Isotope — Roleplayer Guild

Bering Sea, Cascadian Waters

They’d been in pursuit for hours now, slowly closing the distance between themselves and their heedless prey.  Each moment of the hunt had been tense, with none knowing the capabilities of their target every precaution had been taken, but at long last they were upon it.  Every man aboard could hear it above, the steady hum from their marks engine permeating the submarine's hull and calling to them, begging for leniency, mercy.  Of that, there would be none.  The crew of the attack submarine Black Shore were not here to pass judgment, for the gavel had come down the moment their prey passed into Cascadian waters.  They were here as one thing and one thing alone, executioners.

In a manner befitting of their role the crew of the Black Shore were cold, composed, and ready.  Among them and standing impassive in his heavy blue jacket Tyler Redd, the ship's Captain, waited enraptured by the slow ticking of a firmly gripped pocket watch.  With little warning his eyes widened, and the shouted command his men had been waiting for finally came, “Open tubes two and five, send out one ping to verify target distance and begin attack run!”

In seconds the crew sprang into action as the running lights flickered off and were replaced by small lanterns casting their ruddy glow.  Seeming as one organism the men worked in wordless union, deft movements speaking to a wealth of chilling experience.  A cry from the sonar controller confirmed the speed and bearing of the Oceon freighter above, and Captain Redd wasted no time directing quick corrections to their course.  He’d planned it to the second, and as the sub neared the release point of her torpedoes he reflected that they’d drawn almost recklessly close to confirm their kill.  Not that it would matter for their quarry.  Crossing the point of no return Redd gave his climactic command, “Fire fish two and five!  Reverse course at full speed and enter evasive maneuvers.” 

With a motion that rattled the whole of her complement the sub cut a jarringly tight turn and rocketed away, moving in erratic zig zags and racing under her full power.  As for the deadly servants she’d released, the electric torpedoes rapidly closed on their mark.  On the surface there would be no warning, devoid of any conspicuous trail and fired at close range the two ‘fish’ were monsters in the deep, the subject of terror for untold seamen.   

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Aboard the Olympus, no one knew they were being followed. A few crewmen were even joking and laughing over the harsh rules set against this kind of incursion. They were clearly doing just fine. She had no true sonar and only the most basic radar, meant for surface threats and mostly as a navigational aid. It was drawing late into the afternoon but the Olympus was making good time despite a damaged engine. However, the chief engineer just had to change out the offending disintegrating fuel filter and all would be well. 

Of course, the big, fat tanker would be taking no evasive actions and she was especially slow due to the sputtering engine. Up in the bridge wings, a young seaman, a bobcat, was scanning the horizon and humming to himself as he peered through a spyglass. He only saw the torpedoes when they were seconds away, one of them running somewhat shallow and as such showed its slick and deadly body to any careful observers on the surface. All of the bridge crew turned and looked as a scream of raw terror echoed through the bridge. “TORPEDOES! DIRECT STARBOARD!” Then the crewman dove for cover as the two torpedoes crashed into her double-layered hull and detonated.

Two huge explosions blasted open her hull, one near amidships and one blasting into the engineering spaces. The entire ship shook violently with many crewmembers being thrown onto the deck or stumbling against equipment. The Chief Engineer screamed as his flesh sizzled on the hot engine block he was thrown against, and another person in the galley had a hot pan thrown onto his chest. One of the bridge crew managed to hit the contact makers a split second before impact, adding the mournful electric growl to the cacophony of a dying ship as two separate plumes of water rose above the vessel, just the markers of the beginning of the chaos. One torpedo struck a fuel tank and ignited the fuel in there, flooding the rudder room and a machine shop with water that carried hellfire atop it. In the engine room itself, the watertight bulkheads stopped the flooding, but a couple of fuel lines broke due to the violent disturbance and sprayed atomized diesel over hot equipment. The resulting fire killed the two men trapped in that room. All four of the engineering crew on duty either died instantly or wish they had as they drowned or burned to death. Amidships, as many as five died in their bunks within seconds of the initial carnage, wiped from existence by the torpedo blast or drowned.

