Against the Tide

Chapter Eight

“Hey, son,” Edmund said as he walked out onto the mer pier. He looked at the messenger and motioned. “Mind if I borrow that chair?”

“Who are you?” the messenger asked.

Edmund realized that with his tunic off, he was just a slightly sooty guy in a T-shirt.

“I’m Admiral Edmund Talbot, your new commander,” he said, mildly. “Now would you mind getting out of the chair?”

The seaman looked at the two ensigns and the dragon following the person, who did have the trousers of an officer, and after a moment’s shock, shot out of the chair as if it were electric.

“Thank you,” Edmund said, picking it up and taking it over to the side of the pier.

The pier was raised well above the height of the water but there was a floating dock at water-level. Herzer was stomach down, talking to the mer in the water in low tones, with a delphino drifting on the surface, watching.

“Herzer,” Edmund said, “stand up.”

Herzer rolled over and to his feet, looking up at the general.

“Catch,” Edmund said, tossing the chair down to the captain.

He then walked down the slippery stairs to the platform, took the chair away from Herzer and carried it to the side of the floating dock.

“Hi,” Edmund said to the mer. “How’s it going?”

“You’re Talbot,” the mer said, surprised.

“That’s me, should I remember you?” Edmund asked. “I don’t, sorry.”

“No, sir, we’ve never met,” the mer replied. “Asfaw, sir, communications lieutenant. I wasn’t in the Bimi pod when you were there, sir. I joined later.”

“Oh, good, I feel better.” Edmund chuckled. “There were so many mer on the Retreat I never could keep most of them straight.”

“Talbot!” the delphino squealed. “Talbot General.”

“Yes, and you are?”

“T-t-tilly!” the delphino answered. Communicating clearly with a blow-hole was not the easiest thing in the world. It often made the delphinos sound stupid, but they were of normal human intelligence and had abilities in the water even the mer could not touch.

“Good evening, Mr. Tilly,” Edmund said.

“Not good!” Tilly replied. “Fire!”

“Oh, well.” Talbot shrugged. “I never liked that headquarters anyway.”

There was a moment’s pause and then Asfaw started laughing so hard he slipped back into the water and the delphino let out a high squeal of amusement.

“But there are things we need to do,” Edmund continued when the two got their mirth under control. “I’ve got good news and bad news, and it’s both the same news.”

“What’s that, sir?” the mer asked.

“I’ve just assumed command,” Edmund replied, handing him the sheet of paper. “Send that out. Tell everyone to rebroadcast it.”

“Willll!” the delphino trilled.

“Wait,” Edmund said. “There’s more. All remaining ships, retreat towards coast, assemble when possible near the Granbas area where Merillo is.”

“Storm come!”

“Where then?” Edmund asked.

“Soooouth!” the delphino squealed. “Bamud!”

“Okay, I stand corrected,” Edmund replied. “To all the ships with wyvern; feed them meat from normal stocks. Do not attempt transfer at this time unless senior dragon-riders concur. Understood?”

“’Stood!” the delphino squealed.

“All whalos run silent until mer and delphinos are on station. Any that are under attack, move to the nearest fleet. Fleets are to use wyvern to attack the orcas.”

“Orca meat!” the delphino squealed happily. “Taste sweet!”

“To Merillo and the group assisting him; draw the orcas to the nearest wyvern armed fleet units.”

“’Stood!”

“Last order,” Edmund said. “To all carriers: Forage wyverns when possible. Tell the mer to meet with the senior dragon-riders and amplify. They all know the story.”

“Will!” the delphino squealed.

“Okay, we’re done for now. I’m appointed command, Admiral Draskovich relieved. Retreat towards Bamud. Feed the dragons, on orca and ixchitl if possible. Protect the whales. That’s all I can expect them to handle right now.”

“Done!” the delphino said and dove under the water.

Edmund leaned back in the chair, planted his feet and tipped it back to look at the stars. He looked over at Herzer and had to chuckle; the captain had a pad of paper out and was clearly taking notes of the orders.

“They’re really big on written orders, sir,” Herzer said.

“That they are,” Edmund replied, looking up at the stars.

“Ge… Admiral,” General Kabadda called from up on the pier. “We’ve pulled everyone but a fire-watch back from the headquarters. I’m shifting it to the officers’ club.”

“Nah,” Edmund said. “Shift it down here.”

“Here, sir?”

“Yep. Where are your communications?”

“Here, sir,” Kabadda admitted. “But…”

“Got any mer sitting around the O-club for advice?”

“Advice, sir?”

