Against the Tide tcw-3

by John Ringo

  “Well, sir, they also say that age and treachery beats youth and strength every time,” Gunny Rutherford said. “Let’s hope they’re right.”

  “And what does that mean, Gunny?” the captain asked as they walked out into the first light of dawn.

  “Well, sir, there are a few little fillips to the current situation you’re not really aware of,” Gunny replied as a man stepped into the torchlight outside the headquarters. He was of medium height with broad shoulders and huge forearms and triceps, wearing light-green leather armor, a metal cap and a short sword.

  “And who are… Oh, Mr. Grameson,” the captain said, recognizing the foreman of the workmen who had been sent to construct the mer-fortress. Pherson had tried to engage him in conversation a few times and had found him to be a surly and uncommunicative fellow.

  “Actually, Captain, the name is D’Erle,” the man said, smiling and holding out his glove-covered hand. “General Malcolm D’Erle, UFS Bow Corps.”

  * * *

  Admiral Emile Arris watched the boats with Changed shock troops being loaded and looked over at the dragon-carrier -captain.

  “Signal the fleet to commence launching,” he said.

  The dragons started lifting off the starboard side of the carrier at once, flapping for altitude and then settling into figure eights. All of them were overloaded with fuel bombs and they couldn’t glide very well.

  He paced back and forth as the boats loaded in the gathering light, looking over at the troopships from time to time and waiting for their ready signal. When the last one came he waved at the signal team.

  “Signal begin invasion,” he called. “Hold the dragons back until the ships are nearly to the shore,” he added to the ship’s captain. “I want them to arrive together.”

  * * *

  “How long did it take you guys to get this together?” Captain Pherson asked as he watched the activity in the lagoon. “Sir,” he added.

  Large wood-and-leather bubbles, each at least ten meters across, were floating on the surface. As he watched, one started to sink from the lead weights being carefully placed around its circumference. It was stabilized on the way down by mer-women. Underneath were “legs” that held it off the bottom. Other mer-women were running lines from pumps scattered on the east side of the harbor. Once the shelters were constructed the attackers would first have to either take the pumps or clear the entrance before the mer could be threatened. The mer-children could in the meantime breathe the air in the bubbles.

  “A few months,” Malcolm admitted as the two bowmen continued to row around the scene of activity. Bubble after bubble was descending into the water and a large wood and metal porcupine arrangement was being constructed in the harbor’s narrow entrance. “Obviously we were the ‘workmen’ constructing the fortress. It gave the boys some experience in really solid fortification work, I’ll say that for it.”

  “Why aren’t you up in Norau, sir?” Captain Pherson said, somewhat pointedly. “There’s an invasion headed that way.”

  “Same reason you’re not, son,” Malcolm replied with a grin. “Edmund sent me here.”

  * * *

  When they got back to the shore the remainder of the “workmen” were assembling premade shelters on the shore. They were constructed of plywood with leather covers that had a strange sheen to them.

  “The leather is highly flame resistant,” D’Erle explained. “And we have covers for the troops. They’ll be hell to fight in, but better than burning to death.”

  “What about the archers?” the captain asked.

  “Who did you think they were for?”

  * * *

  “Okay,” the admiral said as the boats touched shore. “Order the dragons to attack now.”

  He could clearly see the battle from the dragon landing platform. The ranks of Blood Lords did not advance on the orcs unloading from the boats but instead awaited them in serried ranks on the crest of the hill. There were shelters set up on both sides and workmen still bustling around the battlefield even as the first orc ranks were formed.

  But as the dragons winged over, the “workmen” dropped their tasks and ran to the shelters which had obviously been set up for them to be protected from the dragon fire. At the same time the Blood Lords lowered their shields and lifted silver coveralls from the ground until they were completely covered. As the dragons came in low in a sweeping pass over the defenseless Blood Lords, half of the “workers” popped out of the “shelters” with longbows in their hands. The dragons ran into a wall of arrows.

  Each of the highly trained archers of the Bow Corps could send one arrow every two seconds for thirty minutes or one every five seconds for up to two hours. They were currently slightly out of shape, however, due to their construction duties, and the hundred and fifty bowmen contented themselves with only sending up a total of seven hundred carefully aimed cloth-yard shafts as the dragons passed overhead.

  The bowmen were scattered to either side of the Blood Lord formation and they caught the dragons in a merciless crossfire. Some of the dragons were hit so badly that they fell out of the sky almost immediately while others managed to make it as far as the harbor, where mer-women waited with long pikes, before succumbing to the hideous fire. There were eighty dragons in the attack flight and forty of them were destroyed in the first volley, with most of the rest taking one round or another. But most released their loads of napalm, covering the Blood Lords, and the edge of the archers, in a rain of fire.

  * * *

  “Damn him,” Admiral Arris cursed as the tattered remnants of his dragons staggered back into the air. Most of them had been hit and he saw more fall out of the sky even as the fires burned among the Blood Lords.

  “They dropped their loads, though,” Captain Lohnes pointed out. He gestured at the raging fires where the Blood Lords had stood. “The archers by themselves can’t stop the Changed.”

