John Ringo - Against the Tide

“Head for base,” Herzer gestured at Zora.

“Help?” she asked, gesturing down.

“No,” Herzer waved. “Base.”

He passed an outbound flight as he headed for the carrier, his eye fixed on the Silverdrake high above. There were six wyverns, two with riders and four without. He really felt sorry for those poor damned orcas. For that matter, it was an even bet that Bast and Joanna were going to have finished off the pod by the time the rest of them got there.

The carrier had turned northeast, away from the potential threat, and they were already headed into the wind. He let Zora head in first, watching her air control. Experienced wyverns could almost land themselves, but the fleet had neither experienced wyverns nor experienced riders. Thus it was up to the riders to direct the wyverns on landing.

An innovation since his first carrier experience was a set of lines on the landing platform. The idea was for the wyverns to land between the second and third line, squarely in the middle of the landing zone. Another innovation was a net at the rear of the platform. He really hoped he never ended up in it.

After initial carrier development books had been found that, while not textbooks on naval aviation, per se, had many of the techniques that ancient peoples had developed for aircraft carriers. Most of the books were fiction and few of them were good, even to those who could read the ancient and baroque dialect in which they were written. They were loaded with acronyms the definition of which were often lost: SOL, SNAFU, and, frequently, FUBAR. But many of the terms and mythos had infected the naval dragon-riders. The stripes, for example, were referred to as “wires” which confused people that saw them. Landing between the second and third was a “three-wire.” Signaling that you were prepared to land was referred to as “calling the ball” even though even Evan had not been able to get a Fresnel lens to work for dragons. The one ability that ancient aviators had that Herzer wished for at moments like this was the ability to fly straight on if they were going to miss their landing. If he tried it he’d smack into a net. And if the net wasn’t rigged, he’d smack into a mast, which was worse. Actually, he’d probably plow into pri-fly.

He put that out of his mind, lining Lydy up and keeping his eyes on the paddles in the hands of the landing signal officer. He was pretty clean on the way in, corrected for the dead area behind the ship, got a last minute wave up and then slammed down dead between the two and three wire.

“Report,” Skipper Karcher said as soon as he had walked his wyvern down to the maindeck.

“Spotted plumes to the south and went to investigate. Jo… Commander Gramlich thought they were normals at first but when she went down for a close inspection, on Bast’s suggestion, she changed her mind. Last I saw, she and Bast were headed down to engage.”

“Just the two of them?” Sassan said, aghast.

“Yes, Major,” Herzer replied, somewhat tightly. “I’ve seen both Commander Gramlich and Bast in action in the water. I’m not worried about them, just whether there’s anything left for the follow-on flight.”

“That good, huh?” Skipper Karcher chuckled.

“Yes, ma’am,” Herzer said, tossing the bundle in his hands up and down. “Bast jumped from Joanna to Lydy to give me these. Then jumped back. She’s that good.”

“What is that?” Sassan asked.

“Her clothes,” Herzer said, dryly. “She didn’t want to get them wet.”

At a signal from the approaching wyverns that the orca were no longer a threat, Karcher turned the task force south to pick up Joanna and Bast; the returning dragon-riders had stated that when they got there all they found were five orca carcasses floating on the surface.

They were directed to the returning dragon by the cover riders and when they were finally sighted Bast was standing on Joanna’s head, swaying from side to side as the dragon snaked through the water. Wyverns swam by using their wings but Joanna was long and thin enough that she found it easier to scull from side to side like a snake, her virtually invulnerable wings wrapped around her body as armor.

As the dragon passed the side of the ship Bast leapt off her head and onto the deck. Joanna had given her a bit of an assist but it should have been impossible for her to not only clear the bulwarks but land near the middle of the deck. When she saw Herzer she trotted over to him and leapt through the air again, landing, stark naked except for her sword, with her legs wrapped around his middle and one hand hooked in his collar.

“That was fun,” she said, grinning and swinging back and forth, much like an orangutan hanging on a tree branch. “Let’s find some more.”

Skipper Karcher looked at her, obviously about to ask a question and then shut her mouth as Joanna climbed over the side of the ship. The starboard rear rail of the maindeck was removable and mats were laid in place for this exact purpose and Joanna slithered up onto the deck without incident.

“What happened, Commander?” Karcher asked.

“Oh, well,” Joanna said, spreading her wings and shaking the water off as politely as she could, “they came at us in the same old way and we, you know, beat them in the same old way. What a terrible business.”

“That’s it?” Sassan asked.

“More or less,” Bast said, jumping down from Herzer and taking her clothes. “Wellington and all. They tried to fight, and they couldn’t win. And they tried to run, and they weren’t fast enough. Felt sorry for them towards the end, really, until I remembered what they were like in the Isles.”

“You could go pick them up,” Joanna added. “As a wise delphino once quipped: Orca meat. Taste sweet.”

“I… don’t think so,” Skipper Karcher said, shaking her head. “I think we have enough meat in the freezer. I need to get the task force back on course.” With that she strode back up onto the quarterdeck.

“Well, I had my fill anyway,” Joanna admitted. “Time for a lie-down.”

“I don’t think so,” Herzer said. “I’ve got some paperwork for you to sign.”

“You know how hard it is for me to hold a pen!” Joanna complained as she walked through the hatch. “I really don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You know, they don’t pay me enough for this,” Edmund -muttered.

The ship was passing through what the meteorologist euphemistically termed “a disturbance.” Edmund called it a storm. Shar called it “good sailing” which Edmund had come to realize was the navy version of “good training.”

And, as usual, his seasickness, under control in normal seas, was rearing its ugly head.

“Message from the mer, sir,” a seaman said, handing him a form.

He unfolded it and frowned. “When did we get this?”

“Just now, sir,” the messenger replied.

“What?” Shar asked, looking out at the tossing horizon. “Or can’t I know?”

“There’s a message tube on the way in,” Edmund said. “Only I or… someone else can be the deliveree. I’m the closest.”

“Must be hot,” Shar commented. “From where?”

“That I can’t tell you,” Edmund admitted. “Looks like it should be here in about an hour. I’ll be below in the meantime, praying to the porcelain god.”

At the repeated knock on his door Edmund finally crawled to his feet and made it to his desk.

“Enter,” he shouted over the creaking of the hull. Surely it wasn’t supposed to make those groaning noises?

“Message tube, sir,” the communications officer said. “Sir, there’s a possibility this could be a booby trap. Do you want one of my people to open it? We have procedures…”