John Ringo - Council Wars 02 - Emerald Sea

by Emerald Sea(lit)

  "I think I could handle a bowl of mush," Herzer muttered. "If you've got it."

  "Coming right up. Duke? Miss?"

  "Nothing for me," Rachel said.

  "I'll take some mush, too," the duke replied. "I think I can keep it down. And if I can't it's at least soft coming up."

  "Is your throat as sore as mine, sir?" Herzer asked, his voice hoarse.

  "I suspect so," Edmund said. "I just realized that in my long and varied career, I had spent it all on land. I had no idea I was susceptible to seasickness."

  "Just about everyone is," the commander interjected. "Most get over it after a couple of days at most. There are some, however, who never do. There are also those who say that keeping your stomach full helps. I think they're cracked, frankly. Oh, and if you had shipped out before the Fall, you'd never have known; your nannites would have easily corrected it before the first symptoms."

  "I wish they would now," Rachel moaned. "I don't think I want to even be in the same room with food."

  "Head to the center of the boat," Herzer said.

  "Ship, Lieutenant," the commander corrected. "The Richard is a ship, not a boat."

  "Sorry, head to the center of the ship," Herzer said. "The ride's smoother there."

  "For now," Mbeki said. "And it will still be smoother than your cabin. But... have you looked outside?"

  "No," Herzer said. "Why?"

  "Bit of a blow coming I think. There's a hoary old adage that an Indian summer will be followed by the worst blow of the season. Didn't really hold true with Mother controlling the weather, but I think the conditions might have reestablished themselves. The sky is quite black to the west."

  "Oh," Edmund said. "Great."

  "Actually, it might be," the commander said. "We won't be working the wyverns, not that they're up to it from what I've been told. But it will give us a fair turn of speed south. Assuming we can keep this tub upright; the way the sails are rigged will make fighting our way through a storm... interesting."

  "Is there any good news?" Herzer asked.

  "Well, I hear that the ship's betting pool has it three to one that you won't dump your dragon the first time you try to land," the commander said with a grin.

  "Joy."

  * * *

  The storm hit just after noon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Herzer had heard the call of "All Hands! Shorten sail" and had made his way up to the deck to observe. The sailors were already aloft doing their high-wire act by the time he got on deck and he watched it again, in awe. To work with the sails required them to first climb to nearly the top of the mast and then work their way out on thin foot-ropes. All of this while he was having a hard time standing upright. He did notice, this time, that they were all wearing some sort of harness attached to a safety rope. If one of them slipped the harness would, presumably, keep them from falling to their deaths.

  He'd noticed a lot of little touches like that on the ship. Danger areas marked off with yellow and black paint. Notices pasted up where hazardous materials were stored. Warnings about lifting heavy weights. The ship matched some of his expectations and violated others. He had read stories from the old sailing days and back then injuries and death were considered just the common lot of the sailor, like bad food, hammocks and no decent bathroom.

  This ship had showers, even for the crew, functional toilets and sinks. The crew berthed in cots, albeit ones that were stacked four high. The food was well prepared and as varied as any that he had seen in the post-Fall period. They lived, come to think of it, better than Courtney and Mike. Better than Blood Lords on campaign.

  But when he watched them shimmying on those ropes he had to admit that they deserved their improved conditions.

  The first real blast of wind hit as the last of the crew were descending from the rigging, and despite the fact that most of the sails were "furled" the wind pushed the ship over on its side to the point that a wave washed up onto the deck. The ship, though, responded to it sluggishly. The wind was howling in the rigging but the ship was digging into the swells rather than running over them, water creaming over the bow on a regular basis. She was riding them out, but it didn't look good to Herzer.

  When the rain hit he decided that he'd like a bit more cover and headed up to the quarterdeck. There were now two men on the wheel and it was clear that they were needed; it seemed to be kicking like a live thing in their hands.

  "Following sea," the skipper yelled to him when he noticed the look. "The waves push into the rudder and try to push it aside."

  "Won't happen with my hands on the wheel, sir," one of the sailors called. "She gripes, though, she surely does."

  "The pressure of the wind is pushing her nose down," the skipper translated. "We'll have to move some stores aft to give her more weight back there." He turned and called below for a party and gave some rapid instructions including calling for Mbeki.

  "It'll take a while, though," he added. "I'd appreciate it if you moved below, Lieutenant. This may look easy, but it's not."

  "Yes, sir," Herzer said, heading for the companionway. It didn't look easy for that matter.

  Instead of heading for his cabin, though, Herzer headed for the hatch to the wyvern area. The main hatch had been closed and "dogged down," meaning that catches had been firmly sealed from the inside. There was a personnel hatch, though, and he opened that and went below, carefully setting the dual-side catches in place before he climbed down the ladder.

  The scene below was a veritable Inferno. The wyverns were not happy at the change of motion in the ship and they were making their disquiet abundantly clear. They also had decided that since they weren't going to be let out to go potty, it was time to do it indoors. Between the screeches and the smell he nearly climbed back out, but he stuck with what he considered his duty.

