If possible, the ship was more of a mess now than it had been immediately after the battle. Temporary scaffolding and half-completed repairs were in evidence all over the ship, repair crews welding, sawing and nailing new materials into place.

After the fourth bell rang for the afternoon watch, Firus had the injured checked out in the infirmary and retired from duty. The most critical part was over; we were almost clear.

Firus looked at me, both of us bleary-eyed from our respective parts during the repair efforts, and indicated we should take a moment.

“Quartermaster?”
“Captain?”
“Get the rest of the crew apart from essentials into their bunks, we’ve done enough for today. Double rum rations, too.”
“Sir. I’ll arrange extra for those still working on the engines.”

He turned to me suddenly, catching me off guard – hit me with an intense, searching gaze like he was trying to stare right through me.

“Miles? You did pretty well today. I’m not one for withholding praise, and you earned it pretty damn well.”