Grant could barely grip the wheel of the Sickle, as it heads straight towards the looming Crowltown. His uniform was ripped, covered in blood and not all of that was that of his enemies. His wide eyes scanned the ship, covered in bodies and bullet marks, the surviving crew members stepping between them, trying not to look at them.
Stephens called up,
“Captain. Shall we send signals to the-“
“Damn the signals! Get us down and warn the people to start evacuating!”
Stephens instantly fell quiet, the ship itself becoming deathly silent, broken only be the wind roaring and the humming of the engines.
As they reached the skydocks, Grant didn’t even bother going through the usual procedures, simply putting the ship next to the dock, hovering in mid-air.
“Stephens. Organise the evacuation. I’m heading up to the admiralty to destroy anything important.”
He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, jumping over the side of the ship and landing on the dock. He began to sprint, rushing past a small crowd that had gathered, garnering looks of shock as he passed, as they noticed the blood.
He reached the admiralty, up the stairs and burst into Crowl’s office. Jeremy was there, apparently finishing off organising all of the papers. He turned sharply as Grant entered, relief on his face as he realised who it was.
“Ah, Captain. I wondered when the fleet would arrive. Where’s the admiral?”
Grant paused for a moment to catch his breath.
“Dead.” He eventually responded. Jeremy slowly removed his spectacles, his eyes filled with confusion, then shock as he noticed the blood on the uniform.
“But I was told that he was on his way with the fleet! What happened?”
“There’s no time. Isim is coming. They caught all three hundred of us in an ambush and Crowl….he...”
Grant stopped himself. Crowl had survived many scrapes before, but this was something impossible, something that showed how truly out of his depth Crowl was.
Jeremy turned to the papers.
“You want to burn them all?”
“Yes. No compromising information must be left for those bastards. Also…”
He tossed a bloodstained pistol to Jeremy, who clumsily caught it and stared at it for a moment.
“Captain, whose pistol is this?”
“Crowls.”
“And the bloodstain?”
Grant bit his bottom lip to compose himself.
“Crowl’s.”
Jeremy shook his head, placed the pistol on the table and began rifling through the shelves. Grant joined him, pulling out each and every paper. The fireplace was already lit and soon enough the papers ended up in the hearth, withering in the heat. As they worked, the roar of engines from outside could be heard as merchants and civilian ships alike began to take off. Grant forced a smile at that, Stephens was still very good at doing his work.
Then the smile faded as he recognised different engine sounds, the sounds of ships slowing down, which was unlikely to happen to a ship taking off. And if ships were coming in to land… Grant poked his head out of the window, to see hundreds of ships bearing the Black Wolf of Isim starting to land near the outskirts of the city, some so brazen as to land directly on the docks. He started to do some calculations in his head. Crowltown had a garrison of five hundred men. Assuming half of them would run, or surrender, the best they could muster would be around four hundred, the crew of the Sickle and the few other ships that had been based in Crowltown before the war could contribute a good deal.
“We nearly done here?” He asked Jeremy, who was desperately poking the hearth with a pair of tongs.
“Almost. Do you know who’s leading the invaders?” Jeremy replied, his voice barely able to keep itself from shaking.”
“Unfortunately. His name is Thaddeus Jenkins.”
“Jenkins….Jenkins… Wait, THE Thaddeus Jenkins? The pioneer of flight? Isn’t he over seventy?”
“Yeah. He also beat Crowl to death with his own gun. He’s a damned monster. He might also have a personal problem with me.”
“Have you met him before? Insulted him?”
“No. But I’m sure you’ve read about the ship he made the first ever flight in.”
“Yes…it was called….the Sickle if I remember correct-“
His face paled and he shot a glance at Grant.
“Your ship is called the Sickle.”
“It is.”
