NationStates Jolt Archive

Traitors Dash (former Aralonian Channel) , Haven

The Clandonian owned but Virgin Island flagged nuclear super tanker had been at sea for over two weeks now, carrying oil from the Home Nation to the ships home port at Kingston in the Virgin Islands, a long a perilous voyage. The ship Barry Island was nuclear powered and nearly 500 metres in length making her nearly as big as some of the Royal Navy's larger battleships and cruisers. A mixed crew of Clandonian and colonial nationals kept the large vessel going 24 hours a day. As she embarked through Traitors Dash as it had become known the crew were on high alert for attack, the area was covered with thousands of islands with inlets making it the perfect place to launch an attack. An important part of Havens sea lines of communication many millions of tonnes of shipping passed through each day. Insurance rates for shipping were already high and many insurers in Warminster were constantly checking the situation daily, Clandonian ships had been attacked in the past, the crews disapeared off while the Admiralty quietly shrugged it off. However the costly rise in insurance quotes had been raised in the Commons and now the government had pricked up its ears, the piracy problem was hurting Clandonian and League merchant shipping.

At 2 am local time, early evening in Warminster a small collection of RIB's were spotted approaching the Barry Island astern. The watch sounded the warning bell as the crew beat to quarters, gathering small arms and water cannons to repel the invaders. By 2.17 am the fight was over, out of the crew of thirty eight at least fourteen were dead with another ten injured including the Captain slumped on the bullet riddled bridge housing, SLR and empty casings scattered around him. The pirates bordered the tanker looting the crews quarters, seizing weapons, money while executing the injured but not before the Captain had declared a distress call on the Merchant Navies emergency channel that was picked up by HMS St. Martinson a Royal Navy Broadsword Anti-Air and Electronic Warfare Cruiser around 2000 km's South-West of Chevrokia. The remaining crew members were taken aboard the pirates boats knowing that a ransom would be soon wired to their employers headquarters, fearful in the knowledge that many would not pay due the readily available and cheap labour force in the colonies, a man was not worth the multi-million Crown ransoms. The large tanker though as the pirates soon learned had a large draft and when trying to steer it to one of their inlets ran her aground on a sandbar and reef tearing open the hull shedding her 570,000 DWT of crude into the sea, the slick was spotted on Clandonian Royal Navy RORSATS by the next day marking where the pirates were. Knowing the ship was wrecked the pirates scuttled the vessel, opening the valves and setting the ship alight. The acrid black billowing smoke could be seen for many miles away, several other Clandonian ships reported the burning vessel from up to 150 km's away but were informed to continue on in fear of further attacks by the unknown group. Now with the Royal Navy fast on the case, a fast response squadron that was on patrol had some of its assets diverted, several Cavalier Class DDN and Minister Class FFN were now ordered to the area to escort Clandonian and Royal Georgian registered and flagged ships.

A day later further into the island chain a Clandonian cruise ship, the SS Royal Sun was strafed with heavy machine gun fire, hit with several dozen rocket propelled grenades and what was believed to be a rudimentary man portable anti-shipping missile causing considerable damage to her engine and rudder systems. Four hours later the fire in the engine room had spread to the lower deck prompting the captain to radio a mayday request as the ship began taking on water giving her a lean to starboard. The ships 1200 passengers and crew were ordered to prepare to abandon ship as the flames began visible from deck, licking away at the lower sea view cabins. The ships helicopter had enough fuel to make it to the nearest charted island with the most seriously injured crew who had been fighting the fire, the rest of the passengers and crew were left in the lifeboats as more pirates descended from the inlets and bays, by now news had spread to Warminster and the news networks of the sinking making sure the government would wake up tomorrow to the headline news.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v338/madnukedude/TraitorsDash.png

NID EPICVS, Vigilens-class Super Heavy Corvette, Traitor's Dash
0530

The sun had begun to show its burning face over the distant horizon as Nauarchus Gaius Callidus picked up the microphone to start the day's first watch. It was a glorious day indeed for the Imperium; stationed far away from the Imperial heartland on the distant frontier, Callidus knew his duty to be of the utmost importance to God and the Emperor. While far away in the west, his comrades, many of them former classmates of his, did battle with the Questarian heretics, he stood vigilant in the far east, wary of all threats foreign and domestic that may challenge the Imperium. Callidus took his job very seriously: while it was true that they had yet to see proper combat (well, there was that one incident with the Aralonian fishermen...(erm, better make that two incidents...)), they were all well aware that soon the entire area could be become embroiled in battle. Callidus had no illusions of the capabilities of his ship: he knew full well that his crew and vessel was easily powerful enough to defeat all of the Questarian ships in their western fleet, but that the Emperor in his infinite wisdom had far greater plans for them.

Because the Emperor was God's chosen ruler, it was painfully obvious that his commands were those of God. Thus, all of his words were infallible. Callidus had no delusions of grandeur: of course, through the transitive property, because Callidus was closest to the Emperor on the chain of command in regards to the vessel, he too probably had a large degree of divine inspiration, and thus his own commands were also infallible, and by that logic just about anything that popped into his head was probably God's Will. At least according to Callidus' reasoning, which he enforced upon the whole of the crew with ineffable vigilance. As of yet, his logic had yet to be proven wrong, much to the bewilderment of his executive officer. As for the crew, they remained forever faithful to their fearless leader, utterly oblivious in their blind servitude in the proper Doomani manner.

Tribune Marcus Aphractus, in truth, was probably the only reason they hadn't yet been destroyed by sea fauna at that point, given his commanding officer's rather interesting frame of mind. Marcus often longed for the day that they would pull into an Imperial port so that he could report Callidus to the Inquisition. Or at least check the man into a mental institution. Until then, however, no matter how insane the man's orders were, he was still the commanding officer. Mutiny was blasphemy, and blasphemy equated to an extremely painful death, generally revolving around being burned alive in some manner. That did not stop him from quietly redirecting the men when necessary to avert disaster, however.

As for the ship they'd been stationed upon, the Epicus was an eighty-foot sea-worthy corvette. Commissioned in 1939, she'd been rennovated in the 60s and retained in the Imperial Navy ever since. Her armament of quad 37mm automatic cannons in a foreward turret mounting was assisted with a state of the art vaccuum tube-based fire control system that took up a large portion of the deck beneath the gun. There were at least twelve other machineguns of varying caliber crowding various portions of the deck along with a harpoon gun the CO had insisted on having installed to combat "aquatic vampires."

Aphractus was fairly sure that Callidus' prominent family had allowed him to gain control of such a vessel; as for his assignment as executive officer, he reasoned that he'd probably let off some careless comment at some point in his carreer that somebody had made note of. It had clearly not been serious enough to prosecute him for, as he was still alive and not languishing in a cabosca insome God-forsaken corner of Damnatium. It had, however, been serious enough for him to be banished to some God-forsaken corner of Haven called the Traitor's Dash on some God-forsaken vessel called the Epicus.

He prayed daily for the oppurtunity to redeem himself (and, perhaps on occasion, for an unfortunate accident to befall Callidus). Aphractus remained a loyal servant of the Imperium and devout Doomani Catholic, though exercises such as these were certainly trying of one's faith. He continually had to remind himself through his daily routine, "A moment of laxity spawns a lifetime of heresy." It was perhaps one of the only things that kept him going, aside from the promise of one day going home.

