//Hey all. First of all, thanks for reading! This is the first of a five-part look at how William Honeycutt came to be a privateer. I'll post the rest in this thread in the next few days - it is nearly done.
William Honeycutt shuffled his way through the long and dark hallways of Her Majesty’s Prison Belmarsh, located in a fairly remote area of Planet New London. He could faintly hear the constant rain pattering off the steel walls of the prison as he was led, shacked, down the hallway. His brown hair, the dust and grime from the prison adding to the color, was falling unevenly over his face. His clothing was starting to fall apart from overuse – a far cry from the dashing attire he wore when he left Cambridge barely a week ago. The gunshot wound in his leg was mostly healed at this point, but his leg still throbbed with each step.
Passing by a small room, the open door barely lit by a single hanging light, he glanced inside and saw Gerhardt Dieter, former first mate of the pirate vessel Jocelyn’s Delight, sitting handcuffed to a chair as two men, one dressed in the typical garb of the Bretonia Police Authority and the other dressed as a member of the Rheinland Federal Police, exchanged paperwork back and forth over a table.
Honeycutt’s heart sank. He was sure Dieter and the rest of the crew of the Delight made it away from the ambush. That was the whole reason I gave myself up on that blasted gunboat in the first place! he thought to himself.
Looking up, Dieter and Honeycutt made eye contact, and the Rheinlander spoke in a flat, resigned tone. “I’m sorry Captain, they cornered us a few minutes after they got you. Look on the bright side – I’m going home.” Dieter seemed on the verge of tears, far and away the most emotion Honeycutt ever saw from his former First Mate. “It has been a pleasure serving at your side…see you in the next – “ The Rheinland police officer causally stood up and slapped Dieter across the mouth hard enough to draw blood.
“Stop talking pirate.” He said in a chilly, accented tone. “You’ll have plenty of time to speak serving a life sentence at Vierlande”
Dieter smiled. He really has smiled a lot more since we teamed up Honeycutt thought. The BPA constable escorting him nudged him violently away from the room containing his first mate.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Honeycutt began. “I’m the reason we’re here, not you. See you on the other side, Dieter,” Honeycutt rasped, his voice barely carrying loud enough to be heard. A fit of coughing overcame Honeycutt as he nearly fell over.
The escort, a young constable barely out of the Academy, looked on with worry. “I’ll be fine, lad,” Honeycutt said in the same raspy whisper. “Inhaled a bit of an incendiary grenade from the ambush your fine counterparts –“ more coughs from a bent-over Honeycutt – “at the BAF sprung on us, which led to my current condition.” Honeycutt flashed a sickly grin as the pair walked down the hallway.
A few dozen meters down the hallway – slow progress for the nearly-crippled and shackled Honeycutt – the pair stopped before a thick oaken door. The young constable knocked twice.
“Enter,” a voice beckoned from the other side. The constable opened the door and led a slow-moving Honeycutt into the small room. A single wall-hung electric light illuminated a man dressed in a Bretonia Armed Forces uniform seated at a desk with a stack of papers off to the side.
Honeycutt fell into the chair opposite the military man and the constable secured his shackles to a specially-made lock in the ground. Not that I could escape if I wanted to, Honeycutt thought between coughing spasms. The Bretonia doctor from Her Majesty’s Prison Service said the scarring in his lungs would heal over time, but that didn’t do much to reassure Honeycutt at the present time.
“You can leave constable,” the military man stated flatly. He was an older fellow, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, a flat nose and a square chin with the barest hint of stubble. Sharp grey eyes completed the look.
The constable nodded once and turned, closing the door. The military man stood up and walked over to Honeycutt. Eyeballing him up and down, he produced a small key and used it to unlock Honeycutt’s handcuffs. He was still shackled to the ground with his ankle locks, but at least his wrists were free.
Reflexively Honeycutt rubbed his wrists. “Who the hell are you?” he asked slowly, so not to trigger another coughing fit.
