“Yes, it is,” the lieutenant gulped. “Major Herrick, the captain would like to meet you as soon as possible.”
“Which means now,” Herzer said. “Bast… oh, never mind. Just try not to cause too much chaos, all right?”
“Who, me?” Bast grinned. “I’ll go straighten out our quarters while you go sweet-talk the captain.”
“We normally have separate quarters for male and female -riders…” Lieutenant Rattanachane started to say.
“Oh, well, normal doesn’t apply to Bast.” Bast grinned. “So why don’t you be showin’ me to Herzer’s quarters and I’ll be settlin’ in?”
The fleet that upped anchor at the end of four weeks was radically changed, at least on the surface. Where there had been slap-dash repairs there was solid wood. Where there had been patched sails there was newly woven cosilk. Burned masts had been replaced, rigging had been rewoven and all material conditions had been repaired.
On the surface.
All of the ships had had at least one day beyond the bay of work-ups. All of them had the bare minimum top-men to raise and lower their sails. All of the carriers had their holds packed with stores. All of the anti-dragon dreadnoughts had their new guns mounted. Silverdrake and Powells filled the air as the dragons waited for the fleet to receive them.
But there was more to a fleet than being ready “in a material condition.” Officers and men had been shifted around in a complex, and unwinnable, dance. New ship types had been added. Gunners and dragon-pilots were half-trained. New captains filled the fleet.
On the surface it looked like they were unstoppable. And Edmund knew that half the battle was morale. That the brave show would have a part in any battle. But he also knew that a good part of it was training. And in that they were sorely lacking.
So it was with these thoughts that he ascended the side of the Bonhomme Richard and shook the hand of Shar Chang.
“Atlantis Fleet, arriving!” the petty officer bellowed. The pipes and drums beat a flourish and his flag mounted the mast. But he knew that that, too, was only a show.
“Shar,” he said, shaking the admiral’s hand. “We ready to set sail?”
“As ready as we’re going to get,” Chang replied. He was clearly tired.
“Let’s get below; we’ve got things to discuss.”
They were in the same quarters he had occupied in his previous voyage on the Richard; port side of the officers’ corridor, a room specifically made for visiting dignitaries. It was small but it had a large bed, a wide porthole and a table big enough for six to fit around if they were friendly. Right now, it was only Edmund and Shar Chang; Shar’s aide was showing the gaggle following Edmund around their own, much more cramped, quarters.
“Shar, first thing, I’m not here to joggle your elbow,” Edmund said.
“I think I know why you’re here.” Shar grinned. “You’re an old war-horse that can’t stay away from a battle.”
“Okay, there’s that,” Edmund admitted. “But I would have swallowed my pride and stayed on shore if it wasn’t for the condition of the fleet, mentally. The last time they sailed, their admiral stayed, presumably safe and sound, on shore. This time I’m going to share the danger. Seasickness and all.”
“And, incidentally, be able to answer any little questions that come up in my mind?” Shar said, grinning again.
“I’m hoping that I’ll be able to spend the whole voyage doing paperwork,” Edmund admitted. “Except for the throwing up part.”
“Well, I’m going to be exercising the fleet up until we get word on New Destiny’s movements,” Shar said. “In close where we can resupply readily. I’m especially going to be exercising the dragons and the anti-dragon gunners. We’ll probably be going through a lot of sailcloth.”
“Probably will,” Edmund chuckled. When fired into the wind the bolts from the air-guns had a distressing tendency to fall on the firing ships. It had caused several accidents, to the point of putting shelters on the decks, and shields on the guns, to prevent friendly fire incidents. But there was no way to save the sails and the dreadnoughts tended to look as if they’d just won first prize in a quilting bee. “And bolts and bombs. Good. When do we up anchor?”
“As soon as we’re done talking,” Shar admitted.
“Well, let me take some of these herbs Daneh prescribed for seasickness and then hoist the mizzen or whatever,” the admiral said, grinning.
“We’ll make a sailor of you yet, Admiral.”
Chapter Sixteen
“When are we going to land?” Kenton signaled to the rider next to him.
Herzer caught the sign out of the corner of his eye and waved to him. “Cut the chatter,” he signed, as Vickie coasted up on her Silverdrake.
The fleet had been scheduled to sail thirty minutes prior. The fly-off of the dragons had been intended to let them land in the bay after the fleet upped anchor. But the dragons had a limited endurance aloft and the first up were going to start tiring soon. Especially the Silverdrake.
“Sabeh and Al Kalifa are getting worn out,” Vickie signaled, swinging around the front of his dragon and back in a quick bank as she simultaneously signed. “All Silverdrake. Need to land.”
“Signal ship,” Herzer signed, sighing. Great start to the big adventure.
The Silverdrake turned over on its back and dove down to the lower formation of defensive dragons. Vickie continued through the formation, narrowly missing one of the other wyverns, and down towards the ship which had just lifted its anchor and set sail.
“Dragon signaling, ma’am,” the lookout called.
Skipper Karcher looked up and to the rear where the lookout was pointing and at the underside of the landing platform over her head. With a meow of distaste she walked to the rear of the quarterdeck and leaned out.
“What’s the signal?” she shouted.
“Requesting clearance to land,” the signal midshipman called from primary flight ops. The latter was a platform mounted on the rear mast. From there they could see the incoming dragons and signals from dragons in the pattern. Unlike the captain.
“The fleet hasn’t signaled air-ops, ma’am,” her new XO, Major Sassan, said.
“I know that, XO,” the skipper said. “Pri-fly! Powell or Silverdrake?”
“Silverdrake, ma’am!” the midshipman called. She saw the damned elf climbing up there as well. “Now signaling request to recall all the Silverdrake.”
“Granted,” Karcher called. “Do not, say again, do not set for air-ops! Have ground crews standing by.”
“Ma’am, are you sure about that?” Sassan asked.
“Yes,” Karcher replied. “Communications, signal the fleet. ‘Have recalled fatigued Silverdrake. Our number. End.’ ”
“Yes, ma’am,” the signal midshipman said, pulling the flags out of her locker.
Karcher could, barely, see the Richard from her position. She saw the acknowledgement flag fly just as the first Silverdrake thumped to the deck, then an “Approved” follow it quickly. The approval was marked for the whole fleet.
“Apparently there are others with tired Silverdrake,” Sassan said.