Against the Tide tcw-3

by John Ringo

  At the scream Herzer broke into a run, pounding up the companionway and onto the maindeck which was total chaos. Some sort of fish-men were clambering onto the ship from every direction. The startled sailors and marines had barely started to fight back. He paused and then turned as there was a thump on the deck behind him.

  “Go for the cabin,” Bast said, drawing her saber. “These are for me.” She laughed and cut backhand, taking the arm off of one of the fish-men and continuing in a circle that left another headless and a third spilling his guts on the deck.

  There were more of the fish-men in the corridor to the captain’s cabin, having apparently broken in through one of the cabins to the side. There were several sailors already down in a welter of blood on the deck and one lone marine trying to hold the things back with his pike.

  Herzer jerked the pike out of his hand, broke it off short and gave it back to him spread from one side of the corridor to the other.

  “Hold it like that,” he said, lifting the startled marine off his feet and charging forward.

  The weight of the two drove the fish-men back until they were pinned in a struggling mass against the door of the captain’s cabin. When they were, Herzer braced the marine with one hand and began stabbing over his shoulder, driving his short sword into the fish-men like the sting of a wasp, each blow a killing blow. Throat, mouth, chest, throat. As they choked out their life he pulled back on his ersatz battering ram letting the dead fall and driving forward to pin the living. The marine was raked again and again by the talons of the beasts but he held firm to the pike. Finally there was only one of the beasts who had his back to them, scrabbling through the half-open door. Herzer jerked the marine behind him, drove his sword into the creature’s unprotected back and threw it over his shoulder as if it were no lighter than a cat. Then he slammed his weight into the door.

  * * *

  One of the things reached for her and she let him approach, shrinking away from the reaching arm until he was leaning forward, out of balance. Then one hand flicked up and grabbed his thumb. She wasn’t sure, with the webbing, if a thumb twist would work but it did and the thing shrilled loudly as his thumb disjointed with an audible “pop.” She ducked under the arm, lifting it in full control, grasped the wrist with her other hand and went through a complex twist that left her holding a dislocated arm. At that point she had total control of the target and she interposed the screaming fish-man between herself and its fellows.

  Unfortunately, there were just too many of them and they crowded her as the shaman began muttering again. She concentrated and reached towards him with power but she was flat out, not even enough to squeeze a heart. She leaned forward, preparing to use her shield as a battering ram and… felt herself flying forward as an irresistible force smashed the door open. Suddenly Herzer was just there. He picked up the leader fish thing in one hand as he chopped another down and slammed the leader’s head into the bulkhead above. Then he began slashing to either side.

  The fish-men, who had thought they had won, rallied quickly and more began scrambling over the side. But there was no resisting the immense Blood Lord. Where Baradur’s kukri had severed arms or heads the short sword of the Blood Lord cut torsos in twain. The deck, already wet with blood, began to fill with body parts. Then another marine came through the door bearing a broken pike and began using the shortened spear to one side. Last Baradur, shaking his head and weaving a bit, began slashing to the other. The three filled the room from side to side and nothing could break through them.

  Megan shut the door to the cabin and bolted it, pulling Shanea, who had fainted, into a corner and just watched the slaughter. The things kept coming, it seemed for forever, as if they would never end, but the three had regained the window and held them there. Finally it was over. No more scaled hands scrabbled at the edges and the sounds of battle from the decks above had stopped.

  She wiped futilely at the blood that covered her face and smiled as the Blood Lord turned from the window.

  “Well, Major Herrick, I’m glad that I could finally get you to my cabin,” she said, walking up to him and touching him on the face. “But you could have just knocked.”

  Herzer looked at her, searchingly, and then bent his head, slowly, and kissed her.

  * * *

  Rachel lifted the head injury up and tipped water into his mouth.

  “Thank you,” he said, weakly. “Where am I?”

  “The Navy base hospital,” she said. “How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked.

