009

Chapter Nine

The hulking vessel bobs up and down in the gentle Scottish ebbs of the Clyde River. The iron leviathan is an old, American made tug boat. The hardened iron hull has been painted black, but years in the sea has eroded much of it away to be replaced by large sharp barnacles. The bow of the boat has been fitted with a crude dragon neck and head made of steel and welded to the deck, giving the ship a look of a futuristic viking vessel. It's namesake is painted in blood-like red paint on its stern. Valhalla's Wake. In the center of the deck rises a high command tower with a large flag pole flying from the aft horizontally. The flags being flown are that of Italy, Norway and Vietnam. The top of the tower is also home to a hulking, oily, belt-fed M2 Browning .50 caliber machine gun, a hatch in the ceiling leads to the intimidating machine gun's precipice.

The ship sits in the center of the river out of the reach of bandits. A small row boat has been turned over and hidden among dead cattails on the river's shore. Two dark figures sit in hiding, waiting for the boat's occupants to return and give away their means of returning. The two bandits are very bold as they wear no stitch of armor and are armed only with rusty hatchets. Their faces have been painted blood red and their ears sport rings made of bone. Necklaces created by tethering human ears hang around their necks.

"When they gettin' back?" the smaller one cackles as the taller one spits a wad into the dead grass.

"Right soon I reckon."

"I has ta piss," the small one takes a few steps behind the hill they're perched on and pulls his pants down to relieve himself. Just as he finishes, the tall man lets out a noise telling the other to crouch down, shut up, and get ready.

"There they is. Ready cousin?" they flash black toothed grins at one another and begin to stalk their prey.

Captain Ferrari leads the way on their trek to his beloved ship with the beautiful Orabella close at his side. The captain looks fresh and spry, wearing an expression ripe with excitement at the opening of his newest expedition. He wears a long sleeve, brown tunic and a black leather vest with the pants to match. His feet are wrapped in leather boat shoes. A black leather belt holds two silver .45 ACP's capping off the look of a modern day pirate. Orabella also has a swashbuckling aura about her as she wears an old fashioned pair of skin tight leather pants which hug every line in her her lovely legs and round butt. Her upper body is covered in a low cut corset which pushes her large bosom up and in. Topping it off, her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and long leather boots sheath her feet. Her weapons of choice are a black Beretta 10mm and a straight edged dagger strapped to her right leg. The muscle of the group comes in the form of Son and Gaahl. The barrel chested Vietnamese man is dressed plainly in a dark green sweater with canvas pants and cloth shoes. He is armed with a Browning Automatic Rifle and razor sharp machete sheathed at his hip. Gaahl, showing his true viking colors, wears rawhide pants and carries a broad-axe on his back. His tattooed arms and shoulders spill forth from a black tight wife beater. The colorful ink tells an extravagant story of the Norse mythology. Detailed inscriptions of mighty looking Thor, Odin, and Tyr surrounded by the buxom nude images of Frigg, Fulla, Sjofn and Freyja attending to their revered warriors. Gaahl's beard has been braided adding to his viking-like appearance. His tapestried arms hold a hulking, belt-fed M-60. Anjelo doesn't seam to fit with the pirate/ viking aura as he wears a simple Italian soccer jersey and spotless blue jeans. The only weapon he carries is a large monkey wrench.

The rest of them look rather drab compared to their counterparts. Johan wears his padded sweater acquired from Farley Finnegan and worn out blue jeans. In his arms sit the Dragunov, also from Farley, along with the ivory handled revolver in the holster at his hip. Saul wears an old leather jacket that Alieana found for him to go along with some black jeans. His weapons of choice are a .45 Colt 1911 and an AK-47. Fergus still clings to his police issue Benelli 12 gauge semi-auto and is bundled in his grease monkey jumpsuit and draped in leather bandoliers. His trusty .50 Desert Eagle still sits on his hip with his combat knife strapped to his ankle. Alieana, still looking cute and upbeat despite her drab gray clothing, has her .357 on her hip along with her dagger. Torri and Faux hold hands together, Torri with her Luger as Faux, is not armed. Raul fumbles after Fergus as usual.

