John Ringo - Against the Tide

“How short?”

“About half,” Ennesby said. “We’re mounting fifteen guns per side. We’ve got sufficient compression for all of them on the Chao , but we’re short on material for the guns and on lines. The latter’s not really from the Silverdrake; we’d be short anyway. And running them, firing them accurately, is going to take some training. I don’t know how accurate the gunners are going to be at first.”

“And lord knows you don’t want those damned bolts raining down on the ship,” Edmund chuckled. “Any good news?”

“Vickie brought in a change to the Silverdrake landing that I want to distribute to all the support ships. Skipper Karcher pointed out that there’s no reason the Silverdrake landing platform has to be over the quarterdeck. The Silverdrake land on a dime as it is. So she’s moving her platform off to the rear. It looks like it will work and if it does we’re planning on having everyone change over. The current landing method… leaves a lot to be desired.”

“That it does,” Edmund replied.

“I should let Vickie or Commander Gramlich report on this,” Ennesby said. “But the Silverdrake that have been training with the bolt system report that they think it will work. We made some targets, big kites really, and they’ve been learning how to target them. It’s still a point-blank system, though.”

“Well, we’re still going to want the anti-air dreadnoughts,” Edmund sighed. “I’ll send a message to the commanders of the ships that are ready for sea to get out there and start training. Make sure we’ve got plenty of darts.”

“Will do,” Ennesby said.

“How long to get the remaining dreadnoughts ready for sea?”

“No more than a week,” Ennesby said. “We’re stepping masts now. But we don’t have crews.”

“I’ll see about crews,” Edmund said. “Don’t convert them to anti-dragon platforms, though, that’s not what they’re going to be used for.”

They both looked at him for clarification until it was clear none was coming.

“That’s all we’ve got,” Evan said, standing up.

“And I’ve got a meeting with the G-1 next,” Edmund replied, glancing up at the door. “Speaking of crews.”

“I’m out of here,” Ennesby said. “Before your body-hunter decides I’d make a good sailor.”

“Bring me any more information you think I need,” Edmund pointed out. “Anything.”

“We’ve finally gotten information from our agents at Newfell, Marshal.”

Chansa looked up from his paperwork and waved the aide into the room, practically snatching the document from his hand.

“Bloody hellfire,” Chansa snarled. He was a fast reader and had scanned for the worst possible information. Besides the fact that they hadn’t gotten the Richard , the worse news was buried in the fine print. “Talbot.”

“Yes, sir,” the aide gulped.

“I can see why you were sent in with it,” Chansa growled then laughed. “I promise I won’t kill the messenger. But go find Conner. Now.”

The man who entered was tall and ascetic looking with a calm manner that was belied by his eyes. The irises of the latter were white and his pupils were tiny black dots.

“You called, Marshal?” Conner asked, pulling out a notebook and stylus.

“Edmund Talbot has been appointed to command of the North Atlantis Fleet,” Chansa said.

“Yes, sir, a surprising appointment to be sure,” Conner replied.

“You knew,” Chansa said, leaning back and narrowing his eyes.

“Whose agents do you think are in Newfell Base, your Marshalship?” Conner replied, smiling faintly.

“He is not to command the fleet in the next battle,” Chansa said, waving his hand. “Do whatever you need to do to effect that. No, let me make myself clearer. Kill him. He has interfered too often with my plans. I don’t want him to do so again.”

“Of course, Marshal,” Conner said, closing the notebook. “If that is all.”

“That’s it,” Chansa growled, waving at the door again. “Just inform me when he’s dead.”

“Okay, what have you got, One?” Edmund asked as the G-1 walked in the tent. It was raining cats and dogs and the personnel officer was soaked. But he just shook off his coat, dried his hands, pulled out his notes and took a seat.

“We’re going to be short on manning for the fleet,” General Piet said. “The worst category in gross is able seamen; being able to reef sails in a gale is a skilled craft and we’re always shorthanded in that department. I’ve looked over Major Herrick’s training program and… well, okay, I’m impressed.”

“Herzer’s much more than just a pretty face,” Edmund said, getting up and pouring a cup of coffee. “You take yours black, right?”

“Yes, sir,” the general said in surprise. “Major Herrick is not even a pretty face, though.”

“It was a joke, Simon,” Talbot said, shaking his head. “But that’s not going to give us top-men by the time we need them.”

“No, it’s not, sir,” the G-1 replied, taking the cup with a nod. “But it will certainly help in the long run. Right now what I’ve done is order everyone, of whatever current rate, who has experience on shipboard to sea duty. That’s made some other departments shorthanded…”

“I’ve already received the complaint from the intel shop,” Edmund grinned. “So how short are we?”

“Across the board about thirty percent,” the personnel officer said, glancing at his notes. “Some ships are closer to a zero, some are less. I’m reluctant to drag down the carriers, for example; they’re already shorthanded. Some of the frigates, though, are at about fifty percent and the dreadnoughts, which of course haven’t trained together at all, are not much higher.”

“Do what you can,” Edmund said, shaking his head. “What are the other major problems?”

“We’re short across the board,” Piet replied. “Trained NCOs. Trained officers. Navigational officers. The worst lack, though, is trained commanders. I don’t have anyone on the roster that I feel comfortable with giving the Hazhir , for example. The executive officer is very new, he’s barely made captain and the position calls for a commander. Admiral Chang concurs, by the way. I’m contemplating transferring out the Bonhomme Richard ’s XO, but I had to strip the Richard of all her other trained officers. I could move the nav officer back from the Chao , but that will leave the Chao with only one qualified watch officer; the captain.”

“Ouch,” Edmund said, rubbing his chin. “What about Karcher?”

“Karcher, sir?” the G-1 replied. “I don’t even recognize the name.” He picked up his briefcase and slipped out a sheet of paper, running down a list of names. “Major Karcher is the skipper of the Harry Black , a collier ship. Why do you ask?”

“What’s her experience?” Edmund replied.

“I haven’t a clue, sir,” Piet admitted. “I’d have to pull her file.”

“Send a message to have her report to me,” Edmund said. “Don’t say why but I want to see if she could potentially handle the Hazhir .”

The G-1 looked startled for a moment, then shrugged.

“As a collier officer she’s going to be qualified at celestial navigation,” Piet temporized. “But there’s a vast difference between running a carrier and a slightly fast merchant ship. And I don’t know where that is going to leave her manning. She may be one of the only fully qualified officers on the ship.”

“Do you have anyone else that you can suggest?” Edmund asked. “And I’d rather be down a collier than a carrier.”