“Yes, Kabadda, advice,” Edmund replied, tiredly. “Look, work with me here, do a bit of thinking. Have you ever flown a dragon?”

“I’ve flown on one, sir…”

“Yeah, so have I,” Edmund snorted. “In that so-called briefing you thought was so great, the most experienced dragon-rider, dragon wrangler for that matter, was Herzer, who kept his mouth shut the whole time. The most experienced person at coordinating mer and delphino forces in the attack was me. When we rebuild a headquarters, and I’ll admit we’re going to have to, the meeting area and war-room will be suspended over the water, like a boathouse, and it will have a way for great dragons to participate, if by no other means than sticking their heads through the window. Clear?”

“Clear, sir,” the general said in a stricken voice.

“Joanna.”

“Dude,” Joanna said.

“We’re back playing soldiers, now, Joanna,” Edmund said.

“Yes, sir,” the dragon said with amusement in her voice.

“Forget the failure to provide adequate support,” Edmund said. “I’m sure there are some nice juicy bullocks around and if not I understand most of the horses in the stables are ready for the glue factory. What’s your back pay?”

“Eight hundred chits,” Joanna snarled, angrily. “And by contract I can request that it be in specie. I’m so requesting.”

Edmund sighed at the tone but kept looking up.

“Pay her, Kabadda,” he said.

“But, sir…”

“I said pay her,” Edmund snarled. “Joanna, silver do?”

“Sure.”

“Kabadda, get a working party started on ripping the fixtures out of the VIP quarters bathroom. Ditto anywhere else that they used silver for fixtures. If it comes down to it, get all the silver table settings in the dining room. And then find someone who’ll give us a pence on the chit in silver or gold for the damned bathtub.”

“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff said in a voice that mingled resignation and anger.

“We’re a military force, not a bunch of Persian potentates,” Edmund amplified. “Joanna, you’re gonna get paid. Question: How far can you fly?”

“Pretty far,” the dragon said, warily.

“All the way to Blackbeard Base?”

“I don’t know,” the dragon said, honestly. “I wouldn’t want to try it.”

“You’re gonna have to,” Edmund said. “Asfaw, another order.”

“Yes, sir,” the mer said.

“Effective immediately, Brigadier Shar Chang brevet promoted Lieutenant General. Will proceed via… what’s the name of that carrier down there?”

“Hazhir, sir,” Herzer said.

“Proceed immediately to Newfell Base via carrier Hazhir. Carrier will leave all but one wyvern. Expect contact en route by greater dragon. Make all sail. Anybody know where Evan is?”

“Who?” Kabadda asked, clearly lost.

“Blackbeard,” Herzer said.

“You’re sure?” Edmund asked.

“I took the trouble to find out.”

“Bring civilian engineer Evan Mayerle. Joanna, you’re going to head for Blackbeard. Hopefully you’ll meet the carrier on the way. If not, feed at Blackbeard and then go find it. Get Shar up here, soonest. Bring Evan if you think you can handle the weight.”

“It’d be easier if I had some sort of powered assist on takeoff,” the dragon grumbled. “Even a cliff. But this place is flat as a board.”

“Kabadda, in the morning get working on a dragon-launching platform,” Edmund said. “It’s stupid that dragons attacking us have assists and our defensive forces don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff said. “But if the dragon leaves, we won’t have any cover for the base, sir.”

“What about the wyverns?” Edmund asked.

“What wyverns?” Joanna said. “I’m the only dragon here.”

Edmund covered his face with his hands and shook his head.

“Send a runner over to the message center. Message follows: Send flight of wyverns and riders to Newfell Base. Immediate. Coastal forces prepare for dragon attacks. More follows. Signature Talbot.”

“Will do, sir,” one of the messengers said, scribbling hastily.

“Kabadda, I want that platform done in less than a week,” Edmund said. “At least twenty meters high, strong enough to support a great dragon. With a catapult.”

“Yes, sir,” Kabadda said. “But… that’s a lot of material.”

“And manpower,” Edmund said. “Which you will find in whatever is left of the shipyards. We’re out of the shipbuilding business for the time being. What do we have in the way of supply craft, and materials, to send out to the fleet? And do we have any idea what we have in the way of supplies?”

“With the headquarters burned we lost most of the records,” Kabadda admitted. “But we can reconstruct some of them from records in the warehouses. There are two transport ships available, but nothing to cover them with.”

Edmund thought about that and sighed.

“Get them ready for sea, loaded with wyvern food and ketchup,” he said.

“Sir, we’re… out of ketchup,” Kabadda admitted.

“Oh, grand,” Joanna said. “In that case, I want those bullocks cooked, General.”