As they crest what seams like just another hill, they find themselves standing over the Clyde River. Still gray water is pelted with gentle rain sending out ring after ring of tiny ripples. Clusters of dead reeds and cat tails shield create a barrier between the decrepit grass and murky water. In the middle of the deep stagnant river sits a bobbing mammoth. Valhalla's Wake waits for the return of it's master. The giant mass of iron doesn't look at home in it's barren surroundings. Saul's jaw drops slightly at the massive ship before them.

"Is that you're ship?"

"It is."

"Valhalla's Wake!" Gaahl bellows like a true Norse diety.

"The row boat is hidden in those leeds there. Lets retrieve her," the captain leads the way down the embankment into a tangle of dead cattails. He fumbles forward to what looks to be a large blowdown. But as he pulls the reeds away, a wooden hull is revealed. The captain turns to them and winks. Without even a command, Son and Gaahl drop their firearms and hoist the small boat. Seemingly with no effort at all, they hustle it to the water's edge and drop it to the sand. When they turn around to retrieve their weapons, their eyes fall upon two crazed men hurdling in their direction, hatchets in hand, their faces painted bright red with blood. Knowing they've been spotted, they begin to scream at the top of their lungs in a foolish effort to intimidate their assumed prey.

The guttural screaming draws the attention of the others but the bandits have their sites set on Son and Ghaal. A truly foolish mistake. With one motion, Ghaal draws the broad-axe on his back. Son un-sheaths his machete, balancing it in his hand at the ready. The tallest bandit is in the lead and fixes on Ghaal. As he hurdles forward, screaming like a banshee, Ghaal takes a half step forward and arcs the blade in a cross-body motion. The axe blade hits bare flesh, connecting with the bandit in the crease connecting his shoulder to his neck. The snapping collarbone rings out followed by a muffled groan and a tidal wave of deep black blood. The bandit is felled to his knees and in his next second, Ghaal swings the axe horizontally. The blade glides effortlessly, loping the head from the bandits already gory neck.

"The sons of Odin smite you!" he bellows out in victory. "May Valhalla turn it's back on such a cowardly assailant!"

Son takes a more balanced approach, as he waits for the bandit to come to him and uses the machete blade to parry the frantic hatchet attack. He deflects the axe blade to the side and uses his right leg to sweep the bandit's feet out from under him. In a manic tangle of arms and legs, the bandit tumbles to the ground, sending the small hatchet flying into the water. As he scrambles after it, Son sheaths his blade and stalks his foe. As the bandit reaches the water, Son grabs him by the shoulders and hoists him up like a rag doll. The bandit writhes in his arms but doesn't stand a chance against Son's boa constrictor arms. With one jerking motion, Son snaps the mans neck, sending him instantly limp. Once the body is dropped to the ground, Son bows and retrieves his machete, sliding it back into it's sheath.

Gaahl puts his broad-axe into it's place on his back and continues to drag the beheaded body into the water. When the blood is rinsed from his hands, the rest of the party is waved over. The captian shakes his hand and thanks both warriors for successfully defending them.

"Lets get on with it," the captain steps into the rowboat and gives Orabella a hand over. Johan hops in followed by Saul and Alieana then Torri, Faux, and Raul. Son and Gaahl give the dingy a push from the sand and hop in at the last moment. Son takes up the oars and begins to row with tremendous power. The crowded rowboat pounds through the water gaining speed with each mighty stroke. The large iron boat draws nearer and the now crude paint job stands out even more. The black paint has been chipped and barnacles cover the hull up to the water line. Metal rungs scale the side of the ship to function as a crude ladder.

The wooden boat bangs into the iron hull with a jolt. Gaahl stands at the bow and grabs ahold of one of the metal rungs to steady the rocking dingy. The captain is first up the ladder with his beautiful wife close behind.