Sitting back down the military man spoke again. “My name is Commodore Matthew Perry,” he spoke with a New London accent, “Quite simply, I have an offer for you.”
Honeycutt started laughing. “What is this, a joke?”
The Commodore waiting until Honeycutt was done laughing. “No joke, pirate. I have a proposal.”
“And what’s that?” Honeycutt flashed a grin that barely touched his eyes.
“Simple. Come work for us.”
“Who is ‘us’”?
“We’re Queen Carina’s Privateers.”
Honeycutt fell silent. He’d heard of the Privateers, of course. Everyone who had access to a ship and flew it in the Taus had, of course. He’d hardly expected to meet one of their leaders, but life was like that sometimes.
“You have my attention Commodore.” The grin was gone. “What’s the proposal?”
“Simple,” the Commodore began, pulling out a sheet of paper. “You join us or spend the rest of your life rotting away on Newgate. You did assault a pair of gunboats after all.”
Was that a hint of admiration in his voice? Honeycutt asked himself.
“Talk about making a man an offer he can’t refuse,” Honeycutt muttered.
“You are lucky we are offering you at all,” Perry flatly said, eyes narrowing. “Far and away the vast majority of…your kind… we simply throw in Newgate to rot away. The special ones get this offer. Needless to say, all of them accept.” A ghost of a smile crossed Perry’s face.
Honeycutt thought for a minute, still rubbing his raw wrists. “What about my first mate?”
Perry furrowed his brow and shook his head. “The Rheinlander in the other room? This offer is only for citizens of Bretonia.”
“I need him,” Honeycutt insisted. “He’s one of the best helmsmen in the Taus. Work some magic, I need him at my side,” Honeycutt flashed the same grin that got him in to – and out off – so many previous situations.
“I can’t believe this,” Perry proclaimed in a voice with a hint of anger. “You aren’t in a position to make demands.”
“I don’t care what my position is,” Honeycutt declared, trying not to cough everywhere. “He’s an asset to me, and if I’m going to be an asset to the Crown, then he’ll be an asset to the Crown as well.”
Perry folded his hands in front of his face and thought for a bit. “Constable!” he barked through a small communicator on the table. The BPA constable who escorted Honeycutt through the prison opened the door a heartbeat later.
“Sir?” he asked.
“Bring the Rheinlander and the RFP officer in here please,” Perry demanded.
A minute or so later Dieter, himself shackled the same way Honeycutt was, was escorted into the now-crowded room. The BPA constable resumed his position on the outside, while the RFP officer stood just behind Dieter, who was starting to show a black eye.
Despite his bruising, Dieter kept his head held up and looked Perry right in the eye. Perry looked at his papers for a minute, stood up and raised his right hand.
“Gerhardt Dieter, do you solemnly affirm to uphold the laws and customs of the Kingdom of Bretonia and defend her from enemies both foreign and domestic?” Perry asked, alternating his glance from Dieter back to Honeycutt.
“Great!” Perry said with a resigned smile. “You are now a provisional citizen of the Kingdom of Bretonia. You’ll get some forms to fill out later. You’ll see that we love forms here in Bretonia, so get used to it.” Perry sat back down.
“Sorry officer,” Perry began, holding his hands up in a sign of defeat. “We need these two, so no extradition for you.”
“Makes my life easier, to be honest, so I can live with it,” the Rheinlander stated flatly. “Please fill out the proper forms and I’ll be on my way.” The Rheinlander quickly uncuffed Dieter, leaving his feet shacked but his hands free.
Perry pointed to the constable and the two police officers left, the Rheinlander following the Bretonian. Perry turned his attention to the two pirates, one sitting, one standing.
“All set now?” Perry asked, clearly exasperated. “You two had better be worth it…”
“Where do we sign?” Honeycutt grinned and reached for a pen.
