*This is Bob Soyd. Departing The Firestorm Malevolent. See you on ndfall. Over*
The slick, sly voice on the radio immediately faded due to the sound of the helicopter rotors.
*Now break a leg, you two!*
The sun had not yet broken out when the custom Mil Mi-17 Assault Transport lifted off of the deck of the fgship along with a twenty-five company of mercenaries, its Rolls-Royce engines creating an odd contrast to the rustic frame in which they served.
This was the fourth morning at sea, and the odd-marked host kitted themselves in their gear, polished weapons at the ready, and blood coursing in the veins.
Becker once more pced himself underneath the body armor with a new set of ptes and a few patches done to where the axolo had stabbed through. With his knee guards fastened and his gloves on, he adjusted the "Rx" band to his left arm.
His quarters were on the deck level of the second conning tower between mid-ship and the front, and were the closest to a private room onboard, even if cold and depressing.
Blue metal all over, including the floor, with the entrance facing starboard and fixed cloth on a rail for a doorway. The main room had a shallow pit where which Becker left the rest of his belongings tucked in their bags and a hard rectangle ptform softened only by the sleeping mat. To the right of the entrance was an empty room, and to the left a true luxury - a rudimentary bathroom and shower set, all separated by another cloth and with ventition that left it perpetually chilling.
With the blow-back calming, Becker made his way towards the stern as the fgship slowed to a halt while the other ships passed by. Assembling in quick pace were two seven-men teams.
The mercenaries were lead by a 1.8 meter clean-faced, cool dapper with the familiar olive-gray cargo trousers with subtle bell bottoms and bck boots as the others; underneath the body armor, instead of the standard lightweight jacket he wore a red-brown long coat with a beige-red work shirt. While the others carried L1A1 SLRs, a solid butt Benelli M4, a L4A3 Bren Gun, and two modernized China Lakes, he sported an Mk 14 Enhanced Battle Rifle and a double barrel sawed-off shotgun holstered on his back. While he let his thick Ivy League brown-blond comb over breeze in the morning air, the others wore French bck Basque berets, a boonie hunting had, and and AS-501 HC.
The other team, a band of the same heavily armored types guarding the Wilo Jawi, was lead by a 2 meter young man with a well kept long beard and thick curvy mustache. His bck, flexible, segmented torso armor had their modestly sized pauldrons decked with three spikes each. His helmet, shaped like a round cabasset molded with the features of a Taku tofao, was modest compared to the Maratha-pattern helmets with rich carvings of the ones he commanded. Unlike the armored legs of the men under his command, the man only had his beige trousers and red boots with white cloth wrapped up to the knees. Unlike the gves or spears of the others, his short pole arm featured a fat hunk of metal shaped like a canoe paddle with sharpened edges, and where they had mid-sized round shields, his was a buckler.
Tightly rolled and hanging across his back was a long white roll sack.
Two of the mercenaries went to work with their torch lights signaling out to sea by the bow, while other two fastened a rope on a nearby support.
Becker: Morning to you Captain Abraham. Kaehe'kakoe.
Captain Abraham: Another day of honest work, sir.
Kaehe'kakoe: If I may, that cloth on your arms...I never did asked what is the meaning of it.
His baby-face charm was betrayed by his experienced inflection.
Captain Abraham: It's like a banner. It's to identify ourselves.
Kaehe'kakoe: Yes, but what is the significance of it?
Becker: It's suppose to be a joke in poor taste, at least, back where we come from. I'll be first to admit that the name was the product of our zy minds.
The warriors tied their pole arms together in one bundle.
Kaehe'kakoe: And you find pride in such a ckluster reputation?
Becker: We let our actions do the talking for us. How we started is irrelevant.
Kaehe'kakoe: You and your kind have proven themselves, I must admit, but to have no care about what your own name says? I just cannot reconcile it.
Captain Abraham: I guess we'll have to think about it along the ride.
An abominable craft more apt for the wetnds moved to a stop close to where the mercenaries were signaling, with two local operators in naval slops and a mercenary private armed with a well fitted Uzi wearing night vision goggles. Dropping the rope down towards the deck of the craft, the teams went down one by one as the craft's mothership passed the fgship starboard.