"Good morning, shipmates, this is the commanding officer. Today is Christmas as per Imperial Field Decree MMMCCLXXVI," his voice was stern, his face like a statue as he spoke. "I am pleased to announce, in the Name of the Emperor, that all sailors paygrade E-3 and below and E-6 and above will be wearing red skivvies with their utilities today," he paused for a moment, allowing for his men to reflect on this, "While I know that you have not been issued such gear, I trust that you shall be able to improvise and take initiative for this."

They hadn't been resupplied in over a month, and of course nobody had red skivvies.

"Remember, if you are going to smoke above deck, to have no less than three cigarettes ignited at a time, and that you are given five minutes and eleven seconds for each of them. That's all from me. Department heads, take charge and carry out the plan of the day. Deus Vult."

He hung up the microphone, stepping out of the pilothouse onto the observation deck just outside. Taking up a pair of binoculars, he peered into the distance at a nearby island,

"I know they're out there somewhere, Marcus," he muttered to his XO, who stood beside him.

"...who sir?"

"Why, the pirates Marcus."

"The pirates sir?"

"Indeed, the pirates."

Folding up his binoculars, Callidus abruptly turned back into the pilot house.

"WE SHALL BEAT TO QUARTERS!" he barked suddenly; a second later a klaxon sounded general quarters, and the crew began scrambling about.

Curses not again... Marcus didn't say aloud.

"Sir, if I may ask, why are we beating to quarters?" Marcus calmly querried the CO in the manner he usually did.

"I smell trouble out there, Marcus. Just look for yourself."

Marcus humored him. Taking up the massive pair of binoculars the CO offered to him, he peered down towards where Callidus had been looking. Sure enough, a pair of speedboats had seemed to appear out of nowhere.

What the fuck?

"You see Marcus? Pirates! Up to no good for certain, probably in league with the infidels."

The captain never specified who the 'infidels' ever were at any point in his tour as the commanding officer of the Epicus. Truth be told, no Doomani really ever did.

"Attention all hands, you have permission to fire at will upon the heathen raiders," the CO bellowed into the microphone that had seemed to materialize in his hand.

A split second later the entire starboard side of the vessel errupted in a torrent of flame as six machineguns and their quad 37mm mount; a flurry of blue tracers of varrying sized fluttered over the open water, engulfing the two vessels that lay some five hundred yards away. Towers of water errupted about the vessels as 37mm and 23mm HE-I rounds and 15.7mm and 7.8mm AP-I rounds impacted all over; neither stood a chance. Though the Doomani weren't exactly internationally renowned for their seamanship, they were certainly fine marksmen to say the least.

"Cease fire," he barked into the mic.

A split second later the storm of tracers ceased. All that remained of the two vessels was a sea of driftwood and dismembered corpses. Oil fires burned, mixing with the blood of the slain men.

"XO, send the Marines out to investigate."

"Aye, sir."

He'd always felt horribly for the seven Marinarii stationed aboard the Epicus; afterall, they were missing all the fun on Paralentum by being over here. It was a sin to waste such highly trained warriors in such a manner, although from what he understood they'd all done at least two years on the Rock, as it was called. They'd had at least some of their share of war before being banished to the West, unlike Marcus.

As it turned out, the pirates in question had, in fact, been Aralonian fishermen. Again.

RNS Foxborough
Traitor's Dash
0545

The Foxborough was a Borough-class CGN assign to anti-pirate duty. The commanding officer was a Captain Mattias Ericsson, a officer who acted more like a enlisted man then a officer. The XO was Commander Robert Carlson, who most of the time wondered at skipper's actions. He wondered how a man like him became a captain, rumors were he lost his mind on a patrol in the Dash. Ericsson was a excellent officer when it counted, but until then he was a loon. Carlson was on watch with the captain who was in pajamas.

"Lovely sea, eh" Ericsson spoke

"Yes, sir" The Commander replied "Sir, I want to know. Why you act in a way that a officer, to be blunt. Why are you a loon."

The Captain looked at him with a look of anger

"How you like to be stuck in Northern Haven on a boat with idiots." he bellowed

"You were the CO of the Jackson, before this vessel." Carlson replied

"Yes, and thank you for asking about me. I needed to get that off of me."

The Jackson was a Liberty-class DDG, that was infamous for having a the worst crew in the entire Bundesmarine. Ericsson's first command was the vessel and he had to patrol the Dash in it. That was one experence he never wanted to relive. Then the intercom buzzed, "Sir, Two small craft bearing 11 clock." The two officers looked and spotted the vessels, two small fishing boats with armed men. "Sir, they could be...." Carlson was cut off by the loud alarm announcing battle stations. The crew rushed to positions, the captain grabbed the mic and declare the ship over the PA.

"Attention, This is the RNS Foxborough of the Wolfenhaller Bundesmarine. You are ordered to drop you weapons and surrender now. Failure to heed these instructions will result in force against you."

The pirates replied with RPGs, the Fox replied with 20mm fire. The pirates began to pull out. The firepower of the Fox was enough to scare them away. The Fox had a scrach, one of the RPGs hit the DirectTv dish.

"Damn, the bastards took out the TV. Carlson, get someone to fix the dish."

"Yes, Sir"

"Also report the attack to headquarters."

"Yes, Sir. Also. wear something else, Sir"

"What they're comfortable, Rob."

"Why did I get stuck on this ship" Carlson thought to himself as he went to get someone and file the report.

Traitors Dash, 0740 Hours Local Time

The Type 81 Cavalier-class Destroyer had sprint cruised through the night to reach the site where the SS Royal Sun has issued its distress call. Amongst the oily wreckage of the ship there was nothing more, the ship had sunk in relatively shallow water and was still sticking out the water. The fires on-board must have stopped when the vessels sprinkler and fire control systems finally kicked in. The captain ordered the vessels Sea Lynx up to investigate the nearby island. There were several dozen small islands in the area, mostly marked on the charts as uninhabited. The perfect haven for a pirates paradise with the many inlets and coves. The crew were wary, machine guns had been mounted and the Royal Marine company patrolled the deck in flack jackets with DR-83M rifles loaded. Twenty minutes later the helicopter radioed it that it had been attacked by several speed boats with heavy gun machine guns, the helicopter had been peppered but managed to return fire from its GPMG before retreating. The destroyer though was in hot pursuit of the speed boat flotilla, opening up a salvo with the 4.5" cannon ripping apart the fibre glass and plastic hulls from nearly the visible horizon. The ship gradually approaching deployed the four zodiac RIBs with the Royal Marine boarding parties, armed to the teeth and the ready to fight.

Coming alongside the boats that were now disabled the Marines opened fire at anyone who looked to be holding a gun, fourteen pirates were dead and eight were captured meaning once integration was finished they would be subject to Crown law of dealing with pirates, to be hung, drawn and quartered and displayed outside the nearest Clandonian settlement to serve as a warning to over degenerates.

Captain Sir Marcus Williamson stood tall on the Quarterdeck. Everyone stands tall on the quarterdeck, or he would have them flogged, by God! Since his school days, when he had consumed the Greek and Roman histories with an insantiable appetite, he had ever been wary of the dangers of eminent persons of great Empires to slide into decadence and their own demise. And so, like in his school days, he began each morning with a cold shower, which he described as 'bracing'. Today, although the sun had threatened to bathe the ship in its warmth, the weather had turned. As the first rain drops stained his boat cloak and pith helmet - he always wore full dress uniform, in case, as he was constantly reminding everyone, he had to take the surrender of another foreign President - Sir Marcus smiled. There would be no decadence on his ship.