“Care to amplify that, Kabadda?” Edmund sighed. “Never mind. Get them ready with all the salt beef and pork you have available. Canned if you have it. Or smoked fish. Anything protein with high fat content. And find some ketchup.”

“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff said.

“There’s another carrier out there, somewhere,” Edmund muttered.

“Agreed, sir,” Kabadda said. “The geometry is impossible for the ones that struck the fleet to have struck here as well.”

“Lieutenant Asfaw.”

“Sir?” the mer said.

“Ask Jason to get some delphinos deployed over this way,” Edmund said. “Find that damned carrier.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want to be dealing with these details, Kabadda,” Edmund said. “Get the supplies collected, stat. Handle it.”

“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff replied.

“But get at least a couple of hours sleep sometime tonight; it’s gonna be a long day.”

As the chief of staff hurried away, Edmund dropped the chair back to the dock and leaned over to look at the mer.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think I’m glad you took over,” Asfaw replied.

“Well, you’ll find I’m going to be poking into your affairs more than Draskovich did,” Edmund said. “So, anything you need down there?”

“Honestly?” the mer asked, surprised.

“Honestly.”

“General,” the mer said, trying not to sound angry. “This bottom is mud. We’ve got the choice of trying to hold our position in the current or hold onto the dock or lie in the mud. It’s like, six meters deep. You tend to sink. Frankly, sir, it sucks.”

“So, you wanna chair?” Edmund asked.

“Something,” the mer replied with a shrug.

“Herzer?” Edmund said.

“Got it,” Herzer replied. “The mer need something to sit on.”

“Anything else?” Edmund asked.

“Oh, lots, General,” the mer replied. “The message system sucks. Our quarters suck. There needs to be more than one of us mer and one delphino here. I could go on and on.”

“Herzer… no, Destrang, sit here and listen to the mer and delphino litany of complaints,” Edmund said. “And pick up anything coming in from the fleet that you think I really need to know. I’m going to bed. Nobody is going to be making sense before morning. Joanna, what are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for daybreak,” the dragon replied. “If I’m going that far, I’m going to need all the thermals I can get.”

“Herzer,” Edmund said. “We need dragon resupply points along the coast. Nothing elaborate, just a stockade with some beef cattle or pigs and somewhere for the dragons to land. And more wyvern for messengers; they don’t have to be carrier qualified. As a matter of fact, it’ll be a good place to train young riders and wyverns. Joanna, leave as soon as you think wise, but the sooner the better. And that’s it, I’m done.” He got up and carried the chair back up to the pier.

“Thanks, son,” he said, handing it to the messenger.

“You’re welcome, sir,” the messenger replied.

“Have a nice night,” Edmund said as he walked off into the fire-lit darkness.

“Attention on deck!” someone called as Edmund walked into the reestablished headquarters. There simply wasn’t anywhere to put it at the docks so for the time being it had moved to the officers’ club. A cold front was in the offing and he appreciated the shorter walkÑthe O-Club was practically next door to the VIP quartersÑbut it didn’t mean he wasn’t planning on getting everything moved as soon as possible.

“Rest,” he called, waving his hand and looking first at the large map someone had pinned up on the wall. The map was clearly hand drawn, and hastilyÑseveral of the landforms were wrongÑbut it gave him a good approximation of what was going on. The approximate position of both fleets were marked as were other units at sea, most of whom were heading for the nearest secure port. The best part was the weather markings of the large storm, a “nor’easter” that had blown up.

“They’re going to get caught by the storm,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Kabadda replied, walking over with a mug of coffee in his hand. He handed it to the admiral and Edmund took it uneasily.

“I can get my own coffee, Kabadda,” Edmund said, but he took a sip anyway. It was the way he liked it, almost a syrup with sugar and cream. Somebody had done their homework.

“We’re not quite prepared with the briefing, sir,” Kabadda said. “But we will be by 0900.”

“I doubt it,” Edmund replied. “I don’t want the short dog and pony show that you guys put on before. I need full information on all ships. What we know of their stores, information about their captains’ background and experience. I need all the intel we have on the enemy, same deal. I heard something, during the attack, about the dragons being shot at. I want information on that as soon as possible. The briefing will include as much as we know about the condition of the dragons on our ships as well as crew condition. And, especially, how long for the fleet to return and our estimated material condition when they get here. When they get in I want food waiting for them, bands playing, slaughtered carcasses for the dragons, a barbeque for the crews and decent onshore housing for everyone. They’re going to have serious casualties; I need to know the condition of our hospital establishment. We need a casualty list from them before they arrive. We’re going to have to take much the same fleet out, again, and this time we’re going to have to win. We’re not going to do that with troops that are demoralized. So the first thing we’re going to be working on is morale. Clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the chief of staff said.