  “Two,” he replied.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kalil Barnhurst,” the soldier said, wincing at the pain in his head. “Priv… no corporal, I just got promoted. Serial number 25-3-5-01.”

  “Good,” she said, running a pin down his side.

  “Ouch. That hurt.”

  “Be glad it did,” Rachel said with a smile.

  “You a nurse?” he asked, leaning back. He raised his hand to his head and winced again. “What happened?”

  “From what I was told, a large pole hit you in the head,” Rachel replied. “And, no, I’m your surgeon. But all the nurses have left. The New Destiny fleet seems to have run them off.”

  “Shit,” the young man said, looking around wildly. “Are they here?”

  “Not yet,” Rachel assured him. “And I’m sure that the legion will hold them.”

  “We’re not planning on holding the hospital,” the legionnaire said acerbically. “We’re going to be lucky if we can hold onto the camp. You’ve got to get out of here!”

  “I’ve got more patients to take care of,” Rachel said, standing up. “And even with the ones that could be moved and not have it kill them, I don’t have the people to move them.”

  “You do now,” a voice said from the door to the ward.

  “Who are you?” Rachel asked the officer in the doorway. He had some resemblance to Herzer but it was mostly the legionnaire armor and the way he wore it, as if fifty pounds of metal were just a normal uniform. But she also vaguely recognized him from somewhere.

  “Sergeant Pedersen!” the soldier said, happily if weakly.

  “Note the tabs, Kalil,” the newcomer replied, gesturing at his shoulder.

  “When did they make you a lieutenant, sir?” Kalil asked.

  “About three hours ago,” the lieutenant said, walking over and holding out his hand to Rachel. “Doctor Ghorbani, Lieutenant Bue Pedersen…”

  “Now I know where I know you from,” Rachel said. “You’re from Raven’s Mill.”

  “Yes, we’ve seen each other around but I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

  “You’re one of Herzer’s friends,” she continued.

  “More like buddies,” the lieutenant grinned. “We’re not close or anything. Point is I’ve brung a detail to load up the wounded and move them to the camp. It’s not as nice as the hospital but it’s a damned sight safer.”

  “There are several…” She paused and then gestured at the door to the ward. “We need to discuss this outside.”

  She led him to the deserted nurse’s station and shook her head. “Most of them can be moved if you’ve got carts. But some of them, and Kalil is one, are probably going to be killed by severe movement.”

  “I’m surprised he’s alive at all,” Bue admitted. “I saw the accident; I thought he was a goner for sure. You’re definitely your mother’s daughter.”

  “The point is,” she said, ignoring the praise, “that he’s being held together by spit and glue. I had to remove part of his skull and replace it with a plate. If he’s on a bumpy cart down to the camp, and then exposed to all the infections that are standard in camp conditions, he’s never going to make it.”

  “He’s not going to make it here, either,” Pedersen pointed out. “New Destiny doesn’t bother with niceties like keeping wounded prisoners alive. If they’re not fit enough for Change they go in a common grave. You hope they slit your throat before they toss you in. And it’s p
retty reliably rumored that all of them don’t get graves; the Changed will eat anything. There’s a local power network from the solar nannites; can’t you summon some healing and fix him at least to the point he can be moved?”

  “Drained,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “This time of year it doesn’t pick up much power and I’ve drained what little there is. Including for the repair on your soldier’s skull.” She didn’t add that if she hadn’t drained it when the bleeding got really bad he would definitely have died. Without the long-lost dissolving sutures she’d had to drain the field to repair the cranial vascular system.

  “We’ll have to take the chance,” Bue said. “They’re not going to survive here.”

  “How long until the New Destiny forces get here?” she asked, rubbing her face in weariness.

  “No more than two days. We think they’re going to land on the south end of the peninsula and invest the fort. But they’ll send out columns around it. One of those is bound to come here. And by then you won’t be able to get in the fort. You’ll have to retreat inland. I don’t know what’s up there to go to; there’s another legion on the way but they’re not expected for two weeks. Tarson and Harzburg are the closest towns and they’re pretty wild if you know what I mean. We’re still not sure which way Harzburg is going to jump.”