//This is part two. As always, thanks for reading and feedback can be found here
Tau-23 System, 819 A.S, about 3 years earlier.
William Honeycutt flattened himself against a bulkhead wall as Gallic blaster fire whizzed past his head. He could smell the burnt air from the gunfire as it rocketed past him, barely missing his head.
“I love my job!” he yelled over the noise, blindly returning fire down the corridor.
“You are daft, boy,” Michael, the dour man whose job it was to make sure no Gauls crept up on the pair from behind.
“Live a little, Mike. It isn’t every day we get to plunder Gauls,” William said with a toothy grin as he reloaded his side arm.
“Don’t know why we didn’t stick to the IMG and Zoners. They don’t fight back like this.” Michael, despite – or perhaps because of – his sour disposition, was exceedingly good at his job, so the pair of pirates were relatively safe for the time being.
“IMG? Where the hell are we going to sell raw, unprocessed hydrocarbons?” William replied, scanning the hallway for signs of life. “Not like BMM will let us land anywhere, and they aren’t worth hauling to the Omegas to sell to the Rheinlanders. And even if they were worth a profit, we’ll make a lot more selling finished goods.”
“Either way, anything is better than this. At least we get to help Bretonia.” Michael squeezed one more shot off as he and William advanced down the hallway to the bridge of the Gallic transport. In the distance, echoed by the metal hallways, the pair could hear more blaster fire as they made their way to the front of the ship. The hallway was narrow, maybe two meters wide by three high, painted in a dull grey. The Gauls use the same paint colors as every other ship I’ve raided, William thought to himself as he scanned the hallway for trouble. As the first mate of the Jocelyn’s Delight and second-in-command of this raid, he felt personally responsible for Michael’s safety, and despite giving the man a hard time, he did genuinely like him.
“Since when do I care about Bretonia, Mike?” Honeycutt asked as the pair walked slowly, headed for the bridge.
“Well, sir, I figured since you were from there and all…”
“I’m loyal to credits, not queen and country. I live a simple life, Mike. I raid and plunder,” the pair was almost at the main door to the bridge, and could hear voices on from the other side of the door. “Then if all goes well, I spend the money on gin and women, not necessarily in that order.” William flashed another grin as Michael signed.
“No time like the present,” Honeycutt said as they opened the door to the bridge.
Just like the rest of the ship, the bridge of the Gallic transport was unremarkable. Large viewing windows made of transparent metal ringed the front of the ship, as various controls and displays ringed a captain’s chair and what looked like a helmsman station. William noticed two other pirates, his captain, an ignorant but effective man named Ron and one other crewmen, who Honeycutt didn’t remember offhand.
In the front of the bridge were a few men dressed in IDF Shipping uniforms with their hands on their heads as the captain and leader of the pirates swore at them in broken English. The Gaul wore a terrified look as he struggled to understand the demands from the pirate captain. Honeycutt could see ice from the Tau-23 ice field bounce off the viewer glass and in the distance he could make out the system’s star.
“Sir, let me take over,” Honeycutt offered. “I speak a decent amount of French.”
“Thank God,” Ron said with a curse attached. “These frogs don’t speak a lick of English.”
In decent-but-by-no-means-great French Honeycutt spoke to the terrified captain and his two crewmen. “What are the passcodes to the cargo bulkheads? Then we’ll leave you in peace.”
The pirate captain looked back at his two crewmen, terror slowly draining from his face. “The codes are WBG-5684. Now take the cargo and please leave.”
Honeycutt translated and his captain smiled. “You two” – he pointed at Honeycutt and Michael – “go to the cargo area and prepare to jettison to space, so we can haul it in. The scanner said they had platinum, that’ll fetch a pretty price. Focus on that first.”
As he and Michael turned to head back to the cargo area, Honeycutt and his captain’s communicator’s both barked in stereo. “Sir, long-range scanners show two Gallic cruisers, 15 klicks and closing sir!” said a voice from the Jocelyn’s Delight bridge.