Someone on the bridge also hit the contact maker for the fire alarm that added a whooping electronic whistle over top of the growl of the general alarm. The First Officer called over the PA to muster the fire crews but no one was replying. Power was lost and all of the lights died as the engine room was filled with fire and the diesel engines died with their engineers. The rudder room flooded completely, and water was slowly entering other areas despite the best efforts of damaged bulkheads. Some of the crewmen tried their best to save their ship and bravely grabbed their firefighting apparatus, but it was soon apparent that this was all in vain. On the bridge it was a young snow leopard Able Seaman who was hitting the contact makers while the human Helmsman spun his wheel this way and that in a completely fruitless effort. Her steering gear was completely destroyed and the First Officer, another hare, was trying desperately with tears in his eyes to make contact with the engine room. The same lookout who saw the torpedoes was watching in open-mouth shock at the state of the rear superstructure through the fractured bridge windows. Smoke rolled from the stacks in thick plumes and soon the glowing exhaust pipes were catching everything around them on fire, lighting up the entire rear house like a bonfire. The ship slowly rolled towards her stricken side with the water rushing in down below. 

All told, fourteen people died in the sinking. Those not killed instantly were either drowned, burned, or crushed to death by cargo containers breaking free from their mountings and crashing down onto the decks only to roll into the sea as the Olympus began to capsize. An abandon ship was ordered just minutes after the initial hits as the cargo ship’s stern blazed away and water continued to fill her dying body, the steel she was made of groaning and creaking as the stern sank faster than the bow. A crewmember, the Captain himself, was yelling desperate distress calls into the radio on any frequency he could manage while the battery in the radio was still operational. After he got away one last mayday, he shut off the radios and turned to the bridge, which was awash in an eerie twilight from the fire on the aft deck and the afternoon sun. With a face of sadness and despair, he gave the order, “Abandon ship. All hands to their muster stations.” 

The First Officer had given up on trying to contact the engine room. He had known the worst had happened, but only now did he fully accept it. He punched out a different code into the phone and ordered over the PA, “All hands, all hands, this is the First Officer. Abandon ship, abandon ship. Go to port muster stations immediately. Abandon ship!” The bridge crew easily escaped, since the lifeboat station was nearby and the forward area of the vessel was mostly undamaged. Everyone else came up from below decks after fighting through choking smoke, rising water, and even floating diesel fuel and oil that was burning. The thirteen survivors eventually congregated on the port side and clambered into a lifeboat, and then released it. There were others alive below decks, but Olympus was rolling slowly onto her side and secondary explosions were starting to reverberate from the stern. They clung to the little boat desperately as it skittered down the side of their ship before splashing into the water below. They were all dampened to different degrees, but alive, and now paddled furiously away from the burning ship, getting away from the burning oil, fuel, and falling containers. A couple of distress flares were fired, and that was the last communication ever from the Olympus. The crew aboard the raft huddled together in the cold air, and watched their ship quickly slip beneath the waves. The whole spectacle took hardly more than half an hour, and then the Olympus was gone, along with fourteen of her crew. A fifteenth man succumbed to his burns on the lifeboat, while the others nursed injuries from minor cuts to major trauma. 

Bishop, the aging arctic hare, was an oiler. He was one of the lucky ones to be immolated within seconds with his remains left in the engine room across the space from the chief engineer. Finn died trying to escape the depths of the ship, trapped inside and unable to make an egress before the Olympus sank stern first. Already, some of the nearby vessels just outside of Cascadian waters were relaying news of the disaster back home, while other vessels called to the Cascadians to spare the surviving seamen and allow them to be taken back home by Oceon vessels. Some of the survivors were human, about four of them, but the remaining eight were anthropomorphic. The men and women aboard that little wooden boat were terrified, cold, and in various states of shock, totally at the mercy of the elements and anyone who found them. 