  “They’re part of the Union,” Rachel protested.

  “Nominally,” Bue said. “But the mayor of Harzburg has declared that he’ll make Harzburg an open city if they get that far. That’s not what I call a ringing endorsement.”

  “They’re insane, New Destiny won’t care a flip if it’s an ‘open city.’ They’ll still sack it.”

  “No shit,” Pedersen said then grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “I’ve heard it before,” Rachel grinned. “Look, after you evacuate those that I think can be moved, leave me two carts. If it comes to it we’ll load the rest on those and head for Tarson.”

  “Why Tarson?” the lieutenant asked. “They already went to New Destiny once.”

  “From what Herzer said I’ll take my chances with them over Harzburg,” Rachel replied. “And with a couple more days Kalil, at least, will be closer to the point that he might survive the journey.”

  “Okay, Doctor,” Pedersen said, uncomfortably. “But watch your ass.”

  “I will,” Rachel said. “And I’ll watch your people as well.” She paused and shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind if I say that I wish Herzer was here?”

  “Nope,” Bue said, shrugging. “So do I.”

  * * *

  Herzer found Megan in the bow of the ship, looking out over the ocean, Baradur, a bandage around his head, crouched by the butt of the bowsprit.

  The Hazhir had finally caught a breeze and was scudding along over light seas, headed southwest with every sail set that the ship could handle.

  “I thought you didn’t like open spaces,” Herzer said, walking up quietly.

  “Oh, my God,” Megan said, grabbing at her chest as she spun around. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “In that case, you need to keep better situational awareness,” Herzer said, smiling faintly.

  “You sound exactly like my father,” Megan said, sourly, then grinned. “But I’m glad you sound like my father.” She turned back and looked out over the waves again, shivering faintly in the cold wind. “I don’t. But I have to get used to it. Again. Being cooped up in the harem… all I wanted was to see the outside world again. Even that moldy old castle McClure was better. I didn’t even mind the ride through the moors. But… this…” She shuddered and turned away from the view.

  “Being at sea isn’t for everyone,” Herzer said, shrugging. “It’s another reason that some wyvern riders can’t handle sea duty. If you think it’s immense from down here, you ought to try up there.” He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged out of his cloak, and started to wrap it around her.

  “I don’t need coddling, Herzer,” she said, tartly, waving it away.

  “You’re cold,” Herzer replied. “And you don’t have my body mass. Hell, what I’m wearing is three times as warm as what you’re wearing and I’m used to being cold. Take it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Megan said, smiling faintly as he tossed it on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and shivered again at the brush of his hand and arm. “We have to talk,” she added, quietly.

  “That we do,” Herzer admitted.

  “I’m… strongly attracted to you, Herzer Herrick,” Megan said, turning back to look out over the waves. She wasn’t really seeing them and at the moment it was a better place to look than into his face. “But… I was attracted to Paul. I don’t trust myself when it comes to being attracted to men. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” Herzer said, stepping forward to stand beside her. He kept a respectable distance between them, however.

  “I was… with Paul for a long time,” Megan continued, carefully. “Many times. I did not like it. At first. Later… I came to enjoy his company. I fell in love with him, Herzer, and I had to kill him. That was hard. Very hard. And knowing… feeling how wrong it was to fall in love with…” She stopped and shook her head.

  “Your rapist,” Herzer said, clearly.

  “Thank you for pointing that out,” she replied, angrily.

  “It’s called psychological trauma,” Herzer said. “There are those that think that you don’t have to talk about it. Strong people will just ‘get over it.’ ‘Talking about it just makes it worse.’ Bullshit. Everyone who lives through psychological trauma, who really lives through it, finds a way to talk about it. Hell, that’s half the purpose for debriefings. It’s the reason for ‘trooper blasts.’ That’s why when the fleet got its ass handed to it the first time, the duke made sure there was one hell of a party when they came in. People get hammered and they talk. You get some of it out of your soul by sharing the pain with others, even if they’re people who have had the same pain. There are dark things that happen in people’s heads. Everyone who has been in a traumatic situation has them. One of the main reasons to talk about it, especially with people who know what you have been through, have been in the same situation or have studied the reactions, is to learn that others have the same dark things.” He sighed and shrugged.