Indeed, even before the winds began to whip against his face, his ears were atuned to a familiar sound - a cringeworthy metal screech, like fingers being constantly scratched against a blackboard. The radar, which once spun at the then impressive rate of 60 revolutions per minute, had slowed and begun to scrape against its housing. Sir Marcus had banned repairs, feeling that the noise would keep his crew on edge. These new ships, with their proper bunks, working central heating and radios, he regarded with utmost suspicion. A sailor should always be alert, not swanning around sleeping or being warm. Decadence hid behind every turn.

Sir Marcus rarely slept these days. After receiving his Knighthood from the King, for the glorious conquests of nations he had already achieved in his short career, he had taken to standing in the open towards the prow of his ship at every hour of day and night, constantly looking for an adversary who could match him. For what mortal could face up the victor of his wars? He had met no such man. And without a stern challenger, a Hannibal to his Scipio, he knew that he was on the sure route to decadence, and if the Crown Commonwealth's most celebrated naval officer were to succumb, how long would it be before the Commonwealth herself, for all her transient glory, were to fall to the barbarians too?

Such concerns played constantly on his mind, and it was with such troubling thoughts running through his head that he did not notice one of his Lieutenants had been offering him a cup of tea for over fifteen minutes. The man dared not disturb his illustrious Captain further.

Finally, as if emerging from a trance, Sir Marcus turned to his underling, and took the cup. He sipped it.

"Cold!" He snapped, "And half of it is rain water!"

The Lieutenant jumped, fearing the likely consequences of his glorious leader's growing detachment from reality.

"This is a great improvement on the decadent warm rubbish you usually make. I like your attitude," Sir Marcus leant in closer to the Lieutenant, and offered him a sip of the revolting beverage, "between you and me, I had always had you down as a bit of a wet blanket, but I see now that you are a man after my own heart!"

The Lieutenant smiled nervously, did his best not to gag as drank the 'tea', and tried to beat a cautious retreat from what was becoming an increasingly alarming conversation.

"I say!" The Captain suddenly errupted, before the Lieutenant could get away. "There, look there!" For on the horizon, Captain Sir Marcus Williamson had seen a shape. "D'you see? Out with it man!"

"I, err, well, I, could, sir," the Lieutenant had not seen, and as he tried to decide whether he should indulge the Captain's madness, or else this was some sort of perverse test, the Captain shouted again. "There!" He grabbed the Lieutenant by the front of his uniform this time, physically pulling him by a clutch of fabric to the front of the ship.

"Aha! Gunfire!" The Captain rejoiced. His lieutenant was beginning to fear rather more than usual for his personal safety when something incredible happened - he heard it too.

The Captain withdrew an enormous brass telescope from the folds of his uniform, and pointed it to the horizon.

He could see it clearly now, and the heightened excitement he had felt upon seeing the chi-ro inscribed on its side had faded somewhat as he saw it was merely a little sloop, and still further when he saw that it had not seen him, and even sent our boats. Easy pickings, he was beginning to conclude - a prize, but not a glorious one. And then, as he scanned the deck of his foreign ship, he saw him. Standing on the observation deck, a man, ram-rod straight, in the uniform of a Doomani Captain. This, he knew at once, was his Hannibal.

"Beat to quarters!" He shouted into the brass telephone system that connected him with the bridge.

"Doomani ship on the horizon! Every man to his duty!" His shouts echoed out around the ship.

He turned back to his telescope. The Doomani had seen him now, and he was more sure than he had ever been that this was his man. In his very bearing, Sir Marcus could tell that this was an officer of singular audacity and genius.

The ship's two 4" gun turrets had trained on the distant silhouette. Sir Marcus took the telephone once more, and declared "This is the Captain speaking. The Gunhouse shall give fire!"

For while he could tell that his adversary would be a tough one, the Doomani Captain had surely looked by now, and seen, beneath the peeling paintwork set against a rust-stained hull, the vague outline of a single word inscribed on the prow of this particular ship:

Seagull

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v387/Praetonia/PWSSeagull.png

The guns elevated, Sir Marcus smiled, and with an almighty bang the quarterdeck filled with a blinding and acrid smoke.

All four guns had jammed.

HMS Latter (F 1892), Type 36 Escort Frigate (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=4595)
Traitor's Dash, 07:42 hours

The sun was scorching the steel-plated deck of the gray-painted frigate without mercy as it plowed through the gentle waves at a leisurly and economic speed of 12 knots, patrolling the waters of Traitor's Dash. On the deck, sailors were busy doing their routine chores, sweeping the deck, polishing the brass furnishings and doing routine maintenance (there was always some portion of the hull in need of a fresh coat of paint!), or being led through the daily physical exercise regime by one of the junior officers, a grueling experience under the scorching sun. Still, the morning exercise was a must for the Cottish sailors, as it served as an effective counter to any obesity that might arise from the rich food the sailors ate. There wasn't a single overweight sailor on the frigate, and very few indeed in the entire military, thanks in large part to the military's intensive effort at keeping the troops fighting fit despite the rich and tasty food that was a very effective way of keeping up morale.

The one hundred twenty officers, sailors and naval infantrymen that were going through the training regime were suddenly interrupted in their run by loud-pitched, whining klaxons that called the frigate to action stations.

"Action stations, action stations. Set battle condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Action stations, action stations. Set battle condition one thoughout the ship. This is not a drill." A calm voice called out over the shipwide intercom system as over a hundred sweaty men and women rushed through the corridors of the ship, rushing to get to their bunks where most of them had left their uniforms or rushing to their designated action station.

In the OPS center deep in the bowels of the frigate, the commanding officer, orlogskaptein Sverre Gardas, a thirty-five year old native of Korangar, looked over the brief situation report that the OPS staff had handed him when he had entered the secure room half a minute ago. The Chevrokian merchantman Isånti Merkur some sixty nautical miles east of the Latter's position had sent out a distress call after its captain felt threatened by the sudden arrival of a pair of speedboats. The Latter was the closest friendly warship, and the officer in charge had ordered the Isånti Merkur to head for the Latter's position at flank speed immediately and to do whatever they could to keep the potential pirates from boarding the merchantman while the Latter altered course and increased to flank speed - 35 knots[/i] on an intercept heading.

Orlogskaptein Gardas did some quick calculation in his head. Considering the Isånti Merkur's top speed of 20 knots and the Latter's speed of 35 knots, the closing speed was 55 knots, meaning that the Latter would be on station and ready to assist, assuming the pirates didn't manage to board the Isånti Merkur, in just over an hour. Just long enough to keep the gas turbines from taking permanent damage from the abuse he intended to put them through.

"Sir," A voice interrupted. "All stations report battle condition one, ready for action."

"Very good. I want the helicopter in the air in fifteen minutes and over that merchantman in twenty." Gardas said to the interrupter, which turned out to be the tactical co-ordinator, a young løytnant that had been aboard for two months.

"Yes sir." The løytnant replied before he relayed the orders to the flight crew, who were already in the cockpit and busy going through the pre-flight checklist in their Lynx HMA.8 helicopter.

Fourteen minutes later, the checklist had been completed, the engines started up and the rotor reaching its required revolutions per minute in order to provide adequate lift for the helicopter to take off. In the back of the helicopter, six Cottish Naval Infantrymen dressed in their battle gear, with loaded G179 battle rifles and MG9F light machine guns were fastening their seatbelts while the crew chief was loading the MG167 door-mounted 7.94mm gatling machine gun.

