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« on: February 24, 2013, 01:50:51 am »
The alarm rang and the crew quickly sprang into action. Guide ropes on the balloon where secured and the gun tarps on the gun deck pulled back from the howitzers, gunners lining up their scopes with the emerging silhouette of a goldfish patterned dirigible creeping out behind a rock ledge half a mile away.
At this close a range the Cloud Whaler wouldn't stand a chance to out run her, and the sky was clear offering nothing in the way of cloud concealment. It only took a moment more before the crew of the enemy ship seemed to realize they had been spotted and the pirate vessel turned her forward section to minimize her profile and come in full speed.
The captain at his helm bellowed across the deck, "Fast descent 200' prepare starboard guns!"
A series of metallic cranks and the sudden protest of wooden timbers and groaning steel shook through the length of the ship as the captain released a valve control suddenly dropping the ships altitude, giving his gunners a broader target of the enemy goldfishes soft underbelly, "Fire at will!" His shout was immediately drowned out by the report of the brow and starboard howitzers, their tremendous back fire tacking the ship as if she where at sea being rocked by the salvo of her cannons.
One shot passed far to the right, yet the other stuck home, tearing through the lower decks yet failing to ignite the explosive charge at its tip.
The enemy ship lurched violently as her captain, out of desperation or bloodlust, threw her engines into overdrive, bearing the ship down at them at a steep angle, spitting tracer rounds from a forward gattling gun that struck the balloons armor and sliced through the air between deck plate and the balloons bottom.
A crewmen screamed and immediately fell silent, his body an eviscerated mess on the weather deck, his arm and torso shattered by an unlucky shot. Banja, the fist mate, jumped down from the stern and manned the downed crewmens position on the weather decks Gatling cannon, charging the handle and opening up with the loud chatter of its distinct, rapid report.
A second shot from the howitzer below deck struck home and tore through the goldfishes lower hold on the port side, causing a secondary explosion that pushed her far to starboard, bringing her port side guns to bear.
Either a skilled, or very lucky, crewmen on the enemy vessel opened up with the port side weapon, a fiery slash of crimson from a dragons tongue flame thrower washing the deck in a brief yet terrible blaze of fire. Banja, a man harder then any the captain had seen before, withstood that firey hell and laid down the gatling guns hammer, sending a ribbon of death across the enemies deck, striking the fuel canister of the dragon tongue unleashing the firey demon within onto the deck of the other ship who's trajectory and speed carried her down and forward of the Cloud Whaler whose browsprit howitzer tracked with a steady and level eye, sending two precise bursting shot into the rear of the ship causing a wrecking explosion that splintered the ship from bow to stern.
The battle had begun and ended in a matter of minutes, yet the few shots that had connected from the enemy goldfish had cost them dearly. One crewmen killed, another had to have a leg amputated at the knee, and four with serious burns to their arms, face and torso, Banja, his first mate among them. Captain Richard took care to visit each of the men, who he had stored below decks out of the wind and in the shade. The ships surgeon, a bone saw of no little skill named Killian, had done the best he could given the limited supplies and facilities aboard a ship of this size.
He was a short man, with the bronzed skin of a seasoned sailor yet the green eyes and red hair of a southlander. He spoke softly, the captain having to lean down to hear him fully, the ringing of the howitzers report still sounding in his ear. "I'm not opportunistic about their chances captain, these burns are severe and I have only enough ointment to treat maybe one of them with injuries this extensive.". Richard grimaced, placing his hand on the surgeons shoulder and nodding, "you know what to do doctor, see to it." He frowned grimly, turning to his patients after fishing out a small glass vial and a needle before setting to the work of triage.
Last the captain went to see Banja, having separated him from the rest of the crew, the first mates injuries being grievous, his hands had melted to the trigger mechanism and his eyes had been burnt away. He starred now at the captain with lidless masses of flesh over a charred nose and toothy smile, the fire having burnt away the flesh of his jaw. A dark shadow preoccupied the captains features as he looked onto this wretched creature, one who did not suffer a word of pain nor even seemed to struggle for breath despite most likely having breathed in the very flames themselves. Not that it would have bothered a creature such as Banja.
There were some things, some sins a man could never forgive himself for, and for a moment, if only briefly, the weight and knowledge of it seemed to bear down onto the captains shoulders like the very weight of the world strapped to atlas's shoulders. Yet he rallied his resolve and stiffly marched to a small locked box, a plain thing of wooden walls and leather covers, locked with a combination tumbler that spun noiselessly into sequence before opening to reveal a set of tonics laid in wood shavings and cotton.
He held one of the small vials upto the electric light in his cabin, the redish substance casting a hellish glow about the small chamber, the impurities in the glass causing ripples like waves across the walls. He clasped it in his hand while turning to look at Banja, who still sat silently, his sightless face turning, turning as if to look right at him.
Yes, there where some sins that could never be forgiven.
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