John Ringo: Against the Tide

“Rain never killed anyone,” Herzer said. “Unless it was really cold rain and they were out in it a long time,” he added truthfully.

When Herzer and the ensigns returned, the charge of quarters directed them to the dining room. In keeping with the rest of the VIP quarters it was huge and elegant, with snowy white tablecloths and silver settings, as well as fresh flowers in vases arranged along the massive table. It was apparent that the servants got there early and places had been set for all five of them.

“There was some question in the head cook’s mind about serving the rest of you in here,” Edmund said with a faint smile, like a tiger that had recently eaten well. “Low-life scum like ensigns are supposed to eat at the consolidated mess or the officers’ club. At best in the kitchen, here, according to the cook. But I pointed out the error of his ways. Have a seat.”

There was bacon or ham as well as eggs to order. Not to mention baskets of rolls fresh from the oven. Herzer considered asking if they had cornmeal mush or chitlins but decided that it was time to start playing the part of good little aide. And good little aides let their generals handle the needling.

When they had all eaten, rapidly in the way that field soldiers learned and sometimes never forgot, they left the quarters and headed for the headquarters building.

“Tao, you’re from the plains,” Edmund said. “Any experience with horses before you were introduced to them in officer’s training?”

“I practically grew up on one, sir,” Tao admitted.

“When we get to the headquarters detach yourself and find out where their stables are. On my authority get six of the best horses you can find and equal amounts of tack. They are to be held for the use of the five of us. Six, because you might find yourself making a ride where you need remounts. Destrang, Van Krief, do you have writing materials?”

“Yes, sir,” they both said.

“Good. You guys stay at my back unless I specifically detach you and then you get as close as you can. You’re going to be doing a lot of waiting.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Van Krief replied.

“Herzer, I’m going to try like hell to have you fixed to my side like a limpet,” Edmund said as they approached the lantern-lit headquarters. The sun was just starting to give a glow to the horizon in the east.

“Destrang, Van Krief,” Edmund said, stopping. “Which of you is the best researcher?”

“I am, sir,” Van Krief replied. Destrang just nodded his head in her direction.

“Okay, I’ve got a special project for you,” Edmund said, resuming his walk.

As he walked up the steps to the headquarters, a large, four-story wooden building, the marines on guard at the front came to order arms. They were in full armor, loricated plate and barbute helmets, and armed with short boarding pikes. Edmund acknowledged the salute with a smile.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said as Herzer opened the door to the headquarters. “How are you this morning?”

There was an alert-looking captain manning the desk inside the door. He came to attention as the general entered the room and shouted: “Attention on deck!”

“Good morning, Captain,” Edmund said with another smile. “I appear to be here a little early. I take it I’m senior on deck from your reaction.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain replied.

“Fine,” the general said with a smile. “Ensign Destrang,” he added, leaning over to say something in the ensign’s ear.

Destrang removed a notebook from the blouse pocket of his tunic and made a small notation, nodding as the general spoke.

Herzer managed to remain blank-faced at the exchange, but he knew that Admiral Draskovich, the North Atlantis Fleet commander, would hear soon enough that not only had the Eastern Forces Commander beaten him into his headquarters, the damned Army busybody, who just happened to be a good friend of the queenÑsome rumored they were former loversÑmade a note of that fact.

“In that case, I need a guide to the war-room,” Edmund said, turning back to the captain.

“Sir,” the captain looked uneasy. “We have a number of security procedures in place in the wake of… certain compromises of information.”

“I was there, son,” Edmund said with a grim smile. On the diplomatic mission to the mer, the executive officer of the carrier had turned out to be a New Destiny agent. Owen Mbeki’s wife, Sharon, had been caught in Ropasa by the Fall and her condition depended upon the quality of the information he gave them. In the end his New Destiny control had killed him when his actions were discovered. “Are you telling me that I’m not authorized to enter your war-room?”

“No, sir, but…”

“Where is the field duty officer?” Edmund asked. “Or the classified documents officer? Surely there is someone senior to you that you can pass this problem on to. I know you don’t get paid enough.”

In short order the general was sitting in the office of a sleepy looking major who frowned at the general.

“Sir, I’m not authorized to release passes to the war-room,” the major said, looking pained. He was a Navy officer but he was well aware that to a flag officer that didn’t mean much. The heat round that was possible in this situation was liable to destroy his career. “Commander Correa comes in in no more than an hour…”

“Major, am I the senior officer present?” the general said, warningly.

“Yes, sir,” the major gulped.

“What you’re going to do then, major, by my authority, is issue passes to the war-room for myself and my aide, Captain Herrick. Then you are going to find someone to take Ensign Van Krief to your records room, where she is going to examine certain records, by my authority. Then you are going to find someone to show Ensign Tao the base stables, someone that the people at the stables are going to listen to. And you are going to find a place to park Ensign Destrang where I can access him in no more than thirty seconds. After that, you can make all the damned protests to Admiral Draskovich you wish. But if you do not begin the process of those orders I’m not going to have you court-martialed, I AM GOING TO RIP YOUR HEAD OFF AND SHIT IN YOUR NECK. IS THAT CLEAR?”

“Clear, sir,” the major said, reaching into a desk drawer.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the chief petty officer said as he entered the records room and found some Army ensign with half his files scattered on the ground in no sort of order. “Can I, with all respect, ask you what the hell you are doing?”

“I’m reading some of your records and taking notes,” Amosis replied, mildly.

“Can I ask on whose authority, ma’am? We don’t just let any officer in here if you know what I mean. There are procedures.”

“By authority of General Talbot, Eastern Forces Commander,” Van Krief replied. “If you have a problem with it, PO, you can take it up with him. In the meantime, I need extracted reports of materials budgets for the Fleet from last quarter, training hours, by type, dragon-flight hours and total ship time at sea. Oh, and a list of all ships currently under construction in the yards and estimated time to completion.”

“I have other duties, ma’am,” the chief said tightly. “And it’s chief petty officer.”

“Well, chief, if you want to stay a chief, I’d suggest you either get cracking or you find someone to access those records for me,” the ensign replied. “Because I only have until noon to create an abstract and if I can’t, item one in my report will be the obstructionism of a certain chief petty officer.”

“General Talbot,” Admiral Draskovich said. The admiral was a tall officer with pale skin, almost black eyes and long, jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail.