John Ringo - Against the Tide

“The last admiral that tried to explain that sort of thing to Marshal Chansa is somewhere over there,” the admiral replied, waving at the beach where the Changed were being slaughtered. “I choose not to withdraw.”

“Age and treachery are wonderful things, sir,” Gunny Rutherford said as the flight of dragons swept overhead and headed for the New Destiny task force. The anti-dragon frigate was to the west of the aircraft carrier so the dragons had to actually pass over the latter to reach their target. When they did the entire flight lined up and carefully passed over the frigate, dropping load after load of napalm onto its deck. Since they were dropping from out of range of the ballistas, many of the pots missed. But, then again, many of them hit. And not all the foam in the world could save a wooden ship from a deck covered in napalm. After they had dropped their loads they began landing at the base by the warehouses the “workmen” had been using.

“Don’t tell me,” the captain said. “Some of the workmen’s ‘solvents’ are…”

“Reloads for the dragons, sir,” the gunny replied with a nod. He pulled back the hood of his fire suit and lit a stogie on his still smoldering shield. “And more archers over there to cover them while they rearm. It’s harder for them to take off and they can only carry two bombs. But they can recycle much faster. And we’ve got about three times the load of bombs a carrier can handle. And, of course, we don’t sink if they get through.”

“Was this the duke’s plan from the beginning?” Captain Pherson asked, pulling back his own hood. One of the carriers appeared to be low in the water and was definitely showing signs of having a hard time turning its dragons around. The other was beginning to launch but even as the dragons staggered into the air, small, highly colored dragons dropped out of the sun onto them, firing darts that flashed silver in the sun. More dragons fell into the sea.

“Just a contingency plan, sir,” the gunny said, taking a puff off of his stogie. “Just a contingency.”

“Losing Hazhir has played merry hob with Stonewall,” Talbot said. “It was only a contingency plan to start with. And now we’re going to be playing catch-up to make our next rendezvous. Furthermore, we have to destroy the fleet here, since otherwise the dreadnoughts are going to run into heavy weather.”

“Dreadnoughts?” Shar asked.

“I’m sending them down to pick up D’Erle and his men,” Edmund said. “They’re on their way, as a matter of fact. As soon as the Changed boats are patched up D’Erle and his men will prepare to embark. The dreadnoughts should be here by then. But instead of Hazhir screening them while we go take on the other task force, they’ll have to run up the coast without any coverage, except some Silverdrake we’ll fly off to them. Then we’re going to have to head for the remnants of the combat fleet and finish them off.”

Admiral Arris stepped into the launch as the water rose over the bulwarks of the Wilhelm .

“Head for the Tressam ,” he said, watching the battle on the shore. The Changed were dropping out of the launches in the shallows, which were scarlet with blood, and charging up the beach to the line of waiting Blood Lords. There had been one attempt to change the landing area but there was really only one place to land and the Blood Lords and archers had it covered. As he watched most of the Changed fell in the shallows to a mass flight of arrows. The last few charged the Blood Lords but were cut down with hardly a dent in the Blood Lord lines. As soon as the charge was broken the Blood Lords conducted a well-drilled movement that brought new fighters to the front lines to rest those that had been handling the bulk of the fighting.

“Admiral,” Fleet Captain Bouviet said, pointing towards the harbor. A flight of dragons had formed up and now vectored towards the fleet, heading for the Tressam .

The Tressam managed to get some dragons upÑthe small, fast wyverns had disappeared for the momentÑand they tried to engage the oncoming flight of UFS wyverns. Some of the UFS beasts were, apparently, unladen and they turned to cut off the New Destiny dragons. There was a brief midair battle which had riders falling off into the water and a few dragons, he couldn’t tell whose, following them down. But the main flight made it through and napalm rained all over his last carrier.

“Change directions,” the admiral said. “Head for the nearest frigate. We’re going to have to withdraw.”

The UFS dragons, however, turned to the north.

“Are they withdrawing, too?” the Fleet Captain asked.

“More likely going back to their carriers,” the admiral growled. “Which are going to dog our steps no matter what we do. Make for the frigate. Quickly!”

“I think that’s about it, sir,” Gunny Rutherford said. His armor was covered in blood as was the captain’s; the last group of Changed had tried very hard to break out from the Blood Lord lines. “Six dead, fourteen wounded. Most of the wounded will survive.”

“Gunny, is it just me or was this stupidly easy?” the captain asked. He didn’t like losing people, but given that they had been outnumbered at least five to one that was a ridiculous total.

“It always is, sir,” the gunny said, puffing up his stogie and tossing aside his battered and burned shield, “when you’ve got the right mix.”

“The New Destiny fleet is fleeing to the south,” Shar said. “Both carriers are on the bottom along with their anti-dragon frigates. All they have left are ballista frigates.”

“Leave ’em,” Edmund said. “Two dreadnoughts filled with archers can make hash of ballista frigates. How are the dragons holding up?”

“We lost about a dozen one way or another,” Shar admitted. “Seven wounded that will be able to fly in a few days. All the Silverdrake made it back. And, you were right, the dreadnoughts are in sight to the north.”

“Signal nine Silverdrake detached to the dreadnoughts; they have stalls set up for them. Then signal the fleet to make sail northeast. We’ve got more carriers to hunt.”

He looked up at a knock on the door and yelled: “Enter!”

“Admiral Talbot,” the messenger said. “Whale signal from Hazhir : Made rendezvous.”

Megan had returned to the castle with a pack train of clothes and supplies, a slightly increased force courtesy of Malcolm Innes and a distinct distaste for riding and the society of the Gael. She was appalled by the speed with which the locals had reverted to a very sexually segregated, and repressive, society. It, quite frankly, infuriated her. Mirta, however, was much less upset by it.

They had been talking one evening after dinner when the kitchen had mostly been cleared and she and Megan had taken up stools by the fire. Baradur was perched in the corner, as always a silent observer. Since Jock had assigned him to her he had never been far away. He slept by the door of her room, tasted her food before she ate it and even checked the latrines when she had occasion to use them.

Mirta was, as ever, sewing. She had gotten some rough sections of wool and was making a better dress for herself when Megan burst out with her complaints.

“I like Jock McClure, I even like Malcolm for all his ‘Gael madness,’ but this… this… slave camp they run is ridiculous! Serfs in the fields, women kept out of the main room except to serve. It’s disgusting .”

“A bit,” Mirta said, looking up for a moment, then going back to her sewing. “But it fits the society very well. Have you asked Jock or Flora about it?”