by G. R. Carter
Captain Liam Oliver raised his binoculars, trying to pick out anything unnatural profiled against the trees crowding the water's edge. Years without human interference allowed the thick undergrowth to return, ironically making it easier for the trained eye to see any evidence of recent activity. ARKShip Firefly began its tack back to the opposite bank, completing the zigzag pattern utilized since turning off the main river channel and onto the tributary still known on charts as the Kaskaskia River. The alternating angles gave helmets poking up above armored rings fore and aft their own view. The men underneath rotated their auto-cannons, scanning the riverbanks for any sign of movement.
Oliver wasn't worried about sneaking up on anyone; if the black bio-diesel smoke didn't give their presence away, the roar of revving engines would. They wanted everyone watching to know they were here, that ARK was coming to stay. The lambda emblem was present everywhere on the ship and on the crew uniforms. A black flag with the white outlined silver letter flew high above the pilothouse. It was painted on the hull, even on the front of each gun turret. Subtlety was not the point, fear and reputation were. ARK wanted word to spread: these rivers were theirs now, and anyone else would be gone or dead.
“Hostile spotted, east bank, four hundred yards!” shouted his Ship’s Mate, pointing out the location.
“All ahead full! Murdock, do you have a visual?” Oliver shouted over the engines to his foredeck gunner. “About two o’clock, do you see her?” He watched the man spin the long slender barrel towards the position, then wave one hand back with an upraised thumb.
“Weapons free. Engage with tally!”
The Firefly groaned, engines chugging as hard as thousand horsepower twin diesels increased to max RPM. The old beasts were ancient and rebuilt to modern standards—meaning no electronics, but eager to please and safe to wind tight. Oliver meant to close quickly with the pirate vessel, seldom more than a salvaged pre-Reset pleasure craft. The rickety vessels never carried armor or heavy weapons, making them go faster in a straight line, and would likely disintegrate with a few well-placed bursts from his ship's rapid-fire cannon. The bandits were plenty ruthless and mean in a fight, but they possessed no advanced tactics or equipment to worry about. Just corner them and pound them, as ARK vessels had done hundreds of times before. If he was lucky, a survivor would be floating in the wreckage and eager to talk in exchange for a chance to live.
“Second target spotted! East bank, call it 600 yards! She’s cutting across channel, Captain, running for cover!” The ensign looked at his commanding officer, waiting to see which target the old man wanted them to pursue.
Captain Oliver said nothing, still chewing on his unlit pipe. He pulled it from his teeth, looked down at the chamber rising from the end of the stem, turned it over and struck it on the heel of his boot to loosen the remains of his previous smoke. Satisfied it was empty, he pulled a leather pouch out his pocket, scooping fresh leaf to fill the pipe to the brim. He tamped the loose tobacco down firm, then put it back between his teeth. With the expertise of all his forty-two years, he struck a nearly priceless pre-Reset Zippo and put the flame to the pipe, inhaling in bursts while the flame finally caught in a glow of embers. The smoke calmed his nerves, even while he could feel the young ensign’s anxious energy. “Stay true on the first target, Ensign Alston. That one running away is meant to distract us, which means we’re on the trail of what we came to find. That’ll be found up over yonder where we flushed ‘em.”
“Aye, Captain. Course is true.”
The cabin of the converted river tugboat shuddered as the fore cannon began to fire, reaching out to connect with Murdock’s target. The Firefly was well within range and the distance was closing quickly. Exploding shells tended to keep your enemies heads down so they couldn’t fire back, another bonus of opening up at this range. Oliver raised his binoculars to see the effect, watching the rounds explode against dark gray mottled plywood and metal. Bright orange bursts popped, but no satisfying final blast like he remembered from the action movies of his childhood. Real battles never seemed to work out like Hollywood used to show. Still, it was satisfying to see his men’s hard work and training pay off with bad guys being shredded.