"Lima Alfa, this is Hegre 63, requesting permission for take-off." The pilot finally said.

"Hegre 63, Lima Alfa. Permission granted, you are cleared for immediate take-off. After takeoff, head for vector zero eight seven for direct course to destination."

"Hegre 63 copies."

The pilot revved up the engine and released the hook that secured the helicopter to the flightdeck before the Lynx lifted off from the speeding frigate that was flying its battle flag and climbed slowly to 700 meters while vectoring itself to 0-8-7 and accellerating to 300 kph.

At that speed, it wasn't long before the Lynx reached the beleagured Chevrokian merchantman and saw that it was indeed under pirate attack. There were a whopping five speedboats that were harrassing the merchantman, which was speeding as quickly as it could towards the Cottish frigate. Still, managing only 20 knots, the speedboats which could do double that speed had no problems hanging on to the three hundred meter merchant vessel. The pilot brought down the helicopter to a mere 100 meters over the water, doing a flyby over the merchantman and speedboats to get a good situational picture and searching for a proper place to hover the helicopter so the naval infantrymen in the back could rappel down to assist the crewmen, who seemed to be doing an adequate job at the moment keeping the heavily armed pirates from boarding. The Chevrokians were blasting any speedboat that came too close with high-pressure water cannons, blasting the pirates back on sea, and called for help over the radio as they dashed for the help.

The arrival of the Lynx didn't seem to make any particular difference to the pirate's intentions to capture the Chevrokian merchantman. Clearly, the pilot thought, the pirates were growing braver. The muzzle flashes and sudden emergence of a crack in the armored plexiglass cockpit glass gave the pilots a startling confirmation of this fact.

"Doorgunner, give the bandits a warning to stay clear." The pilot spoke calmly, manouvering the helicopter so the doorgunner had a clear line of sight to the speedboat.

A few seconds later, the relative calm aboard the helicopter was shattered by the electrical whirl of the six-barreled gatling gun spinning up and sending a long green streak of 7.94x56mm tracer rounds down from the helicopter and into the general area around the lead pirate speedboat.

The next green line of deadly fire didn't miss, slamming into the speedboat's center section, destroying the engine outright and killing five of the speedboat's twelve occupants instantly. The rest either jumped overboard or tried to return fire, only to be cut down by the next spray of 7.94mm fire.

Two other speedboats took the hint and broke off the pursuit, but the last two refused to let go of their prize. Still, they slowed down and allowed the Isånti Merkur to gain some distance, something which in turn allowed for the Lynx to hover over the bow of the Isånti Merkur, allowing the six naval infantrymen to rappel down onto the ship so they could bolster the onboard defenses with actual firearms.

After delivering the naval infantry onto the Isånti Merkur, the Lynx dropped the thick rappelling ropes and took up an overwatch position, moving to keep the pirates at bay until the Latter could reach the scene. She was thirty-five minutes out.

As the pirates understood that the Cottish naval infantrymen were in the process of fortifying the Isånti Merkur, they decided that this was their last chance and threw caution to the wind. Speeding up to max, they ignored the sprays of water that the Chevrokian crew were shooting at them and zig-zagged, doing a damned good job at avoiding the bursts from the Lynx, which had to cease fire so it wouldn't hit the merchantman.

The pirates were attempting to board the Isånti Merkur from both port and starboard side, throwing up grappling hooks that hooked themselves to the metal railing and started to climb up while a few of the pirates lay down suppressive fire, preventing the naval infantrymen from cutting the line to the grappling hooks.

Unfortunately, they hadn't thought of the prospect of the Cottish attacking from the distance. Two naval infantrymen, one on port side and one on starboard, stationed at the bow leaned out over the side of the ship and started picking off the pirates with accurate single-shot 7.94mm fire while their brothers in arms waited at the points where the grappling hooks had snagged, ready to give whatever pirate managed to get up a unhealthy dose of 7.94mm rounds to their head and upper torso.

Two pirates on the port side and four on the starboard side actually managed to get far enough up to peer through the railing, only to be greeted by fierce fire which killed two and three respectively, while the last pirate only was grazed, although it was enough for him to lose his footing and fall into the sea. The Cottish had no intention of fishing him up, and the survivors on the boats were in no position to help them. He would likely drown.

The pirates that were left, the drivers of the two speedboats who had hid behind the control panel when the naval infantry marksmen began picking off the pirates on the boats decided it was best to cut their losses and cut the throttle, making them fall behind quickly. Unfortunately for them, the naval infantrymen had no intention of letting them get away, and opened up with the MG9F from the stern.

While they were shooting at the pirate speedboats, a large splash of water suddenly appeared twenty meters from one of the speedboats, followed by heavy cheering from the Chevrokian crew of the Isånti Merkur, who pointed to the horizon where a light grey vessel was steaming towards the merchantman at high speed, flying a large red, white and blue flag.

HMS Latter had arrived on-station, and was shooting itself in on the retreating pirate speedboats with its 76mm cannon. After another two misses, the farthest-out speedboat suddenly disappeared in a orange fireball, something which only increased the volume in the cheers on the Isånti Merkur. Less than a minute later, the second speedboat suffered the same fate, although here the sole surviving pirate had decided to do what he could to save himself and jumped overboard before the Latter had zeroed herself in on the speedboat.

The poor idiot had no idea that he had just condemned himself to a long and painful death of drowning instead of the instant death the 76mm high-explosive shell offered.

"Direct hit! Last pirate vessel sunk!" The weapons officer called out in the Latter's OPS centre, triggering a loud cheer from the officers, non-coms and enlisted in the room.

"Cease fire!" orlogskaptein Gardas commanded. "Good shooting. Secure from action stations. Have løytnant Pederssøn take the boarding party over to the Isånti Merkur in the RIB and make sure they're all alright."

He turned to the crewman that stood near the secondary sonar console. "Add to the log. Oh eight forty-nine hours. Two pirate vessels sunk with the seventy-six millimeter, seven shells expended. Dispatching boarding party to recover advance team and assess damage to friendly merchantman. Commencing escort duty of said merchantman at this time. Please have that added to the log at once."

"Aye sir." The crewman replied to the order and began typing into the ship's log what the commanding officer had just dictated.

A typical day in the Traitor's Dash had truly started.

"Brother-Captain! Smoke on the horizon!" shouted one of the watches, whose arms flailed in the general direction of the Seagull.

Not even setting down his enormous binoculars, Callidus whirrled around, overshooting the vessel in question several times before his view finally settled down upon it. He saw standing on deck a uniformed Praetonian captain staring right back at him through a large brass telescope.

"My arch nemesis," he muttered under his breath. There clearly stood a valiant and treacherous foe, seemingly taunting him to do battle with that fireworks display of his. No doubt some form of witchcraft or devilry designed to put a curse upon his holy vessel. "Hoist the battle-ensign. We shall give battle in the Name of the Emperor!" he barked, flinging away his binoculars and drawing his spatha.

Below him, men scrambled about the deck, feeding fresh belts of ammunition into the machineguns and autocannons, and the deck gun crooned as it rotated towards its new target.

"Sir...I believe they are out of range..." Aphractus whispered quietly in his captain's ear.

"Nonsense, Marcus. Do you not see what has happened here?" the captain posed the question in a seemingly rhetiorical manner. Marcus, sensing yet another of the captain's brilliant revelations, humored him,

"We were attacked by a Praetonian vessel while off-guard..."

"And yet we remain, for the Lord has caused their heretic guns to not fire for their practicing of witchcraft!" he waved his sword about, causing Aphractus to casually bend back to avoid having his greatcoat slashed.