  “I’m gonna tell you a little parable,” he said, glancing at her.

  “Am I going to like the story?” Megan said, smiling faintly.

  “No,” Herzer assured her. “Once upon a time there was a young man who went for soldier…”

  “That would be you?” she asked, jokingly.

  “No, not me,” Herzer said. “That will be obvious in a bit. Anyway, he joined the Blood Lords figuring it would be better than cutting wood the rest of his life. And he did pretty well. He didn’t do so well that he rose really high, but he was a pretty good soldier. Maybe too good. Always in the thick of it. Lots of combat, even when it was scarce. Always wanted to be out on the line. Then, one day, he got sent off to train some militia who were having bandit problems. He had a real… thing for bandits. Anyway, the militia, with his help, managed to trap the bandits.” Herzer paused and frowned. “Under certain conditions, legally, such persons can be given a summary field trial and executed. My… friend didn’t do even that. He had them tied up, lined up and then he slit their throats.”

  “Ugh,” Megan said. “You’re right, I don’t like the story.”

  “The militia was a little shaken and they tried to hush it up but it got back to the UFS authorities who, after an investigation, gave him a choice: full court-martial or resign. He resigned.”

  “They didn’t try him?” Megan said, surprised.

  “No, they didn’t,” Herzer replied. “Despite the fact that I recommended it and so did Edmund. You see, my friend had a problem; he enjoyed killing too much. That was why he was always in the thick of it. He’d gotten addicted to the… sense of power that comes from taking a human life. That is one of those things that doesn’t get talked about nearly enough. That, h
orrible as combat is, there’s a… rush to surviving it and a positive sense of… godlike power when you take another life. There are lots of people that say they don’t enjoy any aspect of combat. Most of them, the ones that keep going back, are liars.”

  “You feel it, too,” Megan said, quietly.

  “I feel it,” Herzer replied. “That’s part of my dark side, one part. But I don’t like that dark side and I sure as hell don’t nurture it. But my point is that you are going to come out of what you went through with a dark side. Your own. You’ll think that that side is something different. That there are things in there you don’t want to share because nobody could feel the way that you do. But that’s not true. Others have the same thoughts, the same shameful thoughts, and feelings. And by talking to people who understand, who have been through the same things and have studied them and understand them, you can come to understand them, too.”

  “Those people are few and far between,” Megan said, turning to look at him. She stared at the profile for a moment and then frowned. “I’m… sort of surprised that you’re an expert.”

  “I’m not on rape trauma,” Herzer replied, continuing to look out at the ocean. “But combat is psychological trauma. One of the classes I teach is how to reduce post-combat stress, otherwise you lose too many troops to it. One way or another.”

  “One of the soldiers at the castle was talking about that,” Megan said, frowning again. “But he didn’t put it that way. Just that some of the soldiers couldn’t handle the fighting…”

  “We put a lot more effort into training than Clan McClure does,” Herzer said, turning his head to glance at her, then looking back at the ocean. “One of the purposes is to weed out the soldiers that won’t be able to handle the mental strain. But even the ones that make it through standard training have problems. Either they lose the edge, lose the ability, to fight or… they go the other way. Losing them is a logistic and economic failure, one we can’t afford. Spending a certain amount of time and money on making sure they can make it through more than two battles is worth it. So we do. Debriefs, unit counseling, individual counseling at unit level, trooper blasts, they all play a part. Humans are social creatures; we manage our pain by sharing it in one way or another. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of practical jokes that combat soldiers play on each other. That’s a way of bonding and sharing the pain as much as anything else.”