NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is my RP for claiming a spot on Terra Recedentia. This is IC only.


“WHAT ARE YOU DOING SAILOR? DID I NOT TEACH YOU HOW TO MOP THE DECK?” Captain Henderson bellowed at one of his newest recruits.

Alex “Butcher” Henderson was the typical modern day sailor. Standing at five feet, nine inches tall and weighing in at around two hundred fifty pounds, he had presence on board his ship. A black patch covered his left eye while a large cutlass hung from his right waist.

“WHEN I RETURN I HAD BETTER SEE MYSELF ON THIS DECK OR YOU’LL BE WALKING THE PLANK LAD” He continued. “CAN YOU DIG IT?”

“Y-y-y-y-yes sir.” The young sailor with the zits replied with more than slight quiver in voice.

The ship was called the Dauntless. It was a small battleship that Henderson had bought off a corrupt official in the former government of the Holy Empire of Saint Fedski. Butcher kept his private helicopter on board at all times.

“Captain. Might I ask for our course?” The first mate asked in hoarse voice.

“Indeed, indeed.” Replied the Captain, stroking is long red beard. “Follow that star over thar.” He pointed into the sky. “I heard of a new land, a new land for all of us. For all of us to start all over again. Our own nation. A nation for ourselves. Harr they be the days when they come. When they come.”

Henderson and his crew were the most wanted men of the Commonwealth of Saint Fedski. They prayed upon shipping around the world, boarding ships that surrendered, destroying ones that didn’t. They were pirates through and through. However they knew the noose was tightening around their necks, they just didn’t realize how tight it already was.


A month later…

“LAND!” The watchmen yelled from atop the mast.

“AYE LAND” Shouted another man from the bow of the boat.

“LAND” A group of men shouted as they too saw a line of trees on the horizon.

“What be all this commotion Mr. Withers?” A sleepy Butcher asked of his first mate.

“Aye sir there be land in the distance. There be land.”

“Steer a course then. What are you waiting for?”

“Aye sir” Withers replied in his scratchy, hoarse voice. “Approach the trees” He yelled at the helmsman.


Meanwhile, in the Intelligence Bureau Reporting Room…

“Sir I don’t believe it. The Dauntless has been spotted heading towards the United Kingdom of Oceania’s newest territories.”

“Notify Admiral Bradley, Louis Riel and Ashley Bergeron immediately.” Chief Raymond Franks ordered the agent.

“Right away sir” The agent hurried off, returning minutes later. “Sir, I have all three of them on conference call in your office.”

“Thank you. Keep an eye on the situation. Get some visual confirmation. Get an airplane or something up there.”

“Yes sir”

Franks, a pudgy, balding man was the Chief of the Intelligence Bureau, the Saint Fedski’s spy, espionage, surveillance and special mission service.

“Good Evening. I’ll be brief. We have reports of the Dauntless sailing towards Terra Recedentia. I suggest we act immediately.”

“Do you have visual confirmation Raymond?” Minister of Law and Order Ashley Bergeron asked.

“We’re working on it right now. Hold on a second.” He paused, to look out his office window. The agent was giving him a thumbs up sign, signaling they had received visual confirmation. “Yes we just got a visual.”

“Admiral, send a fleet, get some army units there and get the air force to fly over. He will not escape this time. If he does not surrender, he will be sunk.” Defence Minister Louis Riel told the Admiral.

“Louis and I have already decided on the fate of Captain Henderson and his ruthless first mate.”

“Yes sir and ma’am. I will inform the Chase Fleet immediately. They are four days out however.” The Admiral responded before the conference ended.

quick little point of a minor detail, it's the United Kingdom of Oceania, not Azazia. for ooc reasons I don't particularly care, but IC it is a very sensitive issue within the UK. but seriously, no harm, no foul... just a quick little point. back to the story.

Baroso, Oceanian East Recedentia

A sudden stinging sensation made Kevin Donovan react, his hand moving up quickly to his exposed neck where the sting on the neck was replaced by a warm and sticky sensation on his hand, which when pulled away from his neck revealed an odd mixture of his blood along with the greenish-black entrails of some insect. Damn bugs, the Royal Marine captain muttered before wiping off the bug’s remains on the side of a palm. He smiled politely and waved as some tanned individual passed by, conspicuously attempting to appear inconspicuous through numerous overly short glances at the heavily armed soldiers. The native villager blushed and hurried herself along, Donovan started to laugh.

The city of Baroso, if one could even call it that, was called home by some seven thousand individuals, most of whom farmed on the fertile flood plains to the west of the city or caught fish in the plentiful stocks offshore. The city, however, had been demarcated as the southern most border of the state the United Kingdom had absorbed; indeed, some native tribes of the same ethnicity existed on the far side of the river, though no bridge connected the two sides by a former royal decree. Donovan now stood around with a few of his officers along the riverbank, shaded by the palms. The river was broad, flowing slowly past their position as it broke up into numerous shoals and sandbars creating a massive delta of silt and sand. Upon the islands farmers farmed and in the rivers fishers fished. Donovan sweated and kept an eye out for anything and everything through his UV-filtering sunglasses.

He and his company represented the largest detachment of Royal Marines in the south; as most of the troops had been concentrated in the northern mountains where some natives had decided to take up arms against the transferal of sovereignty – not that they had like the former sovereign much, but that was a fact of immaterial. For Donovan, it simply meant longer hours and more responsibilities in a warm and humid part of the country. A part of the country where bugs seemingly ate he and his men alive. Another stinging sensation and another bug dead.

Off the coast of Baroso, a short and wide boat powered by the burning of a dark and dirty rock found on a nearby island, steamed steadily eastward towards the fishing grounds. One of the larger boats of Baroso, she had a crew of seventeen and a cargohold still only half full of large fish that would provide for the local citizenry. Unlike boats further up the coast, this ship and the others setting sail and steam from Baroso had not yet come under the protection of the Royal Navy, still offloading personnel and supplies into the northern port cities and those ports in the equatorial colony. Baroso was to be last given its relative stability, remoteness, and generally unthreatening nature.

"What is he doing?" Captain Igor Chapinsky thought aloud to his crew. "Surely he cannot be travelling alone. What is he doing?"

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Captain Igor Chapinsky was captain of the SFS Moosehead, a modernized Bismarck Class battleship. He was also the Commander of the Navy's Chase Fleet, a small fleet dedicated to the task of tracking, capturing and eliminating criminal and criminal activity on the high seas. For the past sixteen years the Chase Fleet has been attempting to apprehend Alex "Butcher" Henderson's The Dauntless and his tiny fleet.

Chapinsky is one of Saint Fedski's most decorated naval officers. Over his thirty years as a naval officer, he spent nearly all of it as a member of the Chase Fleet. After the retirement of Commodore Paul Nisbit eightteen years ago, Chapinksy was temporarily assigned as commander of the fleet, a position he still holds today.

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The fleet was steaming at full speed towards Terra Recedentia, hoping to intercept The Dauntless before they lost track of it again.

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Born Alexander Roger Henderson, 18 March 1960, in Sarnia, Saint Fedski, The Butcher was Saint Fedski's most wanted man. Directly responsible for the deaths of over three hundred Saint Fedskian law enforcement and military officers over the past six years alone. Since then, his reputation has gone from pure criminal genius to that of a Legend. Managing to elude the Saint Fedskian Navy and Intelligence Bureau for the better part of two decades.

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3 June, 1990

"There she is" His eyes welling up as he stared across the horizon.

Silhoutted against the golden orange sun was the Rolls Royce of luxury liners, The Independant. Carrying an amazing four thousand, three hundred people, there was no shortage of wealth.

Standing on board his brand new vessel, The Dauntless Alex Henderson watched as The Independant crossed the sun. "Tomorrow she'll be ours Mr. Withers, tomorrow she'll be ours."

"Aye indeed she will be sir" Carl Withers, the first mate responded in his trademark series of low rumbling grunts. "We shall get our own fleet one day boss."

"Aye we shall Mr. Wither, indeed we shall." Henderson reached for his cutlass as he turned around to face his crew.

"MEN" He bellowed has he pulled his sword out and thurst it into the air. "Come the crack of dawn, that ship of yonder" He thurst in the direction of the liner "That ship will be ours. All the riches for the taking. All the women for the taking, all the rum for the drinking!"

The men hooted and howled as Henderson mentioned the drinking.

"Let us get our rest. We will need it. Forty-three hundred people on that boat men. Only three hundred of us. We're armed, they aren't! To bed men! To bed! Tomorrow we live!"

The men went wild with joy as they hooted and hollered, bellowed and barked, yipped and yelled.

