by John Ringo
“You’ve got a bolt in his leg,” Vickie said, drifting over him. “It’s barely in, but you’re going to have a fun time landing.”
“Don’t go as low as I did,” Jerry said.
“I won’t. Look at that sucker burn, though.”
Jerry banked around and looked down at the caravel. The bomb had apparently hit just forward of the mainmast and the maindeck was fully involved. He could see fire parties trying to stop the flames but the jellied gasoline simply spread out when hit by water. As he watched, the mainsail caught fire and was whipped into ash in a moment. The mast had caught as well and even as he watched men and orcs were jumping over the side to escape the flames. The orcs, in their armor, sank like stones, but the crew was lowering the boats and some of the unChanged humans were going to survive. Some.
“A shallow dive doesn’t seem to do it,” Jerry called. “Come from the rear and drop towards the mainmast. Watch the way they fall off to leeward, but the wind is pushing the bombs, too. And don’t get as low as I did.”
“Will do,” Vickie yelled.
“I’m heading back to base,” Jerry called, turning the dragon towards the carrier.
The ships had come into the wind and were beating to the north. They had apparently figured out that the carrier was up there somewhere. Jerry made a mental note to pass that on to the skipper.
* * *
Martin watched the object drop away from the dragon in puzzlement until it burst into flame.
“So much for there not being any way for the dragons to harm us,” the captain said. He was a squat man named Gebshe with a cynical outlook on life. He raised an eyebrow at Martin and shrugged. “That’s one fine barbecue. What now? We apparently cannot shoot them down.”
“They came from the north,” Martin said. “Turn that way and sail this tub as fast as you can. Try to find that carrier. If we can close with it, we’ll destroy it. If not…” Martin shrugged.
“I think we’ll do that,” the captain said. “But I also think we’ll have the boats standing by, just in case.”
Martin had placed the ship that he was on on one wing of the formation of caravels. The dragon-rider, naturally supposing the center ship was the leader, had concentrated his fire on that one, which was now well on the way to burning to the waterline. In his haste, he hadn’t thought of what raising signaling flags would mean and as soon as they went up the mast the replacement dragon-rider, which had lined up to drop on the far ship, banked around and headed for his.
“Gebshe,” Martin said, “you have my authority to maneuver independently.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” the captain said, judging the line-up of the rider. “I can’t imagine that I would do so entirely on my own.”
Martin grinned. At least the captain was retaining his sense of humor in this disaster. Because disaster it was. He knew there was no way that the ships could catch the carrier if it kicked up its heels. Which it would as soon as it heard they were headed its way. And the dragons were impossible targets; they just stayed too high for the crossbows to reach. But that might mean they could avoid their bombing, for now. If they could just hold on until dusk. In the night they could slip away and be well away by dawn. He didn’t care what his orders were; there was no way he was going to sit here and be used for bombing practice.
The dragon had lined up on its bombing dive and he looked at the captain.
“Just waiting for it to get too deep in to correct,” Gebshe said, then “Port your helm! Jib sheets!”
The caravel came around slowly, too slowly, and the dragon expertly corrected, making minute changes in its wingtips to keep the round-hulled ship in its sights. It loosed, high, but accurately, and the bomb dropped just behind the mainmast.
The effect was much more hideous up close. A group of sailors were trimming the mainsail and the bucket of liquid fire dropped over half of them, clinging to their skin as they ran, screaming, over the edge of the ship and jumped in the water. As they ran they spread droplets — Martin could track the progress of one by the blazing footprints he left — spreading the fire even wider.
A crew had been standing by with buckets and a pump, but even pouring water on it simply spread the fire around. As he watched, the ropes of the mainsail caught fire, the fire traveling quickly up the tarred cordage and catching the sail on fire. It disappeared before his very eyes. By the time he looked back to the deck, the whole center of the ship was a blazing inferno.