Once everyone, accept for Gaahl, is on the deck, Son tosses down two ropes with large loops spliced into the end. Gaahl places the loops around the rowboat under it's wooden hull to function like a giant sling. Son begins to crank on a pulley, slowly hoisting the small boat to deck level. Once paralell with the deck, Gaahl bounds over and immediately works with Son to get it battened down into place and sealed tight against the weather.

"My dear, please show our new crew to their bunks so they can unload their weapons and ammo, then I'll introduce them to our surgeon and ship tech," the captain pecks his wife on the cheek.

"Of course, follow me," she leads them to a door leading bellow the deck.

The living quarters are dim, as they are lit merely by candlelight. The first door on the right reads "Galley" with a door across from it reading "Infirmary". The next two doors read "Master" and "1st Mate" followed by "2nd Mate" and "Head". The next doors are simply numbered "1", "2", "3", etc. 

"Who wants room one?" Orabella asks.

"We'll take it," Alieana steps forward holding Saul's hand.

"Okay, see you back above deck," Orabella smiles and they duck inside.

"I'll take the second," Johan turns the knob for the door marked "2". Fergus takes "3", Raul "4", Torri "5", and Faux "6".

Inside their room, Saul and Alieana drop the small loads they carry and shuffle them under their beds. His Kalashnikov is placed in a small gun rack next to their closet. Alieana sits down on the bed and stretches out to relieve the soreness in her legs from the long walk to the ship. The walls are bare iron and the blanket on the bed, a faded red wool with manila sheets.

"We finally have a room to ourselves," Alieana states suggestively.

"So what?" Saul plays along.

"Maybe I'll show you later," Alieana walks around the bed to him and puts her arms around his shoulders and kisses him gently on the forehead.

"I think I'm starting to get the idea," Saul kisses her back twice as long.

"Lets get back above deck, I'm interested to meet the final two crew members," Alieana releases from Saul's arms and moves to door. They walk along, holding each other close all the way up the stairs and back into the gray daylight.

Johan's room is dark and lonely. Peering around, he places the Dragunov in his gun rack and places everything else under the drab bed. Before he leaves, he reaches into his pants pocket and produces a small wallet sized photo of his beautiful blonde wife, Martina. Finding a small crease in the iron wall, he tucks the portrait into and it. Her smiling, happy face brings a momentary tear to his eye that he promptly brushes away.

The old bed creaks as he sits on it to compose himself before going back to the rest of the crew. Many different thoughts race through his head.

Would they even make it back to the states?

What would D.C. or Boston even be like?

Would Martina even still be alive?

If she was, what kind of things would she have been through?

Non of the answers mattered to Johan, if he didn't try he would never know and the fact that his best friend Saul and his newly found allies were along for the ride made him feel a little less alone.

Feeling a little bit better, Johan rises, stretches and leaves the cabin to join the rest of the crew.

Fergus tosses his shotgun on to his bed and drops the heavy load strapped to his back. The bag hardly fits under the bed but when its finally crammed in, Fergus retrieves a small can of oil and begins to clean his trustee 12 gauge. Small rust spots have begun to form along the barrel and chamber. The slick smelly oil, when applied with a good helping of elbow grease, completely obliterates the deep red chicken pocks.

Finishing in about ten minutes, the shotgun is placed in the gun rack. He wipes his hands on his pants to get rid of the greasy residue. Before finally leaving the room, all his bandoliers are removed and tossed in the corner in an unorganized pile. His trusty .50 caliber hand cannon is still strapped securely to his hip. He yawns and strolls from his room and into the slow breeze on the deck.

Raul sits silently on his bed rocking back and forth with the gentle ebb of the tide. His observing eyes scan every deep recess of the iron walls. Intrigued, he walks to the wooden closet bolted to the floor. He opens the double slabs and looks through the vacant wardrobe. Finding nothing, he slams the door which is followed by the sound of something falling. Opening the door once more, he finds that a small pen knife has fallen from a secret compartment hidden in the ceiling of the closet. With a devilish smile, Raul slips it into his pocket and hops back onto the bed.