4 June, 1990

During the night The Daunltess had closed to within three kilometers of her target. All twelve fifteen inch guns were pointed straight at The Independant Henderson had chosen the place for his attack carefully. He made sure there were no Chase Fleets or Saint Fedskian Navy Vessels in the area. It would be days until either could reach the location of The Independant and days until they could figure out the culprit.

"Today is the day men. Today is the day we mark our place in the history books. Today!" Captain Henderson stood atop the mast of his vessel, cutlass raised to the sky. "On my mark Mr. Withers" He yelled down at his first mate.

"Aye Sir" Withers shouted back.

Henderson held his sword high with his right hand. With his left, he grabbed he reached for his hat, tipping it at the liner. With a quick jerk, his right arm dropped halfway, pointing his cutlass right at his prey.

Withers recognized this as the sign to attack. "FIRE" he bellowed. The order seemed to reverberate around the ship for a brief second before being interrupted by the booming of all twelve guns as they fired a shot over The Independant

Screams could be heard from the ship as the panicked passengers lost total control of themselves.

Eight motor boats were launched from The Dauntless. Their small engines powered the small boats over the glassy surface in the early dawn hours. The boats were heading for the hull doors which were located just above the waterline.

Henderson's private helicopter lifted off the deck of her landing pad. At the control's was Henderson himself. He wanted to watch his crew in action. Among those in the helicopter with the Captain were his daughter, Cassandra, and four of his 'officers'.

The helicopter circled the ship that had come to a dead stop. Everything had come to a dead stop. There was no more screaming, no more yelling, no gun fire, no crying, even the ocean seemed to stop. Henderson watched the motor launches reach the doors and their men break through, starting the attack on the vessel.

Slowly, the sixty heavily armed men worked their way up though the ship to the bridge, capturing the stunned captian and crew.

"What is the meaning of this?" The nervous captain demanded nervously.

"Aye this be a pirate attack. Ain't never been attack have ye?" The leader spoke with a definite tone of excitement in his voice.

"P-p-p-pirates?" A crew member asked. He was obviously terrified, the fact that he was shaking like a Mexican in a freezer was just one of the many signs.

"Ye didn't think me kind were just fairy tails, did ye?" A deep laugh erupted among the pirates. "Tie the scallywags up. We'll let Captain decide what to do. Go change the flag."

The Ensign of the Holy Empire was lowered as the 'Jolly Roger' was raised.

Henderson's helicopter was now ensured of a safe landing as it hovered above the deck watching the passengers gawk at the might of The Dauntless. Spotting the flag change, Henderson quickly descended to the deck being greeted by cheers from a number of the pirates who had gathered.

"Aye today is a good day." Henderson smirked. "Where are the scallywags?"

"Over here Cap'n"

"Aye thank you lad." He walked over to the bridge where a few members of the crew were tied up. "No one told me I was plundering a vessel run by children." He barked, referring to the young age of the crew.

The pirates all laughed as the crew became visably more nerouvs.

"Bring 'er alongside Mr. Withers."

"Aye Captain" Mr. Withers replied over the radio.

The Dauntless pulled along of the march larger vessel. Lines were thrown from the liner down to the deck of the battleship to transport the booty.

"Search the ship. I want all the jewlery, all the money, all the gold, silver and silverware. All the crystal, all the watches, all the food. Tonight we party." Hederson, who had now climbed to the top of the liner's mast shouted to his men. "Mr. Withers, have the men, children and elderly tied up and moved to the cargo holds. Tie up the women and keep them in the gyms."

"Aye Captain." He shouted to his boss. "You heard the Captain. Get moving." He barked at a group just standing there. The passengers had begun to scream again as they were now rounded up, split from their families and friends and moved to the assigned locations.

Five hours after the attack, Henderson was satisfied that all the booty that could be recovered was recovered. "Now this is the fun part Mr. Withers."

"Aye I bet I know what you are thinking and I can agree sir."

"Well Mr. Withers, you may have the honours then."

"Thank you sir" He thanked the Captain. "Gentlemen, cast our 'guests' in a new version of the Titanic. EVERYONE TO THE LIFEBOATS!"

The pirates all choked with laughter as they took off to gather up the passengers.

"Come with me" A pirate grabbed on of the ship's officers and threw him into a lifeboat with a number of other people.

"Get in there"

"Quit your crying"

"Move along"

The boats were being filled to capacity and then dropped into the ocean and set adrift.

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4 June, 1990 was Captain Henderson's first act of piracy. He captured The Independant which he later sold for $63 million. All four thousand, three hundred people were eventually rescued by various navies that had joined in the search for The Independant and her compliment.

"Mr. Withers what is this land we see?" Henderson asked of his first mate.

"Terra Recedentia Sir"

"Aye Terra Recedentia." The Captain placed his index finger on his chin, the start of his long, thick black beard. "Maybe, just maybe Mr. Withers, we can start our own land. Not many nations venture this far these days you know. Too much of an investment you know."

"Aye sir. Thy legs be more of rudders for steering around our vessels then for exploring the land."

"I do believe you have an idea."

"Aye sir. I have dreamed of a day like this. A day where we can finally bring our sea legs to rest for more than a day at a time."

"I must incline to agree with you my good man. I too have long dreamed of such a day. I do fear for our safety on land. We have grown to depend upon the ocean for everything we need. Our food, our fuel, our ammunition even our clothing all comes from the big blue."

"Aye sir but the big green is just another step in a pirates life. We cannot live like this much longer. Many of the men long to settledown, maybe raise a family. Aye the sea has been good to us. Aye we have conquered it, made it our home. Maybe our next goal should be to conquer the big green?"

"Aye I think ye may be right Mr. Withers."

"No one has to say we cannot continue with our current lifestyle, one just has to say that we now have a home to return to. A piece of ground to call our own."

"What do you propose we call this settlement?"

"We owe much of success to 'Nelson's Folly'. Without it, even you yourself may have never dared to start out the way we did with The Independant.

"Aye Nelson's Folly seems an appropriate title for our little, community."

"Aye it does sir." A small smile emerged on the scarred face of Mr. Withers. "Aye Sir" He outstretched his arm to his Captain "Long live Nelson's Folly"

"Aye" Henderson grasped Withers' in firm grip. "Long live Nelson's Folly"

The two men had decided to start their own community.

"Heave to Mr. Withers" Henderson ordered his first mate.

"Aye sir. Heave to" Withers ordered the helmsman.

"Mr Withers, shall we take to the skies?"

"Aye sir, we shall. Mr. Quaker, you have the control."

"Aye sir" The husky Mr. Quaker grunted.

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Henderson and Withers strode along the deck in silence as they headed towards the helicopter.

The calm sea was a blessing for Henderson as it would mean very little pitch to deal with when taking off and landing his helicopter.

The helicopter lifted off the sunlit deck of The Dauntless with ease as the boat rolled gently with the waves less than a hundred meters offshore.

"Aye sir I think we may be lucky" Mr. Withers' grunts seemed to strike a tone of excitement.

"Ye think?"

"Aye sir. Look." He pointed to out to his right. "See that there river?"

"Aye"

"I reckon its a good place to start."

"Aye we shall be guided by the 'Withers River'"

"Shiver me timbers Captain."

"Aye I said the 'Withers River' or would ye prefer the 'River Withers'?"

"A grand gesture from the Scourge of the Seven Seas himself. 'The River Withers' has a grander ring to it Captain"

"Then there ye go. 'The River Withers' it shall be."

The two men continued their tour constantly scaning the horizon for any sign of life and a good place to start their community.

"Ocean Mr. Withers."

"Aye sir."

The helicopter had been following the river for about an hour now and they were just reaching the ocean. The area was generally grassland with hints of desert and some moderately sized wooded areas scattered along the river. As the river approached the ocean, it split into smaller rivers and created small fjords. The land rose a little higher than the rivers the nearer the ocean it got.

"How about here Mr. Withers?"

"Aye sir it looks good. Let's bring the ship around and explore for ourselves.

"Good idea Mr. Withers." Henderson agreed with his first mate as he turned the helicopter around and headed east, following the coast back to The Dauntless.

The ocean was just as calm four hours later as it was when they lifted off. The crew could be seen sitting on the deck, soaking up the sun, playing cards and swimming. Some were running back to their motor launches as they heard the helicopter approaching.

"What's the verdict?" Mr. Quaker asked of his superiors when they had returned.

"I reckon we have found a nice little place not too far down the coast there." Captain Henderson replied.

"Aye I concur." Withers added. "The rivers are wide enough to allow safe passage for our ship here but the depth is yet to be determined."

"Mr. Quaker, takes us there."

"Aye aye sir."

Two months after discovery...

The rest of Henderson's fleet had arrived with enough building supplies and 'liberated labour' to build a small city.

"She is looking pretty ain't she Mister Withers?"

"Aye she is Captain."

The two men were staring at the new State House.

