A cool ocean spray through the open porthole awoke First Mate Jim Campbell as he snoozed through the late evening. A light, tuneful whistling could be heard over the light hissing of the sea as the Middle Ancient passed softly through the gentle waters. The light trickled through the cracks of the old but tested wood of the deck, cutting straight yellow lines in the rough brown panel. Jim swung his legs out of the bunk with a soft grunt, feeling well rested and lightly hungover from the festivities of the night before. It was the lookout's birthday. Jim thought hard for the man's name, but it eluded him, as did the majority of the frivolities. A faint memory of the captain using a bucket as a boot and trying to kick one of the deck hands up the arse with it drew a small smile from the young man's mouth. A small muffled voice announced the presence of Milano, Jim's servant.
"Mr. Campbell, Sir! Captain awaits!" His youthful enthusiastic voice giving away his constant seek of approval from the officers on board. He didn't need it, he's in line for Midshipman when the time comes, a full officer rank. Jim liked him, he treated him well and let him dine with him and the Captain when it was appropriate. Highly frowned upon in the Chaladonian Merchant Navy, where the peasants were to know their place in the layer cake. He appeared at the door with a steel catering tray, and placed it down on the desk. He's already been up for hours, even with all the rum Jim fed him last night, he was still eager and awake. He knew his duties. He'll do well.
Upon the tray was a plate, adorned with eggs, some bacon medallions and, as Jim was secretly delighted to see, some fried mushrooms. Alongside the plate sat one of the steel jugs, and a small wooden cup. The young man filled the cup with a dark red liquid and handed it to Jim, who nodded and took a deep gulp. The warm red wine hit the back of his throat faster than he expected and drew his breath from him. After a brief cough, he filled the cup himself and handed it to Milano, urging him to drink. He took a modest sip and set it back down.
"Captain is waiting, Mr. Campbell, Sir. Will there be anything else?"
"No, Mr. Milano that's all. I'll see you topside."
Jim looked for his bicorn, and felt the light felted fabric under his posterior, and drew the hat from within. It came forth rather crumpled and more like a croissant than a mighty command staff hat. He peeled it over his head and staggered to his feet, the taste of honey mead on his breath and the fire in his chest from the rum. Still in his dress uniform from the night before, he looked around his modest quarters for any clues of the sort of entrance he made into the bunk. A quick scan of the desk revealed a knocked over inkwell, with it's contents dried over the scouting reports, and the inventory he had taken the morning before. Captain Yira won't mind. He can write them up again this evening.
His life on the merchant vessel was a relaxed one. He woke usually before the captain, leaving him sleep, and had the boson rouse the men and set them to work with getting the ship underway. In this case however the captain awoke first, and was on deck by the time Jim made his way shakily to the helm, full of a warm hearty breakfast.
"Afternoon, Mr. Campbell", laughed the captain, as he squinted in the early afternoon sun. the captain's large grey beard and bicorn framed his round, red face, and his unofficial uniform was as well-pressed and tidy as always, with the exception of the sweat stains around the chest and armpits. The captain was a short, jolly and friendly man, and there was no man on this ship who carried more respect from the crew than Captain Yira. His grey uniform was dotted with service pins from the Chaladonian Navy, and his old sword was perfectly polished as always. His purple suede bicorn was adorned with the symbol of the Chaladon Merchant Navy, a mermaid with a tricorn and a compass.
A proud man, who respected the seas and knew how to capture the movements of nature to propel his modest vessel through the open seas.
Jim nodded and took his place at the helm, wiping his brow as he grasped the wheel. The crew were dotted around the ship, either talking in small groups or lazily going about minor tasks.
There was not much work for a sailor for the Merchant Fleet, not on the water anyway. With the new fuel driven propellers the need for sails was lessened, and unless a ship was caught without fuel, the sails were more for decorative reasons and antiquity.
The real reason for numbers was the manual labour involved in loading and unloading, that led to a lot of inactivity, and it was perfect for the lesser educated of Chaladon to turn to as a long term employment. The majority of the Middle Ancient were uneducated. Some were farmers, some were ex convicts, some were invalids from military life, and some were just out of schooling, and wanted a solid job with benefits. Many men followed their fathers, many of those men followed into the sailors life of alcoholism, sickness and a lifetime of hardiness. the crew of the Middle Ancient were quite a young crew, with very few of them over the age of twenty. The only exceptions were the Captain who would be approaching his sixties, and the boson, who is in his thirties. Jim was the oldest next to these two, at the age of twenty-four, which gave him an edge of respect with the lower ranking men of the ship.
Jim sank his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket, and felt the silk lining as he fumbled for his compass. He drew the small golden item and set it on the palm of his hand.
"Why are we heading south, Captain?" asked Jim.
The original plan was to head west to pick up the shipment and return it back east to home port with no deviation.
Yira frowned and removed his hat, fanning his red face.
"We drifted off course last night, whoever set the anchor never left it run deep and we drifted West. We need to proceed back North-East and return to our course heading."
One of the crewmen at the weapons locker was listening, and turned around swiftly.
"So we out West? In the black channel?Wiff raiders?" he said, shaking his head in fear.
Jim looked at the captain and could not tell if the calm on his face was artificial or natural, and faced the young crewman.
"We're not too far west, just a little of course, aren't we Captain Yira?"
"Right you are, Mister Campbell, we should be back on course within a few hours and we can return to our original heading."
Jim glanced back to the crewman, and again noted the fear in his eyes, and the sweat on his brow.
