John Ringo - Emerald Sea

This ship had showers, even for the crew, functional toilets and sinks. The crew berthed in cots, albeit ones that were stacked four high. The food was well prepared and as varied as any that he had seen in the post-Fall period. They lived, come to think of it, better than Courtney and Mike. Better than Blood Lords on campaign.

But when he watched them shimmying on those ropes he had to admit that they deserved their improved conditions.

The first real blast of wind hit as the last of the crew were descending from the rigging, and despite the fact that most of the sails were “furled” the wind pushed the ship over on its side to the point that a wave washed up onto the deck. The ship, though, responded to it sluggishly. The wind was howling in the rigging but the ship was digging into the swells rather than running over them, water creaming over the bow on a regular basis. She was riding them out, but it didn’t look good to Herzer.

When the rain hit he decided that he’d like a bit more cover and headed up to the quarterdeck. There were now two men on the wheel and it was clear that they were needed; it seemed to be kicking like a live thing in their hands.

“Following sea,” the skipper yelled to him when he noticed the look. “The waves push into the rudder and try to push it aside.”

“Won’t happen with my hands on the wheel, sir,” one of the sailors called. “She gripes, though, she surely does.”

“The pressure of the wind is pushing her nose down,” the skipper translated. “We’ll have to move some stores aft to give her more weight back there.” He turned and called below for a party and gave some rapid instructions including calling for Mbeki.

“It’ll take a while, though,” he added. “I’d appreciate it if you moved below, Lieutenant. This may look easy, but it’s not.”

“Yes, sir,” Herzer said, heading for the companionway. It didn’t look easy for that matter.

Instead of heading for his cabin, though, Herzer headed for the hatch to the wyvern area. The main hatch had been closed and “dogged down,” meaning that catches had been firmly sealed from the inside. There was a personnel hatch, though, and he opened that and went below, carefully setting the dual-side catches in place before he climbed down the ladder.

The scene below was a veritable Inferno. The wyverns were not happy at the change of motion in the ship and they were making their disquiet abundantly clear. They also had decided that since they weren’t going to be let out to go potty, it was time to do it indoors. Between the screeches and the smell he nearly climbed back out, but he stuck with what he considered his duty.

He saw Jerry slithering across the slimy floor and, grabbing a convenient rail, headed in his direction.

“Anything I can do?” he yelled over the squalling dragons.

“I dunno,” Jerry yelled back. “Can you either get the ship to quit pitching or find me a wyvern sedative?”

“No,” Herzer answered with a laugh. “Have they been fed?”

“Of course they’ve been fed,” Jerry answered. “Then they puked it back up. And I couldn’t believe it but it really did look worse coming back up. I’m starting to worry, they’re not getting enough water.”

“This gale isn’t going to quit any time soon,” Herzer said. He’d gotten close enough that they could carry on a conversation at normal tones. “What are we going to do?”

“Not sure,” Jerry admitted. “Whatever we can. Hopefully they’ll get their sea legs after a couple of days. I’m getting better; how ’bout you?”

“Yeah,” Herzer admitted. “At least before I came down here. Is there some way to clean this out?”

“I haven’t had time to find out,” Jerry admitted.

“I will.”

Herzer made his way back up the ladder and then paused when he reached the deck. The ship was still pitching and tossing and the wind was shrieking around him like a banshee. But from his experience of storms on land, the first part was usually worst. Once it passed over, if it passed over he temporized, it should get better.

He grabbed a passing seaman and was directed forward to where Chief Brooks was directing a party that was attending to the lashings on the longboat.

“Chief, you need to tell me who to bother when you don’t want to be,” Herzer yelled over the storm. The ship chose that moment to bury her nose in a wave and a flood of green poured over the side. Herzer instinctively shot a hand out and grabbed a rope, holding onto a young sailor that was passing by with his clamp. As soon as the flood had passed he pulled the sailor upright, noticing in passing that “it” was female, and tossed her back towards the longboat. “Back to work, seaman.”

“Well, you’re here,” the chief yelled back, grinning at the interplay. “Not bad for a bloody landlubber. What’cha need, Lieutenant?”

“The wyvern area is fisking horrible.”

“So I heard. But I don’t have a party to help you.”

“That’s not the problem. We just need some idea what to do with all the… stuff.”

“There’s a washing system down there. Didn’t anyone show the riders?”

“Apparently not.”

“Fisk!” the chief snarled. “Bosun! You’re in charge.”

“Got it, Chief,” a muscular woman yelled to him over the wind and rain.

“Let’s go, sir,” the chief said, working his way aft.

When they got through the hatch the chief said “Faugh” at the smell, then looked around for the riders.

“Warrant, weren’t you briefed on the cleaning apparatus?” he yelled over the screeching wyverns.

“No, Chief, we weren’t,” Jerry called back. “What cleaning apparatus?”

As it turned out there was a saltwater pump and a draining system that the chief identified. Then he gave a short class on its use. The pump could be operated by two people, but four was better. The water drained to one of four points in the compartment where it was collected in a pipe that led to the exterior of the ship.

“There’s a one-way valve at the end,” the chief explained. “But in this sea you’re going to have to pump it out as well.” He showed them that pump. “With only the two enlisted riders there’s no way you can clean all this up,” he finally admitted.

“I can help,” Herzer interjected.

“No, I’ll get a working party,” the chief said. “Could I speak to you two young gentlemen?”

He led them over to a corner of the compartment and put his hands on his hips.

“I appreciate as much as anyone when officers are willing to get their hands dirty,” he said, looking them both in the eye. “We’ve had some young gentlemen come on this ship and think they’re too good to do anything but walk around with their noses in the air. But you’re officers, sirs, and your job really is to supervise. That’s not another word for sitting on your ass, sirs; it means just what it means. And, frankly, this isn’t even a job for officers to supervise, it’s for a petty, one of your sergeants, to handle. Your job’s to figure out what’s going to happen next , sirs, while my job, your sergeant’s job, is to handle what’s happening now .”

“Understood, Chief,” Herzer said, grinning to finally feel back in the military. “Thanks for the kick in the ass.”

“I understand too, Chief,” Jerry said with a sigh. “I’m too used to being the doer.”

“Well, you’re a warrant, sir,” the chief said with a frown. “Warrants, really, are doers, too. But not cleaning up shit and piss and puke. That’s what enlisted men are for,” he added with a chuckle. “Have these boys been fed?”

“They puked it all up,” Jerry said. “And, yeah, that’s got me worried.”