The ivory white building's fron entrance was fronted by six thick columns and a high wall of stairs that spanned the length of four of them. To the left of the main entrance, and to the right, the left and right wings emerged like two hammers. Each wing consisted of three floors, although four would comfortable fit. The windows were lined with a dark, smooth black paint, as if to emphsize their appearance.

The crown jewel however was the top piece. A spectacular display of craftmanship and engineering, it easily doubled the height of the building. Two thirds of the height of the top was an octagonal white tower. Twenty four tall arched windows covered the bottom half and twenty four more small circular windows trimmed the middle of the top half.

A layered red steel dome was built on top of the tower with a small white bell room and balcony on the very top.

(something like this: http://people.smu.edu/rha/St.%20Louis%20State%20House.JPG)

Other buildings, mostably a few houses had been contructed a little ways on down up the river.

Two projects were currently underway, the contruction of an enourmous, twenty foot high stone wall to ring what would become the 'old city' and a small power, hydroelectic plant to provide electricity for the slowly growing populace.

Vital Information
Official Name: Undecided
Major Settlement: Nelson's Folly
Population: 5000 pirates
Head of State: Captain Alex Henderson

Military Stats
Two battleships (Modernized Bismarck Class)
One cruiser
Four destroyers
Ten frigates
Fifteen cargo ships (various kinds, self loading/unloading, tankers, ferries)
One small luxury liner (currently housing a number of 'guests'

Five M-60 tanks

Four Helicopters (one Little Bird, two Hueys, one Sea Hawk)

(Azazia, the next post is for you)

HMS Claymore

Here we go again, a sharply dressed, shaven, and cut man spoke aloud, his brown eyes set above a wide nose and plump, friendly cheeks though his set jaw betrayed none of the warmness his friends knew. His eyes gleamed not, for they concentrated on the next massive swell bearing down quickly upon his frigate.

Commander James Hawke braced himself as the ocean slammed once more into the sharp bow of the lead ship of the Type 05 class – a class proving itself to be subject to wet forecastles, hence the necessity of covering the main gun with a slip during the rough weather. Bastards in Imperium, he swore, knowing full well that the needs of the small frigate were not high up on the list of priorities of both the government and the Admiralty.

In the past several weeks, the local government in the fishing town of Baroso at the southernmost point of the Oceanian colony had reported the disappearance and/or seizure of large fishing vessels at sea. After days of constant complaints, the Royal Governor had requested the Royal Navy’s small defence fleet dispatch an asset down into the strait to monitor the situation and assuage the fears of the locals. Unfortunately for Locke, the limited number of warships in theatre meant that his frigate would bear the brunt of anything and everything happening in the straits.

Hawke glanced up towards the grey sky and after a moment of squinting, he found the blinking light that identified the Sea Falcon scouting ahead of the Claymore; the Sea Falcon was the ship’s attached helicopter, normally tasked with ASW work she was now riding out the rough seas in the sky reporting on the condition of a flotilla of fishing vessels unlucky enough to have been caught up in the storm. There had been solid radio contact established for sometime, though only with great difficulty had he been able to communicate with the natives given their lack of understanding of the English language. Then, disturbingly, silence.

Do we have anything yet? he called out to the officers stationed with him on the bridge.

Nyet, captain, Hawke’s executive officer responded quickly. Typhoon Flight reports that he thinks that the radio mast of the largest ship may be down. The athletically built blonde walked quietly up to her commanding officer, traditionally referred to as captain despite his technical rank of commander. She hailed from Artsov, a major Oceanian city with a predominantly Russian background and a strong naval tradition.

Slowly, Hawke closed his eyes and let his stubby fingers rub out the lead attempting to force them shut for good. Those are a lot of unanswered questions, Svetlana, he responded much more quietly.

Indeed, but in this weather I do anticipate neither quick answers nor quick solutions. Something does not feel right out here.

I agree, Hawke mused aloud, why would a fleet from Baroso be sailing so far to the south near the middle of the strait. The prime fishing grounds are to the north right off the coast of Baroso. What made them sail so far south?

The answer to Hawke’s question was just emerging from the darkness. A vessel coloured dark grey by the weather conditions, but bright white in the sun appeared amongst the northern end of the flotilla of similar sized fishing vessels.

If the appearance hadn’t done it, the firing of the guns should have. The flashes lit up the dark sky as the ship gently rose, then slammed back down as the waves disappeared beneath it.

Mr. Quaker, the helmsman of The Dauntless was leading this ‘voyage’ on board The Range, a Iroquois Class destroyer commandeered from the pirates corrupt dealer in the Holy Empire of Saint Fedski.

“Mr. Quaker, over ‘ere sir.” Mr. Booth, the sonar operator with with a deep, thick, red Amazon jungle of a beard beckoned in his thick Scottish accent. “There is a ship, about the size of a frigate too far from the flotilla. T’ose vessels never get too far from each other.”

“Aye Mr. Christie, they must finally have an escort. Keep an eye.”

“Aye sir”

[I]The Range[I] continued to approach the vessels, the sonar failing at times in the choppy seas to detect the [I]Claymore[I] and the radar operator completely failing to even notice the helicopter that was sure to have been monitoring the pirates communications and course.

The door burst opened. “Mister Quaker” the man clad in a yellow rain suit shouted frantically for the Helsman. “Where’s Mister Quaker? Where?”

“Calm down Jonesy, calm down. What’s the matter?”

“Helicopter!!” The man was definitely panicked as he pointed to the ceiling sending water flying across the bridge, “up there!”

“Helicopter? Up where?”

“In the sky sir, in the sky” He panted.

“Come with me” Quaker motioned as he walked into the radar room. “Mister Denee.”

“Yes sir” The sailor jumped to feet, saluting Jonesy instead of Quaker.

“Any contacts?”

“No sir. Not a one.”

“Thank you. You see. There is no helicopter up there.” Quaker put an arm around Jonesy he began ushered the dripping man out of the room.

“But sir! It’s there! I saw it! I saw the flashing lights and everything.” The man cried. “Even go out and look for yourself. It’s there sir! I know what I saw”

“Alright Jonesy, show me where.” The two men walked out onto the deck that surrounded the bridge on three sides.

“Right there sir!” Jonesy was pointing again but this time to a flashing light in the sky and the definite sound of rotars.”

“Shiver me…” A massive wave smashed against the bow knocking the men off their feet and soaking Quaker before muttering “…timbers.” He raced back into dry bridge.

“Everything alright sir?” Mr. Booth asked seeing the look on the captain’s face.

“We’re being watched” Quaker who was now red in the face and clutching his gun replied with a snap before disappearing back into the radar room.

“Mister Denee, are there any contacts?”

“Sir?” Denee replied narrowing his eyebrows.

“Are there any contacts?”

“No sir.”

“Look again.” Quaker was now looking over his shoulder at the radar screen where a fairly noticeable blip was.

“Sir, nothing has changed since you asked two minutes ago.” He replied without looking.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes sir. If something were here I would see it. If I didn’t see it, I would hear it.”

“I know you would hear it. But I do have to ask, what is that blip on your screen?”

“What blip?” The startled operator turned around. “That’s new sir.”

“Are you telling me that the helicopter came into sight before it appeared on radar?”

“N-n-n-no sir.”

“Are you telling me I could come in here after Jones saw the helicopter, go out and look and come back in before it appeared on radar?”

“No sir”

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU REPORT THE CONTACT?” Quaker bellowed at the confused sailor.

“I don’t know sir” he replied with a shaky voice.

“You don’t know. You don’t know. Were you paying attention?”

“Of course sir”

“Were you sleeping Denee?”

“Of course not sir.”

“Then where is the beeping the is associated with an unidentified object?”

“I don’t know sir”

“You don’t know much do you?”

“No sir”

Quaker reached for the control panel, turning the volume on. “Why is this off?”

“Must’ve been an accident sir.”

“Must have been an accident. Mister Denee you are relieved of your duties. Jones, go wake Mister Payne and have Mister Booth come in.”

“Aye sir” Jonesy replied before leaving.

“You wanted me sir?” Booth asked.

“Mister Denee was sleeping at his post.”

“Again?” Booth became obviously frustrated. His eyes narrowed, his lip curled and his fists clenched at his side.

“Yes again. This is the fifth time now. Isn’t that right Mister Booth?”

“Indeed it is. I feel a keelhaul is in order.”

“As do I. Once Mister Payne arrives, we will commence punishment.”

“Aye sir” Booth flashed his beautifully white teeth as he smiled.

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Quaker previously led numerous voyages against the small fishing fleets to the North of Nelson’s Folly but the crowning achievement of his career had to be the massive victory over the Orzakian Navy in 1998. He was in command of The Dauntless during the brief period in which Henderson, who was cooped up in a hospital with severe food poisoning, and Withers, who had been on leave in Cuits and was unable to return in time to take command, were both otherwise occupied.

