John Ringo - Emerald Sea

“Just waiting for it to get too deep in to correct,” Gebshe said, then “Port your helm! Jib sheets!”

The caravel came around slowly, too slowly, and the dragon expertly corrected, making minute changes in its wingtips to keep the round-hulled ship in its sights. It loosed, high, but accurately, and the bomb dropped just behind the mainmast.

The effect was much more hideous up close. A group of sailors were trimming the mainsail and the bucket of liquid fire dropped over half of them, clinging to their skin as they ran, screaming, over the edge of the ship and jumped in the water. As they ran they spread droplets — Martin could track the progress of one by the blazing footprints he left — spreading the fire even wider.

A crew had been standing by with buckets and a pump, but even pouring water on it simply spread the fire around. As he watched, the ropes of the mainsail caught fire, the fire traveling quickly up the tarred cordage and catching the sail on fire. It disappeared before his very eyes. By the time he looked back to the deck, the whole center of the ship was a blazing inferno.

“So much for the boats,” Gebshe said, philosophically. He looked to the west where land was just in view on the horizon. “Long swim,” he said, taking off his coat and cutlass. “Last one there gets eaten.” With that he dove over the side.

Martin was looking at the inferno and wondering what to do. It was, indeed, a long way to the coast. Too long for him; he was no great swimmer. But there were always options.

He pulled the communications cube out of his pocket and said: “Conner.”

In a moment a projection appeared. Brother Conner apparently heard the crackling behind him and turned around.

“Fascinating,” Conner said.

“Your report that the dragons had no offensive capability was, I hate to tell you, quite inaccurate,” Martin said, pointing to where the dragon was lining up on another of the maneuvering ships. As he did the screams of the orcs below showed that the fire was getting to their quarters.

“Quite distressing, I admit,” Conner said, cheerfully. “But important data that Chansa will, if not be pleased, appreciate knowing.”

“Well, it also got the ship’s boats,” Martin said. “So I’d appreciate a lift out.”

“Ah, well, sorry old friend,” Conner said with a shrug. “But my power budget isn’t quite up to a teleport. Other projects to support. Seems you’re on your own.”

“What? You little weasel?” Martin paused, furious with anger. “You bully me out onto the ass end of nowhere and then you’re just going to dump me?”

“Seems like it,” Conner said with another shrug. “Take care.” And then he was gone.

“Conner?” Martin said, shaking the cube. “Conner. Damnit!” He looked at the rapidly approaching inferno and chucked the useless cube over the side. Then he took off his boots and shirt, sorrowfully. Both had been custom-made for him and he had grown attached to them, especially the boots. But needs must. He then cut the legs of his finely woven silk pants just below his crotch, in a circle, leaving him in short shorts and holding two tubes of fabric. He tightened his belt around his waist, tied one end of each tube, put his knife away and followed the captain over the side.

Back on the carrier, with Shep having the bolt removed from his thigh, Jerry watched nervously for any sign of Vickie. At his warning the carrier had continued into the wind, running far to the north, and he was afraid that it was too far. Koo was out there, as well, but both of them had faded over the horizon and Vickie should have been on her way back by now.

Finally there were two dots to be seen and the carrier prepared to recover dragons.

“Worked like a charm,” Vickie said, hopping off of Yazov as the dragon was led below. “I got three for three. One of them was right up in the bow of the boat, though, and if they were fast they might have gotten it out. But it burned up their front sails before I turned back. There’s only one ship that’s unscathed, and the other three are sunk or were burning to the waterline when I turned back.”

“Good job,” the skipper said. “How are the dragons?”

Jerry looked at the sky and shrugged.

“Shep is out for today anyway,” he said. “We can send one more sortie out if you want.”

“Do it,” the skipper said. “We’re fair for launching now. As soon as they’re in the air I’m going to turn around and head back downwind. Make sure there’s nothing in my way when I get there.”

Shep’s bomb-rig was loaded onto Nebka and the two dragons took off, one after the other, climbing fast to the south.

“All hands wear ship,” the skipper called. “Let’s go chase some dragon.”

It was late afternoon when the lookouts spotted the dragons, flapping wearily north against the wind. The captain actually sailed down past them before turning the ship about and came up to the LSO position for their landing. This time Nebka had a bolt in his leg and when he landed it crumpled under him. But a sling was put in place and the piteously wailing wyvern was lifted up and lowered into the stable area.

Koo had been thrown clear on the landing but stumbled to his feet and blearily saluted the skipper.

“They’re all burned, sir,” the rider said. “I went too low on my second pass. The one that Vickie winged had put out the fire and they were apparently a little upset about it. They were learning to maneuver, too. But we got both of them. I had one bomb left but I dumped it on the way back.”

“Damn fine job,” the skipper said, shaking his hand. “Now, get below and get some rest, we still have Vickie to recover.”

Vickie made a perfect landing, but she was clearly tired.

“You know, I think landing is worse than fighting?” she said as she slid off her wyvern. “We got ’em all, though. How’s Koo and Debka?”

“Debka’s leg looked bad,” Jerry said. “Worse than Shep. Right now, you’ve got the only hale dragon.”

“Well, we won’t need them for those guys,” Vickie said. “Some of them were in boats headed for the islands. I suppose they’ll be a problem for the islanders but we can always send some marines or Blood Lords down to fix that.” She shook her head tiredly. “It really takes it out of you.”

“So does the waiting,” the skipper said. “And the wondering. This is a strange sea battle. You expect boarding actions, but this is all… at arm’s length. It just feels… wrong.”

“Not particularly heroic,” Jerry said. “But I wonder…”

“What?”

“I wonder when they’ll start having carriers of their own,” he said, looking to the south.

“Now that will be something,” Vickie admitted.

“And I wonder how the mer are doing,” the skipper said.

It was near dusk when the weary group of mer and dragons reached Charzan Inlet. The broad, flat banks were visible through the entrance and warm, almost hot, water boiled out to the ocean on a descending tide.

Herzer reveled in it. As the day had progressed he had gotten colder and colder until by the late afternoon he was shivering uncontrollably and continuously. The warm water of the inlet was like a balm to the soul.

The mer quickly writhed their way over the sandbar at the entrance of the inlet, which on the falling tide had less than a meter of water covering it. They then clustered in the shallow waters, lying back and breathing in the warm salt.

“Up,” Herzer said, wearily. He had dismounted from Chauncey and now waded through the thigh deep water, thumping the mer with his foot. “The delphinos need the space; you’re for the land.”