Captain of the Kali

Sail down the wind, Kali! Victory waits across the seas—and so does death!
John Ward, God Helper, hung in his chair like a damp, empty uniform. An open, four-foot port showed a circle of blazing blue sky and a regular glimpse of a high, curving topsail. The humid, hot salty flavor of a strange sea blanketed the cabin, and sparked a sudden thought:
What the hell am I doing here?
There was no prompt answer. The wind rushed and moaned. The roiling water crashed and hissed under the stern. The following ship heaved its topsail into sight again, and withdrew it. A lilting chant drifted like smoke on the wind.
We ride the wind down like sleek, skimming birds.
The seething foam furrows follow true.
The sky is clouded with our singing sails.
We ride the wind down, down the wind.
He was Comet Colonel John Ward, Terran Confederation, Earth; he was certain of that. Age? Forty-two, more or less. Specialty? Historical Naval Tactician. If you had to call it something you might as well call it that. Hobby? Sailing. But, God, Snipes and Lightnings aren't ships-of-the-line! Reading? Well ... lyric poetry and ancient history, if you must know. Present Occupation? God Helper. No, call that Commander Advisor to the Kali, Aqua. Future? Oh, hell-yes; right up the....
Wide shouldered, wave exploding, trim twin-hulled we come.
First, the sky tall, fine first-liners.
Then the seconds, flanking fast.