John Ringo - Against the Tide

“Deal with it. Those are the facts of life. And don’t tell me that it hasn’t happened on shipboard, either. I’ve read the reports. The short and sweet is that if it happens under my watch, I will make whoever is the one in the position of power regret the day that they were born,” he continued, his scarred face hard and cold. “With power comes responsibility. I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with that sort of thing before and believe me, there is no justification for the empowered. None. Zero. Zip. Keep your dick in your pants. By the same token, an accusation is not proof. Investigations into accusations, though, are time consuming and leave nothing but shit in their wake. Bottom line: don’t put yourself into a position to be accused. If you’re counseling a person, make sure that there is a witness present. Ensign Van Krief and I will be writing that portion of the orders. That’s all I’ve got. Any questions, comments, concerns?”

“This isn’t going to help with the upcoming battle,” Chief Brooks said.

“No, but you’re assuming that we’re going to seize control of the sea-lanes in one battle,” Herzer said. “Let’s just say that Duke Edmund takes a longer view of things. Training is one of the fundamentals of any military force. The more you train, the less you bleed. So we are going to train them as hard as they can stand. Because when it comes to actually doing the job, it just gets harder.”

“Good lord, I thought training was hard,” Tao said as Van Krief walked in the room. The ensign was just shrugging out of his undress uniform.

“I suppose I should have knocked,” Van Krief said, grinning.

“What? You have time to knock?” Tao said.

“I haven’t seen you in a week,” Van Krief said, stripping off her own tunic. “What have they got you doing?”

“Edmund set me loose on the marines,” Tao admitted. “We’ve been practicing boarding and repelling techniques. Herzer was right, they’re woefully undertrained. They march pretty, but they don’t have a frigging clue what to do with their pigstickers. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same, but training trainers.” Van Krief chuckled. “You should have seen their faces when I used the term ‘lesson plan.’ ‘Wass thet?’ ”

Tao belly laughed and nodded his head. “Training schedule? What’s a training schedule? Plan our training? You’re joking, right? They’ve got a manual of instruction, I’ll give them that. I finally convinced the company commanders to use Gunny’s technique.”

“Oooh, they must think you’re a right bastard,” Van Krief said, pulling on a fresh uniform.

“Training’s sergeant’s work,” Tao said, grinning evilly. “So each Friday we have a test. We tell them what the test will be . And we set aside sergeant’s time for them to train their troops.”

“Has it worked?” Van Krief asked.

“Getting there,” Tao admitted, finally dressed. “Last week was the first time we’d tried it. Only one squad took me seriously. They got released to go down to town; the rest of them kept testing and training and training and testing until nearly midnight. Better than a GI party, I tell ya. This week I notice they’re spending a lot more time training and less time sitting on their ass in the barracks. We’ll see on Friday.”

“Why are you getting all spiffy?” Van Krief asked.

“Oh, gotta look spiffy,” Tao said, blousing his boots and tugging them into position. “Part of the Blood Lord tradition. Bastards in combat and the best dressed troops around if they’re not actively training. I just got done proving to the whole NCO group of the marines that even together they couldn’t take me down. Now I’m going to look better than all of them for the rest of the day. Give ’em something to think about.”

“You are vicious,” Van Krief grinned.

“So, you getting anywhere with Herzer, yet?” Tao asked. “Speaking of vicious.”

“Bite your tongue,” the ensign growled. “He’s my boss. No-go time.”

“Well, maybe somebody will get smart and separate you enough that you can get a leg over.” Tao grinned, ducking out the door as a boot hit it.

“Don’t I just wish,” Van Krief said as she belted her tunic. “Don’t I just wish.”

“It is wishful thinking to believe we can win a decisive battle on present terms, Admiral,” General Babak said. The operations officer was looking particularly pale this morning. “The correlation of forces…”

“Correlation of forces is often a term for either cowardice or lack of imagination,” Edmund replied, bluntly. “I’ll agree that we’re holding the shitty end of the stick at present. But the way to fix that is to turn the stick around.”

“We’re outmanned,” General Piet pointed out. “They took relatively few casualties in the battle and we’re short on personnel. Among other things, even though we’ve gotten dragons sufficient to fill out the fleet, many of the dragon-riders are unwilling to perform sea duty.”

“Then they can be grounded until there are more dragons,” Edmund said. “And we’ll find recruits to fly the dragons. Yes, training them is going to be a bear. That’s G-3’s job to figure out.”

“We don’t have the trainers ,” Babak snapped. “Or the facilities. We’re going full out working up the dragons with trained Naval riders and one carrier!”

“General, in a few weeks time, minimum, New Destiny is going to punch their fleet again,” Edmund replied, mildly. “What would you have us do? Sit on our asses in harbor and let the dragons that we have cover us? There are other harbors, other seaside towns. And the point to all of this is to stop their invasion force. We cannot do that from the harbor.” He looked around at them and shook his head.

“You gentlemen are starting to learn why being a general is not all it’s cracked up to be. The enemy is called the enemy for a reason. They don’t stand up to be shot. They are working just as hard to make sure we cannot fight as we are working to figure out a way to fight. Or supposed to be working. General Babak, has your department been working on battle plans?”

“There are, at most, three carriers against six,” Babak said, pointedly. “And they have those damned anti-dragon frigates. We’ve been looking at any number of scenarios. None of them bear any hope of success.”

Edmund closed his eyes and shook his head, solemnly.

“General, let me ask you something. Have you ever read any military histories?”

“Well…” the general said, inhaling. “No. But the point isÑ”

“The point, General, is that military history is replete with examples of inferior forces defeating, or at least stopping, superior forces.” Edmund steepled his fingers and rested them on his chin, his eyes closed. “General, you and your plans people come over to my quarters this evening. We’re going to have a little chat.” He opened his eyes again and shrugged. “If I have to learn you all one by one I will. General Hanour, your estimate on the point at which New Destiny will be ready to sail again.”

“Well, technically, they could sail at any moment,” the intelligence officer said. “But we estimate they won’t do so for at least another two weeks. That is when all their ships will be done with storm repairs.”

“Mr. Ennesby, when will the carriers be completed with their refit?”

The shipyard engineer had not previously been invited to staff meetings. But since the staff did not have a representative from Buships, to Edmund’s secret delight, he’d pressed Ennesby into service.

“Six days at present rate,” Ennesby said, looking at his notes. “But there’s another day to load the stores that had to be removed.”