-----------------------------------------------------
“Yes, Pawal?” Hahlcahm Bahrns looked up from the last of his scrambled eggs as Trynt Sevyrs, his steward, admitted Lieutenant Blahdysnberg to his day cabin. The overhead oil lamp cast shadows on the lieutenant’s face, dusting the puckered scar on his cheek, picked up courtesy of a ricocheting rifle bullet during the Canal Raid, with darkness.
“The picket boat just brought word, Sir. The engineers say they got the charges placed.”
“Did they?” Bahrns laid down his fork, reached for his hot chocolate, and sipped deeply. Then he lowered the mug. “How many did they lose?” he asked in a much quieter tone.
“None of them, apparently.”
“None of them?”
Bahrns blinked. He hadn’t been able to refute Admiral Shain’s logic, and the advantages if the mission succeeded were amply worth the risk, but he’d never believed the engineers could pull it off without losing someone.
“According to the coxswain who delivered the message, they did come pretty close to losing at least one man, Sir,” Blahdysnberg admitted. “But they got him nack in the end and it sounds like he’s going to be fine after all.”
“And they got all the charges placed?”
“That’s what they say, Sir. And I’m ready to take the word of anyone with big enough balls to even try setting them, myself. And the lieutenant in charge — a Lieutenant—” he glanced at the note in his hand, turning it to catch the lamplight “— Bryahnsyn, it says — lit all the fuses right on the dot at five-thirty.”
“Can’t say I disagree with you about the size of their balls,” Bahrns conceded. Then he hauled out his pocket watch and consulted it carefully. “If he lit them off at five-thirty, I make it another forty minutes or so, assuming the fuses are cut right.” He closed the watch with a snap. “That being so, I suppose it’s time we cleared for action.”
and, Mangy Fur the Smart Alick Spacecat.