The approval of Murdock’s marksmanship slipped away; there were more boats next to the target. Five, six, maybe even seven, well camouflaged but still visible. A large low-slung barge rested up against a dock, clearly well painted and maintained. Pirate equipment was seldom so well kept, but there were no records of any civilized groups living around here. Certainly none who could afford the expense of maintaining a small squadron of boats and their tender.
Rapid sharp sounds echoed off Firefly's armor plating, causing Oliver and Bisso to flinch reflexively. Heavy caliber shells were striking, beginning to punch into a tough skin designed to turn away small arms fire, leaving little rays of sunlight peering through the indentations.
“Shipmate!” he shouted without taking his eyes off the bank ahead. Bisso sprung up beside Oliver, standing at attention as best as he could as the boat’s hull cut against the river waves. “Get on the wireless and tell Captain Mason to bring up Wasp. Looks like we might be up against pros and I think maybe we could use their help.” As the order was carried out Oliver returned his attention to Alston. “Ensign, turn us about, let’s get back downstream and regroup with Wasp.”
Hammer blows fell heavily on the starboard armor plating making Oliver’s ears ring.
“Report!” he shouted.
“They weren’t running away after all, Captain! One’s circled us and is coming in starboard side. Looks like twin fifties mounted foredeck.”
“Engage!”
Noise exploded with the shattering recoil of the autocannons trying to deliver their murderous load into the approaching boat. Their attacker cut hard upstream, blocking the angle of the Firefly’s aft turret with the tug’s superstructure. Another fast attack boat flashed past Oliver’s view, skimming high in the water with amazing speed. The boat’s driver knew his business, cutting back and forth, causing Murdock to try and lead his fire instead of aiming. Surely a few shots got close, but nothing able to disable the craft so far. Meantime a lack of quickness caused Firefly to be an easier target, relying on her armor to hold out for a lucky shot.
Oliver admired the brown and tan mottled boat, barely touching the water at top speed, then pitching over to give her gunners a clean shot before darting and skimming past again. Oliver felt a chill; only one other force on the river had this type of weaponry.
“Shipmate! Message to Captain Mason, with relay back to ARK HQ: we are engaged with a Mt. Horab squadron, not river pirates. Heavily involved. We need rules of engagement. Strength at least six, armament unknown.”
Then to his own pilot: “Ensign, all ahead full, get us back downstream, now! And raise the forward blast shields. Tell Murdock and Severs to stay down in their cradles until I know what’s going on here.”
“Aye, Captain.” Alston said as the ship trembled with the effort of propellers trying to gain a grip on the water.
Loud crashes struck, filling the wheelhouse with a blast of heat followed by shards of jagged metal and shatterproof glass. Oliver was thrown backward from his chair, suspended in slow motion while sharp slivers dig into his skin until he finally landed on the bridge’s cold hard decking. Piercing pain radiated through his head, blurring his vision for a moment. Force of will cleared his eyes finally allowing him to focus on the face of Ensign Alston, frozen in a look of pain and surprise. The two lay nearly face-to-face, Alston’s boyish look unmarked save for a trickle of blood being pulled to the floor by gravity. One of Oliver’s arms didn’t seem to be working correctly; he compensated and pushed himself up to hands and knees with the functional limb. A deep breath and all his effort brought him to wobbly feet.
His head pounded, bad arm numb then throbbing as he tried to steady himself. Pain helped sharpen his resolve
“Shhhipm…” The words wouldn’t come immediately, he turned away
from Alston’s body and spit, sending a mixture of bloody saliva and teeth to bridge decking. He tried again with effort to overcome the pain. “Shipmate! Report!”
No answer came to his ringing ears. For a moment he suspected his hearing was damaged. The sharp cracking of an autocannon disproved that fear and he stumbled up to the viewing window of the bridge. Ahead of him he could see the young Ship’s Mate standing half exposed in the turret, engaged with a shape spraying the murky water from it deep cut hull, bobbing up and down across the current. Oliver couldn’t tell what had happened to his original gunner and decided not to take the time to find out where his aft gunner was.
