by John Ringo
"No, nothing," Edmund replied. "I think today went quite well."
"Better than I anticipated, frankly," Chang replied. "General, I'll see your party at dinner?"
"Of course, Skipper."
"Very well, people, good work today. Flight operations commence at dawn tomorrow."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"And what were you two doing today?" Edmund asked when he entered his cabin, Herzer trailing behind. Rachel and Daneh were sitting at the table, looking at papers spread over the surface.
"Mostly checking out the ship's medical facilities and general health issues," Daneh answered. "They've got an excellent infirmary and the two medics were smart but they're not very well trained. We also checked out the meal preparation area. The cooks are well versed in sanitation, which I was delighted to discover. All in all it's a well-designed ship and a well-trained crew."
"That's good to know," Edmund replied, tiredly. "Frankly, it's more important to the mission than that the dragons work. They might be helpful in the Isles. Then again, they might not be. I still don't see where they're an offensive weapon."
"I've got some ideas in that area, sir," Herzer said, diffidently. "But I want them to get more comfortable in carrier operations before I bring anything else up. It's going to mean the wyverns carrying a fair amount of weight if it works, which means they'll have to use the catapult."
"We watched one of the landings," Rachel said. "It was very cool."
"It was very hairy from where I was standing," Herzer said. He felt as drained as if he'd run the Hill a dozen times. "I think there's going to be a fair number of the riders that won't hack it. You have to be very confident in your flying and confident that the LSO is giving you good steers. When you land normally, the wyvern does most of the work. You just point in a general area and they land. This way . . . the rider has to really steer the beast to a landing. It's not easy."
"None of it's easy," Edmund replied. "The system that's been set up for moving them around, feeding them, launching them. The system that Evan has for moving them in and out of the weyr bays, all of it is even more complicated than I think you realize. Which is good."
"Good?" Daneh said. "Why?"
"So far, New Destiny has been very good at collecting, and even feeding, large masses of troops," Edmund said. "I'm surprised that they are, because they're not very good at using them. Paul's group tends to be very controlling; they don't think an idea is a good one unless one of them has it. They wouldn't have let someone like Evan have his head and just figure things out. They would have stopped Herzer when he went up and tried to control the wyverns on the way in. I think they would have even stopped him after it was clear it worked. Again, if they don't have the idea it is, by definition, bad."
"Your point?" Daneh asked.
"It's pretty clear; I don't think they are ever going to be able to match this sort of ability. They may have, probably do have, wyverns and even dragons. But I don't think they'll be able to come up with all the things necessary to use dragon-carriers. And even after we use them against them, if we do, they won't be able to match our quality. It's like the Blood Lords in a way. Having a capability that your enemy cannot match in war is a wonderful asset."
"If they can't match it, sir," Herzer said. "I don't really see that they won't be able to."
"Oh, they may figure out how to land them and take off," Edmund admitted. "But I don't think they'll be as good at it as we'll be. And we'll keep improving. Because we let people like you, and Jerry and Evan and even Commander Mbeki just figure out what to do. Rather than telling them what to do."
"You're talking about initiative," Rachel interjected.
"Absolutely. It's something that we support, stress even. It's something that New Destiny suppresses. In time, I hope to prove to them how wrong they are."
* * *
Herzer waved Koo down and ducked into his station as Nebka's wings brushed just past his head.
"That's a center shot for Koo," he called down to pri-fly from his station at the front of the platform. The cuplike station had been hung off the end of the landing platform by a team under Chief Brooks and it lifted his head and shoulders just over the platform itself.
"General," the skipper said. "I think these flyers have got the technique down. We've launched wyverns, landed wyverns and launched and landed Commander Gramlich. I say we head to sea."
"Concur," Duke Edmund said.
"Commander Mbeki, cease flight operations. Helm, come to heading zero-seven-five. Set full sail."
"Zero-seven-five, aye."
"Now you'll see what sailing is all about, General."
"Looking forward to it, Colonel."
* * *
Herzer was at pri-fly when the ship passed out of the bay and into the open ocean. As soon as it was beyond the protecting arms of the bay, they hit the full swells of the Atlantis and the ship, under full sail, started to corkscrew through the waves.
