John Ringo - Against the Tide

“Point,” the G-1 replied, sighing.

“The best is the enemy of the good,” Edmund said. “In a -situation like this, you cannot get things to be anywhere close to perfect. What you have to strive for is the minimum of imperfection. And you have to get it as right as you can, in the time you have been given.”

“I take your point, sir,” Piet said.

“You were a sailor before,” Edmund said, leaning back in his chair. “A serious one, but not anyone who studied the military. At sea, you have one enemy, the ocean. And the ocean, while it changes and always keeps you on your toes, does not actively try to defeat you. In war, people actively try to defeat you. That seems like a simple concept but few people really understand it in their gut. People are trying as hard as they can to defeat you. They try, very hard, to kill you. So that you don’t kill them.

“And because it’s a big, complicated system and because the enemy is trying to read your mind and defeat you, and they are smart, too, things are always going to go wrong; the enemy is going to make sure of that. So the trick is to make fewer mistakes than the enemy. One mistake you can make is trying to be too perfect, because that takes time . And that gives the enemy time, too. Time to figure out your intentions. Time to get a better position. Time to enact a plan that might not be perfect but that will work . For that reason, decisions have to be made quickly and they have to be pretty good. Not perfect. Pretty good. What I’m saying here is that you should strive for perfection, but not to the point of giving the enemy more time. If the choices you have, now, are pretty good, we’ll go with that. Again, ‘the best is the enemy of the good.’ Save the tweaking for after we win the battle.”

“I hate working in this harum-scarum fashion,” Piet -admitted.

“So do I,” Edmund said. “But that’s why you focus on victory and plan for defeat. I’m sorry, but the fleet under Admiral Draskovich did not plan for defeat. There weren’t any alternate plans, there wasn’t a fall-back plan, there wasn’t any slack in the system. Not even any personnel or material reserves to speak of. There are times to move without a reserve, but not when you’re in a battle that you have foreseen for a year. When I’m done, this place is going to have the wherewithal to survive another defeat and go back out as many times as necessary to eventually win the war. But right now I’m fixing another man’s abortion. That’s messy and sickening and all that you can do is hope for the best and plan for the worst. So if what you’ve got is good enough, go with it. Good enough is really all we can hope for.”

“Edmund,” Sheida said.

Edmund glanced up from his paperwork and looked at the clock on the table across the tent. It was nearing midnight and he felt stiff and cramped from, literally, hours of sitting in the same chair. It wasn’t even a comfortable chair. Something he’d been secretly proud of when he had it installed. Now he regretted his grandstanding.

“Sheida.” He sighed. He looked at his former lover and shook his head. “If this is power, it’s for the birds. You look like you’ve aged twenty years in the last four.”

“So do you, Edmund,” Sheida said with a grimace. “And isn’t it a bit late?”

“Needs must,” he said, waving at the table. “This place is a zoo.”

“A very expensive zoo,” Sheida said. “The legislature is balking at your request for increased funding.”

“No surprise that.” Edmund frowned, rubbing his head. “But we have to gain control of the sea and that means more men and more ships. And those men and ships are going to suffer, be lost, which will mean more men and ships. We have to have the funds, Sheida.” He gestured at the paperwork before him and shook his head. “Half of this crap is people screaming at me over money. ‘Out of budget construction,’ ‘invalid materials use,’ these people wouldn’t know a battle if it bit them in the ass and they’re asking me to account for every damned nail that goes in a ship. And why it has to go in a ship. Well, the reason is, the more of the bastards we kill at sea, the fewer will be around to kill us on land. Think you can get that through their heads?”

“Politics,” Sheida said with a bitter chuckle. “All that money running from one area to another. The Kent wants to form a legion. The Kent of all places.” The Kentian plains had been famous, before the Fall, for their horse herds and after the Fall the fame had just increased.

“That’s going to be a moot point,” Edmund said.

“Oh?”

“I submitted a study to the Ministry calling for federal cavalry brigades. As far as I can tell, they’re sitting on it. So I sent Kane down to the Kent to get the ball rolling, oh, six months ago or so. Either the local representative is dealing with information lag, or he’s unaware that a cavalry brigade is going to mean more money to the area than a legion.”

“How’s it going?” Sheida asked.

“Last I heard, pretty good,” Edmund admitted. “Most of them aren’t as good of horsemen as they have to be for cavalry, but Kane and I worked out a pretty intensive basic training for them. They won’t be elite by any stretch of the imagination and no horse bowmen, but they’re going to be all right. And disciplined , damnit. When I call in cavalry I want it to go where I tell it, not haring off any old way it pleases.”

“And then there’s the Fleet,” Sheida pointed out. “Everyone is balking at that, but mostly the people on the coast. All the money is going to Newfell, which has damned little representation in the House.”

“I’ve got a fix for that one, too,” Edmund frowned. “There’s no reason that all the ships have to be built here and plenty of reason for them not to be. The smoldering remains of our shipyards speak for themselves. I’ll send a memo to Admiral Houser recommending the establishment of at least two more bases. One of them probably at Balmoran and the other at… well, wherever you think best. Politically. Just has to be a good harbor. And we’ll farm out the ship construction to shipyards all along the coast; spread that money around at least. Better?”

“I can work with that.” Sheida nodded. “Of course, Admiral Houser has to approve it.”

“Of course,” Edmund chuckled. “Isn’t that what chain-of-command is for?”

When Edmund woke up it was bright daylight. He started to roll to his feet, angry that no one had awoken him before dawn, and noticed that he was not alone in bed. From the red hair and the shape of the shoulder either his wife or his daughter had crawled in next to him sometime in the night. He really, really hoped it was Daneh. Rachel had gotten far too old to share a bed with daddy.

“Good morning,” Daneh said, rolling over sleepily.

“Late morning,” Edmund said, trying not to snarl.

“I know,” Daneh replied, leaning over to kiss him. “And you’ve got morning breath. Don’t flay Destrang alive; I told him that you weren’t to be wakened. You’ve been driving yourself into the ground and as your doctor I ordered some additional bed rest. Not to mention as your wife.”

“Destrang’s supposed to take orders from me ,” Edmund growled, rolling to the edge of the bed and getting his feet out of the covers. But he had to admit that the extra sleep had done him some good.

“And he trusted that I’d keep you from coming down on him like a ton of bricks,” Daneh said, sliding across the not particularly large bed and grabbing him by his hair. “And you’re not going to. As a matter of fact, you don’t have another appointment for…” She glanced at the clock across the room and smiled. “Two hours. Now that I’ve rearranged your schedule. So if you think you’re leaping out of bed this minute, you’d better have another think coming.” She pulled his head back until he was lying down again, looking up at her upside down.