“So much for the boats,” Gebshe said, philosophically. He looked to the west where land was just in view on the horizon. “Long swim,” he said, taking off his coat and cutlass. “Last one there gets eaten.” With that he dove over the side.
Martin was looking at the inferno and wondering what to do. It was, indeed, a long way to the coast. Too long for him; he was no great swimmer. But there were always options.
He pulled the communications cube out of his pocket and said: “Conner.”
In a moment a projection appeared. Brother Conner apparently heard the crackling behind him and turned around.
“Fascinating,” Conner said.
“Your report that the dragons had no offensive capability was, I hate to tell you, quite inaccurate,” Martin said, pointing to where the dragon was lining up on another of the maneuvering ships. As he did the screams of the orcs below showed that the fire was getting to their quarters.
“Quite distressing, I admit,” Conner said, cheerfully. “But important data that Chansa will, if not be pleased, appreciate knowing.”
“Well, it also got the ship’s boats,” Martin said. “So I’d appreciate a lift out.”
“Ah, well, sorry old friend,” Conner said with a shrug. “But my power budget isn’t quite up to a teleport. Other projects to support. Seems you’re on your own.”
“What? You little weasel?” Martin paused, furious with anger. “You bully me out onto the ass end of nowhere and then you’re just going to dump me?”
“Seems like it,” Conner said with another shrug. “Take care.” And then he was gone.
“Conner?” Martin said, shaking the cube. “Conner. Damnit!” He looked at the rapidly approaching inferno and chucked the useless cube over the side. Then he took off his boots and shirt, sorrowfully. Both had been custom-made for him and he had grown attached to them, especially the boots. But needs must. He then cut the legs of his finely woven silk pants just below his crotch, in a circle, leaving him in short shorts and holding two tubes of fabric. He tightened his belt around his waist, tied one end of each tube, put his knife away and followed the captain over the side.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Back on the carrier, with Shep having the bolt removed from his thigh, Jerry watched nervously for any sign of Vickie. At his warning the carrier had continued into the wind, running far to the north, and he was afraid that it was too far. Koo was out there, as well, but both of them had faded over the horizon and Vickie should have been on her way back by now.
Finally there were two dots to be seen and the carrier prepared to recover dragons.
“Worked like a charm,” Vickie said, hopping off of Yazov as the dragon was led below. “I got three for three. One of them was right up in the bow of the boat, though, and if they were fast they might have gotten it out. But it burned up their front sails before I turned back. There’s only one ship that’s unscathed, and the other three are sunk or were burning to the waterline when I turned back.”
“Good job,” the skipper said. “How are the dragons?”
Jerry looked at the sky and shrugged.
“Shep is out for today anyway,” he said. “We can send one more sortie out if you want.”
“Do it,” the skipper said. “We’re fair for launching now. As soon as they’re in the air I’m going to turn around and head back downwind. Make sure there’s nothing in my way when I get there.”
Shep’s bomb-rig was loaded onto Nebka and the two dragons took off, one after the other, climbing fast to the south.
“All hands wear ship,” the skipper called. “Let’s go chase some dragon.”
It was late afternoon when the lookouts spotted the dragons, flapping wearily north against the wind. The captain actually sailed down past them before turning the ship about and came up to the LSO position for their landing. This time Nebka had a bolt in his leg and when he landed it crumpled under him. But a sling was put in place and the piteously wailing wyvern was lifted up and lowered into the stable area.
Koo had been thrown clear on the landing but stumbled to his feet and blearily saluted the skipper.
“They’re all burned, sir,” the rider said. “I went too low on my second pass. The one that Vickie winged had put out the fire and they were apparently a little upset about it. They were learning to maneuver, too. But we got both of them. I had one bomb left but I dumped it on the way back.”
“Damn fine job,” the skipper said, shaking his hand. “Now, get below and get some rest, we still have Vickie to recover.”
Vickie made a perfect landing, but she was clearly tired.