"Oh, my God," Jerry gasped, grabbing the handrail at the rear of pri-fly. "We're supposed to land in this?" From below the squawks and bellows of the wyverns filled the air.
"This isn't bad," Commander Mbeki protested. "The seas are only two and a half, maybe three meters."
As he said that one of the seas first lifted then dropped the stern of the ship and Herzer staggered across and slammed into Duke Edmund.
"Steady, Herzer," the duke said in a strange voice. Herzer glanced at him and for the first time in his memory saw Edmund Talbot looking strained.
"I'm going to head below," Talbot said. "I'll just . . . I'm going to head below."
"Very well, General," the commander replied. "Take care."
With a nod Edmund headed for the companionway.
"I'm going to check on the wyverns," Jerry said, staggering across the deck. He slid sideways as a rogue wave pitched the ship to the side and was caught by one of the relief quartermasters who was standing by to take over the wheel. He shook his head and plotted a course for the companionway and after a few false starts made it and started to head below.
By this time, Herzer was feeling the first hint of queasiness and looked appealingly at the commander.
"Gets everyone at first," Commander Mbeki said, in a kindly voice. "The center of the ship's where the motion's the least. And if you have to go, try to do it over the lee side. That's the side the wind's not blowing from. And keep it off the decks."
What had been a light breeze felt like a gale as Herzer staggered across the deck and headed down to the maindeck. He managed to make it halfway up the ship by holding onto the railing on what he'd come to learn was the "starboard" side—in landsmen's terms the right if you were looking forward in the ship. The wind that had been pleasantly warm seemed to have dropped twenty degrees and he was feeling decidedly chilly. But the motion was less here. His stomach was feeling better. On the other hand, he was starting to shiver and the wind seemed to be cutting to the bone. There was only one choice. He'd run below, get his coat, and head back up here. Maybe he'd just sleep here; he didn't seem to be in anyone's way.
Decision made, he crab-walked across the deck, occasionally scuttling from side to side, and made it to the stairs down. He'd taken to going forwards down the stairs but this time he carefully turned around and lowered himself with hands on both railings. Despite that, he slammed into the wall as the ship hit a rogue wave. He staggered down the corridor to his room, grabbed his jacket—noticing in passing that Rachel was in the bottom bunk moaning, with a bucket by the side of the bunk—and was just opposite the officer's head when he realized he had no more than three seconds before he was going to throw up.
He made it into the head, hung his head over the toilet and began to spew.
It was one of the most miserable times of his life. He seemed to be throwing up far more than he'd eaten. The captain's chef had cooked a very nice chicken, heavily spiced with thyme, for lunch and he'd eaten more than his share. And it was all coming back to him.
Th
e toilet was operated by pressing down on a foot pedal and then pumping a lever. The lever opened a seal at the bottom of the bowl and the pedal let it pump up salt water to wash the bowl clean. As Herzer slumped down to his knees he made the remarkable discovery that the foot pedal could, in these circumstances, become a knee pedal and the lever was operable from that position.
Over the next few hours he made several other discoveries.
The door of the head was difficult to operate while slithering around on the floor.
The foot/knee pedal could also be operated by hand if you couldn't even get up the energy to get to your knees.
The underside of the sink was remarkably free of graffiti. He felt he ought to add a manual for future adventurers. Little truisms to hold dear in those special and private moments when you're looking at the underside of a sink.
Seasickness was one of the most unpleasant experiences in the world.
The man who invented the flush toilet was one of the most important persons ever to live on the face of the earth.
Knee and elbow pads: They're not just for sword work outs anymore.
No matter how many times you pull the lever, sevens are not going to come up.
After a while, it all tastes like fish anyway.
When all the food was gone, the thyme just kept coming and coming and coming.
It started with what he came to call "the three-second rule." You had the sudden, intense, knowledge that in three seconds you were going to be seeing the contents of your stomach. You had those three seconds to make a will, pray to the gods that if they got you out of this you were going to lead a straight life from now on, swim for shore or make it to the toilet.
When the three seconds were up the vomiting started. That would go on for what seemed like an eternity, whether you had anything in your stomach to vomit up or not.