  He saw Jerry slithering across the slimy floor and, grabbing a convenient rail, headed in his direction.

  "Anything I can do?" he yelled over the squalling dragons.

  "I dunno," Jerry yelled back. "Can you either get the ship to quit pitching or find me a wyvern sedative?"

  "No," Herzer answered with a laugh. "Have they been fed?"

  "Of course they've been fed," Jerry answered. "Then they puked it back up. And I couldn't believe it but it really did look worse coming back up. I'm starting to worry, they're not getting enough water."

  "This gale isn't going to quit any time soon," Herzer said. He'd gotten close enough that they could carry on a conversation at normal tones. "What are we going to do?"

  "Not sure," Jerry admitted. "Whatever we can. Hopefully they'll get their sea legs after a couple of days. I'm getting better; how 'bout you?"

  "Yeah," Herzer admitted. "At least before I came down here. Is there some way to clean this out?"

  "I haven't had time to find out," Jerry admitted.

  "I will."

  Herzer made his way back up the ladder and then paused when he reached the deck. The ship was still pitching and tossing and the wind was shrieking around him like a banshee. But from his experience of storms on land, the first part was usually worst. Once it passed over, if it passed over he temporized, it should get better.

  He grabbed a passing seaman and was directed forward to where Chief Brooks was directing a party that was attending to the lashings on the longboat.

  "Chief, you need to tell me who to bother when you don't want to be," Herzer yelled over the storm. The ship chose that moment to bury her nose in a wave and a flood of green poured over the side. Herzer instinctively shot a hand out and grabbed a rope, holding onto a young sailor that was passing by with his clamp. As soon as the flood had passed he pulled the sailor upright, noticing in passing that "it" was female, and tossed her back towards the longboat. "Back to work, seaman."

  "Well, you're here," the chief yelled back, grinning at the interplay. "Not bad for a bloody landlubber. What'cha need, Lieutenant?"

  "The wyvern area is fisking horrible."

  "So I
heard. But I don't have a party to help you."

  "That's not the problem. We just need some idea what to do with all the... stuff."

  "There's a washing system down there. Didn't anyone show the riders?"

  "Apparently not."

  "Fisk!" the chief snarled. "Bosun! You're in charge."

  "Got it, Chief," a muscular woman yelled to him over the wind and rain.

  "Let's go, sir," the chief said, working his way aft.

  When they got through the hatch the chief said "Faugh" at the smell, then looked around for the riders.

  "Warrant, weren't you briefed on the cleaning apparatus?" he yelled over the screeching wyverns.

  "No, Chief, we weren't," Jerry called back. "What cleaning apparatus?"

  As it turned out there was a saltwater pump and a draining system that the chief identified. Then he gave a short class on its use. The pump could be operated by two people, but four was better. The water drained to one of four points in the compartment where it was collected in a pipe that led to the exterior of the ship.

  "There's a one-way valve at the end," the chief explained. "But in this sea you're going to have to pump it out as well." He showed them that pump. "With only the two enlisted riders there's no way you can clean all this up," he finally admitted.

  "I can help," Herzer interjected.

  "No, I'll get a working party," the chief said. "Could I speak to you two young gentlemen?"

  He led them over to a corner of the compartment and put his hands on his hips.

  "I appreciate as much as anyone when officers are willing to get their hands dirty," he said, looking them both in the eye. "We've had some young gentlemen come on this ship and think they're too good to do anything but walk around with their noses in the air. But you're officers, sirs, and your job really is to supervise. That's not another word for sitting on your ass, sirs; it means just what it means. And, frankly, this isn't even a job for officers to supervise, it's for a petty, one of your sergeants, to handle. Your job's to figure out what's going to happen next, sirs, while my job, your sergeant's job, is to handle what's happening now."

  "Understood, Chief," Herzer said, grinning to finally feel back in the military. "Thanks for the kick in the ass."

  "I understand too, Chief," Jerry said with a sigh. "I'm too used to being the doer."

  "Well, you're a warrant, sir," the chief said with a frown. "Warrants, really, are doers, too. But not cleaning up shit and piss and puke. That's what enlisted men are for," he added with a chuckle. "Have these boys been fed?"

  "They puked it all up," Jerry said. "And, yeah, that's got me worried."

  "And they get angry when they're hungry," the chief said.

  "They're too sick and nervous to be angry now," Jerry said.

  "But when they're over being sick and nervous?" the chief prompted.

  "I wouldn't put an arm though the bars," Jerry admitted.

  "With all due respect, sir, I'd suggest feeding them. Even though they puke it up. As you can see, now, we can clean that up easy enough."

  "Agreed, Chief," the warrant said, then grinned. "Ever thought of being a rider, Chief?"