He darted back to the radio, finding a smoldering wreck of circuitry, tubes and transistors. No time for disgust. He went back to the ship’s wheel and grabbed the throttle. Alston must have reflexively pulled back on the throttle when hit, and Firefly had been drifting down current ever since. So he pushed the lever forward to full…but the reassuring jolt of the engines didn’t come. He recycled the start procedure, grabbing the voice tube.
“Engineering, what’s our status?” he shouted into the antiquated receiver.
“I’m working on it, Captain. Give me one minute and we should have power back,” a voice echoed through. Oliver resisted the temptation to shout back but knew that would do no good. McClain knew his engines like his family (and frankly, treated them better). If anyone could bring the power plant back to life, it was his Chief Engineer.
Oliver felt helpless. With no orders to issue and no ship to navigate, he began to run through his mind about what would happen next. He was sure Wasp had received his message and would be here any moment. She was just a little ways downstream and Firefly was drifting that way. He took ahold of the wheel, determined to wrestle the rudder manually so that at least he could get the nose pointed towards his destination. Probably not a useful effort, but he at least it would give him something to do.
More metal struck the superstructure, causing him to involuntarily flinch at the death just on the other side. He forced himself to stay at the wheel, fearing if he let go he might just head below decks and join McClain in the relative safety there. Movement from the fore turret and the eruption of fire from the autocannon’s barrel reminded him Firefly was still in the fight, not completely helpless just yet. Oliver’s resolve returned, he would fight the ship, link up with Wasp and return to avenge his men and his honor.
Firefly’s nose swung south giving Oliver a full view of downstream through the missing window. He felt his heart sink again. Up ahead, grounded along the muddy banks, plumes of flame and a pillar of black smoke billowed up from a ship the same size, shape and color as his own. He immediately recognized his boat’s sister ship, the pride of the ARK brown water navy.
Fury now overcame any other emotions “Bisso!” Oliver shouted out the window. “Stay down under cover until I can figure out what’s going on up there. I’ll call bogies!” His blood boiled, wishing suddenly to hit something, anything, with a gun, a fist, or even with the ship herself. He needed power, to be able to maneuver and fight, not just sit here like a fat target drifting back towards the big river’s main channel.
The clock in his head was ticking as the voice tube rang out. “Bridge! Engines available!”
He recycled the start procedure, feeling the ship vibrate back to life. He checked to make sure Bisso was below cover, then slammed the throttles forward. He rocked backwards as propeller thrust joined the swift current to urge Firefly forward. He estimated about a mile to reach the stricken Wasp, leaving him a moment to quiz his surviving topside crewman.
“Where are Murdock and Severs?” he shouted down to Bisso.
The man turned his head toward him while still crouched down behind the protective collar. “I pulled what was left of Murdock out of here, felt like I had to fight back. He’s on the deck in front of me. I’m pretty sure I heard Severs go overboard, well I heard a scream and the aft cannon stopped firing. I only looked briefly. I’m sorry, skipper,” he shouted in reply.
Oliver tried to catch his breath. A man overboard? No captain would leave a man behind; that was a hard and fast rule of life on the water. He fought the urge to look back. If Severs had gone into the swirling water there would be no saving him at this point, especially if he was wounded before taking the fall. Incredible sadness nearly overwhelmed him. Only once had he lost a man, a hungover sailor losing his balance in front of a coal barge nearly two decades ago. That accident weighed on his mind for years despite knowing nothing Oliver could have done would have saved the foolish drunkard.
Murdock and Severs had been with him since Firefly was commissioned, when ARK Premier Tony Diamante determined to sweep any river pirates off their water highways once and for good. Alston was a more recent addition; a good boy and a success story from a family working their way up to ARK Citizenship from a humble beginning. He was participating in a rotating internship designed to get young officers prepared to take over for the quickly aging men and women with pre-Reset experience on the water. Wasp class assignments were rare, and the chance to be aboard in the same squadron with Captain Mason was a tremendous chance for advancement, future command and ultimately Citizenship.
