by Lars Teeney
“Ravine, what the hell have you been doing hanging back here by yourself all night?” Gale asked with concern in her voice. Ravine met her eyes, and took a sip of beer.
“You know how it is: I’m not so good in a crowd. Nothing ever really changes, does it?” He asked. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, I’m glad you at least came out to listen to the music. You could have come and talked to us girls, you know?” Gale explained to him.
“I was having fun back here. Besides, I didn’t want to mess up anyone’s game,” Ravine jested.
“What are you talking about? No one had any game—well maybe except for Blaze.” They both laughed.
“She wasn’t the only one who got lucky tonight. Hades took off with one of those suited fellows,” Ravine informed her. He waited to see if any hint of jealousy made itself known. If there was she did not display any.
“Good for him! He knows what he wants, that is for sure.” Gale was happy that he had found someone; at least for a night. After all, she knew first hand that he could really satisfy.
“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” Ravine asked her, pushing some of the hair out of her eyes.
“Yeah, I’ve definitely had my fill for the night. Let’s get back to the Iowa,” Gale agreed.
“To hell with the Iowa. Let’s go get one of those beach cabanas!” He looked at Gale in the eye. She deliberated for a moment, then, she agreed. The two of them thanked the President and Prime Minister for everything they had done, then Gale and Ravine left in a checkered cab, which had transported them to the beach. They were off to rent a beach cabana for the rest of the night.
Angel-Seraphim lingered for a bit longer at the dance hall, but now being alone and having no intentions of going home with anyone, she fended off multiple advances from suitors. She made her way over to President Zola Dekker and the Prime Minister Rudie McCook who were lounging in a booth. She too thanked the politicians for the wonderful night and their accommodations. Then Angel left the club and declined a ride from one of the checkered cabs. Tonight she wanted to walk under the crystal-clear sky, illuminated by the full moon and bright stars to get back to the Iowa.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
The morning sun peaked its head out above the horizon, breaking the reign of darkness. With the outbreak of morning the cocks crowed and the tropical forest erupted with birds singing. Everywhere around Kingston the townspeople were awakening to tackle the tasks of the day. Fisherman hit the beaches to take their modest boats out to gather a catch. The sounds of their singing as they rowed out to sea woke Ravine-Gulch. He laid in a large hammock suspended from the beams of what looked to be a thatched-roof structure. He looked down to see Gale-Whirlwind laying on his chest, still asleep. Judging by the fact that they were both naked and their clothing littered the sandy floor, he could put the pieces together about how the night ended.
In that brief, fleeting moment he was happy. He laid there, without waking Gale, taking in the sound of the tide and sea air that drifted into the cabana. He wanted this one moment to last forever, but he knew that they would need to get back to the Iowa soon.
Later that morning the crew and passengers had slowly made their way back to the wharf where the fleet was moored. A majority of the crew was hungover from the previous night’s festivities, so the going was slow. The President and Prime Minister had made it out this morning to see the Apostate fleet off. As much as they were gracious hosts, they were also savvy politicians, and the two had calculated the economic opportunities of welcoming the sizable fleet into their port. The port tax and the fresh provisions purchased by the fleet would give the local economy a huge cash injection, especially since the fleet paid for goods with gold bullion that Graham Wynham had provided, as New Megiddo currency was virtually worthless outside of its own borders.
Hades-Perdition approached and took note of the line of suited-up rude boys, who stood loyally by the President and Prime Minister. He nodded to the men, in a gesture of thanks for driving the checkered cabs. In substitution of a salute, they each took off their hats and tipped slightly.
“Well, I hope that you and your group are successful in your mission to bring that nasty Regime to justice. If there is anything my country can do for you, let us know.” President Zola put her hand to Hades’s face, “You must know, brother, that you fight the good fight,” she said to him.
“Thank you, Madam President. It is good to know that there are countries like your own who keep the old values of democracy and equal protection alive. Also, thank you Prime Minister. Good luck to you all.” Hades took his leave and walked up the gangplank to the deck of the Iowa. The other members of the Apostates thanked the President and Prime Minister and also boarded.