"If it's all the same to you, Captain, I'd like to have more men on lookout, just to be on the safe side."
"By all means, Jim," returned the captain. The captain never referred to Jim by his first name. Not in front of the crew anyway.
"I'll be in my quarters, Jim," the captain slurred as he took his leave."Not feeling the best. You have the ship until I return." He staggered clumsily to the stairs and his foot never took his weight as he made the first step, and he collapsed down the stairs, crashing awkwardly to the main deck.
"The Captain's down!"
"Is he hurt?"
"Mr. Campbell, what happened?"
Jim recognised the rumbling voice of the boson, and caught sight of him, head and shoulders above the crowd of concerned crewmen. A giant bearded lion of a man, who was dressed in his practical deck wear, like the rest of the crew, but with the addition of a hardwood cudgel, and a small sabre. He pushed through the line of men to find the captain lying on his back at the foot of the stairs. Jim shouted over the panicking crew.
"Enough!"
The crew all stopped and looked to Jim, with total silence aside from the hiss of the sea. He took a solid breath and projected over the sound of mother nature.
"The captain slipped and fell. He had a lot to drink last night, as did we all I'm sure. If the boson and some volunteers would kindly escort the captain to his chambers we can get back to work."
A few short moments later the boson made his way to the top of the deck, with a few harsh words to a few crewmen on the way, and put his giant hand on Jim's shoulder as he steered.
"Is he alright, Mr. Thomas?" Jim referred to the boson by his full name, and never by his title or his nickname, "The Lion."
"Yes, Sir. Just a little under the weather. Which we may be soon," the boson said as he pointed towards a rapidly darkening section of cloud.
"Indeed. I need you to station crew on lookout, all sectors of the ship on high security, and one on each post needs to be armed. Take the weapons, one rifle between five." Jim nodded his head towards to locked weapons cabinet.
"Just for the moment. The rest can rotate and keep and eye on the horizon. Get the flak cannon ready. We may need it"
The Boson nodded, a small trace of fear in his face as he processed the orders Jim have given. The crew had not trained for this, and none bar the captain and Jim had any experience with combat, and both were rather limited.
The Lion took a look around at the ship, taking in what viewpoints there were, before nodding and taking off, bellowing orders and pointing people in various directions. A short while later he returned and unlocked the weapons cabinet, taking out six rifles, before moving to lock it again.
"Leave it open, Ash. Just to be safe." Jim said, as he kept his eye on the storm, using the Boson's first name, just showing him how serious the situation was.
"Aye, Sir," he grumbled, and set off distributing weapons.
Jim could see the few men that were hastily assembled into a weapons crew were gathering at the bow of the ship and slipping the grey tarp off of the flak cannon. They tossed the tarp aside and began debating about who gets to sit in and shoot. Ash was present and informed them that whoever was sitting in the cannon would be targeted first if there was indeed anything to shoot. He then grabbed one of them and shoved him into the seat, advised the rest to help with loading, and turning.
Jim took a long breath and cursed whomever had led them to this situation, as well as the captain for not taking this seriously. The reason Jim stayed up to work on navigation, was to avoid this exact situation, and with the ruined maps and notes, he was not sure exactly how far North they had drifted, and how they would know when they are back on the right path.
"Navigation Aid! Off the Starboard bow! Just a mile out!" the lookout shouted down to Jim, who breathed a sigh of relief. the navigational aids were set for this reason, off course piloting and ships in dense fog. Once they found out which beacon it was, they can correct course and get back to land.
Jim peered up to the lookout, up in the crows nest atop the mast, and grabbed the radio next to the wheel, using the internal ship channel.
"Lookout, First Mate here, can you see what the markings are?"
Jim could see the lookout craning his head in the crows nest, leaning around to get a better angle on the bouy. The radio crackled in response a few moments later.
"The markings look slightly off. They're looking pretty rough, Sir."
Campbell was beginning to sweat, even more considering the heat and hangove combination. "Rough? Rough how? Are the regulation?"
"Hard to say, they're not the right colour. A kind of dark red."
That settled it. The merchant fleets used a regulation dark green paint for marking navigational aides, and this broke procedure. The fact that is was difficult to read aroused suspiscion, as they were always positioned for ease of access. Now that the paint is different, it presented a new threat; bait.
Jim slammed the ship into full reverse, and watched the crew lurch forward as the powerful engines turned and stopped the ship almost dead before pulling the ship around. Jim then lurched the wheel to the right, dragging the ship left and turning the giant craft around. A sharp wind waught the mast and turned it towards the turn, nearly capsising the vessel, but Jim put the Middle Ancient into full ahead, creating a large wake of white water and smoke from the engines. The ship was now heading full speed back North.
"We're not up north, we're far south. Captain was still bloody drunk when he woke up this morning." Jim was enraged, and terrified. They drifted south rather than north, and continued south to raider territory. Cloud cover was descending and made long range visibility more difficult. A faint rumbling could be heard over the sound of the roaring engines.
"Thunder?" asked the Lion, who appeared beside Jim.
"We can only hope", he replied.
"I can't see any ships for miles, what else could it be?"
It was then that Jim noted that the boson had only ever been on this ship, with this captain, on this route for almost his entire adult life, and had never even heard of a ship that didnt touch water.
"You think you've seen a lot in this life, Ash?" he asked with a slight smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" returned a confused and slightly afraid Lion.
"Arm the crew, they're coming from the skies this time"
And with that, the skies opened, and hell descended from the heavens.
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