By now, the silhouettes became pronounced and the ships turned off their lights. The shielded motor in the middle of the craft came back to life and skimmed away from the Firestorm Malevolent as it too slowly motioned forward.
Bob Soyd: *Passing over the cliffside. The citadel's topside is visible. Damn! That gun...It would be so easy to light it up!*
Wilrd: *What is their alert status?*
Bob Soyd: *Two guards visible, and that's it. Enemy alert status null.*
As the craft approached the cliff's silhouette the passengers gritted their teeth and fiddled with their fingers on their weapons. A few of the mercenaries bobbed their heads to familiar tunes, while the heavily armed warriors pounded the pummel of their fists upon their knees in a unison theme.
Bob Soyd: *Attention, attention - Na-Bano Harbor is wiped out. Repeat - both sides of Na-Bano Harbor are no more. Potential wreckage throughout the river.*
Becker: *Should we proceed with the investigation or go down south?*
Wilrd: *Bugger that! Continue on south.*
Arriving closer to the shore, the cliff wall and the rock sustaining the gun tower could be appreciated. The high rock itself was split by water on both sides, and to its left, the high sand banks of the shore.
Bob Soyd: *Neither Captain Oxley nor his team are answering their radios. This is not looking good.*
Wilrd: *All units - assume the presence of a "hexer" until the conclusion of this operation. Captain Abraham, you and the others...*
*BOOM!*
For a second, the top of the tower was illuminated as a plum of fire left the muzzle of the rge gun.
Instinctively holding on to their seats and anything else they could quickly grab on to, everyone on the craft were lifted high and crashed back into the water as the craft flew just by the edge of the explosion. Heads rocked with a thump, eyeballs pressed hard wanting to pop off, hands banged and pressed upon whatever they grappled to. All momentarily wished to be dead rather than continue to endure the unwanted throbbing between their legs.
Captain Abraham: Get us out of here!
Craft operator: We can't continue south! The ship is damaged!
Though the craft continued to move, its speed had diminished, and more worrisome, it could only steer to the left, inching them closer towards the sand.
*FUCK THIS!*
Just before one of the mercenaries threw himself on to the water, Becker grabbed a hold of his back and forcefully sat him down.
Becker: You'll drown before you can surface, now sit, all of you!
The radio crackled on as all the other detachments stated their statuses or asked in confusion what was happening.
All the while, the craft continue to drift towards the sand. The warriors got up and used their pole arms to speed their way in, and even Kaehe'kakoe used the broad end of his weapon to row the craft.
*BOOM!*
Becker noticed the fire eject in the same direction as when it first opened fire.
In the impotency of their position, the mercenaries braced for certain death, the warriors continued to row, and Becker gritted his teeth. The projectile woozed closely, and in that fraction of a second, Becker closed his eyes and exhaled, accepting such an ignominious death.
*CRACK!*
A fiery mushroom cloud rose high in the early morning darkness. Derbies ripped apart and blew away in every direction. Ragdolls set on fire flung hitherto and disappeared in watery graves.
The projectile had hit a rge xebec passing well off behind them. Those in the craft were momentarily mesmerized by such a ghastly, beautiful sight.
Becker: Keep rowing. Keep rowing!
They were in sight of an area with high grass between the sandbanks and Na-Bano Harbor, but the water was too deep to jump off.
On high, the citadel illuminated with the formation of an eldritch sphere of blue energy, sucking the very air around into a vortex. It might have been a trick from his rattled mind, but Becker was sure to hear mad, incoherent chanting, dripping with vile intent and each word made more sickening by the one pronouncing it.
Before it engulfed the top of the citadel, the sphere was thrown down towards the ocean, and as it flew, it continued to grow in size. It was too fast for anyone to react, but it was clear where it was heading towards - the Firestorm Malevolent.
Becker could no more warn his brother of the oncoming danger as those onboard could do anything about it.
As quick as it skimmed through the air and pushed the water down in its descent, so to did it flew back in the air, hit by an invisible barrier, like a baseball coming into contact with the bat.