Finally succeeding in getting The Dauntless away from the rest of the pirate flotilla, the Orzaks struck. The Orzakian Fleet, two battleships, two large cruisers, eight destroyers and eight frigates had been following Quaker’s boat for the days since Henderson was taken ashore. The attack begun with twelve Sea Kings, armed with torpedoes arriving on scene and flying at full throttle towards their lumbering target, some releasing their torpedoes just as anti aircraft fire ripped through the air, striking eight, including five destroyed.

The five torpedoes that had been launched made good progress through the choppy water in the direction of the The Dauntless. One missed and two failed to explode.
and the other two connected, one aft of the superstructure and one below the hanger on the port side. A blast of water shot up as the first torpedo connected with the hull of the battleship just below the waterline under the superstructure. It ripped a small hole in the hull but nothing that was too damaging as the watertight compartments sealed and one of the laundry rooms sealed. The second torpedo smashed into the ship below the third turret, causing a relatively large amount of flooding before being contained to four areas.

The battleships and cruisers opened up on Quaker and his ship, two shells from the cruisers guns hit the hull but caused no harm in the first volley. Quaker fired back, his master gunner accurately aimed six of the guns with three shells smashing into the bridge of a battleship The ONV Palisade and the other three smashing into the deck and superstructure. The six guns aft fired at the other battleship but connected only with the hull and no damage.

It was now time for the Orzakians to return fire, with only one battleship remaining, the OCV Citizen, they had to be cautious. The two cruisers attempted to flank the The Dauntless but were unable to get close enough to use their weapons against the superstructure. Two cruise missiles were launched from the accompanying destroyers and were shot down as they neared the damaged The Dauntless.

A second salvo of all twelve guns was fired from The Dauntless at the Citizen while the a part of the limited missile armament was fired against the two cruisers.

The shells smashed through the Orzakian ship’s deck and into the interior. One shell however landed the hardest blow a ship could take. It dropped through a hole that had been blown by another shell a second earlier and exploded in the midst of an ammunition hold between the first and second turrets in the bow, blowing it right off. Immediately the stricken ship began to take on water and drop forward. Sailors leapt into the water as the nearby frigates raced to the area to pick up the survivors. Within minutes it disappeared below the surface.

The damaged The Dauntless continued to sail as the frigates pulled back out of range of the guns. The cruisers and destroyers were going in for another attack. Four missiles were fired from the cruisers and three from the destroyers. The anti-aircraft guns were able to pick off three, but four still made it through, exploding as The Dauntless fired another perfect salvo, sending both cruisers under the waves within minutes. The missiles they fired caused extensive damage. The hanger and landing deck was blown to shreds, the fourth turret was blown out of position and the tracking radar was destroyed. It was now unable to track missiles or automatically aim its guns. Everything had to be done by hand. Fearing an imminent defeat, Quaker was finally able to steer the vessel into a face on position with the Orzakian fleet and fired another salvo, damaging the two destroyers and sinking a frigate. The rest of the destroyers opened up with their single ten inch guns as they fled back to Guanylate, their home port.

Had the destroyers not backed off, they could have easily pressed home their attack on the defenceless pirate ship, but they did back off. It was a great victory for The Dauntless and for Mr. Quaker. He was immediately named the captain of the next, as of yet uncaptured capital ship of the pirate fleet.

Port Hamptonshire, New Ireland, UK

Far from Terra Recedentia, the cogs of global trade turned around once more, blithely unaware of the detailed and intricate clockwork they powered. Along the large waterfront of the UK’s third busiest port a large merchant freighter blew her horn, signaling to the gathered children and maritime enthusiasts that the MV Arklight was casting off her mooring lines and setting sail for a distant continent. Onboard were lorries and heavy earth movers as well as construction vehicles such as cranes and pavers. Within a separate hold further aft were stockpiles of prefabricated concrete blocks, bricks and steel girders destined for use in civilian construction projects – especially a set of turbines for a hydro-electric station to be built upriver and west of Norova in order to power the city’s growing industrial needs.

With the proper fanfare from pleasure craft and other civilian vessels, the massive 110,000 tonne vessel lumbered away from its dock and headed out into the large and deep shipping channel that led out of the UK’s Home Islands and into the great Pacific Ocean, from which it would be just several days before the massive vessel reached the hurriedly constructed docks in Ilaerta.

HMS Claymore

Bloody hell, Hawke swore, standing above the low-built LCD table display. Demarcated in blue were his own ship and those of the fishing flotilla – but now a new blip appeared, a red one. An unidentified vessel. Just who are you, he whispered to himself.

Captain, the tactical officer called out, Typhoon believes he has identified the vessel type – Iroquois class destroyer, but no identifiable ensigns on the mast. He requests instructions.

Hawke rubbed his thick fingers over his smooth chin hesitating to provoke an unknown vessel, a vessel that could equally be friend or foe. He gripped the edge of the table tightly as the ship slammed into another swell, throwing sea spray all across the forecastle. Very well then, instruct—

Captain, the tactical officer interrupted Hawke, his voice sounding odd – not quite a tremble but certainly spooked. Sir, Typhoon is reporting a flag now…

The sudden trailing off of his dependable officer forced Hawke to turn his head only to find the lieutenant sitting fully back in his seat his hand upon his forehead almost as if his fingers were slowly scratching the skin. Well Lieutenant, what flag is she flying?

Sir, Typhoon reports the Jolly Roger.

For a moment the crew assembled on the bridge stood in surreal silence, while piracy was not unheard of in the 21st century the fact the flag was flying on an older but still capable destroyer was surprising. Order Typhoon to back away from her, Hawke ordered while reaching below the display table to a small bookshelf containing several reference vessels – unaware that his executive officer was accomplishing the same in a hand-held electronic device.

Sir, she added before Hawke could open the heavy cover, standard armament of an Iroquois is air defence with a deck gun for surface action.

Hawke nodded, acknowledging that he understood his XO’s message. According to Royal Navy standing orders, he was authorised to engage any force displaying the flag with the intention or presumed intention of committing an act of piracy on the high seas. Ships had gone missing as of late and this could very well be the source of the missing ships. A successful engagement could send him and his crew home back to the calmer waters and more agreeable climate of Iarapoco.

Very well then, Lieutenant Henderson, a firing solution on the Iroquois if you please – Longbow missile.

Aye, captain.

Also, have the slip removed from the gun and sound general quarters, we are about to engage pirates. Hawke nodded to the assembled officers, who quickly began moving themselves out of the bridge, exposed to surface fire, and down into the depths of the ship where they could more safely prosecute the battle. According to the data he had on the Iroquois class, it would be configured for air defence and that meant a self-defence system and anti-air missiles – but no Harpoons or other anti-ship missiles save the 76mm gun.

All the while, the bow of the small and graceful frigate sliced into the massive swells, the spray splashing the hull and occasionally the superstructure, angled to reduce its radar cross section in order to make it harder for enemy vessels to identify it at longer ranges. From hatches along the superstructure, a group of sailors raced out and untied the plastic tarp covering the deck gun. Within the rapidly awakening hull, the crew sprung to life running to and fro to find their stations and attend their duties while Hawke finally pushed open the hatch that sealed the command centre, the brain of the ship, from the rest of the world.

Lieutenant Henderson, he called out, looking for the familiar face of his tactical officer.

Aye, Captain.

Do we have a firing solution?

Indeed, sir.

Very well.

Fire Longbows Numbers One and Two, with main gun fire at will, Lieutenant.

Aye, sir.

From amidships, small panels retracted allowing flame and smoke to erupt from within the small frigate, two Longbow anti-ship missiles raced out into the dark sky, flying low over the high waves with their rocket motors providing the boost necessary to achieve the high speeds to successfully engage their ramjet engines. Concurrently, the gun turret swiveled to face the Iroquois while the gun elevated to a proper angle and loosed off its first round. The missiles continued onwards, the internal computer systems linking the missiles to each other and to the Claymore to determine the most successful approach to the target, given the destroyer’s sole CIWS unit location aft of the superstructure, the missiles would attempt to engage their target in a difficult bow-on approach. They flew low and fast to avoid the radar system of the destroyer while now far behind them the main gun fired off another round.

Within the command centre of the Royal Navy frigate, Hawke crossed his fingers. While not ordinarily a superstitious man, he knew not how well trained the enemy facing him happened to be. Upon the panel below him, icons denoting his Longbows rapidly approached the target, preparing to ‘pop up’ at the last possible second. This would expose them to the target’s radar system, and as they engaged their terminal phase sensors including radar and lidar in addition to the inertial guidance system, the missiles would expose themselves even more to those listening or looking for electronic emissions. However, Hawke crossed his fingers hoping that for the poor bastards on the other ship that the Longbows’ tungsten warheads would crash quickly deep into the ship where the explosive warheads would finally detonate – ending the enemy crew’s lives quickly and painlessly. They might very well be pirates, but they were men and women nonetheless. He watched as another icon depicted that his main gun was firing – he never expected any rounds to hit the destroyer – but at the very least it could serve to frighten his opponents.

