Free How Firm a Foundation by David Weber Page B

Navy’s ruthless drills and training took them by the throat, instead. They simply obeyed, and the fore topsail and course fell, and the topmast staysail rose, flapping and thundering on the wind.
    “Sheet home! Weather braces haul! Back topsail and course!”
    That was the critical moment, Yairley realizedlater. His entire ship’s company had been anticipating the order to haul taut the lee braces, trimming the yards around to take the wind as the ship turned. That was what they’d been focused on, but now he was backing the sails; trimming them to take the wind from directly ahead, instead. Any hesitation, any confusion in the wake of the unexpected change in orders, would have been fatal, but Destiny ’s crew never faltered.
    The yards shifted, the sails pressed back against the mast, and Destiny began moving through the water—not forward, but astern —while the sudden pressure drove her head still further round to starboard.
    Destiny backed around on her heel—slowly, clumsily canvas volleying and thundering, spray everywhere, the deck lurching underfoot. She wallowed drunkenly from sideto side, but she was moving astern even as she drifted rapidly towards the beach. Sir Dunkyn Yairley had imposed his will upon his ship, and he stared up at the masthead weathervane, waiting, praying his improvised anchor hadn’t been fouled, judging his moment.
    And then—
    “Let fall the mizzen topsail!” he shouted the moment the wind came abaft the starboard beam at last. “Starboard your helm!Off forward braces! Off fore topmast staysail sheets! Lee braces haul! Brace up! Shift the fore topmast staysail! Let fall main topsail and main course! Sheet home! Main topsail and course braces haul!”
    The orders came with metronome precision, as if he’d practiced this exact maneuver a hundred times before, drilled his crew in it daily. The mizzen topsail filled immediately, arresting the ship’ssternward movement, and the forward square sails and fore topmast staysail were trimmed round. Then the main topsail and main course blossomed, as well, and suddenly Destiny was moving steadily, confidently, surging through the confused seas on the larboard tack with torrents of spray bursting above her bow. As she gathered way, the floating tubs of her improvised rudder settled back into theirdesigned positions, and she answered the helm with steadily increasing obedience.
    “ Done it, lads!” someone shouted. “Three cheers for the Captain!”
    HMS Destiny was a warship of the Imperial Charisian Navy, and the ICN had standards of discipline and professionalism other navies could only envy. Discipline and professionalism which, for just an instant, vanished into wild, braying cheers andwhistles as their ship forged towards safety.
    Sir Dunkyn Yairley rounded on his ship’s company, his expression thunderous, but he found himself face-to-face with a broadly grinning first lieutenant and an ensign who was capering on deck and snapping the fingers of both hands.
    “And what sort of an example is this, Master Lathyk?! Master Aplyn-Ahrmahk?!” the captain barked.
    “Not a very good one,I’m afraid, Sir,” Lathyk replied. “And I beg your pardon for it. I’ll sort the men out shortly, too, Sir, I promise. But for now, let them cheer, Sir! They deserve it. By God, they deserve it!”
    He met Yairley’s eyes steadily, and the captain felt his immediate ire ease just a bit as the realization of what they’d just accomplished began to sink into him, as well.
    “I had the quartermaster ofthe watch time it, Sir,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said, and Yairley looked at him. The ensign had stopped capering about like a demented monkey-lizard, but he was still grinning like a lunatic.
    “Three minutes!” the young man said. “Three minutes— that’s how long it took you, Sir!”
    Aplyn-Ahrmahk’s eyes gleamed with admiration, and Yairley gazed back at him for a moment, then, almost against his will, helaughed.
    “Three minutes you say,