At long last, the engines of the ships roared, and one-by-one made their way back out to sea away from the protected harbor of Kingston. Blaze-Scorch had been ferried to the Hermes so that she could check on Pale-Silence. The Mothball fleet soon steamed away from the island of Jamaica, leaving it as an emerald speck on the horizon. The fleet’s course was set in a northerly direction, traveling straight for the passage between Haiti and Cuba.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
THE GHOST OF TOSHIHIRA INOGUCHI
Prelate Inoguchi had autopilot engaged on the fishing trawler, for five hours straight, as she sailed north through the Caribbean Sea. There had been nothing but clear skies, sea birds, and the vast, turquoise expanse. She had taken cover under a beaten metal canopy, because the sun had been unforgiving that day, and she had no sunblock. Inoguchi had spent the time praying and meditating on her task at hand. This morning for breakfast she had one of the melons that she procured from the ruined market in La Chorrera. She saw that she was running low on fresh water so she thought that she might rig a water collection system or trade for fresh provisions when she reached an inhabited island. She had elected to skip over the island of Jamaica, instead she thought she might stop in Cuba or the Bahamas; somewhere further north.
Prelate Inoguchi decided that she was a “land-lover”. The endless drifting on the sea did not appeal to her. The solitude of sailing appealed to her, but she preferred solid ground beneath her feet. The Prelate felt herself having feelings of hopelessness and despair, which made her pray more fervently. She started to feel doubt in her own abilities, which had not occurred since she was a child. This pattern started when she was below deck in the trawler, and she looked into the rusted and scratched mirror. Prelate Inoguchi had gazed upon her reflection, and in that instant she had realized how much she had sacrificed for this personal crusade she was on. Inoguchi’s face had been maimed from all the hand-to-hand fighting she had been involved in recently. Of course, she had lost a hand in the fight with that Apostate, which she lamented not being able to finish him off. But, most all she had lost her standing with the Church of New Megiddo. She was no longer a Prelate and most likely was branded an Apostate also.
Then, in another moment of clarity, she saw things in a different light. Self-doubt: it was exactly what the enemies of the Faith wanted her to feel. She was playing into their hands. Inoguchi realized that this was the ultimate test that her Lord devised for her. This ordeal is what would decide her worthiness to be in the presence of her Creator. Inoguchi quickly purged any thought of self-doubt from her mind. She reforged the iron will in the smithy of her mind: the weapon that she relied upon for her previous success. After all, nothing else mattered in this life: not her material possessions, or her earthly vessel. They were just a tools to get one job done, and she vowed it would get done.
Prelate Inoguchi popped another melon slice into her mouth. She stood upright and looked around the vast stretches of water for leagues around. She looked to the north and saw a hint of land obscured by mist and cloud. From what she could see, there appeared to be a thunderstorm further north, hearing thunder and seeing the flashes of lightning. The thunder sounded funny to her: the tempo of the strikes was rapid and artificial, and the flashes
did not resemble lightning. She then realized that it was not a thunder and lightning storm: it was the sound of a naval engagement. Inoguchi became possessed with the desire to spill blood at that moment. She had caught up with the Apostate fleet, and they were fighting elsewhere again. She told herself she would not fail this time.
Inoguchi disengaged the autopilot on the trawler and throttled the engine so that the vessel traveled at full steam. The old trawler’s speed did not satisfy her, she was angered that the boat was so slow, and struggled along. Inoguchi used her neural implant to summon her drone, which she had deactivated to conserve power, but now it jumped back to life and hovered over to her person. With her good hand, she grabbed the grip on the bottom of the drone, and it lifted her vertically into the air. She set the course of the drone for the thunderous naval battle to the north, and it sped off with the Prelate in tow, greatly outpacing the trawler, which was left as a ghost vessel.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Blaze-Scorch fondly recalled the memory of her one night stand with the man known as Shamrock in Jamaica. The man had been an animal in bed. He was one of those men that you would never hope for a future with, but would be a once in a lifetime experience: a conversational piece to tell your lady friends in the twilight years of one’s life. She felt fairly reinvigorated from the experience and was also in an unusually good mood. She was taking pleasure in her job today; everything was falling into place. It was just one of those days. Blaze wondered how long it would last. But, for now she was perfectly content.