The seconds ticked on, the arrows denoting the Longbows edged ever closer. Hawke frowned, however. Life and death now seemed so arbitrary. Mere packets of data digitised and compressed for easy digestion. If his missile struck their target he would never see the bloody result of a pressed button, but rather the disappearance of a little red icon. Modern warfare. How it made him able to sleep at night.

An explosion rocked the ship as the Claymore's first shot connected to the bow of The Range

"Shiver me timbers. We've been hit. Mister Archer"

"AYE SIR"

"Return fire." Quaker ordered his moderately experienced gunner. "Do not let them think they are safe."

"AYE SIR"

The seventy-six milimeter gun rotated 135 degrees from the bow to engage the Claymore.

The waves knocked the large ship around, preventing Mr. Archer from accurately targetting his weapon.

"Sir the seas are too rough for accuracy"

"Keep firing. Keep them on their toes. We have a sur..." Quaker was interupted by the sound of the CIWS system engaging a target.

The entire bridge ran to the starboard side of the bridge to take a look. There were two missiles incoming. Unfortunately for Quaker and his ship, they were picked up too late. The CIWS only had time to track and engage the second of the missiles, allowing the first one to slam into the rear of the superstructure and explode. The massive explosion ripped the mast right from the vessel, sending it flying into the ocean and down to the bottom.

The Range had now suffered two hits, and was now without communication with the rest of the pirate fleet.

Cannon fire from the Oceanian ship continued to rain down around the pirates. Ironically the same waves that prevented the Mr. Archer from firing accurate shots was saving the vessel from the equally inaccurate Oceanian shells.

The ocean bounced the destroyer like a child's toy. Water lept up splashing against the glass of the bridge everytime a wave broke over the damaged bow of the vessel.

"Mister Archer, can you make our only surprise count?"

"A risky move it will be sir."

"Use it. We shall not continue this attack in these dreadful conditions."

"AYE SIR" Archer lifted a cover on his control panel, revealing two buttons, a red and a blue. "AWAY SHE GO" Archer yelped as he pressed the blue button, firing the destroyer's only torpedo at the Oceanian frigate.

"The Captain will have me ass if we don't get out of here now." Quaker lectured his present crew. "Take us out of here"

"Aye Sir" came the repsonse as the destoyer began to turn directly to the north, slowly picking up speed in the turbulent surf.

Captain, Typhoon reports one definite hit, second probable. Also indicates ship is turning away. Hawke listened quietly to the report from his helicopter, originally launched to prepare SAR work for floundering fishing vessels but now tasked with eyeballing the battle and the Claymore’s successes and failures. The ship shuddered softly as the main gun fired off another round.

Very well, Lieutenant Henderson fire Longbows Three and Four if you please. Hawke turned towards his tactical officer who although barking the orders and repeating them as necessary eyed the captain with curiousness. Hawke nodded, understanding the man’s unspoken request.

We have the culprit for the recent pirate attacks within our sights. We could let her slip away – He paused while listening to the report that two more anti-ship missiles had been launched at the wounded destroyer. However, if we sink her now, if we sink her here we shall be eliminating the threat of piracy from these waters. We shall make safe these waters for maritime trade. We shall be serving Crown and Country in the finest tradition of the Royal Navy. He turned away from his crew to refocus his attention on the display panel before him, watching the graphic representations of the Longbow missiles rocket away from his ship and ever closer to the pirates.

If he managed to succeed in eliminating the pirates in the vicinity then the Royal Navy would have accomplished one of its missions in securing trade in the waters near East Recedentia, and by extension Equatorial Recedentia. First, however, he needed to sink the destroyer – and if possible take her crew back to Iarapoco for charges relating to piracy. He turned away shortly before a new red icon appeared on the table display.

Captain, torpedo on intercept course, bearing zero-eight-two. Lieutenant Henderson spoke clearly and calmly, the Royal Navy having long considered the threat of torpedoes significant to the operation of an ASW frigate.

Hawke spun around, for now his ship was under threat – as the gunfire from both ships counted little in the engagement owing to the heavy seas. Engineering, he shouted to the officers, whose faces he had not the time to find, switch to battery propulsion and shut down diesel engines. Navigator, Evasion Pattern Delta. Tactical, ready both port and starboard torpedo decoys.

Within seconds, the diesel engines of the frigate were silenced and the noise level of the warship dropped to barely perceptible as batteries now provided the main means of power for her electric motors. The intention, of course, was to make the ship far more difficult to detect with sonar – if the torpedo were to be homing by the acoustic signature of the Claymore it would now find itself pressed to hear anything but the movement of electrons in batteries. At the same time, the ship began taking hard turns as part of its evasive maneuvers, hoping that if the torpedo were to go active that it would present small surface areas with which to provide return signals. Lastly, the crew within the superstructure readied the noisemakers and from the port side launched from one of the 533mm torpedo tubes a large device equipped with sophisticated electronics designed to emulate the sounds of the Type 05 frigate. It theory, as the Claymore’s noises dropped to near nothing, the large decoy would begin creating its own noise signature similar and almost identical hoping to lure the torpedo away.

From inside the nerve centre of the ship, Hawke suddenly felt the ship shudder violently. By grabbing the edge of the table he avoided falling to the metal deck at his feet – one ensign happened to not be so lucky and blood poured from a gash on his forehead. What the bloody hell was that? he screamed after regaining his footing.

We have taken a hit, sir. Likely from the seven-six. Hangar reports significant damage and casualties.

Indeed, the aft superstructure now lay partially mangled – as the hangar structure had been relatively unarmoured and the 76mm shell had passed into the hangar facility and detonated. Fortunately, while many lay dead and dying on deck plates awash with blood and oil and grease, the actual damage to the ship was marginal – although Hawke now knew it likely his helicopter would have to be permanently strapped down to the flight deck on the stern – in this weather an unenviable position.

Status on the Longbows and the torpedo, Lieutenant Henderson?

The heavily damaged destroyed continued to steam away from the aggressive frigate. Each wave threatened to swamp The Ranger. With the radio gone, the ship could not call for help, nor could it signal a surrender to the Oceanians as the flag mast and the flags were gone.

They were screwed. They could only pray that the torpedo somehow managed to hit its mark or that the frigate would not give chase as the wounded destroyer limped away.

"Mister Quaker" A lookout called down on the intercom, "it looks like they launched two more missiles. I saw the flashes"

"Good eye Tommy" Quaker replied.

Sure enough, the look out was right, but thanks to the seas, the height of the missiles and the damage sustained from the previous missile and shell strikes, the radar didn't pick up the missiles.

The first missile was just meters away when the ship was suddenly launched towards the clouds. The missile smashed into the massive wave and exploded inside. The destroyer was knocked down sideways in to the next wave, which battered the ship and flung it straight into the path of the second missile. The CIWS had begun to track it, but was getting interrupted and could not keep up. The missile smashed into the hull, just in front of the superstructure. Killing twelve pirates in addition to the fifteen killed in the two previous strikes.

The crew could not tell the missile hit from the bouncing of the waves, it all seemed to the same. The ship was now vibrating slightly as water splashed into the holds and quarters of the men. Not a man nor woman on board remained dry. Each was as miserable the next. They had lost twenty-seven of the comrades in a couple long minutes. They were not prepare to fight against another warship, especially one designed for surface combat.

"Mister Quaker, if we time it correctly, we can fire two S.A.Ms towards the frigate in hopes of scaring them sir"

"Try it we have nothing to lose. This goes on your call Mister Archer."

"AYE SIR" He called back to the bridge. Archer had a decent idea where the frigate was. It was a general area, but it was good enough to give him confidence.

The ship had settled back into the waving motion from the bouncing one it just made during the second strike. Archer would wait until just the right moment, when the starboard launch systems, tipped by the massive waves, pointed in the general direction of the Oceanian frigate.

"Next wave...next wave." He was waiting. "All right, all right. FIRE"

The missiles took off as the destroyer rolled with the massive wave. The two missiles were fired completely blind and could not change their course. It was all in the hands of fate.

"Hopefully," Quaker thought to himself, "these missiles will buy us enough time to make our escape. Hopefully, we can pump out a lot of the water we have taken on and pick our pace up a little. Hopefully we can make it out of here alive."

The Claymore continued to push southward through the strait, her bow slicing through the swells while the ship fell through throwing spray across her bow. Within the ship, electric motors provided the power necessary to push the ship through the seas while atop the integrated mast the air search radar rotated quickly, scanning the skies and within an instant detecting the launch of two missiles from the destroyer fleeing north.