“You know, I think landing is worse than fighting?” she said as she slid off her wyvern. “We got ’em all, though. How’s Koo and Debka?”
“Debka’s leg looked bad,” Jerry said. “Worse than Shep. Right now, you’ve got the only hale dragon.”
“Well, we won’t need them for those guys,” Vickie said. “Some of them were in boats headed for the islands. I suppose they’ll be a problem for the islanders but we can always send some marines or Blood Lords down to fix that.” She shook her head tiredly. “It really takes it out of you.”
“So does the waiting,” the skipper said. “And the wondering. This is a strange sea battle. You expect boarding actions, but this is all… at arm’s length. It just feels… wrong.”
“Not particularly heroic,” Jerry said. “But I wonder…”
“What?”
“I wonder when they’ll start having carriers of their own,” he said, looking to the south.
“Now that will be something,” Vickie admitted.
“And I wonder how the mer are doing,” the skipper said.
* * *
It was near dusk when the weary group of mer and dragons reached Charzan Inlet. The broad, flat banks were visible through the entrance and warm, almost hot, water boiled out to the ocean on a descending tide.
Herzer reveled in it. As the day had progressed he had gotten colder and colder until by the late afternoon he was shivering uncontrollably and continuously. The warm water of the inlet was like a balm to the soul.
The mer quickly writhed their way over the sandbar at the entrance of the inlet, which on the falling tide had less than a meter of water covering it. They then clustered in the shallow waters, lying back and breathing in the warm salt.
“Up,” Herzer said, wearily. He had dismounted from Chauncey and now waded through the thigh deep water, thumping the mer with his foot. “The delphinos need the space; you’re for the land.”
“Oh, God, Herzer,” Elayna said, sitting up and blowing water from her lungs. “We can come on land, but it’s not comfortable.”
“I don’t really give a rat’s ass,” Herzer said, tiredly. “Get your pretty little tail up on land and make room for Herman and his people.”
Between Herzer, Edmund and what Herzer had come to think of as the mer-leaders — Jason, Pete, Antja and Bill — they got the mer up and out of the inlet as the delphinos started to fight their way over the bar.
They had far more trouble with it than the mer. The delphino bodies were ill suited for crossing the spit — they were purely marine creatures — and in the interval the tide had fallen still farther, making the water over the bar barely the depth of their bodies. But with some assistance from Herzer and Bast they all made it into the inlet. The water in the inlet was deep enough that they weren’t going to have to support their weight, which was the important part. And if they and the mer had hard going getting into the inlet, so would the ixchitl and the orcas, if the latter ever showed up.
But even after getting everyone in the inlet the work wasn’t done.
“Jason,” Edmund said. “We’re going to have to post sentries, about one person in four. They’ll take two hour shifts. One of the command group is going to have to be awake at all times as well.”
“Okay,” Jason said, wearily. “I’ll go start finding people.”
“General,” Herzer said, “I want to go check the back of the inlet.”
“That’s the banks back there, Herzer,” Pete said. “None of the ixchitl can make it through the banks, even at high tide. And it won’t start flooding for a couple of hours.”
“Fine, Pete,” Herzer said. “But you don’t make assumptions. We need to watch that as well as the land. There’s nothing saying that they won’t have help from landsmen and if we get attacked by orcs we’re all up shit’s creek.”
“Do it,” Edmund said. “Joanna.”
“General?” the dragon said. For the first time in Herzer’s experience she actually looked ragged, her wings hanging slightly limp.
“Go hunt with the wyverns. Keep an eye out for enemies. Try to bring something back if you can find enough, but get yourselves fed.”
Herzer walked to the back of the inlet as the dragons waded into the water to hunt. From the spit of land at the back of the inlet he could see far out over the banks in the dying light. The water on the north side was deeper than at the entrance but he could see that it shoaled out quickly and large areas of the banks were already exposed to the dropping tide. Ixchitl probably couldn’t make their way through that, but better safe than sorry. He waded into the warm waters of the inlet, noting that the breeze was turning colder as the sun set, and hunted up Herman.
