"A copy?"
"Yes, you never know how things might turn out. The bird could be intercepted, and it's better to keep proof of treason within the Admiralty on hand and deliver it directly to investigators.
"But let's get back to the situation at sea. We don't know the number of enemies, nor their firepower. Personally, I'd prefer to pull a dozen cruisers and frigates off the Blockade, reinforce them with raiders, and in three days seal off Tiger's Paw along with all the ambushers—then either shell them from a distance or wait until they run out of supplies and start chewing on their own boots. But I'm not the fleet commander, and by the time our headquarters coordinate something like that… yeah. Regrettably, there was nothing we could do about them. At least, not for now."
"As for our ship," I said, turning back to the map, "I suggest we move into this sector and 'put in for repairs to a misaligned component of the steam engine.' It's probably just a precaution—but you never know. We need to get off the compromised route."
"Hm. And the 'put in for repairs' part—is that also for 'just in case'?" Looks like paranoia is contagious. Not that I'd call it a bad thing. I nodded.
"The question is how exactly to arrange that misalignment…"
"Don't worry, Captain. I think our chief engineer, Vasin, could easily 'fail to notice' a couple of loosened clamps and report the need for a full inspection."
"Well, that would be a commendable display of vigilance on his part. Proceed, Tandao. I'll handle the letter."
"Aye, sir!"
The XO left, and I pulled out a clean scroll and writing supplies, setting about drafting a new letter to the admiral—along with a copy of the "orders from headquarters." Someone was in for a very unpleasant surprise. All things considered, with the first officer on board with the plan, we could have simply dropped anchor and not bothered with any of this. The whole breakdown act was there just in case there were any planted moles among the crew who might somehow tip someone off. The chances of that were extremely slim, but if you're going to be paranoid, you might as well be paranoid about everything.
After finishing what could only be described as the "Cossacks' reply to the Turkish Sultan," I sealed the tube and headed for the aviary, where I caught a very sullen, disgruntled hawk. Smart bird—apparently it had already guessed what I was after and wasn't thrilled about it.
"Yes, I know I'm a tyrant, a despot, and an all-around menace. But we've got an emergency here, and this letter needs to reach the admiral—and it has to be delivered into his hands personally, as soon as possible. After that, feel free to tell everyone to go to hell and get some sleep."
With something resembling a heavy sigh, the hawk finally took the letter and flew off. All that remained was to wait.
We spent four days at anchor, bored out of our minds. I kept myself entertained by occasionally chewing the crew out—just enough to keep them from getting too comfortable—but I stuck to the bare minimum. We were already short-handed, and it would've been foolish to distract or wear them down any further.
***
On the fifth day, another hawk arrived, carrying a letter from the admiral. The message practically radiated satisfaction. It's hard to describe, but I could almost see my father rubbing his hands together in delight as he sealed it.
So—the shit had officially hit the fan.
The copy of the forged order had not only reached the right hands—it had landed on the Fire Lord's desk. And he had been "somewhat displeased" to learn that a certain creature sitting in headquarters, responsible for coordinating patrols and drawing up routes, had been selling those very routes to line his pockets for retirement.
Fire Lord Ozai's displeasure resulted in mass arrests and interrogations. A few, of course, managed to slip away in time, but escaping the Blockade would be difficult, and hiding within the country itself wouldn't be easy either—posters were already being printed, descriptions distributed. Sooner or later, they'd be found.
Incidentally, one of the "major traders" turned out to be the father of one of the "decorated" young men I'd dealt with earlier—the ones who had hoped to take possession of my cruiser.
The ambush had indeed been planned. But since I hadn't taken the bait—and no forces arrived from any other direction—the pirates had realized that something had gone wrong and vanished. At least, the reconnaissance cutters sent out the same day my father received my letter found nothing. Which meant we'd have to spend a long and tedious time hunting them across the waters of the Earth Kingdom. But then again, that's what we're always doing—nothing new there.
But that was all minor.
The interesting part began after the abscess was lanced.
Admiral Chan, who had managed to "clean the filth out of his department in time," was granted a personal audience with Ozai. (I suspect the Fire Lord wanted to know how such a practice had arisen in the first place—and how my father had nearly missed it.) During that conversation, my father presented my letters, including my analysis of the situation.
The result? Our ruler took an interest in a "promising young man" and expressed a desire to personally "reward this worthy young warrior."
Which meant I was ordered to get moving toward the capital—bringing the prisoners along for interrogation at Central Command.
Well, rewards are always nice—especially rewards coming from someone like Fire Lord. Still, it wouldn't hurt to stay cautious. As the classic saying goes: "Spare us those worst of all disasters, the anger of the master—and his love."
Still, I had to admit—even fleeting attention from a figure like the Fire Lord was enough to warm the ego and give it a satisfying little scratch. And a "personal reward," even the mere fact of receiving one, could open quite a few doors and help me forge the right connections. Of course, the number of people who might want to throttle me personally would also increase rather significantly, but that's the price you pay—everything has its flip side.
What really finished it off was the postscript from my parent: the esteemed admiral was curious what exactly his no less esteemed son had done to the hawk, that it now responded to any attempt at contact with hissing and pecking. Honestly—such clever birds!