Tale of the Thunderbolt by E.E. Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

Saunders in various stages of his career or of ships he had officered, decorated the walls. “Glad to hear it, sir. The waiting has been hard.”
    â€œIt’s finally over. Keen to get to sea, I hope? Ready for the smell of burning sail?”
    â€œAt your order, sir. One thing though, sir. I still haven’t had any luck finding a reliable team of rangers. Something must be going on inland. I’ve tried through channels and I’ve tried out of channels, but all I can find are kids or old men,” he said, more than half-telling the truth for once. “The Grog labor team is a combat squad on paper. I’d like to just keep them, sir.”
    â€œWhat about quartering them? We’re crowded enough — the men won’t share with Grogs.”
    â€œWe can rig some kind of shelter in the well deck, sir. Tents would do.”
    Captain Saunders thought for a moment. “Very well, they can eat the leftovers. Stretch the stores. I understand Grogs aren’t too particular. Put that foreman of theirs in charge of squaring them away. I’d like to depart at dawn, and you’ll be welcome on the bridge at six a.m. We’ll take her out right after breakfast.”
    Close to two hours of sleep! Valentine sagged in relief. “Thank you, sir.”
    â€œOne thing, though, Captain Rowan. I’d like you and the exec to do a final weapons inventory. You’ll do your marines and the small arms locker, and he’ll cover the heavy weapons. Wouldn’t want to reach Jamaica and find your men’s rifles had been left dockside by accident. ‘For the want of a nail,’ am I right?”
    â€œYes, sir.” Valentine said, the prospect of sleep evaporating like a desert mirage. “Speaking of small arms, I had to give over my revolver for barter for some parts the Chief needed. I’ll need a new pistol from the ship’s arms.”
    â€œRowan, you have to learn to throw your weight a little more. Greasing palms with your sidearms . . . Still, if it helped get us to sea, I’m grateful. Anyway, get that inventory done. That was item one, business. Item two is pleasure: I’d like your company at dinner tonight. A tradition of mine, to celebrate the beginning of what we all hope will be a successful cruise. Mr. Post is invited, too, of course. Number One uniforms, please. That will encourage your lieutenant to clean himself up.”
    â€œYes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Valentine said.
    â€œThat’s all for now. See to your men, Rowan.”
    â€œAye aye, sir.” Valentine shut the cabin door softly behind him and began his day’s work.
    Â 
    He hardly noticed the ship pulling away from the dock and moving downriver, so busy was he with final preparations. The executive officer, Lieutenant Worthington, started on the heavy weapons inventory then begged off as the engines were turned over to attend to duties on the bridge. Valentine, who had little to do with the actual handling of the ship, was glad to be rid of him and offered to finish Worthington’s part of the barely begun job. The exec, though two years older than he, had not seen much action and assumed Valentine to be a man of vast experience, to be a captain of marines in his mid-twenties. He had the annoying habit of wanting particulars of the various real — and faked — incidents in Valentine’s “Captain Rowan” dossier. Valentine did not wish to discuss the faked events out of fear of slipping up on some detail, and the memories of the real incidents seen from the sidelines in the service of Kur troubled him too much to want to talk about them for the entertainment of a callow fellow officer.
    Inventory and inspection done, he just had time to change into his best uniform before dinner.
    Naturally, the dinner began with a toast over the cloth-covered folding table that had been set up for the meal. Worthington raised his glass of wine, an import brought