’ll try to get pick-up in. Okay?”

  “I can find Gael,” Joie said, grimly. “But where are the McClures?”

  “West coast, just across from Hibernia.” The team leader used the fingers on his flippers to sketch in a map. “Here. Land in this area and ask anyone about the McClures. They’re either allied with them or fighting them or both. But they’ll know where you can find Laird McClure. Tell him Ryan sent you and to take care of you until we come pick you up. We pay our debts.”

  “I will, Ryan,” the girl said, leaning down and kissing him on the top of his wet bullet head. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Ryan replied. “Now we have to get the fisk out of here.” He put the message tube in a pouch on his harness and turned to the water. “You take care. Team, move it down to the water by the numbers.”

  Joie watched as the team reversed its assault on the beach and then as they disappeared into the black water. It was only when the last selkie waved a flipper at her in farewell that she rubbed out the map and took off to the west, flying out and over the rapidly receding seal team.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Admiral,” the messenger said after a tap on the door.

  “Yes?” Shar and Edmund answered simultaneously, then grinned.

  “It’s actually a message for Admiral Chang, Admiral.” The messenger gulped, nervously. “New Destiny fl
eet has sailed.”

  “Which one?” Edmund asked.

  “It was just that, sir, the fleet,” the messenger replied.

  “Shar?” Edmund said.

  “I’ll query for more information,” Chang said, getting to his feet. “But I suspect they mean it’s both.”

  “How many of those devices of Evan’s do we have?” Edmund asked as the messenger shut the door.

  “Only a half a dozen. More are being made on shore but getting them out to the area is going to be tricky, especially if the fleet is at sea. They’ll have to avoid them while moving into position. Tricky.”

  “We’ll worry about that later,” Edmund said. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”

  * * *

  “Both fleets have sailed.” Major Steffani Viesseman was the fleet’s intelligence officer. Packing Shar’s staff onto the ship, especially with the addition of Edmund and his aides, had been a difficult proposition but they’d managed it.

  Packing them into Edmund’s quarters was even harder.

  “Right now the information is sketchy,” she continued, pointing to the large map on the wall. “But it looks like only one carrier is with the invasion fleet. The rest have separated and are headed south, between the Briton Isles and Ropasa.”

  “What the hell are they playing at?” Chang asked.

  “I don’t know, sir,” the G-2 admitted. “Converging columns comes to mind. They could stay to the south of the invasion force. That way if we attack the invasion force they catch us between two forces. Or they could be headed for another target.”

  “Do we have anything on the composition of the attack force?” Edmund asked.

  “Five carriers, anti-dragon ships, frigates and some clipper ships of a type we don’t recognize,” the G-2 said. “The mer that are shadowing them say they’re not rigged for gunnery, though.” She looked at her notes. “They say there’s an unusually large number of boats along the sides.”

  “And they appear to be headed south?” Shar asked.

  “At last word, sir,” the G-2 nodded.

  “That’s a raid fleet.” Demetra Staffieri was the operations officer for the fleet, a petite brunette whose blue eyes turned almost black and cold when she was thinking hard, as she was now. “The clippers are carrying troops, five gets you ten, sir.”

  “Blackbeard,” Edmund said, suddenly. “They’re going for Blackbeard.”

  Mer children could not use their gills for the first two years of their lives. Thus they had to live an amphibian existence. Blackbeard Base had been built for the specific purpose of protecting the children and pregnant women of the mer. It was guarded by the largest force of Blood Lords outside of Raven’s Mill but there was no way that it was going to be able to hold out against the force being sent against it and everyone at the table knew it.

  “That’s only a guess, sir,” the G-2 pointed out. “Probably a good guess, but only that.”

  “If we sail to engage the combat fleet we’ll be playing catch-up with the invasion fleet,” Chang said, looking at the map. “And if we engage the invasion fleet and they are headed for Blackbeard we’re going to have a passel of dead mer-children on our conscience.”

  “We don’t have the land forces to stop that level of assault,” Edmund said. “They can swarm anywhere that they choose to land. I’m not sure they can push far in from the beachhead, but they can take a beachhead.”

  “Let me point out that we’re not sure we can destroy their combat forces as well,” the G-3 said, carefully. “What about evacuating Blackbeard? Let them take an empty base.”

  “There were a lot of ships going down there carrying supplies and construction workers,” the G-4 interjected.

  “Yes, and they’re all gone now,” Edmund said. “Maybe if we left the Blood Lords behind we could get enough ships down there in time to pull out the mer. They probably wouldn’t even mind a hopeless last stand. But I’m not going to countenance one.”

  “Interesting question,” Shar said, smiling faintly. “Does this fall into your decision or mine?”

  “Mine,” Edmund said, leaning back in his chair and looking at the overhead. Thank God he’d gotten over his seasickness so he could think clearly. “When did they sail? How old is this information?”

  “Yesterday morning,” the G-2 said. “The delphinos had been pushed back from the harbor. They picked them up well outside.”

