021 -- Dockside

"Careful . . . Carefully now!"

Isaac tried not to watch. The left leg and most of the hip assembly of his mount was packed in a large wooden crate, hanging in the air above the Hermite. He knew that he would only hinder the dockworkers in this part of the operation, and so tried to distract himself. Images of the delicate machinery inside smashing apart on the deck and spinning off into the murky harbor water kept springing to mind.

"Quite an operation, eh, Major? I have to say, they're going about it quick enough, for a bunch of fish, at least."

Reynolds had joined him at the rail.

"Yes, they are, Lieutenant. Although I prefer not to watch."

The younger pilot was right -- Oswald's men had been nothing but the model of efficiency for the past day and a half. Holliday suspected that there was some grumbling over the canceled shore leave (as would be only natural in a ship that had been at sea for more than eight months already), but if there was discontent it didn't show.

Doctor Lukas' excavators had been loaded the day before. She had insisted that the more delicate scientific instruments be stored in her cabin instead of below decks, and Isaac felt sorry for the dozen seamen she had hounded for the entire evening with exhortations for care and delicate handling of the scores of weighty boxes. With the amount of instruments she had sent to her cabin instead of the hold, Isaac wondered if Lukas would have to sleep on deck . . . but, luckily, this was not his problem.

The cavalry mounts, however, were. After careful consultation with both Captain Oswald's first officer and chief engineer, it was determined that all four mounts would have to go in the very bottom of the ship (due to their weight) if proper trim was to be maintained. Piles of shells and cambric rods for the ship's boilers lay stacked on deck, all moved to make way for the loading of the rough wooden crates through the forward hatches. A small army of sailors was sweating belowdecks, moving food, parts, and other stores from the hold into whatever space was available to make room for Holliday's squadron equipment. Salted hams hung amongst sailors' hammocks, sacks of flour were stashed beneath gun carriages, and tins of lime juice for the treatment of scurvy were underfoot everywhere like rats. It was the image of barely restrained chaos.

Aft, the cambric tender was pulled alongside the Hermite, its crane lowering fresh boiler rods aboard and removing spend ones. The fresh ones were of course wrapped carefully in asbestos padding to avoid prematurely activating them. If anything, the crew was treating these with more caution than either Holliday's or Lukas' equipment, as they fully knew the danger of a chain reaction. Stories of molten metal eating through the bottom of a ship's hull abounded in the fleet, although the tellers never could quite seem to remember which ship this had happened to when pressed for details.

The Hermite itself was almost brand-new, only in the fleet for three years. From a blunt, knife-like prow, the steel hull stretched back in sleek lines that were the latest style in naval architecture. A third of the way back from the bow, the main deck stepped down to allow the secondary battery (mounted in recessed swivel ports along both sides of the ship) free space to sweep back and forth. The main armament of the Hermite, however, was mounted in two large turrets, one fore and one aft. They looked like upturned wash-basins, except that from each one two large black cannons protruded (covered with protective jackets when not in use). The superstructure was carried along the centerline of the ship between the two turrets, coming up into two peaks forward and aft. Except for the black cannons, the ship was painted a uniform gray, with a bit of red hull showing at the waterline.

"Its good to be on active assignment again, eh, Major? You know, get out into the sun a little bit? Out into the field?"

Isaac merely grunted in agreement.

After a short pause Reynolds tried again. "So, what do you know about Doctor Lukas? Captain Short says you've worked with her before."

Isaac shrugged wordlessly.

Lieutenant Reynolds took the hint. "Suit yourself, then. I'll be below if you need me, Major."

Isaac smiled to himself. He usually liked the young lieutenant, but this was not a good time with the squadron's mounts hanging in midair over the quay. One of the greatest benefits of command was that he could tell his subordinates to leave him alone when he wanted them to.

It wasn't just the precarious state of his equipment that had Isaac feeling antisocial. This operation had obviously been in the works for quite some time, and yet his orders had come extremely last-minute. This meant one of two things. Most likely there had been a fight in high command over his assignment; something that happened with a regularity most officers in the Cimbrian army didn't like to admit. Usually it was some general trying to get his pet subordinate put on a prestigious assignment, or block another general's pick from getting the same assignment out of spite. He could usually count on Colonel Agincourt to fend off these sorts of assaults on his unit -- the man had a way of soothing irate generals that Isaac didn't think he could ever emulate. It had probably just taken longer than usual this time, and so his assignment had been in question until the very last moment.

The other option was more troubling. The only other reason Holliday could think of was that someone was trying to keep him in the dark about the situation. By abruptly plucking him from his post in Oberon to send him overseas, he had no time to make any arrangements in Cimbria proper before his departure . . . not that he had any idea what those arrangements would have been. Isaac was largely ignorant of the political machinations within Cimbrian high command, but being kept in the dark deliberately never meant anything good.

He shook his head in frustration. Isaac had spent the past two days spinning these two ideas back and forth in his head, but there wasn't enough information to do anything more than worry. Perhaps Captain Oswald or Doctor Lukas would tell him more once they were under way, but until then there was nothing he could do.

Unless . . . Isaac's head came up.

Half an hour later he was back ashore in the naval station administration building, dashing off a memo. It read:

"From: Maj. Holliday

To: Cap. Short

Zeke -- captain of Hermite knew about orders before I did. Were issued at least two, probable three weeks before I got them. Probably just squabbling brass -- can you ask around?"

He sealed the envelope, and handed it to the secretary. Pausing for a second, he grabbed an extra piece of stationary and scribbled another brief message.

"Dearest Helen,

I arrived in Moorehead safely, so don't worry about me. The train ride was a bit rough, but not too bad. This assignment should be a peach -- they tell me it comes from high up but I don't know where.

Give my love to the children, and let them know their favorite uncle will be back soon from Saint Marcos.

As always, your brother,

Isaac"

This envelope he kept with him. A quarter of an hour later he dropped it off at the post office, before walking back to the ship whistling. He was feeling much more sociable now; perhaps he'd make up for his earlier rudeness with Reynolds.