Foxy Grandpa



"Lieutenant! Your boarding party is clear to move. Secure the vessel and clear out survivors."

"Yes, Sir!" Lieutenant Gerlach affirmed through her headset.

The belly of the massive battleship opened before them over the infinite layer of clouds below and a smoking enemy airship flying a white flag. A squad of soldiers stood with her, fully armed and ready to repel down to seize the ship.

"Move out!" She gave the order and watched as the squad fearlessly took the dive into the sky, with nothing but their ropes and descenders to hold them. She was the last one out of the ship. The wind whipped and tore at her clothes for several long moments as she made her rapid drop and she felt her stomach rise into her throat. Soon enough she was putting on the pressure to slow herself down for the last dozen feet or so and her heavy combat boots made a satisfying THUNK on the rigid balloon top. The squad was already moving to the deck proper by way of the maintenance ladders. Before she had made it down behind them shots had already rang out.

Lieutenant Gerlach arrived as the last uniformed crew member fell to the ground clutching at the hole where a laser had punched through his chest. Five others like him lay scattered in the corridor.

"Get to the bridge," she ordered, stepping over one of the bodies. They made their way up the ship with remarkable speed and efficiency. Once one of the enemy officers came at them with a gun, but the squad was ready. The crew of this frigate was not. They had barely fired on them when the two ships first engaged and surrendered quickly, but she knew as well as anybody else that the Nesychian Navy did not take anyone aside from high ranking officers as prisoners. The crew in the bridge was warned of their coming by the sounds of death coming from the two men that stood guard. The squad entered swiftly.

"ON YOUR KNEES! NOW!" Gerlach screamed at them.

Her squad joined in with the orders. With rifles pointed at them and their hands in the air the officers willingly went to the ground. She saw a lot of stripes. A few of them would make useful bargaining chips, especially the captain. Said captain was eying her as she made the call back to her commander.

"The bridge is secure, Commander."

"Rodger that. Hold them there until we get the rest of our boarding parties down."

"Yes, Sir."

"Please," the captain begged her, "The rest of the people on this ship, please let them go. They aren't military, this is a transport ship."

Gerlach put her rifle back in his face, "What are you talking about? You're flying colors and wearing naval uniforms. Don't play with me."

"Refugees! They're refugees from the war. Not soldiers, please let them go."

"What!?"

Gerlach stood with her Commander over-looking a cargo hold laden with cots, tents, makeshift lavatories, tables and terrified civilian families. The Commander sighed as he took a long drag off of his cigarette.

"Stupid bastards, sailing through captured airspace like this. Got what was coming to 'em," he growled, "Lieutenant, you and the rest of the men finish up here. Pitch the garbage, bodies and anything we can't use out of the loading bay. I want the lower decks completely cleared."

"Sir? What about the refugees?" she asked.

"You heard me. We have all the prisoners we need and most of the crew have already been executed. Just need to finish the clean up."

"Sir, most of these refugees are children. They aren't soldiers. They aren't a threat to us."

"Lieutenant are you questioning your orders?"

"I-- No, Sir. I just--"

"Lieutenant, if this deck isn't cleared in the next two hours I will personally see to it that you are flogged, stripped of your rank, sent to the captains quarters, then to my quarters and then thrown in the brig for the rest of this war. The only reason you've been able to climb the ranks is because of your dear daddy Admiral, but don't think that is going to make anybody give a rat's ass if you make it out of this shit storm intact or not," he breathed a puff of smoke into her face, "Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," she said quietly.

Gerlach wiped the vomit from her mouth and staggered out of the women's lavatory. She did her best to straighten her uniform but her hands fumbled with the fabric and she was so dizzy she wouldn't have been able to tell if it was right side out or not. She put her hand on the wall to steady herself before walking down the narrow hall to the lounge. She couldn't bring herself to eat. The food on the ship was turning sour and beginning to make the crew sick. She hadn't been able to keep even good food down since that day. The liquor had long since dried up making it impossible to ignore the pain they all felt. Moral had plummeted, fights broke out, whipping and flogging was occurring on a daily basis and they were still weeks out from their next port. All while the Captain raided any passing, non-military ship, even ships from their own nation. Most of the goods plundered were either sent back to the home land or kept for himself.

As she entered the lounge her eyes were on the floor. Suddenly a hand was clapped around her mouth and an arm hooked around her neck in a choke hold. The poor sap that held her found himself with a foot swept out from under him and thrown in an arch before landing on his back and staring up at the ceiling and the young, dazed lieutenant. Two other men came after her, grabbing each arm and forcing her to the ground.

"Lieutenant, stop! Please!" one of the men hissed, "We aren't going to hurt you, just be quiet."

"Damnit I think she broke my arm, the man on the ground," moaned.

"Yeah? Well that's your own fault. What the hell were you thinking, shit-for-brains?" another standing beside a table full of soldiers in various states of shock said.

She was allowed up once she relaxed but found that the two men who had subdued her were now blocking the exit. All around the room gaunt men and women in uniforms and serious, tired expressions stared at her with a sort of malice. She felt cold. They had all been facing one direction. None of them had food or drink, cards or books, paperwork or letters.

"What's going on here?" she demanded.