“You didn’t seriously-“
“I didn’t realise until I looked over the side of the ship the day after the Exodus…”
“You stole Thaddeus Jenkins ship? You suicidal-”
He was interrupted by the sounds of gunfire that could be heard in the distance now and Jeremy’s actions became more hurried. Grant wondered if the Sickle got out of the way in time. He’d hate to see the ship be taken, even if it was technically stolen to begin with. Jeremy grunted and called over to Grant,
“Captain, I’m just about finished. Can you check just to make sure it’s all up to standards?”
Grant headed over and began to poke the ruined paper with tongs. It all seemed rather blackened and twisted enough.
“It must be heart-breaking for you to have to burn all this.”
“I’ve been tempted several times while I was trying to organise it.”
It was nice to see that someone could find humour in such terrible times. As he spoke, Jeremy headed over to the window.
“What did Jenkins look like? I’m rather curious on what the father of flight is like.”
“White coat, practically bald. Got a nasty looking scimitar.” Grant replied. In his mind, he saw him walking through the crowds of desperate fighters, his scimitar dripping with blood. Crowl rushing up and being sliced across the chest like he was some amateurish fighter and the pistol being raised over and over by Jenkins as he slammed it into Crowl’s head.
Jeremy froze suddenly and swallowed. Grant looked up.
“What is it?”
“There’s a man in a white coat heading down the road.”
Grant cursed and rushed to the window. The admiral’s room overlooked the street in front of the building, the man in white was heading from the left side. With him came around two dozen men, armed with rifles and swords.
“Did our resistance fall so easily?” Jeremy mused. Grant doubted that there had been much, if any. Still, they’d found some resistance here at
least.
Grant leaned his head out of the window and called out,
“Isim bastards! I’ve got a present from Admiral Crowl for you!”
And he emptied his pistol at Jenkins. The bullets bounced all around him, one striking a man behind him in the leg. As he fell, Jenkins looked up at Grant, a look of disapproval on his face. He gave a wave and two of the men fell out of line. The rest suddenly aimed their rifles up at Grant.
Oh Shi-
He grabbed Jeremy and pulled him down as the resulting rifle fire tore the window to pieces, shot after shot hitting the ceiling and bouncing all around. Then silence. Grant slowly raised his head, shaking loose bits of glass from his hair. The window was practically gone, the wood smashed and the glass in pieces around them.
He got to his feet and handed Crowl’s pistol to Jeremy as he too rose.
“Shoot at them. Have you ever shot something before?”
“No.”
“Well, everyone has to do something for the first time.”
Grant turned and headed out of the room. By now, Jenkins and his cronies were probably in the building. Grant reloaded his pistol as fast as he could, when he heard the sound of clunking feet on the stairs. He peered over the banisters, below him three men were ascending, one of them was Jenkins, scimitar drawn. Grant took aim and fired, the first shot grazing the bannister next to Jenkins. The second shot struck the man in front of him in the head, sending him to the ground. The third, fourth and fifth shots struck the man behind Jenkins, sending him tumbling back down the stairs screaming. The sixth shot bounced off the scimitar, leaving a tiny dent in the gleaming surface.
Jenkins glanced at his dead comrade and then began to run with a speed that Grant would not have expected a seventy year old man to have. He ran for Crowl’s door and slammed it shut behind him, just as a huge explosion rocked the outside of the building. He saw Jeremy holding a smoking pistol, in his mouth was the pin of a hand grenade. Grant didn’t bother asking at first, he dragged the now empty shelf to the door and lay it down to block the door.
“What the hell was that?” he shouted to Jeremy.
“I just remembered that the admiral kept a hand grenade in his desk. Apparently it was a sentimental piece from a fight with a pirate.”
Grant remembered it all right. The Grenadier, a pirate renowned for his use of explosives. When cornered by Crowl, he’d panicked and hurled a grenade without removing the pin. Crowl caught it in one hand, while skewering the pirate with the other. He would have been happy to see it put to such good use.
“How many did you get?”
Jeremy peered out of the window and blanched.
“Not sure. There’s…a lot of bits.”