"...indeed, sir."

"Thus, it stands to reason that the Lord commands us to OPEN FIRE!" he barked, turning away from his XO towards the target as a storm of blue tracers was spewed in a broadside from his vessel.

Marcus shook his head and turned away as the rounds impacted some two hundred meters short of their target, causing an impressive array of water plumes as they did so.

"Reload! Reload!" he heard shouts down below as the men once more began to feed fresh belts of ammunition into their weapons. They would likely keep at it for some time, peppering away at the distant target which remained well out of range and wasting precious ammunition. As far as he knew, half the gun crew would be intoxicated by this time of the day.

The Marines still remained stranded on their RHIBs that they'd set out on to inspect the pirates with and dared not approach their vessel for fear of being mistaken for a Praetonian boarding party by their own gunners. Once again, the radio of the Epicus failed to interface properly with the more modern sets of the Marines, and so they'd resulted to trying to signal Marcus by hand, for they knew he was at least competant to a degree. Not really knowing what to do, he shrugged his shoulders toward them, prompting a swift and frustrated facepalm from their trenturion. Angrily, the boat sped away from the Epicus towards the Seagull, maneuvering swiftly through the choppy waters.

What in God's Name are they trying to do now...

"Un-jamming party to the gunhouses!"

The single most common shout to echo around the innards of the Seagull, they had become so good at their job that the guns had been known to jam as many as five times per minute.

"Gun parties to the rear!" The ship did not have enough crew to man all of her weapons at once, and so the Captain had instituted the practice of having his gunners rush to the rear stations, ready to bring the anti-submarine mortars to bear against the King's enemies while waiting for main guns to be unjammed. For the most part this was to prevent what he termed 'unwholesome gossip and general decadence' which bored gun crews tended to instigate while waiting for their weapons to be unjammed, but now it played an important combat role as well.

For while Sir Marcus had laughed with glee when he saw the guns jam - ("I see now it would have been decadent of me to fire from beyond my opponent's range of reply") it was rather embarassing.

As his men rushed back and forth inside the ship, Sir Marcus remained fixed in his spot on the open quarterdeck. His Lieutenant had ducked behind the steel prow on sight of the Epicus' erupting in gun-flashes, but his Captain had not even flinched. He watched the enemy's ammunition fall uselessly into the sea, and then turned his telescope back to the foreign warship. The Captain had drawn his sword

"He is saluting me!" He declared, delighted, returning the enormous telescope to the inside of his boat cloak.

"Sir," the Lieutenant looked up from his crouching position, "when they reload they might be in range! I implore you to take cover."

But Sir Marcus was not listening. Instead, he drew his finely wrought sabre and brought it up in what he believed was a return of his enemy's salute.

Another crash. This time, the Seagull's weapons had worked. Six 12" depth charge bombs were hurled up into the air. Their aim was not the Epicus - still out of range for the mortars which could only fire just off straight up - but the little boats that were advancing upon him.

It was to these that the Captain turned now.

"By God!" He had not expected such a bold move, "The elan of it! That man is a military genius."

He drew breath, and shouted, this time not with the telephone but simply with his own voice ringing through the ship, "Turn out the guard! Marines to the fighting tops! Arm yourselves!"

The Seagull had turned towards the little boats and increased speed. Boarding a ship moving at 15kts was not a practicable proposition, as the Helmsman, on the Bridge of the ship and devoid of orders, well knew. Nonetheless, the crew did the Captain's bidding, and wall of sailors presented themselves along the sides and filling the galleries on the foremast, manning the machineguns or else pointing revolvers and aged bolt action rifles, some with fixed bayonets, towards the approaching flotilla of little boats.

Just a few seconds after the mortars had fired, a volley of gunfire emnated from the Seagull, and at the same time the bombs themselves finished their leisurely flight upwards, and were crashing back down to earth.

RNS Foxborough
Traitor's Dash
0555

The Foxborough noticed two surface contacts on the radar. Ericsson ordered a investigation to see what the contact were. Ericsson, who was now in uniform peer through his binoculars at the two vessels.

"Wow, a Doomani and a Praetonian fighting each other."

Carlson who was watching also noticed the same. "Orders?"

"We stay here and watch for pirates and this battle."

"Sir, That is not a wise decision."

"This patrol is boring and this is the closest to action since a couple of minutes ago."

The cruiser sits at it position watch the battle unfolding and for pirates. If anything happen, the ship's 4 dual 7in guns and missiles were ready.

"Ah, bloody hell."

The captain whacked the radar display with his hand. "Can't this thing work properly?"

He pressed a button labelled "RESET" and the displayed powered off and back on again.

"Bloody experimental radar. Why I ever let myself be the captain of the first vessel of a class..."

"Well, to be fair, sir, the radar works well when it, er, works." the radar officer said to the captain.

"That's as may be, but I'd like to achieve some uptime in double digit percentages at some point before this tin can's broken up."

"Of course, sir."

The captain glanced at the radar display. It seemed to be working now.

"Ah, good. Officer, continue your work." he said to the radar officer.

"Right, sir."

The captain trudged back to his seat.

"Sir..." the radar operator said.

"What? On the fritz already?"

"No, sir, it's just that there's quite a few ships on the radar."

"Bloody hell." The captain walked over to the radar station and beheld several blips which currently located the position of naval vessels in Traitor's Dash. It looked like two of them were pursuing each other.

"You know, I don't think we're in Akimonadi waters any more." the captain mused. "Is that damn GPS working yet?"

A man in overalls peered out from under one of the stations. A toolbox sat next to him.

"Think so, suh. Fire it up an' we'll see." he said.

The captain flipped the ON switch on the GPS. Unlike days previous, it came to life.

"Acquiring satellites... faster! Faster!"

The GPS transitioned to a colorful map showing mostly blue.

"Bloody hell." the captain said. "We've wandered into Traitor's Dash."

Several officers around the bridge looked on, astonished at their apparent navigational blunder.

"If only the bloody radio would work. We need to raise CINCNOMZ immediately."

Several bright flashes from the ships aways off caught the captain's eyes.

"Good god, it's a battle."

Another orangish flash.

"I think we'd better order general quarters."

Klaxons rang out and men scurried around. The helicopter in the hangar was fueled and loaded with torpedoes and anti-ship missiles.

"We'd better find out just what on earth's going on." the captain said, implying an order.

"Sir!" someone said from the rear of the bridge. A computer screen shone brightly.

"Trust the internet and nothing else to work." the captain muttered. "You have a lead?"

"A news story. A Clandonian cargo ship was hijacked by pirates in Traitor's Dash. Several nations sent ships to intercept, including Praetonia and the, er, Doomani."

"Doomani and Praetonian ships. That could certainly be the source of some explosive conflict."

"Sez the Praetonian ship's called the Seagull."

The captain's eyes lit up. "Where have I heard that before..."

The AMS Indefatigable the first Block II Type 07 aviso, steamed towards the gathering of ships in Traitor's Dash.

Oh Dear God please spare those crazy bastards... Marcus was frozen as he watched the two RHIBs cut a sharp turn in the distance as the Praetonians let off a volley of rifle fire.