Blaze made her way to her patient, Pale-Silence, who was now conscious and stirring. She stood over the man who looked like he had crawled out of the depths of a Christian Hell. When he saw her standing there he struggled to flash her a smile and managed a devilish one.
“Why doctor, it appears that you have traveled the extra mile to mend my broken body. I do believe I am indebted to you, miss!” Pale-Silence winced when he spoke. Just breathing was a struggle for him.
“Nonsense, it’s my job. You don’t owe me anything,” Blaze replied with a smile.
“My dear, I was on the precipice of returning to the infernal pit that had spawned me. You prevented that, as I was not yet prepared to return. I believe in my current predicament I owe you all I have.” Pale-Silence grabbed her hand weakly, to show her he was sincere.
“Tell you what: when you’re up and at them again, you make me drinks in the cantina and we’ll call it square, deal?” Blaze suggested, patting his hand.
“Why doctor, you let me off so easily. I fear my feeling of guilt might overwhelm my personage,” Pale-Silence managed to get out, but then had a coughing fit, that caused pain in his gut.
“Again, don’t count yourself so special, demon! It’s my job! Now take it easy, before you pop your stitches!” she jested.
“The doctor’s orders are received and will be obeyed,” he confirmed. She flashed him another smile then took her leave to tend to other patients. Pale-Silence grinned to himself, then, closed his eyes and began to drift back to sleep.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Hades-Perdition sat upon a platform high on the mast of the superstructure of the Iowa. He kept his M82 sniper rifle handy and periodically scanned the horizon through the scope. Two nights ago he had quite the experience: the man he had left the dancehall in Jamaica was a challenge for Hades as he had been used to the submissive type in bed. He always had assumed the dominant role, so when two ‘type A’ personalities met in the bedroom, it usually led to a confrontation. Fortunately, Hades cleared this scuffle up by quickly asserting dominance over the man. Hades had left him in a state that was guaranteed to have burned the image of Hades-Perdition in the man’s psyche for all his days. The lay had been just what Hades had needed to blow-off steam. But, now it was back to reality. He would never see the fellow again, and Hades was a soldier, fighting a war.
The fleet steamed on. Hades liked it up in the heights of the superstructure. He felt in command up here; superior to others. He also considered himself to have an eagle eye. It was probably an advantage to have him in the “crow’s nest”, keeping an eye out for danger. Hades did, however, miss the atmosphere of Jamaica. He was enamored with the concept of their government. They had a legitimate ideology of peace, and egalitarian ideals, that they based their laws upon. On top of that as government run— by people of color, for people of color—appealed to him. There would have never been a “John W. Schrubb” produced in Jamaica. Although he did recognize that humans are humans no matter where one ventured: there was always a power-hungry strongman lurking around the corner. He was not naive.
Perhaps when and if New Megiddo’s problems get ironed-out, he would return to Jamaica one day. It was the closest he had been to planning for the future. In Hades’s line of work one rarely planned long into the future, for a short life was almost guaranteed. His train of thought soon ran out of track, and he zoned out staring at the serene sea. He lost himself for a time in the peaceful setting. Then a curious event occurred: sunlight reflecting off of something metallic caught his eye on the horizon. He figured it would be just another fishing vessel, or cargo barge, as they had passed several on their voyage. He took a closer look through his riflescope. He trained in on the unidentified craft. The ship looked to be the size of a cargo barge, then, he gazed upon the three, massive, bristling gun turrets on the front of the ship. It was a ship of war.