“Reload your pistol then. We’ve got Jenkins just outside the d-“
As he spoke, the door broke apart as Thaddeus Jenkins’ boot came through, followed by the rest of the man. His aged face had the texture of worn sandstone, his eyes sparkling with the glow of a man who had achieved great things. He spoke, his voice stern and sharp.
“I don’t appreciate being shot at, rebels.”
“I don’t appreciate a full scale takeover of a city.”
Jenkins seemed to consider him for a brief moment.
“You were the bastard at the wheel of the Sickle during that engagement. Yes, I recognise your snivelling hide, the repugnant odour of a man who let his commander die, then succeeded only in retrieving the weapon used and not the actual body. So, where is the Sickle? Where is my ship?”
So he hasn’t found it yet. Good.
Jenkins raised his scimitar.
“I suggest fighting. I’ve been ordered to take no prisoners, so surrendering is really pointless.”
As he spoke, a roar came from outside the ruined window and the view was suddenly obscured by the deck of an airship. As Grant frowned in confusion, he saw Stephens standing next a small firing squad, aiming directly through the window.
“DOWN!” Grant shouted and ducked as the room was torn apart by rifle fire. Jenkins dived as well, behind the desk as bullets went everywhere. As they stopped, Grant grabbed Jeremy and held him close.
“I’m going to kill him. You go.”
As he was about to throw Jeremy through the window onto the deck, he pulled him back.
“Oh, and when you see Melissa, tell her…”
He tried to think of something grandiose and romantic. Nothing sensible came to mind, so he just went with whatever he could think up.
“Tell her that she’s aged rather well.”
With that, he threw Jeremy onto the deck of the schooner, waving it away even as Stephens beckoned to him. Sure enough, it flew away, engines roaring into the distance. It was at this moment that Grant realised that he may have just insulted his love in his last romantic message.
By now Jenkins was on his feet, a small smile on his face.
“Clever little trick, though I’m sure you didn’t plan it.”
Grant drew his own sword, though it wasn’t nearly as imposing as the scimitar.
“You ramble like an old man…though I suppose it’s hardly surprising.” Grant shot back.
“Age jokes? I see the art of humour has bypassed your nation, though with Tarkon in charge I’m more surprised that he hasn’t banned fun. Oh well, enough of your poor banter.”
Jenkins leapt forward, striking with the scimitar. Grant parried the strike and thrust at Jenkins, who dodged to the side. The room had turned into an obstacle course, with glass and wood and plaster everywhere, with the table and furniture providing cover. The two began to duel, fighting over the tables, Grant even picked up a handful of broken masonry and hurled it at Jenkins, who fell back to avoid it. All the while neither managed to land a hit. Was Jenkins tiring? Was this seventy year old legend finally showing that he was a human? With a roar, Grant thrust forward and cut Jenkins cheek as he tried to back away. The old man reached up and touched the wound, letting out a small hiss of pain as he felt it.
“I’m rather impressed. It’s been almost 25 years since someone landed a hit on me.”
“Is old age impairing you?” Grant taunted him yet again.
“Aye. This has become a game for young men.”
Grant charged forward again. He swung his sword sideways, but Jenkins blocked it and shoulder barged him against the wall. Grant grunted as Thaddeus stood back and whipped out his pistol. Two shots went off instantly, right into his chest and he flew back against the wall.
“However, when it comes to shooting a pistol, I’m still the best.” Jenkins finished. Grant slid down the wall, trying to speak, but nothing came out. Not even his breath, he guessed that both lungs were punctured. And then he felt something he hadn’t truly felt for a long time. Fear. Fear of dying alone, even in battle he would have been amongst friends.
No. I can’t die here, I won’t!
And yet, even as he tried to raise himself to his feet, that’s exactly what happened to him.
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Re: The Stormy Skies (Updated 06/05 w/ Chapter 11)
to rede I me delyte
Frothy Goodness
Originally Posted by Alwyn
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on a farm. People like me are easy to come by. People like you and Captain Calrich are rare.”
