John Ringo - Against the Tide

Destrang fell into step with him as he walked through the outer office and into the sunshine beyond. Herzer took a deep breath and shook his head.

“What do you think?” he asked, looking towards the warehouses along the shore-front.

“Well, everybody is running around like chickens with their heads cut off over at headquarters,” Destrang said, rubbing his chin. “Sure doesn’t look like it’s filtered down, though.”

“True,” Herzer replied, stepping off towards the temporary fleet headquarters. “I can’t think but that I might have handled that better.”

Edmund had actually moved the “war-room” out of the headquarters and into tents set up on a nearby field. His ostensible reason for this was that way the dragons could participate in discussions. Herzer knew it was widely suspected that the new admiral was just trying to put the Navy in its place. And he also knew that there was more than a gram of truth to the suspicion.

The area had been roped off and marines were stationed around it to prevent unauthorized entry. They knew better than to try to stop the general’s aides and as Herzer walked through the entrance he nodded at the sergeant on duty.

“Wonderful day, eh?” Herzer said, smiling.

“Lovely, sir,” the sergeant replied. “Can’t wait for it to rain, frankly.”

In the two days since the headquarters destruction Herzer had found time to work out with the marines. He found them to be woefully undertrained by Blood Lord standards, but he knew that was a high standard. The marines, however, had developed a reputation for ability and Herzer had to wonder if it was anything but a reputation. They made much of being able to stake out bars, but with either boarding pikes or short swords even Van Krief had been able to take them with laughable ease. It was something in the back of his mind to discuss with Edmund. If there was ever time.

“How’d it go?” Edmund asked as he entered the tent reserved for the commander.

“I’m on report for insubordination,” Herzer admitted. “Something about calling a major a lard ass.”

“Well, was he? And do we have a party for the troops laid on?”

“Sailors,” Herzer corrected. “No we don’t and yes he was. Those materials are for the supply of the Fleet, not for a damned party.”

“That’s what he thinks,” Edmund replied. “You showed him the letter? Hadn’t he received a copy?”

“I don’t know if he had or not,” Herzer said, shrugging. “But when I gave him the copy he still felt constrained to point out that it was against regulations to use the materials in that manner. He also pointed out that there were ‘proper channels’ for such a ‘request.’ ”

“Oh, he did did he?” Edmund asked. “I’ve sent down that request twice through the G-4. I think it’s time for the G-4 and me to have a little chat.” Edmund leaned back and tugged at his beard for a moment, then shook his head. “No, it’s not, come to think of it. What was that major’s name?”

“Spearman.”

Edmund reached into his desk and rummaged until he came up with a manning chart.

“Wait a second,” Edmund said, pulling out a fountain pen and writing rapidly, consulting the manning chart from time to time. He handed the paper to Herzer and gestured to the main tent. “Go have a copy made of that, then carry the copy over to the G-4. Just hand it to him and leave.”

“Righto,” Herzer said, glancing at the paper and shaking his head. “Who is Colonel Trahn?”

“According to my manning chart he’s now my G-4,” Edmund said, looking back down at his desk which was just about covered in paper. “Let’s hope he has the sense not to be passive aggressive with me like his former boss.”

As Herzer exited the tent he nodded at the major who was entering. The man was tall and spare, clean shaven and with a very short haircut. It took him a moment to remember where he had seen him before.

“Major.” Herzer nodded.

“Captain Herzer,” Joel Travante said. “Congratulations on the promotion.”

“Congratulations on yours… sir,” Herzer said, his brow furrowing.

“It’s a lot easier to move around a military base in uniform,” Joel said, then frowned. “I’d like to pick your brain sometime, Captain.”

“About?” Herzer asked.

“In a more private venue,” Joel grinned. “Call it… ground combat issues.”

“Any time,” Herzer replied. “If I’m not running errands for the general.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Joel replied. “Good day.”

“Good day to you,” Herzer nodded as the man entered the tent.

“Who was that?” Destrang asked as they headed for the main tent.

“I’m not sure I should say,” Herzer answered then shrugged. “He’s a spook.”

“A what?”

“An intel officer. I don’t know what he’s doing here.”

“Hello again… Major,” Edmund said. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Joel said, sitting down languidly.

“I’ve blocked out most of the afternoon,” Edmund continued, getting a cup of coffee from the samovar. “Want some?”

“Please,” Joel replied, opening up his briefcase. “I suppose I don’t have to tell you about need-to-know.”

“Not really,” Edmund replied. “But do I decide that or you?”

“I suppose we’ll have to discuss it,” Joel answered with a grin.

“What name are you using at the moment?” Edmund asked.

“Kolata,” Joel said. “When I’m in my official capacity I generally just go by T.”

Joel Travante had been one of the few police in the pre-Fall era. The Council Inspectors were independent operatives and most of them worked part-time. But among the group was a smaller core, the Special Inspectors, who were the elite. You became a Special by solving the toughest cases in the best possible fashion. Joel Travante had been a Special Inspector for forty years prior to the Fall.

Just prior to the Fall he had been in the Asur Islands trying to find a serial rapist and murderer. Either was difficult pre-Fall since everyone was protected by personal protection fields. The perpetrator would seduce young women into lowering their shields and then keep them too occupied, mostly by pain, to be able to raise them again.

Joel had been close on his heels when the perp disappeared, apparently off the face of the earth. The inspector had finally found information that indicated the murderer had turned himself into a kraken and was hiding somewhere near the bottom of the sea. The question being, which bottom? He had managed to trace him to the Asur Islands and had been preparing to go hunting in the depths when the Fall hit.

After the Fall he had worked fishing boats. Then, when New Destiny took over the islands, he had taken his small boat and sailed two thousand kilometers to Norau. From there he had reestablished contact with Sheida Ghorbani and gone back to work. This time not as an inspector, but first as a member of her burgeoning intelligence apparatus and then as its head.

He liked his job for several reasons. One of them was that he got to see the real information about the world, messed up as it was. The other reason being that his wife and daughter had been in Briton and Ropasa, respectively, and his position was the only one he could imagine where he might get some inkling of their fates.

“Any word on your wife and daughter?” Edmund asked, handing him a cup of coffee. “I’ve got cream and sugar.”

“Black, sir, thank you,” Travante replied. “And no, unfortunately.”

“Well, if we can ever get back to Ropasa, hopefully we’ll find something out,” Edmund said, glad that both his wife and daughter had managed to make it home after the Fall. He could imagine what a hell it must be for Travante. “So, what do you have for me?”