“That’s good to know,” Edmund replied, tiredly. “Frankly, it’s more important to the mission than that the dragons work. They might be helpful in the Isles. Then again, they might not be. I still don’t see where they’re an offensive weapon.”
“I’ve got some ideas in that area, sir,” Herzer said, diffidently. “But I want them to get more comfortable in carrier operations before I bring anything else up. It’s going to mean the wyverns carrying a fair amount of weight if it works, which means they’ll have to use the catapult.”
“We watched one of the landings,” Rachel said. “It was very cool.”
“It was very hairy from where I was standing,” Herzer said. He felt as drained as if he’d run the Hill a dozen times. “I think there’s going to be a fair number of the riders that won’t hack it. You have to be very confident in your flying and confident that the LSO is giving you good steers. When you land normally, the wyvern does most of the work. You just point in a general area and they land. This way… the rider has to really steer the beast to a landing. It’s not easy.”
“None of it’s easy,” Edmund replied. “The system that’s been set up for moving them around, feeding them, launching them. The system that Evan has for moving them in and out of the weyr bays, all of it is even more complicated than I think you realize. Which is good.”
“Good?” Daneh said. “Why?”
“So far, New Destiny has been very good at collecting, and even feeding, large masses of troops,” Edmund said. “I’m surprised that they are, because they’re not very good at using them. Paul’s group tends to be very controlling; they don’t think an idea is a good one unless one of them has it. They wouldn’t have let someone like Evan have his head and just figure things out. They would have stopped Herzer when he went up and tried to control the wyverns on the way in. I think they would have even stopped him after it was clear it worked. Again, if they don’t have the idea it is, by definition, bad.”
“Your point?” Daneh asked.
“It’s pretty clear; I don’t think they are ever going to be able to match this sort of ability. They may have, probably do have, wyverns and even dragons. But I don’t think they’ll be able to come up with all the things necessary to use dragon-carriers. And even after we use them against them, if we do, they won’t be able to match our quality. It’s like the Blood Lords in a way. Having a capability that your enemy cannot match in war is a wonderful asset.”
“If they can’t match it, sir,” Herzer said. “I don’t really see that they won’t be able to.”
“Oh, they may figure out how to land them and take off,” Edmund admitted. “But I don’t think they’ll be as good at it as we’ll be. And we’ll keep improving. Because we let people like you, and Jerry and Evan and even Commander Mbeki just figure out what to do. Rather than telling them what to do.”
“You’re talking about initiative,” Rachel interjected.
“Absolutely. It’s something that we support, stress even. It’s something that New Destiny suppresses. In time, I hope to prove to them how wrong they are.”
Herzer waved Koo down and ducked into his station as Nebka’s wings brushed just past his head.
“That’s a center shot for Koo,” he called down to pri-fly from his station at the front of the platform. The cuplike station had been hung off the end of the landing platform by a team under Chief Brooks and it lifted his head and shoulders just over the platform itself.
“General,” the skipper said. “I think these flyers have got the technique down. We’ve launched wyverns, landed wyverns and launched and landed Commander Gramlich. I say we head to sea.”
“Concur,” Duke Edmund said.
“Commander Mbeki, cease flight operations. Helm, come to heading zero-seven-five. Set full sail.”
“Zero-seven-five, aye.”
“Now you’ll see what sailing is all about, General.”
“Looking forward to it, Colonel.”
Herzer was at pri-fly when the ship passed out of the bay and into the open ocean. As soon as it was beyond the protecting arms of the bay, they hit the full swells of the Atlantis and the ship, under full sail, started to corkscrew through the waves.
“Oh, my God,” Jerry gasped, grabbing the handrail at the rear of pri-fly. “We’re supposed to land in this?” From below the squawks and bellows of the wyverns filled the air.
“This isn’t bad,” Commander Mbeki protested. “The seas are only two and a half, maybe three meters.”
As he said that one of the seas first lifted then dropped the stern of the ship and Herzer staggered across and slammed into Duke Edmund.
“Steady, Herzer,” the duke said in a strange voice. Herzer glanced at him and for the first time in his memory saw Edmund Talbot looking strained.
“I’m going to head below,” Talbot said. “I’ll just… I’m going to head below.”
“Very well, General,” the commander replied. “Take care.”
With a nod Edmund headed for the companionway.
“I’m going to check on the wyverns,” Jerry said, staggering across the deck. He slid sideways as a rogue wave pitched the ship to the side and was caught by one of the relief quartermasters who was standing by to take over the wheel. He shook his head and plotted a course for the companionway and after a few false starts made it and started to head below.
By this time, Herzer was feeling the first hint of queasiness and looked appealingly at the commander.
“Gets everyone at first,” Commander Mbeki said, in a kindly voice. “The center of the ship’s where the motion’s the least. And if you have to go, try to do it over the lee side. That’s the side the wind’s not blowing from. And keep it off the decks.”
What had been a light breeze felt like a gale as Herzer staggered across the deck and headed down to the maindeck. He managed to make it halfway up the ship by holding onto the railing on what he’d come to learn was the “starboard” side — in landsmen’s terms the right if you were looking forward in the ship. The wind that had been pleasantly warm seemed to have dropped twenty degrees and he was feeling decidedly chilly. But the motion was less here. His stomach was feeling better. On the other hand, he was starting to shiver and the wind seemed to be cutting to the bone. There was only one choice. He’d run below, get his coat, and head back up here. Maybe he’d just sleep here; he didn’t seem to be in anyone’s way.
Decision made, he crab-walked across the deck, occasionally scuttling from side to side, and made it to the stairs down. He’d taken to going forwards down the stairs but this time he carefully turned around and lowered himself with hands on both railings. Despite that, he slammed into the wall as the ship hit a rogue wave. He staggered down the corridor to his room, grabbed his jacket — noticing in passing that Rachel was in the bottom bunk moaning, with a bucket by the side of the bunk — and was just opposite the officer’s head when he realized he had no more than three seconds before he was going to throw up.
He made it into the head, hung his head over the toilet and began to spew.
It was one of the most miserable times of his life. He seemed to be throwing up far more than he’d eaten. The captain’s chef had cooked a very nice chicken, heavily spiced with thyme, for lunch and he’d eaten more than his share. And it was all coming back to him.