They were probably the only remotely intelligent people other than Marcus aboard the Epicus; were they to die he'd have practically no one to talk to! Sure, they weren't the most pleasant of folk, but at least you could maintain a conversation with them without questioning your own sanity for speaking with them. They also happened to be the best trained personnel aboard the vessel, and it showed in the distance as they returned fire, their bow machineguns opening fire on the Seagull's own machineguns in order to suppress them, and the Marine riflemen letting out a constant hail of fire from their AVIRs on the Praetonians on the decks. From where he was, he couldn't see if any of the Doomani were hit; he did however see a rocket propelled grenade streak from the rear of one of the RHIBs and slam into the bridge of the enemy ship.

Unfortunately, the only rockets aboard the Epicus were training rounds, which some dumb gunner's mate had decided to paint over in order to confuse the demons which he was convinced possessed the weapons locker, and so the round bounced off harmlessly and landed on the foredeck. Trenturion Gnaeus was surely cursing his head off out there.

By now it had become clear to Marcus what the Marines were trying to do: their sharp turn had brought them at an angle coming back towards the Epicus. The Seagull appeared to be taking the bait, throttling into gun range.

Suddenly the Epicus lurched forwards as the helmsman slammed his throttle forward and turned it towards the oncoming Seagull and making it impossible for their 37mm to fire on the enemy vessel. In a state of near panic, Marcus burst into the pilot house,

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?" he screamed,

Callidus, as stern and sober as ever, his enourmous peaked cap making him seem even taller than he really was, turned and glared at him,

"We're ending this now, Tribune. Their captain has challenged me to a duel and I, as a gentleman, must accept, and so we must board their vessel! Helmsman, ramming speed!" picking up his microphone, he barked into it, "All hands brace for impact! Deus vult!"

Traitors Dash, 1000 Hours Local Time

More Clandonian vessels were arriving in the area now, several frigates and corvettes had broken off convoy duty after being relived by heavier fleet forces. A Port Class Corvette had arrived near the skirmish between the Praetonian and Doomani vessels, the FS-207 from the Virgin Islands Coastal Defence Force. Coming across the unidentified ship with Brydogian colours, obviously a devilishly disguised pirate ship. The Clandonian corvette beat to quarters, the crew at the weapon systems station armed her VLS containing six Sea Halberd SSM and two Sea Arrow and gunnery systems checked her 4.5" shell stocks. A small vessel, only eighty two metres in length she was no cruised but her Captain Jack Anthony-Wilson was a triumphant young man on his first command of a modestly sized ship, at least it wasn't something like a armed tug or a minesweeper, more of a semi-sort of warship but with guns and missiles alike. The ship while not as modern as vessels of the main fleet was still to be reckoned with, while not guarding Port Royal in Tristan she was escorting convoys half way back to the Home Country or to Chevrokia.

Nearing the suspect cruiser the Captain ordered the 32 Royal Marine contingent to board the boats as the Sea Lynx helicopter was rolled onto the deck armed with Swordfish torpedoes and Sea Halberd SSM's. As the Lynx took to the air the corvette continued to sale on towards the cruiser, the crew on deck manning GPMG's and the vessels four 7.7 mm chain guns. The captain standing at the bridge, binoculars slung around his neck was wearing tropical weather gear of white shorts and pith helmet. Signalling the unidentified cruiser over the speaker he ordered the gunnery crew to fire a warning shot across her bow. It seem to be transfixed on the battle between the Doomani and the Praetonian vessels.

"Ahoy unidentified vessel, under the jurisdiction of His Majesty and the Imperial Crown Government I order you to stand down your weapons and prepare to be boarded and searched. God Save the King!"

He signalled his XO to alert the Royal Marines to hit the water as the Lynx surveyed the vessel, her gunner transfixed the GPMG onto the target with its laser aiming device. Other crew members manned small arms and machine guns encase of a fire fight.

OOC: Wolfenhaller

The Foxborough receiving the request from the Clandonians decided to allow the boarding.

"Let's see what they want."

The ship's weapons were to stand down, and crew waited for the boarding party to come.

"Sir, Why are we allowing this boarding?"

"Because, I decided do."

"Very Well, Sir."

The four high speed patrol boats latched onto the cruiser, the Royal Marines throwing rope ladders and using rocket assisted grappling hooks to climb onboard. Guns ready in full body armour they cleared the deck looked on by the confused enemy. His message to the captain in a sealed envelope, slightly damp from the spray that had hit the boats as they made their way from the Royal Navy corvette. The leading Royal Marine officer handed the envelope to the nearest crew member he found.

"Take this to your captain please."

"His Majesty's Government hereby orders the seizure of this vessel under His Majesty's Government Naval Seizure Act of 1764 Section 5b relating to Piracy and Tyranny. Your vessel is to comply or face destruction, you will be escorted to the nearest port where the crew will be freed but the vessel seized until the government's investigation is completed.

God Save the King.

Captain Jack Anthony-Wilson."

Meanwhile on the corvette the crew were still ready to engage, two anti-shipping missiles at had been armed and were ready to fly at a moments notice, alert of the fact their comrades as the matelots called them 'booties' were now on the vessel, the final call to engage at the end of the day came directly from the captain though.

Traitor's Dash, 1000 Hours

"Sir, with all do respect, I think we're walking into a trap." the XO said.

"Nonsense." the captain said. "We're sailing, not walking." The XO rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean." he said.

"Quite. And it is my professional opinion that we are wont to weave in between this mess to get to that mess."

"...what mess?" the XO asked. The captain handed the XO his binoculars and pointed. "That mess." he said.

It was hard to see at a distance, but there were large oil sheens on the surface of the water. Some spill had obviously occurred.

"You forget that this ship is a Coast Guard Environmental Protection Vessel," the captain said. "So let's do our job."

The ship steamed into the oil slick, its orange and blue color scheme barely reflecting in the black water.

"Maintain general quarters," the Captain said. "Deploy the booms and skimmers."

Men in orange life jackets began scurrying about the stern of the ship. They tossed out several booms behind the ship to collect the oil and set up Oleophilic skimmers at the waterline of the ship.

"Petty officer reports booms and skimmers set." the XO said.

"Begin normal pattern for oil spill collection," the captain said, "and keep an eye on everyone else here."

RNS Foxborough

"Sir, They think we are pirates."

"The Communists think we are pirates." "Give them this."

Ericsson hands him a note. He gives the note to the nearest Clandonian

"it's from the captain."

I will not surrender this vessel to communist filth like you. How dear you come on my boat and accuse me of being a pirate, unlike you communists.

Signed,
None of your Business

"Communists! How dare they excuse us of being filthy reds, gunnery crew prepare to commence fire! You and your boys chuck a few rounds into their bridge and kill as many as the fuckers as you can, I'm not having some social democratic oik bastard calling me a red!"

The corvettes 4.5" gun went into operation lobbing rounds at the cruiser while the Royal Marines that had boarded the vessel starting their attack manoeuvre, a burst of automatic gun fire into the windows of the bridge housing followed by a few fragmentation grenades then a dash overboard to get to the boats. The Lynx helicopter had a full view of the affair and had armed one of its torpedoes, the co-pilot programmed its mission parameters as it dropped out of its storage tube with parachute into the water before the motor kicked in, homing in on the large target of the cruiser. The door gunner flicked off the safety and began peppering the bridge housing with 7.62 mm gunfire.

The battle stations alert on the corvette kicked in as ratings manned their battle stations, water tight doors were slammed shut and anti-flash gear donned.