-------------------------

For what seemed an eternity the bloodied crew of the foundered Olympus languished on the rough and frigid sea, yet no sign of reprieve or salvation reared its head.   As the sun began to set and it seemed their desperate pleas had fallen on deaf ears, as the huddled few verged on the edge of despair, only then did a glimmer of hope shine through.  Cresting the fiery horizon a silhouette came into view, though made hazy by the day’s dying light, it was an image unmistakeable to the haggard survivors.  At last there was a ship, and from its heading one that was undoubtedly set upon their rescue.

Yet for the certainty of its course the symbol of their hope drew nearer sluggishly, seemingly unconcerned with those it meant to rescue.  The vessels leisurely pace seemed to speak of a dissonance between action and intent, a contradiction that was made all too clear when their ‘savior’ grew close enough to see the colours it flew.  Flying against its inspiration the setting sun flag of Cascadia, its green and blue washed out against the crimson sky, signalled not the end of the survivor’s ordeal, but its beginning.  Aboard the Lynx class light cruiser a uniformed man groused from the bridge, “If only the abominations had gone and drown on our way here, I loathe the thought of them dirtying the ship Sir.”

Shaking his head slowly a wrinkled man resting in the similarly aged captain’s chair only frowned, “Were we so lucky Marcus, but you know our duty.  At the least we may yet disabuse the beast’s human servants of their delusions.”

With a grunt Marcus acknowledged the meaning behind the Captain’s words and begrudgingly voiced his understanding, “Aye Capitan Rosen.”

Rising from his seat Karl Rosen made his way over to the right bridge wing where his first officer Marcus Smith had spoken from and gestured for the man’s spyglass.  Using it to get a close look at their new ’guests’ Rosen spoke, “That said, do tell the marines they only need to send the Humans for treatment, the animals can be locked in the brig as they are.  After all, we’re hardly veterinarians.”

His features contorting into a savage smile Marcus threw up a salute with vigour and repeated enthusiastically, “Aye Capitan Rosen!”

Departing the bridge at a quickened pace Marcus set out to relay the command in person.  Of course the intercom would have sufficed, but if the ship was to be dirtied then Marcus meant to return the favour in kind and in person.  Making his way onto the deck by the time their vessel pulled up beside the perilously rocking wooden lifeboat the XO whispered into the ear of the Marine Lieutenant that’d been tasked with receiving the Oceons.  The orders spread from there in hushed commands and anxious chatter, and soon the dozen or so armed men on deck all wore a feral grin that they bared gladly even as the boarding ladders were unfolded and ropes were thrown.

-------------------------

Needless to say, the Captain was glad to see the cruiser coming over the horizon. He didn’t think much of their slow speed. He couldn’t try all radio frequencies, after all, and he couldn’t even remember what language he had used on half of them. He was multilingual but when everything was on fire, flooded, or both, one tends to forget about the details like languages. The Captain was the first one on deck. He clambered up the ladder easily with his feline agility. He was shivering as he stepped on deck with his spotted fur utterly soaked, but he smiled and tipped his Captain’s hat to the marines anyways, keeping up a brave face as his first officer helped over the other crewmembers. The Captain had to think of every word as the Cascadian language was not something easily learned or remembered, but he managed, somehow, to speak, “Thank you… for… getting us. Where’s the Captain? Some of… my crew need… ah, uh, medicine. Help. Hurt bad.” The cook was carried up then, a somewhat chubby mountain lion with a fairly severe burn on his chest from where a hot pan had fallen on him. Captain Niklas nodded to him as if to emphasize his point. Then he chuckled, “Sorry. I’m Niklas, Captain of… Olympus. That is Scott, First… hm… Officer. Used to speak-king Oceon, sorry.” He chuckled again and shrugged. 

Marcus’s face contorted with visible disgust at the sub-humans speech, it was impossible to hide when everything about the creature sent shivers down his back.  What stood before him was a savage, no different than the abominations that had thrown the continent into chaos and killed untold innocents. It was unnatural, it was repulsive, and even after having been humbled so mightily it had the audacity to speak to him like an equal?  Taking no efforts to hide his enmity Marcus stepped up to the so called ‘Captain’ and spoke coldly, “The Captain has no business with sub-human criminals.  I am the First Officer of this vessel and it falls to me to inform you that you and your crew are to hereby be detained in accordance with Cascadian law and in compliance with the Bering Sea Agreement.  Under that agreement no intentional harm will come to you or your crew until you are tried and judgment is passed.  Your trial will be no later than a month from today, and its verdict will be upheld by all signatories to the Bering Sea Agreement.  That is all you need to know, and that is all you will be told.”

