John Ringo - Emerald Sea

“I appreciate that,” Joel said. “But I don’t know what there is to do.”

“If you’ve got any cash, I’d suggest going over to the Post Exchange. They’ve got a snack bar and there’s even books you can buy now in the PX. Maybe take a walk around the base, but if you’re out of uniform people are going to ask you questions and if you run into some officious young prick he’s gonna tell you to report in right away. Go get a book and some lunch and find an out-of-the way spot to hide. I’m only letting you in on this, you realize, ’cause you’re a fellow sailor.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Joel said, rising. “Can I ask you what happened to the leg?”

The chief looked at him intensely for a moment, then shrugged.

“Got a line caught around it in a gale off Cape Far,” the chief said. “Just remember, the sea, she’s a mother.”

“Been there, done that, Chief,” the spy replied. “Take care.”

“Sure,” the chief replied as he walked out the door. “You too.”

Joel found the PX and, sure enough, there were some books. He had no idea of authors or titles so he simply picked the one with the most lurid cover. It was as bad as he’d expected. It was the “true” story of Raven’s Mill’s defense against one of New Destiny’s proxies in the first year after the Fall. It centered, to an almost mind-numbing degree, on the training of the Blood Lords. On the other hand, if there was any accuracy, he needed to talk to their trainers. They already had a functional nucleus of professional training going and if the spy school he had in mind ever got off the ground, some training along the same lines would be useful.

The book, however, was another story. No way was he letting the writer anywhere near anything that he did. The guy introduced characters for no particular reason and then killed them off, just when he was getting to like them. Sure, it was a real story and the people really died, but give it a rest. He also had clunky prose and a really strange sense of humor. This guy was never going to win any awards.

On the other hand, it was a page turner and the snack bar guy had to throw him out when they closed. He tucked the book away, unsure whether to burn it or finish it later, and headed over to receiving, still chuckling. He hoped that this idiot never got ahold of his life story. He’d probably kill him off, just when everybody was getting to like him.

Herzer and Jerry followed Rachel back towards the headquarters and Herzer took the opportunity to have a closer look at the shipbuilding. There were more than a dozen ships under construction, ranging from a small boat that probably was meant to be used in the bay all the way up to a massive vessel, fully sixty meters long. The latter only had its frames up, but it was clearly designed to be fast and powerful. He had no clue what it was going to look like when completed but it had the look of a warship.

Behind the warehouses there was another row of buildings on slightly higher ground. Most of the structures were extremely rough, obviously made in the first rush of building after the Fall. Some of them were already being torn down for materials; the large tree sections that had been used to construct the early cabins could be sawn into wood to make three buildings out of one. One of them, however, was having additional construction added on and it was to that one that Rachel led them.

“This is the base headquarters,” Rachel told them as they approached through streams of workmen and sailors in blue trousers and off-white shirts. “It’s also Fleet headquarters for the time being. They’re a bit bunched up.”

“I can imagine,” Herzer said, chuckling. They were having much the same problem in Raven’s Mill with the Academy and the Overjay local defense headquarters occupying the same suite of buildings. “What gets me is how many people there are here; it must be two or three times the number in Raven’s Mill. And that’s more than there were in Harzburg. Most of them are prime soldier material and we’re dying for soldiers!”

“From what I picked up in the headquarters they’ve been filtering in from the north and south ever since the Fall,” Rachel said as they approached the entrance. The two guards in blue uniforms saluted Herzer as they passed and he gave them a wave in return. “There’s a lot of emphasis being put on getting a fleet built.”

“Well, I’d rather fight Paul’s forces at sea than on land,” Herzer admitted. “So I won’t begrudge it.”

She led them through the building to an office in the rear that was part of a recent addition; the air was still thick with the smell of sawdust and the stud-covered walls were weeping sap.

The party from Raven’s Mill was grouped around a desk, behind which sat a short-coupled man with a heavy tan and a shock of iron gray hair that had been cut short on top and to stubble on the sides. He had cold blue eyes that searched the newcomers unhappily.

“Lieutenant Herzer Herrick, Jerry Riadou, this is Skipper Shar Chang. His rank is colonel in the Free States forces. He’s the skipper of the Bonhomme Richard , which is going to be conveying us to the islands. Skipper, Jerry is the senior dragon-rider and Herzer is one of my officers who is acting as my aide in this mission.”

“Sir,” Herzer said, snapping to attention and rendering a salute.

“General Talbot outranks me, Lieutenant,” the colonel said, dryly. “One of the many wonderful aspects of this mission.”

“You’re in charge of the ship, Skipper,” Talbot said, calmly. “We’re just along for the ride.”

“The dragons aren’t,” Chang replied. “Let me explain to you all the problems we’ve got to deal with. The Richard is a brand-new ship, a dragon-carrier and the first one to be launched. It’s specifically designed to support dragons. The first problem is that we’ve had to design it in theory, since these are the first wyvern we’ve had on the base. She’s designed to carry thirty-six wyvern and their riders or four great dragons and a support team at sea for one hundred days. The five wyverns and one great dragon are going to rattle around in her like peas in a pod but that’s the good news. We’ve just completed builder’s trials. There are problems left to fix. She hasn’t had a shakedown cruise. Her rigging needs adjustment. Dragon support is going to need adjustment. And in the midst of all of this we’re tasked with this high-priority mission. You begin to see why I’m so enthusiastic.”

“I can understand that, sir,” Jerry interjected. “We were informed that the mission had both aspects in mind, working out doctrine and supporting the diplomatic mission. We’ll do it, sir. We have to.”

“Agreed. What’s your rank, son?” the skipper asked.

“Well…” Jerry temporized. “We don’t actually have ranks as such. I’m just the most senior guy. In most cases, I defer to Joanna when she’s around.”

“Grand,” Chang sighed. “So you’re not officially members of the UFS forces?”

“We are, sir,” Jerry replied, cautiously. “At least, that’s how we get paid. But the subject of ranks has never been raised. We just go where Sheida tells us and do what we can. We’ve done combat missions, sir. It’s not been a problem.”

“And what happens if one of your riders decides they don’t like the mission?” Chang asked.

“It’s… never come up, sir,” Jerry admitted.

“I’m going to send a long memo to Atlantis Command,” Chang said. “That’s for sure. Until further notice, Mr. Riadou, your new rank is warrant officer first class. I don’t know what you’ve been being paid but that’s also your pay-grade, starting now. If it’s more than you’ve been being paid, you just got a raise. If it’s less, we’ll figure something out. Flight pay, maybe. Choose one of your riders as your senior noncommissioned officer. The rest will be given the rank of sergeant. Do you have any questions?”