  “Look,” was all the admiral said. Striding out of the fire, their shields blazing, were the Blood Lords. Just then arrows began to fall on the Changed formation.

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Strayer said. The XO of the Wilhelm was obviously agitated. “We’re taking on water.”

  “What?” the captain said, rounding on his second in command. “Why?”

  “There’s a hole in the starboard hull,” the XO replied as a petty officer came up and whispered in his ear. “There’s another one formed to port, sir.”

  “Get a sail fothered over it,” the captain snapped. He watched the Blood Lord formation move down the hill and then, with a shout, charge the still-forming Changed. The Changed broke ranks and charged themselves, the two groups meeting under a cloud of javelins as more arrows continued to fall on the battle.

  “We’re working on it, sir,” the XO replied as the ship shuddered to the strike of a wave. “But…”

  “How much water?” the admiral asked, looking at the ship and noting that it was riding extremely heavy.

  “It’s all through the lower deck, sir,” the XO said, miserably. “It’s getting ahead of the pumps. There might be more holes.”

  “Where the hell are they coming from?!” the captain shouted.

  “Mer off the port bow!” the lookout called.

  “Where the hell are the orcas!”

  * * *

  “Gunny, we will refuse the right flank,” Captain Pherson said. The voice was muffled due to the silver fire-fighting suit he wore. But it was clear enough. “I believe they are attempting to slip out of our clutches.”

  “SECOND TRIARIII!” the gunny bellowed, lifting up the hood of the suit to be heard. “SIX PACES RIGHT… MOVE! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT!”

  At the shoreline the Changed that were left were trying to scramble into their launches. Most of them had clawed out to sea, forgetting that in their armor there was no way that they could make it to the ships. A few had stripped off the armor but the Changed were heavy boned and heavily muscled, not to mention poor swimmers. Only t
hose that made it to launches, and launches that had not been holed by descending cloth-yard shafts, were going to make it to the ships.

  “We still can’t do anything about them,” the captain sighed.

  “No, we can’t, sir,” the gunny replied as a ballista from one of the frigates whistled overhead towards the archers. The archers were in the process of changing over firers but most of them easily avoided the incoming ballista bolt. “But that don’t mean they won’t be done with.”

  * * *

  “Dragons!” the lookout called. “Off the starboard bow!”

  That was due east and into the still rising sun, but the admiral could barely make out the forms of dragons against the blaze.

  “Ours?” Captain Lohnes asked, puzzled.

  “No, I think not.” The admiral sighed. “There’s a carrier out there somewhere. Probably three. Damn that Talbot.”

  “What should we do, sir?” Fleet Captain Bouviet asked.

  “Have the boats return for the second wave of Changed,” the admiral said.

  “Sir, with respect,” Captain Lohnes replied. “I’m not sure I can effect repairs. We’ve lost more than half our dragons and the Changed are trying to land in the teeth of both bowmen and Blood Lords, not to mention their own dragons. And there’s an unknown number of carriers after us while we’re effectively locked in place. We should withdraw.”

  “The last admiral that tried to explain that sort of thing to Marshal Chansa is somewhere over there,” the admiral replied, waving at the beach where the Changed were being slaughtered. “I choose not to withdraw.”

  * * *

  “Age and treachery are wonderful things, sir,” Gunny Rutherford said as the flight of dragons swept overhead and headed for the New Destiny task force. The anti-dragon frigate was to the west of the aircraft carrier so the dragons had to actually pass over the latter to reach their target. When they did the entire flight lined up and carefully passed over the frigate, dropping load after load of napalm onto its deck. Since they were dropping from out of range of the ballistas, many of the pots missed. But, then again, many of them hit. And not all the foam in the world could save a wooden ship from a deck covered in napalm. After they had dropped their loads they began landing at the base by the warehouses the “workmen” had been using.

  “Don’t tell me,” the captain said. “Some of the workmen’s ‘solvents’ are…”

  “Reloads for the dragons, sir,” the gunny replied with a nod. He pulled back the hood of his fire suit and lit a stogie on his still smoldering shield. “And more archers over there to cover them while they rearm. It’s harder for them to take off and they can only carry two bombs. But they can recycle much faster. And we’ve got about three times the load of bombs a carrier can handle. And, of course, we don’t sink if they get through.”

  “Was this the duke’s plan from the beginning?” Captain Pherson asked, pulling back his own hood. One of the carriers appeared to be low in the water and was definitely showing signs of having a hard time turning its dragons around. The other was beginning to launch but even as the dragons staggered into the air, small, highly colored dragons dropped out of the sun onto them, firing darts that flashed silver in the sun. More dragons fell into the sea.

  “Just a contingency plan, sir,” the gunny said, taking a puff off of his stogie. “Just a contingency.”

  * * *

  “Losing Hazhir has played merry hob with Stonewall,” Talbot said. “It was only a contingency plan to start with. And now we’re going to be playing catch-up to make our next rendezvous. Furthermore, we have to destroy the fleet here, since otherwise the dreadnoughts are going to run into heavy weather.”

  “Dreadnoughts?” Shar asked.