With a wave of his hand the Marines rushed into action and quickly separated the humans from the abominations.  To the former the soldiers were not gentle, but they took care not to aggravate any existing injuries the survivors had.  The latter were not so lucky.  Moving with reckless speed and brutal efficiency the sub-humans were rounded up and forced to stand before being ordered to march below deck with the prodding of rifle barrels acting as ‘incentive’.  As for the Oceon Captain, Marcus handled that himself.  Brandishing his sidearm the First Officer spoke almost enthusiastically, “Follow me Captain, we have a cell reserved just for you.”

The Captain of the Olympus’ smiling face quickly turned to alarm. He turned and watched as his crew were separated, both groups cursing and yelling at the Marines in their own native language. The Captain turned back to the First Officer wide eyed, “T-they need treatment! What oddness is this!? I was driving a cargo, not a fucking minelayer!” There was nothing the frail old man could do, however. One of the nonhuman crew stumbled and fell. Jolie was one of the younger crew on the ship and was normally a fairly attractive if sturdily built reindeer. She had been injured in the rush to evacuate with a cracked hoof and probably damaged ankle. She gave a bray of pain as she was savagely kicked, and the cook turned around and threw a punch right into one of the Marine’s faces. The Captain watched this with wide-eyed and open-mouthed shock. He turned to the First Officer again as more shouts rang out from his crew, “She needs to be treated! That cracked hoof… are you all mad!?” One of the human crew shouted something about Chronos and something else unflattering about all of their mothers.  Yet for all their fury, the shouts and the pleas all but fell on deaf ears. The cook was quickly detained, and the Marines managed to get everyone going, even though Jolie had to be helped by one of her crew-mates. There were eight nonhumans… a snow leopard, a reindeer, a hare, a mountain lion, a bobcat, a lynx, a wolf, and a snow owl. 

One of them, the lookout who had first spotted trouble, the young Able Seaman named Shelton, now had Jenni supported on his shoulders with her crying face resting on his shoulder. He tried to ignore the panic welling within him and kept his eyes steadfastly forward, walking into the interior of the predatory ship and staying quiet. He had felt relief at first. Now as he entered the tight corridors he felt like he was unlucky to have survived. He recognized the look on their faces. Pure disgust and hatred. He had traveled abroad, and any crew who watched sneered and sometimes even threw things at them with only token intervention from the Marines themselves. He patted Jolie’s shoulder and whispered to her, trying to keep her calm as her injured leg dripped blood behind them and also make sure she didn’t scrape her rack on anything.There was a trail of blood behind them. He was most concerned about the lynx who was badly burned and missing an ear. He was stumbling a lot, probably losing a lot of blood, and probably in immense pain. Jolie’s wound must have hurt like hell, but it would not be fatal, and would heal on its own to a degree. The lynx’s wounds, and many others on his friends, would need attention or could turn disastrous for those who bore them.

His eyes flicked about as he tried to understand what level the Cascadians were at, technologically. The inside of this vessel made it look like they were not far apart. It was not a precise guess, as he did not get to see any important areas, but from what he had seen they still relied mainly on gunpowder cannons, as did Oceon vessels, and they also had primitive radar, like Oceon vessels. He hoped he had done well in voting for Greenland’s Speaker. He was going to need her to make the right choice, and get them out of here. Shelton didn’t believe them for a second that they were going to be treated within reasonable expectations. That trial was definitely going to be a drumhead trial, and then they were all going to die or be put to work as slaves. That worried him especially for the two females they had amongst them, but he did not exactly yearn for that title either. The gears in Shelton’s head continued to tick around and around, scheming and plotting, his sharp feline senses gathering information and his claws flexing a little as he thought of sinking them into the asshole that kicked Jolie.
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