  "Not on your life, sir," the NCO replied. "I'll tell you the truth, I don't even like climbing the rat-lines. I'm so afraid of heights it's not funny. I'd rather eat dirt for the rest of my life. How's the commander?"

  "You mean Joanna?" Jerry asked. "She's not sick, except at the smell. She'll be glad to get the area cleaned out."

  The chief looked at the deck overhead for a moment then smiled.

  "I wonder if she minds rain?"

  They moved forward to where the dragon was curled up, looking at the bedlam with a beady eye.

  "Commander Gramlich, we're going to get this area cleaned out," the chief said. "But it will be a bit and it will get messy. I was wondering if you might be okay with moving to the landing platform."

  Joanna looked at him for a moment then rustled her wings.

  "I weigh nearly two tons, Chief," she answered after a moment's thought. "I notice that the ship tends to... move when I do. That's why I'm placed damned near the center of the ship. Won't the skipper have something to say about that?"

  "Well, ma'am, as it happens, we're in the process of moving some weight aft..."

  "And I'm a nice mobile weight?" she asked with a chuckling hiss.

  "I'd not put it like that, ma'am," the chief said with a smile. "But we can lower the ramp easy enough, even in this sea. The toughest part will be opening and closing the hatch. But if you were to nip through quick-like..."

  "Be sure to tell the skipper and then, yes, I'm game," Joanna said. "Anything to get out of this damned hold."

  * * *

  "Annibale, Bodman," PO Singhisen said. "Fall out for a working party."

  It felt like Joel had just gotten his eyes closed. With the storm he'd been in the galley getting the fires put out and making sure everything was lashed down. So had Bodman, for that matter, who was one of the mid-watch cooks.

  "I just put my head down, PO!" Bodman protested, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.

  "Fall out," the PO said, sharply. "Now."

  Joel rolled off his bunk and pulled on his clothes. The wind was still strong but the ship seemed to be riding better.

  "What are we doing?" he asked.

  "The damned dragons had as much trouble last night as the rest of the crew," Singhisen said, shaking her head. "We're going to go get their compartment cleaned out."

  "Oh, fisking joy," Bodman whined. "Why can't the riders do it?"

  "Because there's only two that ain't officers," the petty officer explained as if talking to a small child. "And officers don't clean up shit and piss. It ain't their job."

  "Join the Navy," Bodman complained as they made their way forward. "Join the adventure."

  Fortunately they didn't have to make their way on deck and the dragon deck was almost uncomfortably warm.

  Singhisen had gotten more than just the two of them and there was a group of deck-apes waiting in the wyvern deck when they arrived.

  "Okay, McKerlie. Take your team and man the hose pumps. Mbonu, your people are on the outfall pump; you know how to operate it?"

  "Yes, PO," the lead seaman said, waving her group over to the pump that was at the forward end of the compartment.

  "Annibale, Bodman, you handle the hoses," she continued, waving around the room. "We need to get these decks rinsed down. Then we'll swab everywhere but in the occupied cages. Then we rinse 'em down again."

  "Thanks PO," one of the riders said, coming to the aft of the compartment. "I'm getting my riders up here; we'll try to keep the wyverns from taking anybody's arm off."

  "Is that a real problem?" Singhisen asked.

  "I dunno," the rider said, shaking his head. "They're not in the best of moods."

  Joel unreeled the hose and set to work as the deck-apes pumped. The... material on the floor was unpleasantly solid and splashed when the salt water hit it, throwing chunks of material around the compartment. He had to get down to a low angle to get it moved and that tended to splash more onto him. He'd wondered why the two stewards were doing the, relatively, lighter job of using the hose but he decided quickly that it was the worse of the two evils. Score one for the deck-apes.

  The material did move, though, sloshing back and forth and forming an ugly puddle at the forward end of the compartment as the team there pumped it out. The riders were sliding around in it, moving from cage to cage and trying to calm the hissing wyverns. One of the latter got a muzzle through and took a swipe at him as he was spraying under the edge of the cage, trying to get a lodged chunk of... something sort of greenish yellow, worked free. The female rider, who had sergeant stripes instead of a PO's chevrons, whapped it on the nose and it pulled back into its cage. He gave the sergeant a nod, washed the chunk of... whatever loose and kept spraying.

  Finally, when he and Bodman had the compartment more or less clear the PO got the deck apes on the outf
low pump working with mops. It didn't get long to get everything but the cages clean and by spraying under them they even got most of the crap out of those.

  It was a nasty, disgusting, job and not one he wanted to repeat any time soon. In his professional opinion, dragons belonged on the land and not in a damned ship.

  He was really gonna have to have a long talk with Sheida when this mission was over.

  * * *

  In no more than twenty minutes Joanna was ensconced on the landing platform. The chief had even rigged heavy ropes so that she could hold on; since the rear of the ship was still bucking up and down it was necessary. After a bit she thrust a couple of talons under the ropes, curled in a ball, closed her eyes and appeared to go to sleep.