When the vomiting was done there was a moment of blessed euphoria. You weren't vomiting anymore. In fact, you felt almost human. You could wipe your face, wipe up any spills, try to get the door open, and do all the usual things that humans do, like think about whether you were going to die or the ship was going to sink.
Then came the lethargy. Suddenly, it was as if none of your muscles would function. All that you could do was sit on the floor and wait for it to pass. It would, in time; sometimes it seemed like days, but it passed. A few times it was so strong he felt himself stop breathing and had to will each breath with all his remaining might. Then, there was a brief moment when you thought it might be over, a few seconds perhaps ten when you felt really human. And then . . . the three-second rule came into play.
Herzer wasn't sure how long this went on but it was hours at least. Finally, as he passed out of a lethargic stage, his stomach, while protesting, seemed to be under control and the "good" period extended beyond all normal ken. He dragged himself to his feet, using the basin and his good friend the toilet, figured out how to operate the insanely complex lock on the door and staggered down the corridor to his room.
The bucket had spilled at some point but Rachel had cleaned up most of the detritus. The room still smelled foul. After careful consideration he grabbed the coat the kindly Navy had issued him, which was made of heavy wool, and staggered back down the corridor, out onto the deck and down to the mainmast. When he got there he wrapped himself around it and fell dead asleep.
* * *
Joel had never been so glad to go on duty in his life. It was apparent that most of the crew was relatively inexperienced with life at sea and a good many of them had succumbed to seasickness as soon as the ship exited the bay. He'd been sleeping and hadn't really paid much attention to the change in motion until someone slammed into his tier of bunks. His eyes flew open and he started to roll off the bunk, expecting an attack, when he heard the retching.
"Get it out of the compartment for God's sake," he muttered, lying back down. But the smell was intense in the crowded compartment and others had begun to react from a combination of seasickness and sympathetic nausea. He could even feel himself starting to get queasy. Finally he rolled out of the bunk, grabbed his peacoat and headed up on deck.
The wind was fresh and clean, which was a pleasant change from below, but there were plenty of puking sailors up on the maindeck as well. He headed forward to the bowsprit and stood looking down at the ship's "foot," the wave that the ship pushed up in front of it. Sometimes dolphins would come up and ride in the foot but at the moment all there was was foamy white water, just visible in the gathering darkness. He had another few hours before he had to go on duty and what he'd like to be doing was sleeping. But given the conditions in the compartment, he'd have a better chance up here. So he curled up against the lines at the base of the bowsprit, pulled up the collar of his coat and nodded into a restless sleep.
The dinging of eight bells and the movement of the watch woke him up and he hurried to the small galley at the rear of the ship. It was mainly to keep hot cider going for the crew and officers on the quarterdeck. As he moved across the maindeck towards his duty station the companionway from the officer's quarters opened up and a large figure stumbled onto the deck. He was one of General Edmund's party, an aide or something, and obviously not enjoying the voyage.
Come to think of it, Edmund figured largely in that horrible "true-life tale" he'd been reading. If there was any truth to the book at all, this guy probably knew some of the people involved, maybe even the lousy writer. He'd have to pump him for information sometime. But not when he was so seasick he didn't even notice the steward in the darkness. The guy stumbled across the deck and more or less collapsed at the base of the mainmast. If that was a Blood Lord, the book had to be pure fiction.
* * *
Sometime during the night Herzer had made his way back to his cabin and when he awoke Rachel was already gone. She had cleaned up from the night before and the air held only a hint of foulness. He rolled out of the bunk, put on his last clean uniform and staggered down the corridor to the wardroom.
Besides Rachel, Duke Edmund and Commander Mbeki were seated at the table looking at cups of tea. Just . . . looking.
"Morning," Herzer muttered, slamming into the hard seat as a wave caught him.
"Morning, Lieutenant," the commander said. "Enjoying yourself?"
"It was great right up until we cleared the bay," Herzer said. "After that a combination of that bastard Newton and some stomach bug has made it less pleasant."
A steward stuck his head in the room and looked around.
"Food?" he asked.
"I'll take a rasher of bacon," the commander said. "And three eggs. Up. More tea and some for Herzer."
"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.