Free Fear God and Dread Naught by Christopher Nuttall Page B

control right from the start and if that means acting like a bitch, you act like a bitch.”
     
    “Yes, sir,” George said.  “And the second piece of advice?”
     
    “Be tough, be firm ... but also be fair,” Fraser said.  “Yes, you will have to chew them out when they screw up - and they will.  But you will also have to realise that not every screw-up is the result of malice or stupidity.  You don’t need them to like you, let alone to love you, but you do need them to trust you.  They won’t come to you with their problems if they feel they cannot trust you to actually listen to them.”
     
    He paused.  “And one other piece of advice?”
     
    George nodded, wordlessly.
     
    “Two of them are young women, one a couple of years older than you, the other a year younger,” Fraser noted.  “ Don’t allow them to suck you into a female clique.  You are their superior officer and you cannot run the risk of allowing cliques to form, certainly not along those lines.  It would be disastrous.”
     
    “Yes, sir,” George said.
     
    Fraser took a breath.  “If you need advice, you can come to me,” he said.  “I also expect you to find time to continue your physical training with me.  Let me know when you are available.”
     
    George nodded.  Fraser was a slave-driver, but he knew his stuff.  And she’d grown under his tuition.  She'd never be a martial artist, not like him, but she knew enough to take care of herself.  And her shooting was getting much - much  - better.
     
    You’re still getting outpointed by the marines , her thoughts reminded her.  Don’t get cocky .
     
    She pushed the thought aside as Fraser dismissed her, then made her way back to Middy Country.  It felt eerily empty, as if she was the only person on the ship; the lockers had been emptied and the beds had been stripped, leaving her the only occupant.  A large care package, addressed to her, sat on the deck.  She sighed, recognising the return address.  Her sister’s heart was in the right place, but she had no idea just what it was like to serve on a warship - or just how embarrassing it had been to receive a piece of naughty underwear that wouldn't have been out of place in a brothel.  None of the others had ever let her forget it.
     
    I have to write to Anne , she reminded herself as she tore open the box.  Someone must have had a word with her - probably their uncle - because she’d crammed the box with chocolate bars, rather than anything more awkward.  There was still rather more of it than she would have preferred, she decided, but it was certainly more practical.  I’ll have to thank her .
     
    She put a chocolate bar aside for later consumption - she could afford to eat one, she told herself - and then stowed the others in the locker.  She'd have to share them with the other middies - and she should probably give a few to Fraser and the other officers - once they got accustomed to serving on a battleship.  It would be awkward - chocolate bars were traded at two or three times market value once the ship was underway - but better than keeping the chocolate all for herself.  A piece of paper fell out of the box as she finished emptying it and dropped onto the deck.  Her sister was expressing - again - her hope that George would find a handsome man and come home.
     
    George crumpled up the paper, feeling a flicker of angry frustration.  Anne should never have gone to that damned Swiss finishing school, not after leaving Hanover Towers.  She wasn't precisely stupid, but the finishing school was more concerned with moulding young girls into perfect little ladies instead of developing their minds.  Anne looked stunning in a long blue dress - George knew that hardly anyone considered her a true lady - but she was very good at giving the impression that she had nothing between her ears.  And there were times when George had been inclined to believe that Anne was truly stupid.  Maybe she’d bribed