“There are four aspects to winning a battle. Battle plans, which includes adequate intel, leadership, material, and morale. We are going to have a set of the first that work, bet on it. The second I’m going to be looking into carefully; what I’ve seen so far does not thrill me. The third we’re going to have to make or steal. The fourth has several parts. One of them is adequate living conditions and the knowledge that the others are as good as you can make them. When the Fleet sails again, the sailors, NCOs and officers are going to have to know that this time they are going to kick ass and not even bother taking names. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send a message to the Fleet. I need information on conditions on every ship. If they don’t have a dispatch sloop, get one out to them. And tell the mer to find that other carrier. I don’t want to be surprised again. If it’s retired, and I’d bet it has, we’ll send out the resupply vessels.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, assign one of your officers to show me around the base facilities,” Edmund finished. “I can look into that. We’ll have the brief this afternoon. If anything comes up that needs my immediate attention, send a runner.”

“There is a large amount of paperwork, sir,” Kabadda said. “Most of it is addressed to the commander.”

“Anything that’s not from either Mike Spehar or Sheida have one of your people open and read. I’m not going to be handling correspondence from every dime-store clerk in an officer’s, or general’s, uniform that wants to joggle my elbow or know some stupid minutiae. Handle it.”

“Yes, sir.” Kabadda opened his mouth as if to reply and then shut it.

“What?”

“Admiral Draskovich felt that knowing what information was flowing was important, sir,” the general replied, uneasily.

“The term is ‘delegation,’ Kabadda,” Edmund replied. “My job is to make sure that everyone knows theirs and does it to the best of their ability. It is not to do their job for them. Mine is going to take up enough of my time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The same goes for you,” Edmund added. “Your job is to ensure that the weapon is prepared. But you cannot do that if you’re running over every single materials or personnel list. That is what the G-1 and G-4 are for. And their job is to make sure that their people are trained, and doing their jobs, to the best of their ability. Not doing their job for them. Not nitpicking every detailÑtheir people are the ones that are supposed to nitpickÑand, most especially, not constantly micromanaging their people’s actions. If somebody screws up, you show them the error of their ways. If they can’t get their head around doing it right, after adequate retraining, you find somebody who can.”

“Yes, sir,” Kabadda said, nodding.

“Was that an automatic response?” Edmund asked. “Or did you listen?”

“I was listening, Admiral,” the chief of staff said, indignantly.

“Great. Who is going to guide me around the base?”

“I wi…” the chief of staff started to say and then smiled ruefully. “I was about to say ‘I will.’ That was the wrong answer, wasn’t it?”

“Bingo,” Edmund chuckled. “You’ve got more important things to do.”

“I’ll assign one of my aides,” Kabadda replied.

“Fine,” Edmund said, draining his coffee. “I’m going to have another cup and then talk to some of the headquarters people. I’ll probably be at this for about an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Edmund walked over to where a chief petty officer was hovering over a group of seamen, male and female, who were laboriously copying from a manual.

“Hey Chief,” the admiral said.

“Admiral,” the CPO replied, bracing to attention.

“Can it, we’ve got real work to do,” Talbot replied. “What’s your name, Chief?”

“Senior Chief Naoko Greter, sir,” the chief replied. “NCOIC of the signals group.”

“Well, Chief Greter, I’d kill for another cup of coffee. Where’s the urn?”

“Why don’t I get someone to get it for you, sir?” The chief chuckled. “Besom! Coffee for the admiral. That’s what runners are for, sir.”

“Delegation works.” Edmund nodded, handing the mug to a very young female seaman. “So what are you guys doing?”

“The fire destroyed most of our signals books, sir,” the chief said with a grimace. “And the press we used to run them off. Until we get a press up and running again we’re having to hand copy.”

“Is everything being done that is possible to get the press up and running again, Chief Greter?” Edmund asked.

Herzer wondered at the formality of the question until he realized Edmund was repeating the name to get it memorized.

“As far as I can tell, sir,” the CPO replied. “I checked with the machine shop and their guys had it as one of their top priorities. They already had the frame done but the letters had to be ordered.”

“Anything you need you think it’s reasonable to ask for?”

“I’ve got all the people I could find who can read and write with a fair hand organized on it, sir,” the chief shrugged. “Not that I can think of.”

“Good,” Edmund nodded. “Who do you think I should go cheer up next?”