Petty Officer Wells approached her slowly, "Make your move wisely, Sir," he warned, "Not that I don't trust you, but you report to the assholes at the top and we aren't taking chances. We're armed and we will make sure nobody finds you if you cause trouble."

She stood still and glared at him, "Explain."

"We're done," he said, "We're done with the war, we're done starving and eating rotting food, we're done fighting for the royal fatass' stupid territory disputes, we're done being beaten and raped, and we're done killing people so the higher ups can get their rocks off."

"You're not suggesting..."

"Mutiny. We're taking the ship."

Gerlach's eyes widened and she cast a frantic glance around the faces in the room once more. They were serious.

"That's treason," she said, "Every single one of us will be tortured to death if we're caught."

"Of course we will," Wells shrugged, "Pretty good incentive to not get caught, huh? The way I see it, most of us are on our way to a slow, painful death anyway. Would you rather die as some sad sorry pawn of an oppressive nation, or drunk, happy and fighting?"

"What will you do afterward? This is rash, Wells."

"So is butchering civilians and throwing the ship into unnecessary combat... No, 'rash' really isn't the word I'd use for that actually, but you get the point. Afterward," he shrugged, "Some of us want to defect, others want to take the ship and get out of the combat zone all together. Leave this place and settle somewhere more peaceful. Anything is better than this. I saw you after we captured the Koraaga. I know you want out."

Gerlach frowned at him and took a deep breath, the fatigue showing in her face, "This is insane."

"Yes it is."

"... I'm in."

Blood and scorch marks painted the upper decks where many of the officers had made their last stand. The captain's laser riddled body hung stiff and dripping from a chain hooked to one of the steel support beams. A demonstration to the captured officers now on display for the angry pirates. Gerlach stood beside Wells on the raised platform where the captain and commanders usually addressed assemblies. All of them were now with out rank and rallied as equals. She watched with a rifle in her hands and a fire in her eyes. There had been little resistance. The fifty or so officers could not stand up against several hundred enlisted men for long. A handful allowed themselves to be captured quietly.

One by one they were passed before the assembly for judgment. The cruel, corrupt and unjust were met with hails of hissing, insults, and curses before being put to a quick death. One round in the back of the head. Those who had proven themselves to be good soldiers and good men only doing what they had to in order to survive were given a vote and a second chance so long as they joined the cause and allowed themselves to be stripped of rank like the rest of them. A pile of bodies soon grew. Then her former Commander was brought out.

The consensus was reached almost immediately. The man was a killer, a rapist, sadistic, cruel and sick. Some of the things that were screamed at him embarrassed the members of the mob even.

"I want this one," Gerlach whispered to Wells.

He sized her up for a moment, "Fine. I understand."

She didn't put the bullet into the back of the man's head. She walked around him while he was on his knees so that he would have to look at her face. She put the barrel between his eyes. He spat and smiled. She pulled the trigger.

Six weeks later Carson was dragging herself and her broken leg across the jagged rocks of an unsettled island to the south. Cannon fire continued to rain down on the crash site and scream through the skies above as the two ships fought. One with Nesychian colors, the other unmarked. The newly renamed Tarakan towered out of the ground where it had collided with the rocks in a massive catastrophic heap of hellfire and twisted metal. The ship they had risked their lives to steal away from their home land had been struck down by its previous owners. It was apparent they would rather see her torn to shreds than in the hands of traitorous pirates.

Blood coated her face and limbs. Charred corpses and mortally wounded men were scattered across the island's edge. She scrambled as best as she could to find cover from the flames and debris. A shockwave ripped through her body and the air as one of the Nesychian ship's engines exploded. She found her way into the trees and into a shallow cavern formed by collapsed boulders. There she stopped to catch her breath and allow the pain to subside a little. She propped herself up with her back to the rocks and a rifle in her arms to watch the ship go down. It fell slow and heavy. It's side scrapped against the island's shore but missed any sort of safe landing doomed to plummet into the thick abyss. The unmarked ship had sailed out of sight.

Now she was alone, wounded and hand in hand with death if she could not find rescue, medical attention and resources. She could barely move. Shell shocked and with no idea what to do next, she clung to the gun and waited for her thoughts to untangle. Her blood was pooling beside her hip. She struggled to blink it out of her eye. Her hearing was nothing more than static. She was loosing track of time and struggling to hold her head up. Her hands started to shake. It was some time before the burning ambiance was interrupted.

Several figures combed the beach some distance away from the cavern. One locked eyes with her. He yelled back to his comrades before they hurriedly approached her. With what little strength she had left, Carson snapped the rifle up.

"STAY BACK!" she yelled, "DON'T TRY ME! I'LL FUCKING SHOOT YOU!"

They stopped, put their hands up and tried to reason with her, but at this point only a few words were making it through to her. From what she could see none of them were wearing an official uniform of any kind. They carried a hodge-podge of non-standard equipment and weapons. Pirates. Not from her crew though. It was then that a man with an eye patch came through the group and crouched down beside her. He was unarmed and asked her to put the gun down several times. Finally she ran out of strength to hold it up. When she wasn't immediately seized she allowed herself to relax. She really didn't have a choice.

"Help me up," she managed to growl at him.