John Ringo - Emerald Sea

“Warrant Officer Riadou is supposed to be meeting with the captain soon…” Mbeki said.

“I’d like Herzer to attend that,” Talbot interrupted. “Herzer’s going to be my liaison with the dragon-riders. I’d like him in on discussions of their use.”

“Very well,” the commander said, nonplussed. “Seaman, show Lieutenant Herzer to the captain’s dayroom.”

Herzer followed the seaman though a bewildering series of corridors to a door guarded by a sentry.

“Lieutenant Herzer to see the captain, orders of the duke,” the seaman said, stepping aside.

The guard looked the lieutenant over and raised an eyebrow. “Blood Lord?”

Herzer leaned forward until his nose was an inch from the sentry and nodded.

“Blood Lord. There is one captain. There are two lieutenants. I’m the other one. And if you give me a look like that again I’ll wipe the floor with you. I don’t take lip from privates. Especially ones with newly issued armor and who haven’t seen shit to make them salty. Do I make my point?”

The sentry flexed a jaw muscle and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, then knocked on the door.

“What?” Chang called from the interior.

“A Blood Lord lieutenant to see you, sir,” the guard said.

“Let him in.”

Herzer marched in and saluted the captain, who was bent over a table, head nearly touching Evan’s, both of them poring over a schematic, presumably of the ship.

“Message from Duke Edmund?” the skipper asked.

“Actually, sir, he sent me to… look in on the meeting, sir. I’ll just stay out of the way.”

The skipper stared at him flatly for a moment, then shrugged. “No, if you have anything to contribute, feel free. We’ve only been working on this project for a year. I’m sure you have all sorts of useful suggestions.”

“I’m much more likely to ask questions, sir,” the lieutenant said. “But I intend to avoid even that.”

“Questions are good,” Evan said. “Doing something like this is all about questions. Like, what’s going to happen to the handling of the ship when thirty-six wyverns are coming and going all the time?”

“Something we’ll have to find out,” the skipper said. “Right now, I’m wondering if we can even get them on and off.”

“We can do the landing, sir,” Jerry said doggedly. “The wyverns can land on a dime.”

“This will be a moving dime, Warrant,” the skipper growled. “Up and down, side to side, forward and back. I’ll limit the movement to the extent that I can, but I can’t stop it.”

“We’ll figure it out, sir,” Jerry replied.

“Know anything about logistics, Lieutenant?” the skipper asked. “You’ve fed those wyverns. How much feed per day?”

“Depends upon the type, sir,” Herzer answered. “From what I was told, two hundred kilos per day of the mess, less if it’s good quality protein and fats.”

“Access to the latter will be restricted at sea,” the captain said. “You’ve helped feed them?”

“Sir,” Herzer said, nodding his head.

“Think about doing that on a rolling ship in the middle of a gale,” the captain said with a smile.

“Sir, have food bowls set into the stalls, sir,” Herzer replied. “Have slots to feed the mess through the slots. Better yet, have some sort of a moving trolley that automatically feeds them; that prevents humans accidentally sliding into the stalls. Have the edge of the food bowls sufficiently high that the mess is unlikely to slop over. Feed in increments rather than lots at one time. More time intensive but if there’s an automated feeder that’s not a problem. Sir.”

The captain raised one eyebrow. “Is that an official recommendation, Lieutenant?”

“But…” Evan said then shut up as the captain raised a hand.

“Sir, no, sir, it’s just an idea,” Herzer barked, standing at the position of parade rest. “I was specifically asked, sir.”

The skipper leaned back in a chair and actually appeared to look at Herzer for the first time.

“Who trained you, Lieutenant Herrick?” the captain asked.

“Gunnery Sergeant Miles A. Rutherford was my advanced combat trainer, sir,” Herzer replied. “He developed the Blood Lord training system. Along with Duke Edmund.”

“ Gunnery sergeant?” the skipper asked. “That’s a Marine rank.”

“If you have an issue with the use of that rank, sir, I respectfully suggest that you take it up with the Gunny, sir,” Herzer said sardonically.

“Think you’re salty, Lieutenant?” the skipper asked, tilting his head to the side.

“No, sir, never been to sea, sir,” Herzer replied. “But…”

“Yes?” Chang said, with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve been wounded with arrows, axe, spear and sword, had my hand cut off by a powered blade, fought my way through a cloud of nannites to try to dig my dagger into a man protected by a force field. I’ve been smashed off my horse, trampled and seen my best friends die on every side of me. I’ve flown dragons, fought cavalry battles and clashed shield to shield with ten times my number of Changed, all slavering for my blood. For two damned years I’ve been fighting this war on the front lines, sir . If you’re trying to intimidate me, Colonel, you’re going to find it a hard row to hoe.”

The skipper stared at him for just a moment, then nodded his head.

“We’re trying to figure out how to land and recover dragons on this ship and how to keep them alive, healthy in extreme conditions. We’re also trying to figure out how to make them more of an offensive weapon. Warrant Officer Riadou has apparently fought with them before, but if the enemy isn’t disheartened by their appearance there’s not much that they can do except flap their wings and hiss. They’re not even very good at using those impressive talons of theirs. Air to air, dragon y dragon, they might just be formidable. But we need to figure out how to make them a formidable force against ground and sea enemies. Now, they make decent scouts but I don’t want a ship that’s relegated to a scouting mission. I want an offensive weapon. Understand?”

“Sir,” Herzer said with a nod of his head.

“Is there some way that you can help with that?”

“Not at this time, sir,” Herzer admitted. “I wasn’t planning on contributing, as noted. I’m here to be Duke Edmund’s eyes and ears. But… sir?”

“Yes?”

“There’s nobody that I know of who is better at wringing an offensive edge from a weapon than Duke Edmund.”

“Perhaps he’ll have some ideas, then.” The skipper shrugged. “By the way, you came up with the same plan that Evan has for feeding the wyverns. Mr. Riadou has some issues with it.”

“Wyverns are pack animals, sir,” the rider said. “I’m afraid that if they spend much time battened down and completely separated they’re going to be pretty unhappy. Depressed. A depressed dragon is a noneating dragon.”

“We’ll cross that problem when we come to it,” Chang said. “And that’s your problem unless there’s something specific that I have to approve.”

“Yes, sir,” the rider said.

“I want you to be thinking along offensive lines,” the skipper continued. “I want you to figure out ways that your dragons can sink ships . Capture them for that matter.”

“Well, we can drop rocks,” Jerry said. “But we have to toss them over the side and hope we both miss the wyvern’s wing and hit the enemy. It’s not very efficient.”

“You and Evan talk it over,” the skipper said. “I’ve spent enough time on this problem. Take Herzer with you. Figure something out.”