Lieutenant Henderson, at one time an ensign operating missile firing procedures during the major surface action in the Novikovian War, turned to face his commanding officer, Sir, two missiles have been fired from the destroyer – likely Standards, sir – primarily surface-to-air.

CIDS is active, no?

CIDS, the Royal Navy’s acronym for ‘close-in-defence system’ comprised an integrated network of computers, sensors, and armaments to identify, target, and successfully engage incoming missiles and munitions. Onboard the frigate the system comprised three joint gun and missile units, JGUMs, sporting the latest 35mm radar-directed guns and short-range interceptor missiles. Additionally, at such long ranges the anti-air missiles in the VLS cells could be utilised – and were. From the forward missile battery four hatches popped open and four plumes of smoke and fire leapt out of the forecastle, the missiles screaming furiously at the inbound SAMs.

The torpedo, Mister Henderson, what about that damned torpedo?

The tactical officer scanned his console and found the threat in question. Sir, it appears to have fallen for the decoy.

Very well, status on damage control in the hangar?

Progressing, sir, Hawke’s XO answered back. Fires have been extinguished and loose ordnance has been secured.

Hawke drummed his fingers upon the table’s screen watching the pirates escape to the north. If he were to let them go, piracy would continue to reign in the straits – but if they were sunk and/or captured… I intend to end all this piracy, he muttered to himself. Navigator, change course: parallel to that of the destroyer. Engineering, make preparations for sprint speed.

Quickly, the frigate turned about while missiles flew overhead and torpedoes screamed underneath and shells flew about in between. The powerplant switched on once more and the frigate began to race northwards eventually reaching the speed of 32 knots. Inside the ship, Hawke glanced at the display once again, the destroyer should have been taken of by now – the Longbows having been designed to take on even heavier ships. The problem lay in the fact that he now had but four left to finish off the pirates and he would now certainly need to retire back to Iarapoco at the conclusion of the skirmish, though if he managed to eliminate the pirates here and now that would be less of a concern than if they managed to slink off. Please fire Longbows Five and Six, Lieutenant Henderson. I daresay that these rogues shall not escape the Royal Navy on this day, we shall stop them here. Then send Typhoon flight forward and have them signal the pirates ordering them to surrender, he paused for a moment, that is if they survive the next volley.

Above, the blind missiles launched by the Range flew on their straight course, allowing for the CIDS sensors and computers to easily compute an intercept course for the airborne Royal Navy missiles; the first detonated its warhead too soon and failed to stop the missiles but the second and third detonated at the appropriate time leaving the fourth to explode in the pirate missiles’ path for good effect. Below the seas, the torpedo had long been chasing the decoy and as it continued to do so, the frigate began to move off in the opposite direction. The pirates may have sailed with the thought of easy prey, but as far as Commander Hawke was concerned, they had run into the Royal Navy. Which was all too intent on stopping their activities.

Mister Withers was getting worried. It was unlike Quaker to miss his check in times, and never had he missed two, until now.

"Captain" Withers bellowed from down the hall. "Captain Henderson!"

"Aye Mister Withers" The man yelled back. "Shall be there in a minute"

Alex clambered to his feet from his chair in his quarters. Walking with a slight limp Butcher entered the blindingly bright room of his bridge.

"That light be bright" He joked as a bolt of lighting streaked across the sky.

"The worst is over Captain so no need to worry so about that"

"Aye good thing to Mister Withers. Don't need ye getting sea sick like those other scally wags."

"Aye no need indeed sir" he agreed before calming adding "especially now"

"I sense worry in your tone do I?"

"Aye sir you do. Mister Quaker andThe Range have not checked in."

"Maybe they are otherwise occupied, you know, he is foraging for food"

"Aye that is true but two checks have been missed. You know he's never missed two sir, and you know he'd never miss two in a row"

"Do you reckon he's just runnin' the jig?"

"Nay. Not his style sir. I fear he may be in trouble. They are directly in the middle of the storm sir. You know how bad it was and we're in a man o'war, he on a small galleon."

"Isn't Jefferies' vessel nearby?"

"Relatively." Wither's replied uneasily. He ran his rough fingers into his tangled mass of silverish hair. "He might be able to get there within an hour but in this weather I wouldn't count on it"

"Bloody hell. He has the helicopter does he not?"

"Aye he does sir."

"Is it armed?"

"Aye. It can take on some vessels and submarines. The torpedos came as part of the deal. Rumour has it they can be used against ships too."

"She's still able to rescue crew members even though she's armed?"

"Aye sir, she also has a huey on board."

"Get them both into the air. I want to find my destroyer and I want it back."

"Aye aye captain."

--------------------------

The rough seas were taking their toll on the crew of The Range. Water was gushing into the hole created by the Oceanian Longbows, thus slowing the vessel. All radio and signal communication was cut, and to make matters worse, even morse code was ineffective. The rain was pouring down, a thousand times worse than before. The waves pounded the destroyer raising it quickly before dropping it back down, only to repeat the process every couple seconds. The spray, both from the crashing waves and the waves breaking over the bow had nearly blinded the crew. To further hamper the escape, the Claymore was still on their tail, continuing to fire its ninety milimeter gun at them.

"Hasn't anyone noticed our lack of communication?" The ghost like captain asked the equally ghastly first mate.

"They should have sir but I don't know what their situation is. For all we know, they could be in the same storm"

Water was everywhere. The exit would be opened only for a moment and water would pour in. So rough was the water now that the deck crew were forced to retreat to the less exposed indoors.

"Argh" Quaker moaned as a wave caught him off guard and flung him across the bridge.

Visibility was now measure by mere meters as opposed to kilometers, none the less an approaching missile was spotted and then another.

"INCOMING" someone brave yelled as water burst into the cabin through the open door. "TWO"

"This is the time we pray" Quaker annouced to his officers. "We are on our last legs."

Was it a flash of lightning or the final blows that caused everything to glow as the ship rocked even more violently.

"DAMAGE REPORT?" Quaker yelled over his intercom.

"NO ADDITONAL DAMAGE SIR" came the reply.

What had happened?

The ship was rocked again. The bridge lit up as lightning darted across the sky.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know."

The ship was rising and slamming and rocking and bouncing. This had to be the worst storm they ever encountered.

"SLIGHT ENGINE DAMAGE" The call finally came. "UNDERWATER EXPLOSION. SLIGHT OIL LEAK. CUTTING TO HALF POWER."

The first longbow plowed into the rising water exploding underneath the ship jostling various components loose.

The second longbow disappeared. It could have been swamped by the sea or it could have completely missed while The Range was being dropped down.

This vessel was either one tough piece of scrap metal, or just one lucky piece of scrap metal. With every nasty slam, more crew members were being injured, more water was being swallowed and more damage the ship sustained.

--------------------

"Aye. Aye. Aye Mister Withers." Mr. Jefferies put his headset back on the hook.

This Vittorio Veneto cruiser, Jolly, the only cruiser operated by Henderson, was surviving the same storm as The Range. Jefferies was the original commander of the vessel after it was liberated via mutiny from the Orzakian Navy during the same battle Quaker won his honour.

The Jolly was carrying a small landing party to set up camp near the Oceanian fishing grounds. However, being closer than the rest of the fleet, Jolly was still quite far from desperate The Range

"Thompson, Strauss, get your birds in the air. Mister Quaker is out there somewhere. Find him and return him."

"Yes sir" The two pilots acknowledged.

A couple frightful, hazarous minutes later, the two helicopters were lifting off into the storm, barely clearing the deck and the waves as the ship bucked violently. With any luck, bad or good, they would be able to determine the whereabouts of Mister Quaker and The Ranger

Bloody hell, Hawke muttered, allowing a half-frown to form on his face while two more icons merged into a red one, all without the disappearance of the red icon.

Sir, sensors and telemetry indicate the prior two Longbows also failed to destroy the enemy ship.

Shaking his head, Hawke’s fingers tightened around the smoothed metal edge of the table. He had expended six of his anti-ship missiles, intent on the first two surely finishing off the pirates, but after six they were still afloat and exhibited no signs of sinking any time soon. He had hoped to return to Iarapoco with news of victory over piracy in the strait – but that appeared now out of his grasp.

The frigate heaved up and down in the seas while her helicopter loitered in the equally turbulent skies. For a moment, during the reloading of the gun – as its first set of ready ammunition had finally been expended – the seas were quiet save the salt and spray slamming against the grey bow and forecastle. Then, two more panels amidships opened and shot out fire and smoke, the Claymore’s remaining Longbow missiles had been loosed. At the same time, the gun lowered so as to be level with the deck and the turret swiveled bringing it to face bow-on.