Hades focused in closer, He could see that it was accompanied by other ships. It was a small fleet compared to his own, but the lead battleship was larger than any he had ever seen.
“Gale, Gale! I’ve spotted a formation of combat vessels approaching!” Hades reported to her urgently, via his neural implant.
“Hades, I’ve caught sight of them too, through long-range sensors. I’ll have communications personnel try to raise them! In the meantime: we’ll raise the alert throughout the fleet!” Gale informed him.
“That would be a good idea! They look like they mean business,” Hades encouraged her course of action.
Down on the bridge of the Iowa, the crew scrambled to relay orders to draw up the fleet into a defensive formation, with a picket line of the battleships, protecting the medical, and cargo vessels. A flurry of communication flew back and forth between all the ships in the fleet. Gale poured over visual data and made calculations for range finding and maneuvering. Gale was concerned because she had not discovered the fleet sooner, as they only had minutes for the Apostate fleet to get itself organized before any potential surface action took place.
“Has any of the ships responded to our hails yet?” Gale demanded to know.
“Ma’am! None yet! We are repeatedly pinging them, and awaiting a response,” a radioman responded.
“Damn!” Gale felt stress overtake her. She willed herself to stay calm. She felt the momentum of the Iowa shift, as the helmsman took a hard turn to present a broadside to the approaching fleet.
Up in the superstructure of the Iowa, Hades continued to observe the massive warship as it drew ever closer. It maintained a steady speed and course. He thought this behavior peculiar because normally a fleet would hold its position until contact could be established.
“Gale! Maybe you should fire a warning shot because those ships just keep coming. I don’t think they’ll stop,” Hades recommended, but she was way ahead of him.
“That’s what I’m aiming the guns to do. I just need—” Before she could finish her sentence a distant series of loud booms were heard.
“Ma’am! Confirmed, shells are in the air! Shots fired from their lead ship!” A bridge officer shouted.
“Brace for impact!” Gale yelled out, and the order was relayed throughout the fleet. The sounds of multiple shells screaming through the air drew closer. Then: impact. Huge volumes of water were flung straight into the sky, just short of the Iowa. They were warning shots from the massive battleship. Gale could see that none of the ships in the fleet had been hit.
A bridge officer shoute
d that he had received a printed communication from the enemy battleship, and he scrambled up to Gale and handed her the printout. She began to read,
“ATTN: Apostate fleet. The N.M.N. Reverend Wilhelm demands your immediate and unconditional surrender. Failure to comply will result in the total destruction of your fleet. Attack will commence in five minutes. Response required!” Gale could hardly believe what she was reading.
“All Apostates! I have received a message from the Reverend Wilhelm battleship. They demand an immediate and unconditional surrender. We have five minutes to comply. Not only do I plan to refuse, but we are prepping to fire as we speak. I advise you all to get to a position of safety for this battle. Good luck to you all!” Gale passed along her intentions, then began barking orders to the bridge crew, and coordinated strikes with the other battleship captains. Gale instructed the battleships of the line to target one of the two destroyers first, then, they would concentrate fire on the Reverend Wilhelm battleship.
“In memory of the New Jersey and its Captain O’Leary, destroy the Regime fleet!” Gale shouted over the [Apostate-net]. The Iowa’s guns opened up, followed by salvos from the Indiana, North Carolina, and Alabama. Next to fire were the Missouri and Wisconsin. Lastly, the battleships, Illinois, Kentucky, and Massachusetts let loose. The sky between the two fleets was filled with arcing rounds tearing through the air. The smoke obscured the visibility between the two fleets. Water spouts shot into the air as shells from the salvos struck near the Regime fleet. Some fell short; others overshot their targets. Several rounds were direct hits on one of the escorting destroyers. The armor was sufficiently thick enough in most cases to ward off some hits, but then three shell impacts punched through the hull at the starboard bow, causing a secondary explosion. The smoke from burning oil rose out of the breach. The destroyer listed slightly to port as it took on water.