HMS Latter (F 1892)
Traitor's Dash, 13:57 hours

A few hours after the successful repelling of the pirates that had attacked the Isånti Merkur, HMS Latter had escorted the Chevrokian merchantman safely out of the Traitor's Dash and returned into the danger zone, carrying on its mission to protect Cottish and allied shipping transiting the strait. It had barely returned on-station when the warship's powerful CE/SSR.79 Surface Search Radar detected a suspicious contact just over forty nautical miles away, on the edge of the horizon. It was suspicious because it appeared to be anchored up, something you didn't do in the Traitor's Dash unless you were already hijacked by the pirates, something which was sufficient justification for the Latter to intervene, or you were a pirate, which was sufficient justification for the Latter to intervene.

Either way, Latter had sufficient justification to intervene. So, orlogskaptein Gardas once again decided to push the engines and ordered a intercept course. Once again, the crew were called from their normal activities by the calm voice that over the shipwide intercom called "Action stations, action stations. Set battle condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Action stations, action stations. Set battle condition one thoughout the ship. This is not a drill."

As the frigate closed the distance, Gardas ordered them hailed on radio.

"Unidentified vessel on magnetic course three five five, this is the Cottish warship Foxtrot one eight niner two on channel one six. Identify yourself immediately."

There was no reply to the first hail, so the radioman tried again.

"Unidentified vessel on magnetic course three five five, this is the Cottish warship Foxtrot one eight niner two, on radio channel one six. Identify yourself immediately. Please, respond."

The message was repeated four times over the next minute before there was indication of life from the unidentified ship. The eloquent response was "Huh?"

"Unidentified vessel this is the Cottish warship Foxtrot one eight niner two. We are closing off your starboard bow. I am ordering you to identify yourself, and to prepare to be boarded for a safety inspection. Confirm please."

"No. You go away now."

"Negative. You will identify yourself and prepare to be boarded for a safety inspection immediately. Failure to comply will be considered as a hostile act."

"If you try to come close to us, we will sink you!"

Up on the bridge wings, the lookouts noticed through their powerful binoculars that dozens of men were pouring out on the deck of the sixty meter long vessel, armed with rifles of some sort and what looked like rocket-propelled grenades. This was immediately brought to the attention of the OPS center.

The Latter took up position one nautical mile away from the vessel and maintained its distance while it tried to identify the vessel, checking its name up against ships that were reported to be in the strait. After no match in the civilian shipping list were found, the name was run through the list of suspected pirate vessels, where they got a positive match. It seemed the intelligence services suspected this ship to be a pirate mother ship which was responsible for supporting the pirate activity in the strait. That was sufficient justification for the Cots.

"Unidentified vessel, this is Foxtrot one eight niner two. This is your final warning. Lower your weapons and prepare to be boarded. Failure to comply will be dealt with harshly."

"Fuck you!" The response came, making orlogskaptein Gardas scoff. Up on deck, the lookouts detected that the railing erupted in a hail of muzzle flashes and that a number of RPGs were fired against the Latter. However, the aim of the pirates were way off, possibly because of nervousness but more probably because the pirates aboard were all fucked up on khat and it was pretty much impossible to hit a target accurately at over one thousand eight hundred meters with a RPG-7 or a DR-83, especially if you're a crappy shot to begin with. Still, the lookouts reported that the pirate vessel had opened fire.

"I've had enough of this shit. Weapons officer, you have permission to open fire at will. Sink the fucker and kill everything aboard." Gardas stated after he heard the report from the lookouts.

The weapons officer, a experienced løytnant who was soon going to be up before the promotion board grinned as he acknowledged the order and prepared the Latter's arsenal. Another pirate kill would look very good to the promotion board and almost certainly guarantee his promotion to kapteinløytnant.

"Seventy-six millimeter cannon gunner, starboard twenty-seven millimeter gunners, stand by to open fire on pirate vessel, on my command." The løytnant said formally before he pressed down the transmit switch that put him in direct contact with the man manning the starboard 15.7mm heavy machine gun up on deck. "Starboard machine gunner, when the twenty-sevens start shooting, let'er rip on the pirate. Got it?"

"Let'er rip when the twenty-sevens start up, aye. The order is understood and will be executed." The response from the nineteen year old conscript manning the machine gun came immediately.

The løytnant waited a few seconds to let the machine gunner get his aim ready before he took a deep breath.

"Fire!"

Up on deck, the starboard side of the Latter seemed to erupt in muzzle flashes itself as the 76mm cannon began firing 76mm high-explosive shells towards the pirate mother ship in rapid succession, supplemented by the even rapider fire from the two 27x145mm MLG-27 autocannons that fired high-explosive incendiary rounds towards the pirate vessel. They were supplemented by the MGM2S 15.7x131mm heavy machine gun that hosed the deck of the pirate vessel with lethal rounds that seperated body parts from their owners upon impact. The pirate vessel took a hell of a pounding, with hundreds of little holes in the rusty hull appearing as the Cottish shells impacted, penetrated and exploded.

After two minutes of shooting which saw the Latter expend 238 76mm shells, 1 000 27mm shells and 2 000 15.7mm rounds, the pirate ship had turned sufficiently into swiss cheese and begun sinking, something which would kill her before the uncontrollable fires that the Cottish incendiary ammunition had started would. Orlogskaptein Gardas ordered the gunners to cease fire and reload, just in case they needed to shoot something else. Meanwhile, the orlogskaptein left the OPS center and went up to the bridge wing to see the damages for himself. He made it just in time to see the pirate mother ship list to port, enabling the crew to see the carnage their shooting had caused on the rusty deck, which had been turned a fresh red from the blood of the now mutilated corpses that gradually glided down over the side thanks to gravity.

The whole thing had been caught on tape by the Latter crew, and someone in the High Command would later release a edited version of the tape to medias so the world could see that the Cots were doing something about the pirate menace in the Traitor's Dash.

Some Latter crewmen would also illegally upload the four minute raw version of the footage to HavenTube, the Havenic variant of YouTube, under the title "Piratehunting -Viking style!!1" which showed first the pirates swarming up on deck, them shooting a few RPGs in the Latter's general direction, the whole two-minute shooting frenzy, with a close-up of the MGM2S gunner who seemed to enjoy carrying out the orders a bit more than was comfortable for the average viewer (unless said viewer was a Doomani, in which case it would be considered entirely normal behavior), and the resulting carnage on the deck before the video ended abruptly with someone whispering in Cottish "Shit, the skipper's coming!"

Anyway, as the pirate mothership listed and began to sink, Gardas decided they had accomplished the mission and ordered the Latter to continue its patrol of the Dash. Tomorrow, he would need to rendezvous with a Chevrokian tanker so he could refill the fuel stores. The gas turbines that kept the Latter operational were thirsty buggers indeed.

The crew decided to go down with a fight as the ship's 8in guns fire a salvo of 8in shells at the Clandonians. The Foxborough sunk with 200 dead including Ericsson and Carlson. The survivors were in rafts or had jackets on floating in sea, cussing out their now decreased officers.

SRM Eiríkr Þorbjörnsson
Flagship, 31. Amphibious Battle Group
18:30 Local Time, The Traitor’s Dash

Having already served on naval vessels for several years, the young lieutenant had gotten used to certain things; ships swaying back and forth in the waves, being awoken in mid-sleep by training drills, hours on end of boredom during peacetime cruises, and dealing with locating a certain horizontal entertainment when at port. One thing in particular that he could not get used to, however, was the appearance of this particular ship.