And then, unseen to the eyes, the azipods beneath the waterline turned and the frigate began to race to the east-northeast away from the rough seas and away from the pirate vessel. Deep within the Royal Navy frigate, Hawke’s hands eased up on their grip of the table. Order Typhoon to monitor any potential Longbow impacts, record damage, then return home.

Although unbeaten, unless his remaining two missiles sank the pirate ship, he had failed in his mission.

Speed, sir? the navigator asked hesitantly, not wanting to highlight the fact that while Hawke had ordered the course change he had made no mention of speed.

Best possible, the captain sighed, rubbing his weary eyes with fingers dirty from sweat and dust.

Far from the inroads of civilisation, a tiny patrol ship began its long journey back home – likely having failed to civilise the seas.

"Do you hear that?"

"WHAT?"

"DO YOU HEAR THAT?"

"WHAT?"

"DO...YOU...HEAR...THAT?"

"YOU THINK I'M FAT?"

"NO!" He bellowed while giving a thumbsdown. "WHAT'S THAT NOISE?"

"I'M SORRY I CAN'T HEAR. I THINK I'M DEAF."

"Bloody well figures" the sailor mumbled to himself as he squinted his stinging eyes in the dark cabin.

A siren, the siren, the abandon ship siren, was blaring as loud as the broken speakers could blare. The Range[I] was taking on water like a sponge in a swimming pool.

Only the PA system worked. All other electronics had been destroyed or shorted out by the water. While technically the vessel remained afloat, it was technically no longer a vessel. It was a tin can half-filled with a light red and white tinted water.

"Mister Quaker, you must come. Your crew still needs you."

"Aye Tommy they do, they do." The ghostly Mr. Quaker mournfully replied to his friend and chief scout.

"Then come on sir! We don't have much time."

"Argh I cannot. My crew is here my friend."

"Captain himself has tasked me with seeing to your safety."

"Aye 'tis very thoughtful of him but this is my ship with most of my crew. I cannot leave."

"Only a handful of your crew is alive Sir. You do the us no good remaining with the lost souls." Tommy's voice reached an unprecedented tone of concern. "They can fend for themselves. Come, come with the remaining twenty or so of us."

"Very well. Lead the way."

The two men struggled across the bridge to the port door in water up to their knees. The now light waves rocked the struggling vessel, sending the men flying into the walls.

"TOMMY OVER THERE!" Quaker yelled, barely audible over the crashing water, pointing to a small flickering blue and green light on the landing pad.

The light was an emergency transmitter. It would enable nearby vessels and helicopters, equipped with the other end of the system to easily locate the survivors.

The two men leapt into the last remaining life boat as [I]The Range rolleded into the watery valley below, knocking the boat loose and into the ocean.

Of the two hundred pirate crew, only a fraction, barely twenty-five made it into the three lifeboats without serious injury.

-----------------------

The Sea Hawk was nearing the last reported position of The Range. The worst of the storm had passed by. The rain stopped, and the waves were calm although there was the occasional burst of lightning and thunder.

"Mister Jefferies. We have lost most of our radar function. Cannot monitor air space. Over" The pilot informed Mr. Jefferies on board the Jolly.

"Keep going. You must almost be there. Do you see anything?"

"Negative. I repeat no sightings."

"Roger. Keep searching."

"Aye sir."

Half an hour passed by as the two helicopters stumbled blindly South unknowingly closer to the Claymore and the Typhoon

-----------------------

Amazingly, the now abandoned vessel was still floating even though it was half flooded. The three rubber life boats had drifted apart, two bright yellow ones were drifting towards the Claymore, albeit kilometers away from each other while the shadowy grey raft floated silently away from the Oceanians.

Contacts! Henderson swiveled quickly in his seat, breaking the brief, tense silence that had descended upon the crew of the Claymore after she had changed course for Iarapoco. Two SH-60 Seahawk helicopters, Captain, on an intercept course – they are not flying with friendly tags, sir. I repeat, no friendly tags.

Hawke glanced at the display that had added two more unfriendly icons, this time helicopters rapidly approaching the sight of the unresolved skirmish. Carefully picking at a dry spot on his lips, his eyes ran back and forth across the screen reading and interpreting the distance and the necessary times for intercept by various items and systems. Lieutenant, please remove them from the airspace.

Aye, sir.

From the forward grouping of VLS cells on the forecastle, two hatches popped open sequentially, each first spewing flame and gas before missiles roared to life, rocketing out of their containers. Each container held four surface-to-air missiles, each cell targeting a different Seahawk. They would fly through the clearing skies dependent upon guidance from the frigate, only switching to semi-active sensors for the last few seconds of flight. Hawke’s hope was that they would never knew what had hit them.

Within the brain of the frigate, Hawke had begun to pace, nervously waiting for word on the helicopters so foolish or simply unwittingly stumbling into a combat zone. His eyes moved up from the deck plating when he heard the familiar creak of the oil-craving hatch and found the pilot from the Claymore’s own helicopter.

Captain, the pilot said clearly and loudly, his hair disheveled from the helmet and his eyes obviously heavy and tired. On the return flight, I swear I saw two life rafts in the water; in my estimation, the crew of the vessel abandoned ship and are drifting in the general vicinity of our ship.

Nodding his head, Hawke started to pace once more, Navigator, reverse course, I want to pick up these pirates. I intend to bring them to trial in Iarapoco. Flank speed if you please.

A moment later, the frigate turned about once more, this time heading back for the life rafts at her best possible speed. All the while her missiles raced upwards and outwards to engage the helicopters also closing on the life rafts and survivors from the Range, now unceremoniously holed and pock-marked.

"Argh me sees a ship!" The soaking wet pirate only known as Reddy exclaimed with obvious excitement. In the distance a small dark object could be seen silhoutted against the now blue sky.

"Aye me sees it too!" Another wet pirate confirmed pointing and waving his finger.

"Hold on mates. That there ain't our's. That's the frigate we were fighting," A junior officer pointed out to his drenched companions. "We have some..

"Ye sure?" Reddy interupted. "Ye sure that's not Mister Wither's or Captain Henderson coming for us?"

"Aye, I'm afraid so matey." The officer replied in a voice that would not inspire any confidence.

"Shiver me timbers! Missiles? Are those missiles?"

"Argh indeed they are."

"What are they firing at?"

"I don't know Red. I don't know. Maybe they think we're still on the ship? Maybe they are finishing us off?"

The Oceanian frigate gradually grew larger and as it powered it way towards the stranded pirates and as they in turn drifted nearer the oncoming frigate.

The junior officer lifted his wet and shivering right hand to his breast pocket where he kept the 'Rules of the Capture Pirate.'

"Gentlemen. As you know we are outlaws. We have no allegiance to anything but Nelson's Folly and Captain Henderson. It is our duty to protect, preserve and persevere."

"Aye the three P's" Reddy chipped in.

"Protect our leaders. Protect yourselves and most importantly protect each other."

The two rafts cheered a nervous cheer as they rolled up and down with the waves.

"Preserve our way of life. Preserve our culture and most importantly preserve our strength. As pirates we will always be persecuted for surviving but that's what we do best. We survive. We must preserve our strength for the right moment."

"When will know the right moment?"

"You will know. You will know.

"Aye sir."

"And finally, persevere. Never give up. Our time will come. No matter how much they try to break you, you must stick with it. To not give in to their bullying. Talk only about subjects that will not bring harm to our brothers."

More cheers rang up as the Claymore was now more than just a speck. A mast and superstructure could be seen clearly while minute details were still a bit of a blurr.

---------------------------------------

The Jolly was still hours, if not a day away from the last known position of The Range, but her helicopters were nearing the spot.

"Any sign of the ship?"

"Negative."

"Keep looking."

"Aye sir"

The two blind helicopters, one naturally blind, the other just went blind, stumbled their way across the sky relying on navigation directions from the ship.

"Strauss, you're right on top of it."

"No sign of life sir." Strauss the pilot of the Huey responded.

"Nor here sir" Thompson of the Sea Hawk replied. "Wait, wait. There seems to be a ship to the North of my position."

The copilot pulled out a great big pair of binoculars, the kind an avid bird watcher from the 60's would have used.

"It's The Range" He exclaimed before muttering "well half of her."

"What did you say?"

"She's half underwater sir."

Jefferies, on board the cruiser Jolly paced around, hands on his head, in deep thought. Silence filled the bridge as every crew member sat or stood in utter disbelief.

"Any signs of life?" He finally managed to ask.

"No sir. Although it does appear that three of the rafts, including the captain's have been released.

"Missiles! Missiles! Get out of there!" The radar operator screamed like a young girl at a Backstreet Boys concert. "Get low, get away do whatever! At least two"

Silence.

"Acknowledge?!"

Silence.

"Damnit Strauss. Where are you?"

"I'm here sir, was just taking evasive...." Static filled the cabin.

