"That was Officer-Trainee Suchert," Holman said from the quay. "He, ah, went to K44 instead."
A score of small craft, both air-cushion and hydrofoils, were moored to either side of the quay. No combat aircraft was survivable in an environment of the beam weapons and railguns mounted on capital ships. High-speed torpedocraft could blend closely enough against the sea to remain effective. They carried out the reconnaissance and light-attack duties which would once have been detailed to aircraft.
It was a dangerous job—but war is risk, and no man is immortal.
A head watched Brainard from K67's gun tub, and another popped out of a hatch forward that must give access to the plenum chamber. Enlisted members of the hovercraft's crew were sizing up the new junior officer.
Lieutenant Tonello riffled through Brainard's file, then glanced up at Holman with a thin smile. "Wanted somebody with experience to hold your brother's hand, did you, Holman? Well, that's all right with me. Brainard here's got two years of technical school behind him. Just the sort a flitterboat needs."
Holman's chin lifted. "Ted doesn't need anybody to hold his hand," he snapped.
"I didn't say he did," Tonello remarked, looking down as if he were going through Brainard's file more carefully. "I didn't say it."
Holman spun on his heel. He strode down the quay to where K44 was moored. The scar-faced man looking from the plenum chamber grinned at Brainard, turned his head, and spit into the oil-rainbowed water of Herd Harbor.
Tonello dropped Brainard's file on a console and grinned again. "What do you know about hovercraft, Brainard?" he asked.
"Not much, sir," Brainard said, wishing there were some way he could lie and expect to get away with it. He'd assumed his first assignment would be to a ship whose scores or hundreds of crewmen could cover for his own inexperience. "Just that you've got eight-man crews."
"And two torpedoes, Brainard," the lieutenant said. He was still smiling, but his lips now had the hard curve of a fighting axe. "Don't forget those. Because if we do our jobs right, the other side won't forget them." Tonello's expression softened again. "No problem. I'll give you the grand tour." He gestured forward. "That's Yee at the gun tub," he explained. "If a mission goes perfectly, we'll get in unobserved and he won't fire a shot."
"Fat chance," remarked one of the men who had risen from the scuttle aft the cockpit.
"If things don't go perfectly," Tonello continued in an equable voice, "then nobody likes a faceful of tracer fired from twin seventy-fives. If our problem's with a boat more or less our size, Yee may well settle matters."
Tonello turned to indicate the man who had just spoken. "That's Tech Two Caffey," he said, "our torpedoman. If I do my job, the fish'll track to their target by themselves. Caffey and his striker are there in case I'm not perfect. Their station's got imaging and control along fiber-optics cables, so they can thread the torpedoes through the eye of a needle if they've got to."
"A big fucking needle," the torpedoman grunted, but he was obviously pleased.
"And that's Tech Two Leaf," the lieutenant said, turning toward the scarred fellow looking out of the plenum chamber. "When he's on duty, he's the best motorman in the Herd—"
Leaf grinned.
"—and when he's off duty, he's my worst discipline problem," Tonello continued—and the motorman continued to grin. "What are you working on, Leaf?"
"Replacing the impeller on Number One fan, sir," Leaf said. "I got Newton and Bozman in the water wearing suits, while I tighten fittings." He waved a multitool. "RHIP."
"You remember that when you go on leave, Leaf," Tonello said. "Because the next time you're caught in a bar fight, you'll have neither rank nor privileges. I promise."
Leaf gave a mocking salute with his multitool, then ducked out of sight.
Quietly, so that none of the enlisted men could hear, Tonello said, "We've got four fans to float us on a bubble of air and drive us. If one goes out, we can still maneuver, but we're sluggish and a target for anybody with so much as a popgun." He nodded forward. "In the eighteen months Leaf has been motorman, K67 has never lost a fan to maintenance problems." Tonello continued in a normal voice, "Your station's here, Brainard." He pointed to the left of the three seats across the cockpit. "In action, your primary responsibilities are navigation and electronic countermeasures, but you may be called on to do any job on the vessel, so you have to know every man's duties."
The lieutenant gave his axe-blade smile again. "In particular," he said, "you may have to command the vessel if something happens to your commanding officer. So stay alert, hey?"