Mason was one of the most experienced skippers in all of ARK, using his long career in the Coast Guard to build Diamante’s dream into something tangible. Twenty-three converted river tugs were already patrolling the northern Mississippi and western Missouri rivers, along with their many navigable tributaries. The armored and armed ships were tough, had a shallow draught and their engines were easily converted to fuels available to ARK from allied refineries. Each ship was supposed to be nearly indestructible in this post-Reset world, impossible to sink and more than a match for anything river pirates could stitch together.
Indestructible until fifteen minutes ago, he thought bitterly. Oliver’s world had changed drastically in that quarter of an hour. His own ship was down half its crew; normally he’d have four Peacekeepers with him to help with close combat situations but they had been let off at Prairie du Rocher to help the ARK colony there reinforce their defenses. Wasp and Firefly had intended to pick up their respective groups on the return trip. The two sister ships were on a hunt and kill mission to flush out a nest of pirates operating near the mouth of the Kaskaskia River. The very same outlaws he thought he had trapped here today. Getting rid of them was the first step in Diamante’s long-range plan to bring the Kaskaskia River and all of the resources along the southern Mississippi under ARK influence.
But it wasn’t pirates who had wrecked his boat and killed half his crew.
Firefly was now close enough for Oliver to see two Mt. Horab boats approach Wasp, coming alongside to tie up to the stricken ship. He glanced back over at the radio, knowing he had a decision to make with no guidance. He was down to one usable weapon and outnumbered at least seven to one. The Buckles clearly possessed something capable of taking out the toughest boat ARK had, something probably already aimed at his own ship. He wasn’t a coward, but he also wasn’t a warrior by trade and these weren’t half crazed wild men he was facing. Decision made, he yelled out to his lone gunner.
“Turn that cannon away from Wasp, Bisso. I don’t want you to fire unless I give the direct order, understood?”
A simple nod of acknowledgement came as the Ship’s Mate swung the barrel towards the far bank.
He grabbed the tube again. “McClain, get up to the sleeping quarters and get a bedsheet, a pillow case, something all white,” he shouted into the tube as he pulled back on the throttles again. Oliver could sense confusion in the silence. “We’ve got to see if any of our men are still alive, and whatever knocked out Wasp is ready to do the same to this boat. I don’t see how us dying right now is any way helpful to ARK.”
“Aye, skipper,” the reply crackled.
Oliver reached over and pulled a cord letting loose a series of ragged noises through the damaged horn. He heard a door to below decks open; McClain bypassed the pi
lot’s chair climbing straight up to the forecastle with a white sheet tied to the end of a broom handle. He waved it back and forth while Oliver continued to blare the horn, finally acknowledged by a wave from one of the Horab vessels. A third vessel surprised him, pulling up alongside from the port side, tossing a rope onto the deck next to McClain, who grabbed the line and tied off. He could see Bisso straining to turn around and watch, but wary to keep the cannon pointed away from the visitors.
With the two ships attached, Oliver watched as McClain offered a greasy hand to a gray-clad soldier carrying an assault rifle slung across his back. He was tall and lean with the sleeves of his uniform rolled all the way up to well-defined biceps. The two exchange some sort of words Oliver couldn’t hear and the soldier turned to look at him. Quite young, couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. Against the gray uniform was stitched a patch with a silver sword, pommel end up with two long stem roses intertwining the long double edged blade, a symbol matching the flags fluttering above each of the Horab vessels. A quick but respectful nod came from the soldier who walked up to the bridge. As he entered, he saluted, clearly nervous and not used to boarding a ship he considered hostile.
“Relax, son,” Oliver said, mustering his most fatherly tone. “I don’t want any more violence today. I just want to see about any survivors on that ship,” he said with a nod towards Wasp.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’ve been asked to escort you over to the Wasp; my commanding officer figured you’d want to speak with your men. Thankfully there were only two casualties onboard, but unfortunately both were fatalities.”
“Captain Mason?” Oliver asked.
“I’m sorry, sir. Your ship took a direct hit to the bridge. Neither he nor the pilot survived.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you do that?” Oliver asked, suddenly shaking with a welling rage.