Reproducing the knife, he flicks open the blade, which is old and fairly rust ridden. Despite the sad state of the knife, Raul beams at his very first weapon, now he's really like his big idol Fergus. He wants nothing more then to impress his role model and one day be partners in crime with the big redhead.

Feeling a new sense of confidence, Raul jumps off his bed with authority and confidently flicks the blade shut. He shoves it back into his pocket and bolts from the room and back to the deck.

Torri enters her room and solemnly takes in her surroundings. She drops her backpack and sits sullenly on her bed. She pulls the Luger from her belt and looks it over longingly. The faces of her attackers still dance in her mind and their violent touches still ache every ounce of her being. Feeling a terrible amount of pain, her hand forms a vice grip around the pistol making her shake with anger. A tear of malice comes to her magical eyes.

Trying to banish her demons, she holsters the Luger and hops up to take a look inside her coset. Surprisingly, it isn't empty. Instead, it contains one outfit very similar to the one being worn by Orabella. Sick of her worn out clothes and envious of Orabella's alluring appearance, she quickly strips out of the old clothes off and replaces them with the snug corset.

The outfit is a little tight, as the leather pants cling like latex to her legs. Basically every line from her ankles to hips stands out, leaving nothing to the imagination. She loves the look of her ample cleavage in the corset and instantly wants to show Faux her awesome new attire.

Knocking on the door marked "6" Torri waits for Faux to answer.

Faux nervously paces the floor in her room, not sure how long to wait before going back to the deck. She oozes nervousness from her vivid body language. As random thoughts fly through her head she tries to picture the magical image that is Torri. She has to shake the promiscuous thoughts from her mind as they make her feel slightly ashamed.

Just as the the thoughts have been fully buried, a knock comes at her door. Thinking it's her little brother, she woefully turns the knob and pulls the door open. She chokes on her breath when her eyes fall upon Torri looking even more stunning then ever.

"Oh-uh.......... hi."

"Hey you," Torri greats her in a giggly voice.

"Where'd you get that?" she points to Torri's spectacular outfit.

"It was in the closet. Do you like it?"

"Umm.......... its.........." Faux stutters. Without another word, Torri puts her hand on Faux's chest and pushes into the room, closing the door behind her.

"You look pretty," Torri's magical eyes pierce to Faux's soul.

"Well......... you look....."

"Sexy?" Torri fills in the blanks.

"Mmhmm..."

Torri leans forward and kisses Faux who just stands stunned with her hands limp at her sides, a deep red blush paints her face as well.

"Kiss me back," Torri pulls back and giggles.

"I don't know..."

"Yes you do. Just go with it," Torri assures her. Banishing her attempts to bury her feelings, she leans forward and gently kisses Torri's plump lips. Torri sighs and enjoys the tender touch.

Hearing a door outside slam, they jump apart and look at each other nervously.

"Maybe we should go topside," Faux suggests.

"Your probably right," Torri slumps. "Can I come back later tonight? When everyone is asleep?"

"Okay."

Torri turns and Faux follows her into the hall and back topside.

With everyone gathered back on the ships deck, the captain stands in front of the high command tower with a man they'd never seen before standing with his arms crosses beside him. Anjelo sits cross legged on the deck drawing invisible lines with his finger.

"First matter of business," the captain claps his hands together.  "This is our ship tech, Baron Hassan. He is responsible for all of our repairs, not related to the engine, during our voyage."

Baron Hassan is an average sized man, looking to be of Middle Eastern decent. He has spiky black hair and a pointed goatee with a thin mustache across his upper lip. His dark eyes are very serious. A black gas mask, used to shield his lungs from dangerous fumes, hangs from his neck. He wears only a pair of jean overalls leaving bare, sculpted arms tattooed with lines of Muslim scripture. The dark skinned man bows to them as a greeting.

"It's an honor."

"And to you," Saul says as they all, not including Fergus, bow in return.