  Edmund steepled his fingers and looked at them for a moment, then flexed his jaw.

  “Head north,” he said harshly. “Shar, implement opsec plan orca.”

  “We’re going for the invasion fleet, then,” the G-3 said, doubtfully. “You think the Blood Lords can hold out.”

  “We’re sailing north,” Chang replied. “Northeast actually. Do that now. And I need all the carrier commanders and the dragon contingent commanders to fly on for a meeting. After that, I’ll need message packets taken to all the other ship commanders. That is all for now.”

  The staff stood up shaking their heads and filed out of the room.

  “So you’re going for the combat fleet?” Shar asked.

  “Not exactly,” Edmund said. “And I need an operational immediate message sent to all land forces: Plan Fell Deeds.”

  * * *

  Colonel Olin Rienzo thought, as he always did, that Sir Robert Kane, Baron Marshfield, looked like the cavalier’s cavalier.

  They had known each other, distantly, before the Fall when Rienzo had been a breeder of thoroughbreds and Kane had been a noted eventer and breeder of Hanarahs. Eventing was the most rigorous of all the equestrian sports, a combination of cross-country riding, dressage and jumping, and Kane had been a world-class eventer. At the time Rienzo had found the cavalier’s affectation of wearing big floppy hats and period dress, even during events, to be humorous. It was only after the Fall that Rienzo found out that eventing was more of a sideline for Kane than anything; his real passion was recreation, specifically eighteenth-century cavalry.

  When Kane had turned up, with no more authority than a handwritten note from Edmund Talbot, with the mission of raising what Talbot called a “cavalry legion,” Rienzo had initially been skeptical. It took years to train a cavalryman. Fighting from the back of a horse took more than just being able to hold on. For that matter, cavalry horses had to be intensively trained. Kane, however, for all that he looked and sometimes acted like the reincarnation of an eighteenth-century cavalier, was methodical about military training. He had gathered together a large group of riders, and an even larger group of horses, begged, borrowed and stolen equipment and set up a brutal training program for man and horse. It had produced a force of four thousand horsemen, and nearly sixteen thousand horses, that was about as good a cavalry force as any that had ever existed. It was also costing like fire, but they found the money somehow. Some of it had come from what should have been federal taxes, some of it had come from mysterious sources elsewhere, but they had managed it.

  He trotted his horse up the hill to where Kane and Ensign Tao were watching the current exercise. The full regiment had formed on one side of a large valley facing a “notional” infantry formation. As one squadron menaced the front of the formation the other two squadrons, at the command of a set of flapping flags, broke left and galloped to the flank of the notional formation, a large number of stacks of hay in the middle of the field. As soon as they were in position all three squadrons wheeled and charged the “enemy formation,” the groups passing through the formation and each other like teeth in a wheel. As they approached the formation the long lances came down and skewered the bales of hay, then swords came out and slashed downward. In a few minutes the ground was covered with slashed-up hay.

  “Not bad,” Kane said. “Bravo troop, First Squadron was slow.”

  “Got it,” Tao said, making a note in his book. The ensign was a new addition. He had turned up out of nowhere on a knackered out post horse. Since he had apparently been one of Talbot’s aides, and the fleet had sailed with
Talbot on board no more than two days before he turned up, he must have ridden like hell to get to Kent; it was the better part of two thousand kilometers from the coast. But the next day he had been up, limping a little but doing his duty. What his duties were weren’t quite clear. He mostly hung around Kane as some sort of supernumerary doing messenger and aide type duties.

  “It’s looking good, Colonel,” Kane said, spinning his Hanarah in place and raising his wide floppy hat in greeting.

  Kane was a tall man, somewhere around two hundred pounds, with long blond hair that was going almost entirely gray. He had a flowing mustache and a small goatee that on anyone else would look absurd but so fitted his personality it was unnoticeable. He was wearing leather pants with thigh and shin greaves and a black silk doublet that was open down the chest to expose a red silk undershirt. And since he hadn’t turned around the only way for him to know it was Rienzo was from the sound of the colonel’s horse.

  “General Kane,” Rienzo said, saluting. “Yes, it is going well. Amazingly well.”

  “I wasn’t sure, frankly, when Edmund laid out his training plan,” Kane said, spinning back to watch the squadrons reform. “And we’ll have to see how the lads do in combat. But I think they’ll do well. Yes, I do think, very well. I’d wish we had more training at managing the pursuit, but that’s as may be.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rienzo said. “We’ll have to see. The reason I’m here, though, is that there’s a general operational immediate from Edmund Talbot. It’s addressed to ‘all land commands’ and was copied to us. I thought you should see it.”

  “Oh,” Kane said, glancing at him for a message form.

  “It was just two words: ‘Fell Deeds.’ ”

  Kane’s normally gay face went somber at that and he nodded. “Tao.”

  “Yes, sir,” the ensign said, reaching into a saddlebag and pulling out a sheaf of dispatches Rienzo didn’t even know he had. He sorted through them and pulled one out, handing it to Kane.