No matter how he looked at it, this ship, along with the other ships of the Carl J. Thorvaldson class, did not look right at all. He imagined naval engineers who spent months meticulously designing their ships to be sleek and powerful had nightmares about ships like this. It was as if somebody had dropped parts of a skyscraper on to a perfectly good cruiser hull and grafted radars onto them. The sensor mast over the forward superstructure was nearly a staggering 65 metres above the waterline at the very top, and would not at all look out of place as a television/radio transmission tower in a typical downtown metro area. It looked alright on the Chevrokian carriers, but the command cruisers seemed as if they would topple over at any moment, and it was a mystery to kapteinløytnant Magnus Eirikssønn of the Kongelige Cottiske Marine as to why they had not yet done so.

Standing abeam and to port of A turret on the main battery, Magnus suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and could feel a slight vibration in the railing, and he remembered at least part of the reason the Chevrokians had gone with the office block construction of the forward superstructure. The currently fitted electronics set of the class, were of Jummanistran origin, and consumed a rather large amount of space inside and out of the bridge structure. Another curiosity of these ships; because of their origin, many joked that to attain such absurd power output levels from the radar and communication systems required a devilish blend of witch doctor magic and assorted mad science, and possibly sacrifices of first borns to the electrionics gods. If true, the Jummanistran engineers would have been proud of their accomplishment.

Magnus’ purpose onboard the ship was part of an exchange program between the two navies, in the case of this ship in particular, being related to the origin of its namesake. Eiríkr Þorbjörnsson was a Cottish explorer who had led a large expedition across Haven in the mid 11th century A.D., and after encountering numerous perils and losing a significant part of his fleet due to storms, reached East Haven in roughly 1056. After stopping to repair ships and acquire supplies, Eiríkr set out again the next year and landed on what is now the southwestern part of the Chevrokian mainland. For reasons which are only partially understood, he decided to remain here and establish his own settlement, which is considered to be the beginnings of modern Chevrokian civilization. For being essentially the founder of Chevrokia and thus a very important figure in Chevrokian history, one of the ships of the Thorvaldson class of command cruisers was named in his honor. Additionally, for also being an important figure in Cottish history, an exchange program was established with the Sjevråkiske Republikanske Marine for a rotation of Cottish naval officers to serve onboard for a tour of duty, and an agreement was made to fly both the Chevrokian and Cottish naval ensign at equal status, side-by-side, from the mast.

One thing Magnus knew, was that the Chevrokian training standards were not quite as rigorous as those of Cotland, but out of force of habit, he kept to the same training regimen. Standing on the deck on break, Magnus frowned upon seeing a rather large cloud of black smoke on the horizon, one which he had not previously noticed but which he should have, given how prominent it was. Suddenly klaxons all over the ship began to blare, with the announcement being repeated over the loudspeakers: “General quarters, general quarters. All hands to action stations. All hands to action stations. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill.”

A few minutes later, an aging and rather surprised Chevrokian admiral Johannes Svensgård, who had slowly and carefully worked his way down to the CIC from the bridge, observed the much younger Cottish lieutenant himself enter the CIC, having barely broken a sweat. “They have rather good training standards in the Cottish Navy, do they?” the Admiral said.

“Aye, Admiral,” Magnus said. “We have to work off the food.”

‘We really ought to adopt training standards like theirs,’ the Admiral idly thought. “Right, then. Commander Haugen, perhaps you might give us an idea of what exactly is going on out there.”

Flaggkommandør Einar Haugen, knowing the old Admiral preferred the “analog” maps, grabbed a large chart transparent of that section of the Traitor’s Dash, and unrolled it on the well lit, white table in the center of the CIC. “Gentlemen … Admiral, sir … we’ve had a major increase in pirate attacks on civilian vessels in the last several days in the Dash. That large column of smoke over the horizon you may have seen earlier, Clandonian flagged tanker, SS Barry Island. She was attacked two days ago here," he said, pointing to location on the map about 100 kilometers out from their position. “Had five-hundred and seventy-thousand tons of crude on board; she’s been burning like that ever since. Many other large vessels have been attacked since then, several of them captured. This morning, one of ours, the merchantman Isånti Merkur, was attacked but it was not totally successful; pirates were driven off by the frigate Latter, one of yours, Eirikssønn.

“Those are the actions we know about so far. Now regarding things more relevant to our situation; one of our Ospreys has found a concentration of small pirate boats ahead roughly 50 kilometers out. They appear to be gathered around a reef of some kind, we believe it to be a sort of forward operating base. It is quite likely that they have either a land base or some sort of ‘mother ship’ to support the small boats somewhere else farther away. I suggest that we move into the area and try and lure the pirates out to attack. If they take the bait, we take them out. If they try and run, we follow them back to their base and wipe them out there.”

An Hour Later

Looking through a large set of binoculars, the pirate lookout saw a ship on the horizon in the quickly fading light. The low light level made it difficult to positively identify the ship. The lines did not look to be a warship. Possibly an odd design of a container ship, with a large wheelhouse forward and smaller additional superstructure aft. Not moving particularly fast either. He asked his leader to come over, who came to the same conclusion. A ship looking like that and moving that slow had to be an older merchantman, which was good news for the pirates because it wouldn’t be able to outrun them. But a night attack was risky, so to make sure of success, the leader gathered together his small flotilla, roughly eighteen skiffs and speedboats, to have a sufficient reserve just in case.

Armed with old Doomani assault rifles and RPGs, the pirates set off at high speed after their prey. By the time they began to near the ship, the daylight was almost gone, and they could only accurately locate it by the navigation lights on the mast, bow, and stern, and a few along the flanks of the superstructure. Judging by the lack of response from the merchantman, the pirates’ gamble appeared to pay off. The quickly approaching darkness covered their approach, and it would be likely the target would not know they were under attack until their decks were swarming with the attackers. The pirates likely did not understand the significance of seeing the nameplate Eiríkr Þorbjörnsson on what was supposed to be an old, run-down container ship.

Six of the skiffs took position, three on each side, ready to cast up their grappling lines to climb aboard. It was quite unfortunate for them; because although from they information they could gather it appeared to be an excellent target and the cover of darkness seemed to have played into their favor, they had not expected for the ship to fire upon them in such a great volume and in such a short span of time. In a way, the first six pirate boats were the luckiest; they didn’t have to deal with the torment of fleeing certain death and as they were rapidly annihilated by many sorts of automatic weaponry, they did not even have time to gather where their plan had gone wrong.

Back up on the bridge, Magnus could hear the torrent of fire being poured at the rather unfortunate pirates; the jackhammer like sound of the lighter machine guns, the rapid growling noise of the rotary-barreled guns, and the slow thud-thud-thud of the heavy machine guns. He had been wearing a set of night-vision goggles, loaned to him by one of the Chevrokian crew members, but upon quickly removed them upon seeing the ship’s full lighting system being turned on and being notified of outbound mortar rounds. The rounds lit up flares high over the battle, showing the pirate vessels nearly as clearly as if it had been daylight. The remaining twelve pirate ships had barely time to have comprehended what had just happened to the first six, and in the few seconds it took for the full situation to sink in, six more were riddled with holes by machine gun fire. Those who had survived were now leaderless; their commander having been killed as he personally directed the first six boats attempting to board the cruiser. They now thought of doing only one thing: fleeing.

Four of the survivors, who had attempted to flee crossing fore and aft of the ship were in the line of fire the longest, and were all holed and sunk. When one of the last two had been taken out, flaggkommandør Haugen ordered the crew to cease fire. The last pirate boat would survive, for now, but only so it could be tracked by one of the ship’s Ospreys; hopefully, to its base.