"If you find something that seams to need fixing don't hesitate to let Baron know," the captain explains.

"I have work to do," Baron looks them over one last time almost as if he is filing them away in his memory and disappears into a door. However, this is not the same door which leads to their cabins. The captain gleefully claps his hands together and turns to his blissfully oblivious little brother.

"Anjelo buddy. Fire up the engines would you?"

Anjelo jumps to his feet and scampers below deck. Within a minute, the sound of an engine firing fills the air. It roars and the boat shakes. A second humming sound begins as the first one dies out. This secondary humming resembles a vacuum cleaner and a pot of boiling water. Steam soon pours from a thin exhaust pipe connected to the command tower. The captain glances to the window in the tower to see Gaahl's bearded head peeking out. With a thumbs up sign, the boat begins to move forward with a giant lurch.

"All aboard!" Gaahl bellows from the tower window.

In the next moment, the door leading to the cabins bursts open and from it walks an older, stalky man with wispy red hair and long sideburns. His face is severely scrunched up with bulging eyes of a mad man. A slight limp creates a hitch in his step and he wears a clean white doctors overcoat.

"Well what da ya know. New crew?" the man grumbles in a thick Irish accent. The captain greets the limping man with usual charming bravado.

"Iasan, these are our new mates."

"Great, more people ter stitch up..."

"Don't give me that," the captain chuckles.

"At least some is pretty," he grins slyly in the direction of Alieana and Torri causing the captain to laugh sarcastically.

"You really are a dirty old man!"

"Bah! Im stuck workin' on Gaahl and Son all day. Can yer blame me?" Iasan shrugs.

"Come to Iasan if you ever feel sick or get injured. He's a crazy old codger but he'll fix you up wonderfully," the captain explains to them.

"Don't bother me 'less its serious," Iasan says coldly but gives Raul a playful wink as he turns to leave them.

"He was an IRA nurse. He's a bit off his rocker but he's an honest, honorable man who honors friendship and hard work."

"So what exactly do we do now?" Johan asks.

"Well, much of the food we eat is pulled directly from the murky depths. You, Saul and Fergus will share the responsibility of running our dragging gear. As for the young ladies and our cabin boy, Orabella will employ your help as chefs down in the galley. You will prepare meals with the fish we catch," the captain details their new jobs. "And you little man will do your best to keep the boat clean. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" Raul belts out and salutes drawing a chuckle from the charming captain.

The ship's dragging gear is located at the stern of Valhalla's Wake. The large nets are rolled up around a cylindrical beam running from port to starboard. A weathered winch on the port side is locked in place to keep the net from unfurling into the sea.

The wait for getting out of the river and into the open sea is a relatively short one. Once at the ideal depth the captian beckons Johan, Saul, and Fergus. They gather around the coiled net and the captain anxiously claps his hands together still giddy from their departure.

"It's time to let down the nets. Undo the lock and the nets will begin to unwind. But you will need to make sure it doesn't tangle or drag you in so watch out for knots and coils that your legs could get caught in. Got it?"

"Sure thing," Johan approaches the winch as Saul and Fergus flank the coiled net. The square shaped locking device is wedged into one of the winches gear teeth. Attempting to pull it free with his fingers, Johan's hand gets covered by thick red rust. With that not working very well, he steps back and kicks the lock free with a well placed kick with his boot. With a crack and a whine, the net slowly begins to unroll and cascade into the dead gray water. The net is tethered to the column by thick steel cables which allow the braided hemp trap to unfurl and open to maximum capacity.

Saul and Fergus, having never done this type of thing before, look rather uncomfortable. The metal column cranks and whines with tremendous speed. They cautiously watch their feet as not to get one tangled in a rouge loop which would promptly drag them into the surf. Every time something binds up, they gingerly tug and pull at it until it comes free.

The net finally completely unwinds and the steel cables snap with tension as the net blows outward like a large, aquatic parachute. Saul and Fergus jump back and look at each other as to ask "What do we do next?". They move back around the net rack to join Johan. Saul c***s his head questioningly and looks at his partner and best friend.