"Sir I have lost contact with both helicopters. We lost them."

The colour rushed from his face as he collapsed into his captain's chair. Jefferies would now have to explain how he lost half the helicopter fleet and a destroyer. Not to mention one of the most senior commanders was missing, presumed dead.

"Full speed ahead. We need to get to our ship before the Oceanians do. We need to find out what happened to Quaker or the Butcher will have my ass."

"Aye sir"

The ship groaned and vibrated as the engines revved up higher than they normally should. After finally reaching the thirty knots maximum speed did the groaning and vibrating of the nearly forty year old vessel.

"Argh" Jefferies thought to himself as Jolly plowed through the waves toward The Range.

---------------------------

The outcome looked like certain death (via Hempen Halter) for two thirds of the pirates as the Claymore neared their raft and their days of freedom neared an end.

However on bright side of things, Quaker and his small group somehow still managed to avoid detection and thus they remained free...for now.

Helicopters down, sir.

Very good, Lieutenant. Hawke smiled, the first truly good news of the day, the Longbows having failed miserably to take out a light warship and his own ship already having suffered damage and casualties. Bring us closer to the two rafts. He turned around to find his XO, Commander, assemble security parties upon the quarterdeck – rifles and shotguns from the arsenal and marksmen atop the superstructure.

Standard tactical deployment, sir?

Indeed, Commander.

Very well, sir. The XO turned about and left the room, barking her own set of orders and taking with her a few officers while digging out the keys to the small arms locker from her pocket.

Easing slowly, the Royal Navy frigate approached the two life rafts reported in the water, Quaker’s party remaining unknown to Hawke and the crew of the Claymore. Atop the superstructure, marksmen deployed with sniper rifles and began to quickly search the rafts for persons carrying weapons or other suspicious materials while ratings and their officers marshaled on the quarterdeck carrying high-powered rifles and close-quarters shotguns with which they would escort the pirates to an auxiliary hold, where they would be held until returned to Iarapoco.

The XO took a bullhorn and raised it to her lips, turning the device on and setting it to maximum amplification. This is His Majesty’s Ship Claymore, by command of the Royal Navy you are hereby ordered to surrender to face charges of unlawful stopping and seizing of civilian merchant vessels in these waters. She released her finger from the trigger, and glanced back at the assembled sailors, some 24 in total, prepare to take aboard prisoners, she shouted, the men and women assembled snapping to attention and training their weapons upon the pirates drifting ever closer in their rafts. Drop the ropes, she commanded and in response a rating heaved two rope nets over the side which the pirates would be compelled to climb to reach the frigate.

An ensign stood ready with no firearm, as his task would be to frisk and then bind the hands of the pirates before handing them over to a shotgun equipped rating. From there they would be taken below decks, stripped and issued new sets of clothing for the trip back north to Iarapoco.

Back within the Claymore, Hawke watched the close-circuit television revealing to him the activities atop the frigate. At the same time, he kept a nervous eye on the display table along with Henderson, as helicopters were seldom launched at this sort of a distance from land and the almost sunk enemy vessel would not have had the capacity for as many helicopters as the frigate had shot down. There was no other explanation other than that another ship was out there.

Be quick about it, he muttered to himself.

The motley crew of cold, soaking wet and defeated sailors were finally coming to terms with their situation. They were forced to leave the ship so quickly they could neither arm nor supply themselves and were at the mercy of the sea, or the crew of the Claymore.

"This is His Majesty’s Ship Claymore, by command of the Royal Navy you are hereby ordered to surrender to face charges of unlawful stopping and seizing of civilian merchant vessels in these waters."

The freckled junior officer took of his t-shirt, which was now grey from all the water, and begun to wave it as the Oceanians narrowed the gap.

"Ahoy maties!" Reddy yelled as the frigate pulled up next to the two rafts. "Aye we be unarmed, do not shoot. Ye shall take care of me wounds before we be surrenderin'."

The eightteen other disheveled sailors with their gaping wounds, sloppy burns, wet, singed hair and their prune like skin, just sat, blankfaced, bobbing with boats.

The topless junior officer stood to his shaky feet. "I demand to speak to you commanding officer before any of my men come aboard." He chirpped up at the heavily armed Oceanians. "We will not surrender until your captain has properly claimed victory."

The junior officer was adament. He stood firm staring into the eyes of the gunmen before taking a cross-legged seat amongst the crew, awaiting the appearance of Commander Hawke.

Sir, Hawke turned to the voice of his tactical officer, who had a headset on by one ear alone, the XO is reporting that the pirates want an audience before they surrender. Something about properly claiming victory she says.

Hawke shook his head, if they chose not to surrender he could easily set them adrift and pepper their rafts with his 20mm guns or blow them entirely apart with his 90mm. But, if there was another pirate ship out there with helicopters it could be more advantageous to perform whatever inane ceremonies they wished and bring them aboard for interrogation. Very well, he finally answered, inform the XO I shall be down shortly.

On the quarterdeck, the Claymore’s executive officer stood motionless, staring down the impudent man who had dared to challenger her authority. Hawke had been sent for, but in the meantime she kept her sailors at the ready, not a soul lowering their weapons for fear of any surprise the pirates could have up their ratty and torn, waterlogged sleeves. She turned at the familiar sound of an opening hatch, Captain, this is the individual who wished to speak with you, she called out, nodding in the direction of the standing young officer.

Good day, sir, Hawke called down to the bobbing raft. Perhaps you do not understand the situation, he began, his voice clearly betraying his annoyance at the continued defiance of men he saw as outlaws and criminals. Your vessel has been sunk and regardless of what you may think, your lives are now very well within my hands. I assure you, this vessel has every means to tear your rafts to shreds should you cast off and as pirates I am well within my bounds to show you no quarter.

However, he added, his tone softening, I am not a man without a sense of humanity. As you appear to be the senior surviving officer, I speak to you as if we were peers; for the sake of those wounded and suffering under your less-than-tenable command, surrender and your sailors will be tended to with the utmost care available to prisoners. I can also order biscuits and tea prepared by the mess and you and your sailors will be well fed. He paused to let the offer sink in.

Consider, sir, that as the senior most officer, the lives of your sailors are now your responsibility. Make the proper decision for their sake.

"Sir I did not intend to challenge your authority." The officer bowed forward, water slowly dropping from his matted hair. "About our ship, as of last night twas still adrift, though very well shot up from your very accurate weaponry."

There was a brief silence as each person pondered their next thought. It was the officer that spoke.

"Aye you maybe wondering why I have requested your presence for this affair to continue, let me assure you sir, it is merely a seaman's formality. As a child of the sea, you see, we do have some honour. My crew and I must applaude your victory over our ship and your swift and efficient capture of us. As a token of my respect and that of my crew, and your victory it is my duty as an officer and the last surviving one, to present to you my cutlass as a sign of a peaceful surrender."

The sunburnt officer turned to his right, presenting a golden handled cutlass hanging from his belt. Raising his right hand, slowly reached for the cutlass with his left, grasping it delicately and drawing it from his belt. With a simple flick of the wrist, the cutlass spun around and lay flat in his outstretched hands.

"Sir, you have thy sword, you have thy crew." The officer spoke with solemn tone as he knelt down rather shakily on one knee and bowed his head, offering the silver and gold sword to Commander Hawke.

As of today, Hawke replied, your ship has been sunk; however, he added, stretching out his hands and accepting the proffered cutlass, in the interests of maritime tradition, I accept your sword and your crew. He carefully took the bladed weapon and held it lightly in his right hand while waving with his left to an ensign to start leading the prisoners below deck. One by one, each was led down to the hold, where ratings would strip and search them then provide them with dry clothes and a cup of tea.

When the young officer was led down last, Hawke leaned over to his executive officer. Commander, next time a surrendering pirate has a sword…

Yes, sir?

Take them out. No need to chance lives for archaic traditions.

Very good, sir. The two looked over the side of the ship and at the rafts bobbing in the sea. The rafts, sir?

Take them aboard. Hopefully they still have the registration of their former ship. Present to the Crown Prosecution Service as evidence of piracy – as I am sure the ship’s rightful owner will be able to disprove any claims that our friends down in the hold are her rightful crew.

Very good, sir.

Commander James Hawke gently held the rail and looked out at the sea, beyond the horizon a ship likely law slowly sinking to a deep watery grave. Two helicopters were now sinking quickly to a muddy seabed and perhaps more pirates equipped with missile destroyers roamed the seas – though he preferred to think the though incredulous at best. At most there was perhaps another frigate at sea, her crew living off the natives by raiding their villages for fish and food. Nevertheless, he had beaten these brigands and had fulfilled his orders. XO, he finally called out to his first officer, directing the remaining security personnel now hoisting aboard the life rafts, take us home.