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Part of the grin was also because he had managed to use Mister Holley’s presence to instruct his premier on the proper handling of a crew, without the sublieutenant feeling personally slighted, but this was not to be spoken of aloud. Some hours later, after the combined crew had snugged everything down and the larboard watch had retreated below for a few hours of fitful rest, Roth began to rock.
The effect was subtle at first, but in the space of a single bell her gyrations became severe enough that the wardroom steward turned up the fiddles on the table, and transferred Stephen’s wine to a wide, low plastic tumbler, slightly chipped. An Erlenmeyer flask might be more appropriate, Stephen thought, perhaps with a rubber base.
Half a bell later, Stephen untangled his seat belt and buckled himself in. This was labor lost as far as productivity was concerned, however, for by now his papers were sliding freely across the table top, and tapping the correct portion of his tablet’s screen had become a matter of chance. He gave up, grabbing hold of his scattered notes as each slid by him, then gazing longingly at his glass of wine, marooned on the far side of the table.
On the bridge, Jack waited with increasing impatience for Vindictive to give the signal for the convoy to spread out. The idea of one of the convoy’s merchentmen blundering into them - most likely Taconite, stationed directly above them; or the Two Brothers, off their port beam - filled him not exactly with dread, but certainly with concern.
“Vindictive to all craft, ‘assume loose formation,’ sir,” said the radio man (a woman, actually), and Mister Greenstreet issued orders to the helm.
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