The Adventures of the HMS Harlot

Part 6: Otto River, Boatswain

It was just after one o'clock when me and my men ascended the ladder on the eastern side of the factory floor. The cannons we were after would be too big and too valuable to be kept lying around in the tedious rows of supplies. They would be in another hanger, ready to be loaded on with cranes in the morning when whatever ship came to retrieve them.

Sydney's hulking frame clanked loudly on the metal catwalks as we attempted to creep along towards the other end of the complex. I made a quick motion with my hands to let the men start trying every door lining the walkway. Many turned up no good, some of the men took a particular fancy to one door which held no cannons at their report.

"I think I got something." Sydney hissed through the darkness at a small metal door set on the right hand side. I went over to have a peek.

Sure enough, it was a larger yard with a crane and a handful of large wooden crates stamped with TWIGGE WEAPONS FACTORY on the side. It might not be cannons, but it was more likely than not.

"Now, the plan is to get those cannons back up here and back to the gate." I ordered the men. "Unfortunately, this door doesn't look quite large enough to fit something of their immense size."

"I can fix that in a jiff, mate." Sydney garbled and pushed me out of the way.

Sydney had cut a clean hole in a matter of minutes with his drill attachment (note to self: update the list of known attachments for the cyborg) while two men went to cover the door. The hole was only big enough for a single man to get through one at a time at a crouch. It would be easier on the return. The air smelt rancid, like a good banana left to rot in the sun and then coated in copper. We moved quietly down the catwalk and around a small bend and then down a flight of stairs to the floor.

The men were superb. With an efficiency cleaved into them by an unrelenting whip, they had pried open a fourth of the cargo boxes and were silently marking those that were of no use to us without disturbing the packaging. There were some duds to be found, some cannons not fit enough to drop a windgull, but we hit the jackpot underneath an awning over to the right of the yard.

Six premium 60mm cannons with triple barrel attachments and four subsidiary chambers for ammunition. These would no doubt be spent on some fancy Armada vessel, maybe even the Israphel itself.

Or they were waiting to replace similar weapons on the Michael...and we ran right into its path and stole its toys to boot.

We had them out in no time. Sydney himself handled pulling the cannons out of the crates, while the men used the lifts around the yard to transport them to the hole on the catwalk. I managed to get the ropes secured to the hooks around the rigging mechanism, and we began to haul them along the small walkway back towards the group as expeditiously as quiet would allow. I thought I heard a few scuffles somewhere out in the yard and a heavy door slamming shut but I thought nothing of it. Had I known...

We were rounding the corner, hefting the cannons onto the last stretch of catwalk before the stairs when I felt Gobbs tap me on the shoulder and then pat my left ear. It was out code to halt; an observer was up ahead. I nodded and crept low, taking Brielle with me to cover. The guard was up above with a mate, both walking in opposite directions. I signalled Brielle into position while I turned around to give the all clear signal to Thimble once the guard was out of sight. Once facing proper, however, Thimble gave me the secondary signal that another guard was spotted in another direction. We would have to coordinate the takedowns better or simultaneously. We would have, if the cyborg hadn't been there.

Sydney had jumped up onto a stack of crates and ambushed the one guard with a loud bang, drawing the other guard over to see what the fuss was. There was some faint squirming on another part of the catwalk as well. As the guard neared Sydney and his fallen comrade, the cyborg menace turned and fired a single shot into the man's chest.

And then the bell began to ring.

"Move!" I shouted as I pushed my weight onto the cannon in front of me. There no point to being quiet, the alarm was sounded. The watch would be sent. A radio distress might already be alerting Armada ships in the skies. Then I head the heavy rattle of a belt and turned to see the heavy iron doors sliding shut on the entrance to the factory.

"Double time!" I commanded, but I knew it was no use. If those doors, shut, we were doomed. I felt a rush of wind as Sydney pelted past me and fixed his mechanical arm on one of the doors. He dug his heels into the hard concrete and began to tug backwards. With a wrenching noise, the door began to slide back along its track towards Sydney and away from the other partition. Connor dissolved out of the darkness beside him, helping him tug the door open against the protesting belt.

I cracked my whip to get the men moving. The door wouldn't hold for long and the cannons needed to get out into the yard and back to the ship as soon as possible. I figured we wouldn't have the gift of time on our side to get them installed properly. We'd have to do it while ducking from bullets at this point.

Upon reaching the shipyard, I realized just how screwed we were. The gates had been sealed shut against us and the Harbor master was waving a rifle around like a madman. The men began battering the gates down with the cannons, I cringed a bit at that, while I vaulted the fence and made for the harbor master's cabin.

With a quick parry and a sharp stab, the harbormaster dropped and I was able to lift the gang ways back into place as the rest of the crew surged back onto the Harlot with the loot. I could see lights spreading through the Province and the radio was blaring out the issue to stop Victoria Neckett at all costs.

As soon as I saw the last crew member cross into the harbor, I dropped the portcullis and destroyed the mechanics. It would take a fair amount of time to get any real support into the Harbor or to their boats, by which time we would have enough of a head start. I grabbed the rifle off the former harbormaster and made to run back to the ship when the sound caught up with me.

I jumped onto the deck as the Harlot swayed and began to depart. The soldiers were taking shots at us and scrambling for their own vessels but the sound stayed with me.

The radio had stopped.

All that was coming over the speakers was static.

Something was jamming radio signals in the area.

OTTO RIVER