Possible courses of action? Try to intercept the ambushers? Hm. Not funny. Without knowing their strength, their time of deployment, or even their approximate route—relying purely on assumptions that could very well be completely wrong? No. Miracles do happen from time to time, of course, but this clearly isn't one of those cases. Besides, it could easily turn into a situation where you go looking for wool and come back shorn. Who the hell knows how many people they've got there—what if it's five or six hundred? They'd just bury us in sheer numbers.
So, we won't go looking for a meeting. What, then? We stall and wait for a reply from my father—he's bound to respond somehow. As an excuse… I think minor issues with the power plant will make an excellent reason for a short delay. Now, how do I arrange that without getting slapped with a sabotage charge? And should I bring the senior officers in on my doubts, or is it better not to?
After giving it some thought, I decided that at least the "mustached nanny" sent by Admiral Chan should be informed. No point in me being the only one with a headache.
***
Captain's cabin. A few hours later.
"With all due respect, Captain, but… did you hit your head in battle?" Perhaps the idea of being completely open hadn't been such a good one.
"Is something wrong, Tandao?"
"Sir, building a conspiracy theory that involves practically the entire upper echelon of the Admiralty on the basis of a single order—admittedly a somewhat strange one—is… well… how should I put it…" The man hesitated. After all, telling a captain—especially one who happens to be a close relative of an admiral—that he might be a bit off his rocker takes more guts than fighting in battle. At least, that's what I could read on his face: he clearly wanted to say exactly what he thought, but was just as clearly afraid he'd be sent ashore for it. "There could be a much simpler explanation."
"For example?" Had I really made a complete fool of myself?
"Consider this: we suffered casualties amounting to thirty-four percent of the crew on what was, by all accounts, a relatively simple and peaceful route. Taken in isolation, that could raise the question of fitness for duty. Given… your background, such a matter cannot, by definition, be handled by the Eastern Fleet's command.
"And considering that Admiral Chan has more than enough enemies—and more than a few who would gladly take his seat—your report might have been… passed along selectively. Naturally, a thorough investigation would bring the full details to light, but the process itself would cost your father a great deal of nerve and distract him from a host of other responsibilities"
Come to think of it, the idea that one of the admiral's "friends" might want to screw him over and make his life miserable did seem more plausible than outright treason at the highest levels. Still, I couldn't shake a nagging sense of unease—the situation reminded me a little too much of Soviet forces in Afghanistan, when some bastard from headquarters would sell out a column of soldiers for a wad of cash. Maybe it was just associations and my own paranoia, but… I really didn't want to die again.
"Perhaps, but when there's even a chance someone is selling our ships and the lives of our sailors to the enemy, that kind of thing could just as well be called sabotage. In any case, a day or two's delay won't make much difference. So…"
I was cut off as my father's personal courier hawk burst into the cabin. The bird looked exhausted and thoroughly displeased. No wonder. It had been forced to make a long shuttle run instead of resting on its perch, relaxing, chasing a few hens, or whatever else courier hawks get up to in their free time.
Unrolling the scroll, I scanned the text. Right—greetings, son, I'm pleased with your progress, mhm, yes… And this—this is interesting.
"Tandao, you were saying something about someone trying to cause trouble? Then what do you make of this?" I read the excerpt aloud: "...I understand that such a serious matter on your very first patrol can be unsettling and cause confusion, but why didn't you submit an official report to Headquarters, as required by protocol?"
"But… then who did those orders come from?" the XO asked, stunned.
"Clearly from someone who trades in our ships along with the lives of our sailors," I said. The explanation was pure Captain Obvious, of course—but that's what my rank entitles me to. The old sailor ground his teeth.
"What are your orders?"
"Oh, so now you're convinced I didn't hit my head?" Seeing the seasoned warrior lower his gaze under the reproach of a youngster, I couldn't help but let out a short chuckle. "Alright—buy me a drink of rum when we make port, and I'll pretend I didn't hear any of that."
The seaman perked up.
"That can be arranged. Besides, by our traditions, we'll need to hold an initiation after the first voyage."
Hm. They never taught us anything like that at school—but that was school. In practice, even in our world, sailors had plenty of traditions, superstitions, and rituals. And here, in a reality where magic and spirits are part of everyday life, that would be even more true. Still, the fact that the crew had now tacitly accepted me as one of their own couldn't help but please me. I'd been afraid it would take much longer, given the circumstances under which I'd obtained the ship.
"Now, as for orders. We're obviously not going to rush to headquarters. But we can't ignore something like this either. I'll write to the admiral, enclosing a copy of the 'order' we received."