"How long do we wait to haul it up?"

"Ask tha cap'n,"Fergus suggest, "I twas a farmer an cop, nahta fisherman."

"I'll be right back," Johan strolls across the deck to the cabin doorway.

"Are there even any fish left in the ocean? Nuclear pollution didn't kill them?" Saul asks Fergus.

"I 'eard rumors 'at there are some terrifyin' lookin' beasts in tha deep. Make 'at wolfbear look like a wee teddy bear."

"Well we'll have to wait and find out..."

"I guess I'll keep 'er on me," Fergus reaches around to his Desert Eagle and gives it a pat. A cold shiver runs up the length of Saul's back.

Johan shuffles quickly down the steps to the cabins. Giving a knock on the door marked "Master", he doesn't get a response. After thirty seconds, he knocks once more and accepting the fact that it's empty, moves to the door marked "Galley". He turns the knob and slowly goes inside. A wall of delicious smelling aroma hits him head on as the lights of the kitchen engulf him. The galley is bright and warm with music in the background. Working behind a large counter and stove, Orabella glances up and smiles at him.

"Good afternoon Mr. Kristmas."

"Just call me Johan."

Alieana, Torri and Faux enter from a wooden side door carrying armfuls of food stuffs. Alieana, a bag of flour. Torri, a bucket of thick rich milk. And Faux, a bushel of dehydrated potatoes.

"What can I help you with?" Orabella asks.

"I need to find the captain."

"I believe he's in the tower plotting our course with Gaahl and Son," she begins to chop at something.

"Okay, thank you," Johan silently turns and leaves the ladies to their work.

The steps leading to the command tower are steep and winding, twice as treacherous on the descent. Around and around Johan trots, slowly ascending to the top. Once all the steps are climbed, he comes to a large steel door marked "Control Room". Johan gives it a knock, seconds later, the burly Son ushers him inside. The control tower has panoramic windows giving them a breathtaking view of the Scottish coast painted a sad tone of gray. Pillars of smoke randomly stab into the clouds from unknown bandit camps, settlements, or burning buildings. The view is ominous and creepy. The captain looks up from his charts with his same boyish grin.

"You boys get the trawl gear out?"

"We sure did. How long do we drag before hauling up?"

"Well, seeing as some of the fish down there can be pretty vicious, we tend to freshen the catch every hour or so."

"I'd bring a gun if I was you," a sly grin crosses Gaahl's face.

"Don't be intimidated," the captain smiles. "But I'd still heed that advice."

"I believe Fergus still carries his fifty cal," Johan adds.

"That hand cannon will be more then enough. A nine millimeter will do the trick really," the captain assures him.

"Okay, so what do we do in the mean time?"

"Get Iasan to give you a tour of the rest of the ship," the captain says hurriedly looking back to his charts with Gaahl. Johan leaves the tower and returns to Saul and Fergus to find the gritty old ship doctor.

Sure enough, the salty old Iasan is found in his office located behind the door marked "Infirmary". As they enter, they find him kicked back in a plush lazy boy reading a paperback copy of Moby Dick. He looks up from over the pages and scowls grumpily, although it seems like an act.

"If only we could have this kind of adventure," he glances at the cover of the book.

"Im on enough of an adventure as it is," Johan replies.

"Bah! What do yer want? Yer don't look hurt," Iasan growls and scans them with his wild eyes.

"Apparently you're our new tour guide," Saul chuckles.

"Damn you Valentino Ferrari," Iasan closes his book and tosses it onto his desk. "Follow me yer bloody buggers..."

Following Iasan into the hallway, they move past all the cabins and reach a steel door at the marked with a sign reading "Engine Room". The door has a crank in the center which seals the door tight. Iasan fights with the crank for a few seconds until it finally squeaks loudly and begins to turn with a metallic grind. After a few turns, the door easily opens, filling the hallway with various mechanical clunks and grinds. The engine room is dimly lit, extremely hot and stuffy, and deafeningly loud. Iasan opens his mouth but his words are drowned out my the moaning engines. Knowing he hasn't been heard, he brushes them back into the hall and slams the door shut, cranking it closed and drowning out the noise once again. He turns back to the party and gives them smarmiest, s**t-eating grin.