  “I’m sending them down to pick up D’Erle and his men,” Edmund said. “They’re on their way, as a matter of fact. As soon as the Changed boats are patched up D’Erle and his men will prepare to embark. The dreadnoughts should be here by then. But instead of Hazhir screening them while we go take on the other task force, they’ll have to run up the coast without any coverage, except some Silverdrake we’ll fly off to them. Then we’re going to have to head for the remnants of the combat fleet and finish them off.”

  * * *

  Admiral Arris stepped into the launch as the water rose over the bulwarks of the Wilhelm.

  “Head for the Tressam,” he said, watching the battle on the shore. The Changed were dropping out of the launches in the shallows, which were scarlet with blood, and charging up the beach to the line of waiting Blood Lords. There had been one attempt to change the landing area but there was really only one place to land and the Blood Lords and archers had it covered. As he watched most of the Changed fell in the shallows to a mass flight of arrows. The last few charged the Blood Lords but were cut down with hardly a dent in the Blood Lord lines. As soon as the charge was broken the Blood Lords conducted a well-drilled movement that brought new fighters to the front lines to rest those that had been handling the bulk of the fighting.

  “Admiral,” Fleet Captain Bouviet said, pointing towards the harbor. A flight of dragons had formed up and now vectored towards the fleet, heading for the Tressam.

  The Tressam managed to get some dragons upÑthe small, fast wyverns had disappeared for the momentÑand they tried to engage the oncoming flight of UFS wyverns. Some of the UFS beasts were, apparently, unladen and they turned to cut off the New Destiny dragons. There was a brief midair battle which had riders falling off into the water and a few dragons, he couldn’t tell whose, following them down. But the main flight made it through and napalm rained all over his last carrier.

  “Change directions,” the admiral said. “Head for the nearest frigate. We’re going to have to withdraw.”

  The UFS dragons, however, turned to the north.

  “Are they withdrawing, too?” the Fleet Captain asked.

  “More likely going back to their carriers,” the admiral growled. “Which are going to dog our steps no matter what we do. Make for the frigate. Quickly!”

  * * *

  “I think that’s about it, sir,” Gunny Rutherford said. His armor was covered in blood as was the captain’s; the last group of Changed had tried very hard to break out from the Blood Lord lines. “Six dead, fourteen wounded. Most of the wounded will survive.”

  “Gunny, is it just me or was this stupidly easy?” the captain asked. He didn’t like losing people, but given that they had been outnumbered at least five to one that was a ridiculous total.

  “It always is, sir,” the gunny said, puffing up his stogie and tossing aside his battered and burned shield, “when you’ve got the right mix.”

  * * *

  “The New Destiny fleet is fleeing to the south,” Shar said. “Both carriers are on the bottom along with their anti-dragon frigates. All they have left are ballista frigates.”

  “Leave ’em,” Edmund said. “Two dreadnoughts filled with archers can make hash of ballista frigates. How are the dragons holding up?”

  “We lost about a dozen one way or another,” Shar admitted. “Seven wounded that will be able to fly in a few days. All the Silverdrake made it back. And, you were right, the dreadnoughts are in sight to the north.”

  “Signal nine Silverdrake detached to the dreadnoughts; they have stalls set up for them. Then signal the fleet to make sail northeast. We’ve got more carriers to hunt.”

  He looked up at a knock on the door and yelled: “Enter!”

  “Admiral Talbot,” the messenger said. “Whale signal from Hazhir: Made rendezvous.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Megan had returned to the castle with a pack train of clothes and supplies, a slightly increased force courtesy of Malcolm Innes and a distinct distaste for riding and the society of the Gael. She was appalled by the speed with which the locals had reverted to a very sexually segregated, and repressive, society. It, quite frankly, infuriated her. Mirta, however, was much less upset by it.

  They had been talking one
evening after dinner when the kitchen had mostly been cleared and she and Megan had taken up stools by the fire. Baradur was perched in the corner, as always a silent observer. Since Jock had assigned him to her he had never been far away. He slept by the door of her room, tasted her food before she ate it and even checked the latrines when she had occasion to use them.

  Mirta was, as ever, sewing. She had gotten some rough sections of wool and was making a better dress for herself when Megan burst out with her complaints.

  “I like Jock McClure, I even like Malcolm for all his ‘Gael madness,’ but this… this… slave camp they run is ridiculous! Serfs in the fields, women kept out of the main room except to serve. It’s disgusting.”

  “A bit,” Mirta said, looking up for a moment, then going back to her sewing. “But it fits the society very well. Have you asked Jock or Flora about it?”

  “No,” Megan admitted. “Frankly, I don’t want to piss him off.”

  “You might find it enlightening,” Mirta said. “I doubt he recalls but I’ve met him before. He was one of the local dukes in the Society. Never quite made it to king, but he’s a pretty dab hand with a claymore or battle-axe. Nice guy. I don’t recognize Flora; he wasn’t married back then. But he wasn’t one of the very old-fashioned chauvinists you sometimes ran into in the Society. And a serious student of history. So, you have to ask yourself, why’d he change?”

  “I don’t know,” Megan admitted. “Even in Ropasa it wasn’t this bad. And from what I hear of Norau they’ve really maintained a very straightforward equality system. This is just so… -medieval!”