The leader of the delphinos was floating at the edge of his pod, dropping below the surface from time to time until his pectorals hit the bottom then floating back up to breathe.
“Herman,” Herzer said as the leader resurfaced.
“Herzer man,” the delphino squeaked. “Safe are?”
“I’d like a couple of delphinos awake in shifts, posted near the inlet on the north. Probably nothing can come across the banks, but we shouldn’t take ‘probably’ for an answer right now.”
“Will,” the delphino said, dropping below the surface and clicking his sonar. A couple of the delphino males, clicking irritably, moved to the north and stationed themselves by the entrance.
“I’ll get someone to tell them when to find relief,” Herzer said. “I’d suggest you get some sleep.”
“Hungry,” Herman replied. “Pod hungry.”
“Hopefully the dragons will bring something back,” was all Herzer said.
He waded wearily ashore and found that Bast had, somehow, gotten a fire started.
“Get some water,” Edmund said, pointing at one of the barrels that had had its end opened. “No more than a liter; we need most of it for the dragons.”
Herzer dipped out a cup of water and drank it carefully, avoiding slopping any despite his thirst. He had been in sun and salt water all day and his body felt like a drooping plant. The water seemed like the finest wine and he felt refreshed with just one cup but he carefully drained another; he knew he needed it.
“There’s some mackerel left,” Edmund said. “But until the dragons get back I don’t want to share it out.”
“I found some conch,” Pete said. He had already extracted the snail from the shells and was now cutting the foot of the mollusc into slices. “Wish I had some lemon. It’s pretty good marinated in lemon juice.”
“I’ll just toast mine if you don’t mind,” Herzer said, accepting one of the slices and going up into the brush to find a stick. He returned with four of them and managed to whittle a point that would penetrate the rock-hard flesh. He held it over the fire, turning it carefully, until the flesh became limp, then pulled it out, nibbling at it before it even cooled.
“Bleck,” he said, struggling with the rubb
ery flesh. “I never thought I’d eat anything worse than monkey on a stick.”
“I’m not sure I want to know,” Antja said.
“Field rations,” Edmund said, struggling with his own conch. “Dried and pressed meat, basically.”
“But I’d kill for a handful of parched corn about now,” Herzer added.
“Wine-baked venison,” Bast said.
“Stalled ox,” Edmund added with a chuckle. “With the meat red at the bone.”
“Trigger fish in wine and cream sauce,” Pete added. He hadn’t bothered to cook his conch and it was already gone.
“How about grilled grouper?” Joanna said from the edge of the fire. The voice was muffled because she held one the size of Bast’s torso in her mouth.
“Nothing that big should be able to move that quietly,” Jason said as Chauncey dropped a smaller grouper by Herzer.
“We’re going to have to share this with the delphinos,” Herzer said as Edmund started to gut the fish.
“Donal is taking them the largest,” Joanna said. “And I’m ready to collapse.”
“Lie in the entrance, if you don’t mind,” Edmund said. “You’re not going to get too cold?”
“No, I’m fine,” the dragon said, then yawned hugely. “But ready to sleep. And when the time comes, you owe me one of those stalled oxen, barbecued. With sauce.”
“Will do,” Edmund chuckled.
“See ya,” the dragon said, moving out of the firelight.
The wyverns had already backed up against the cliff and were nodding off to sleep. Herzer realized he could barely keep his eyes open but he waited for the fish to cook, nodding from time to time. Many of the mer hadn’t had that much discipline, or hunger, Elayna included, and were sprawled on the sands asleep.
When the fish was cooked he took portions and went among the mer, waking them up and forcing them to eat. Many of them protested that they weren’t hungry but he made sure that they all were eating before going back to his, small, portion.
“A liter of water and, what? Two hundred grams of grouper? This is like the Dying Time.”