The vortex did not stopped growing, not after it reached the citadel's height, and not after it was at the edge of the convoy.
Becker: Hold tight and get ready to run!
*BANG!*
The shockwave sent a torrent of water smashing onto the convoy. Though not as strong as to flip the Firestorm Malevont or any sufficiently sturdy ships, others were not so lucky.
Quickly gncing back, Becker eyed a galley turn into toothpicks, bursting like rotten fruit. There was an amalgamation of floating rust that cracked as it attempted to turn and ride the wall. One of the rger ships of a simir css as the fgship had its bow torn as it rocked on its sides.
When the wall of water reached them, it only diminished slightly that the craft managed to just about ride it, spinning left as it was carried onto shore.
Slowly, their visions straightened out and their minds centered on the present, the sensation of salty wetness, pricking bdes, and coarse sand felt underneath.
*Pop* *Pop* *Pop*
Small caliber shells impacted. The shadow of the citadel was far enough, perhaps 450 meters or more, but the height was compensation for the gunners above.
*Head west along the river!*
One of the mercenaries bellowed out as he ran away from the range of the guns. Captain Abraham and Becker stayed behind to get the others back up. Two others following him let loose a few smoke bombs before they dashed ahead.
*BOOM!*
Off on shore, both officers gnced at another ship rupture apart in a fsh inferno.
Almost everyone was up and running, guided by the ones in front of them, except for one of the armed warriors. Becker rushed to get him on his feet, but the armor was too much.
Captain Abraham and Becker yed him back down. Pulling out their knives, Abraham's being a Ranger Bootlegger 2, they cut apart the straps on the warrior's armor, belt, and shield until he only had a chainmail tunic on.
Between the two, they carried him off one arduous step after another.
*Pop* *Pop* *Pop*
Though obscured by the smoke, the shells exploded uncomfortably too close for the st three.
The two officers struggled with each step weighed down by the heavy metal coat and their own gear. The writhing and groaning of the warrior augmented their desperation to get out of range.
Too te they though of making a dragline...
*Pop* *Pop* *Pop*
...too close to the enemy artillery to actually make one.
So they carried on, forcing themselves southeast of the citadel, until they realized that the sand had hardened to tepid, dank ground. Until the ripple of the water became visible.
Until they found the others down on the low ground.
Only the rge cannon continued to fire every once in a while with the intervals between shots increasing after the st one.
Captain Abraham: Private Temples, what's the status?
The mercenary with the AS-501 HC and Bren Gun gave a quick salute.
Private Temples: All present here, sir. Unfortunately, our companions are now down to their swords. 'xcept for their chief, that is.
Looking on east, the mouth of the river could just be seen, and on either side nothing but ftnd.
The pair pced the wounded man on the ground, finally being able to catch their breath. Captain Abraham signaled one of the beret wearing mercenaries to come over.
Captain Abraham: How is he, Raynott?
Putting down his L1A1, he inspected the legs, noticing neither blood nor obviously broken bones.
Raynott: He's out of action. I'll splint his legs just in case.
Kaehe'kakoe: If he is a hindrance than we have to put him out of his suffering. Between the hexer and a probable renegade army, we're not given many options. And your comrade-in-arms is not inclined to show himself to us, is he not?
Wounded warrior: If my life is worth no more, I acce...
Becker Quiet, you! No one's dying needlessly.
Kaehe'kakoe: His corporal suffering is not the only thing I intend to spare him of!
Captain Abraham: Colonel, he does have a point. In an hour or less, that hexer will be hunting us.
Becker: Or perhaps not. Private Lazard!
The mercenary with the Uzi made his way back giving a quick salute.
Becker: You and Raynott will give me your comms. All of them. Get this man treated then cross the river towards the nearest abandoned vilge. We'll come find you. If it becomes a danger zone, I trust you'll do your best to evade. Do you have a signal fre?
Lazard: Yes sir.
Becker: If you see us first, use it. Will that do, "Kumio?"
Kaehe'kakoe: Let us see if the rest of us don't end up hindered. Where to now?
Becker: Towards the mud fields. Private Selkirk, you're with me.