"Engine room..."

"Yea, I gathered that," Saul rubs the ringing from his ears.

"All yer got left ter see is Baron's shop back aft. Follow me."

Iasan limps quickly back around them and heads off in the opposite direction. They follow him back up to the deck and through the door Baron had disappeared through earlier in the day. The staircase is identical to the one leading into the cabins only instead of the smells of roast fish and boiling potatoes in the galley, the air is filled with sulfurous fumes and marijuana smoke. As they descend fully, the veil of smoke becomes darker and more viscous.

Sitting in the middle of the room is the stoic Baron, a small joint pinched between his lips. He doesn't notice them enter as his attention is fixed intently on a small device in his hands which he tinkers at with a screwdriver. Iasan rolls his eyes to them and hobbles to a pair of red tool boxes.

"All the tools yer need can be found here."

His grumbling causes Baron to jump slightly as he finally notices their presence. He gives the puffed up Irishman a condescending scowl and begins to flail his arms in an animated fashion.

"What the hell do you want?" the Turk barks.

"Take 'er easy Mohammed, just givin' the new crew a tour."

"Mic prick," Baron drops his small device and storms through a back door. Iasan turns to them, grins wide and flicks a little wink.

"What was he workin' on?" intrigued, Fergus lumbers to the table which Baron was working at. "What the hell is it?"

"Lets take a look."

Johan and Saul fill in beside him. Clamped in Fergus' hand is a small metal device. A fanned out cone of metal is attached to a sealed compartment filled with small metal shot. Johan ponders a second and comes to a conclusion.

"It looks like an explosive."

"'Magine 'at. A towel-head buildin' a bomb. Tha's original," Iasan says in a dry, sarcastic tone.

"I think it's a claymore," Saul says.

"Thats what I was thinking," Johan agrees.

"Well, 'ats yer tour. See yer 'round," Iasan grumbles as he heads back up the steps. Fergus shrugs, sets the device back down and turns to Saul.

"Lets go hal 'er up."

"Lets go."

Back on deck, the three take up their same stations around the trawling gear. Johan runs the winch while Saul and Fergus keep the net snag free. Johan flips the switch and the cables begin to wind up around the cylinder. The cables coil without tangle or incident and as the net reaches the stern, Saul and Fergus wrestle it aboard. The mesh now holds a few flopping sea creatures.

"Be careful," Johan warns them and reaches for his pistol as the largest fish flops violently. It's spiny dorsal fin is viciously spiky. Johan aims the ivory gripped revolver and sends a shell into the ugly face of the gray sea monster. It flops one more time from nerves and goes limp. The smaller fish are less aggressive, as they let Saul and Fergus easily scoop them into five gallon buckets. The captain emerges from the tower with a big smile on his face.

"Good job men. Run the fish down to the ladies Saul."

"You got it," Saul takes a bucket in each hand and hustles off to the galley.

"Sure is an ugly b*****d isn't it?" the captain gives the large, ugly fish a swift kick. Fergus' face still wear a look of complete disgust at the gray, barbed anamoly of nature.

"What is it?"

"I don't think it has a specific name. Perhaps a mutated sturgeon. They do eat good though, I'll show you how to safely fillet it."

The captain reaches under his pant leg and removes a sharp, thin bladed knife. He strolls over to the limp fish and carefully rolls it belly up. He slips the knife down the center of it's white gorged gullet and the guts ooze out onto the deck. Next, he chops off the head with a couple sawing actions.

"Now this is the last part," the captain puts the tip of the fin between his fingers and begins to saw the spikes off. It takes a great deal of force as the fin is constructed of solid bone. As each spike is severed, the skin connected to them slowly starts to fall off leaving a beautiful fillet of snow white meat. Fergus chuckles as his look disgust turns to a look of flabbergaster.

"I'll be damned..."

"Take 'em to the galley," the captain hands one fillet each to Fergus and Johan. "I'll clean this mess up and get the nets back in the water."

They head off to the kitchen with a fulfilled look on their faces and hearty fish filets in their hands.

Saul enters the kitchen with the new catch and is greeted by a kiss on the lips from Alieana. She looks down into the buckets with a pleasant smile. She picks one of the small fish up and looks it over closely.

"What kind of fish are these?"

"Not sure. Cod?"

"That they are," Orabella relieves him of one of the buckets.

"Let me take that sweetie," Alieana takes the second gorged bucket. "Have a drink."

"Thanks," Saul kisses her on the forehead.

"There's some beer in the cooler," she nods her head to a wooden box next to the stove. Saul heads toward it and opens the door with a creak. A cold wave of air falls out onto his face as he looks in upon a compartment filled with bottles of different shapes and colors. Mostly Guinness. Pulling one out, he pops the top and takes an indulgent sip of the dark amber, Irish lager. The hearty black draught hits the spot. He turns around to take a seat when Johan and Fergus enter carrying two immaculately white fillets of fish.

"Oh wow, we hardly ever get those," Orabella beams. "You boys are good fisherman."

"Yea, more like lucky," Saul hands Johan and Fergus a Guinness each.

The three sit and chat until the women are done cooking. Orabella pulls on a string hanging down from the ceiling and a loud diner whistle sounds. Less then five minutes later, the captain and the rest of the crew file in and take a seat at the large dining table. The smell of the fresh fish seared to perfection on the hot stove is delectable. They all sit down to enjoy their meal when the captain stands to make a toast. He lifts his bottle of Guinness and looks merrily down upon the ragtag crew which he has assembled.

"To a great trip with our new crew."

"Here here," Gaahl takes a big gulp.

The large fish fillet is light and flaky and wonderfully delicious. The smaller cod have been mixed into a stew made with the dehydrated potatoes and milk, everything tastes great.

Everyone eats way more then necessary and sit around the large table drinking, chatting, and smoking with gorged bellies and heavy eyes. Saul pauses briefly as the image of the net reenters his mind and turns to captain abruptly.

"Should we go haul the net up again?"

"Don't worry about it, Gaahl and Son will deal with it. You're free to go to your cabins, I've noticed the young lady seams anxious," the captain refers to Alieana and she smiles. Alieana nods her head in agreement, takes Saul's large hand, and stands for him to join her.

"Lets go sweetie..."

"Have fun boyo," Fergus bellows drunkly.

"Goodnight everyone," Alieana says as she pulls Saul forcefully through the galley door. Also thinking it's a good idea, Johan finishes the last of his Guinness and stands.

"I suppose I'll turn in too." And he leaves the galley.

Without a spoken word, Son stands, bows his head low and hustles off to his cabin to do his pre-slumber workout.

"Goodnight everyone," Torri stands and walks to the door. She quickly turns around and gives Faux a wink and then she's gone.

"Me too. Im stuffed," Faux nervously gets up and scampers out after Torri.

"Yer goin to bed little man?" Fergus slurs to Raul.

"Im not tired."

"What do you think sweetheart?" the captain covertly rubs Orabella's thigh under the table.

"I suppose," she kisses him on the cheek and stands. The captain follows and they leave the galley. Iasan, noticing their bottles empty, turns to the remaining crew of Fergus and Gaahl and smacks his hand down on the table.

"How 'bout another round?"

"Why the hell not!" Fergus cheers.

"Aye!" Gaahl gulps down the last of his.

"I need some sleep," Baron stands and leaves in a gliding step. Iasan stumbles to the cooler and takes three more beers out. He gets back to the table and hands his drinking buddies their bottles. When the last drops are gone the drunk crew members stumble off to bed. Raul finally decides to go off to his bunk out of boredom.

Author's Note

Suggestions?