“Prepare to decouple in two minutes,” Ron ordered. “All men on the Jocelyn’s Delight, prepare for battle stations. William, we need that platinum!”
Honeycutt had taken two more steps, never turning his back from the three IDF captives, when one of them, in one fluid motion, reached down to his boot, pulled out a small dagger and threw it at the captain, hitting him right in the throat. Ron clutched his throat as he gurgled, blood pouring out from between his fingers as he staggered back a few steps, falling into the captain’s chair dead.
“Damn it all!” Honeycutt yelled as he and Michael shot dead the three IDF men in a rage.
“Let’s get that cargo, or this will all have been for naught,” William said, voice shaking. The three pirates left the blood-spattered bridge and ran to the cargo hold. Punching the codes into the door, they saw boxes and boxes laid in neat little rows.
“Bridge, this is William Honeycutt. The captain is dead.” William paused to let the news sink in. Ron wasn’t beloved by any stretch, but he was an effective leader. “We are jettisoning the cargo now. Be prepared to tractor it in. We’ll be back on board the Jocelyn’s Delight in thirty seconds.
Honeycutt found the controls to open the cargo bay to the vacuum of space and activated them. He could feel the pressure change as he closed off the now-exposed cargo bay to the rest of the ship.
Most transports had their cargo stacked on conveyer belts, which made it much easier to offload once a transport landed. It also made it much easier to jettison cargo to space, as the belts automatically activated when the controls to open the cargo bay were activated, regardless of whether the transport was in space or not. In moments, boxes of platinum were floating in the void. William saw the pirate ship tractor in the boxes.
“Sir, Gallic cruisers 7 klicks and closing,” the bridge spoke, a hint of urgency in his voice.
“We’re leaving gents,” Honeycutt stated as the three of them ran to the hallway connecting the Gallic transport and the pirate ship.
As soon as the three pirates were safely abroad their ship the two ships decoupled. William sprinted to the bridge, reaching it in less than 15 seconds.
“Did we get all the metal?” he asked, slightly out of breath.
“Yes sir. Three thousand units, military grade platinum, safely on board,” one of the deckhands manning the bridge replied with a slight smile.
“So at least that went well.” Honeycutt smiled again, this time a little more subdued. “Get us out of here. Head for the Tau-29 hole, let’s try to shake these cruisers.”
Honeycutt felt the shudder of the Serenity’s cruise engines come on, as he saw the first long-range shots from the Gallic cruisers pass by the ship.
“How far are they?” Honeycutt asked, standing at his usual first mate station.
“About 4 klicks” replied the deckhand. I really should try and remember his name William scolded himself, but put the thought out of his head for the time being.
The Serenity-class ship settled into cruise as the autopilot expertly dodged the larger of the ice crystals, leaving the two cruisers far behind. Honeycutt finally had a moment to reflect on the hectic escape and the death of his captain.
I’m in charge now he thought with equal parts fear and anticipation. What’s the next move?
//This is the third of a five-parter. As always, thanks for reading and please post feedback here
Nago Station, Tau-29 System, 819 A.S
William Honeycutt sat in the small captain’s quarters on his ship and wracked his brain again. The Serenity-class Jocelyn’s Delight was docked at Nago Station and the small crew was doing what they did best – drinking themselves into near-oblivion.
Honeycutt stayed on board – with any luck they’d only be docked at Nago for about two hours, as the ship refueled and he planned the next move. He’s only been captain for about two hours, thrust into the role when the previous captain had been killed leading a raid on board a Gallic cruiser.
A sharp knock on the metal door disrupted Honeycutt’s daydream, and he leaned over to open the door. Standing in the doorway was Gerhardt Dieter, his Rheinland-born First Mate, who was as new to his job as Honeycutt was to his.
“Sir,” Dieter began in accented English. “The ship will be ready to launch in about one hour. Have you decided upon a destination yet?”
“Yes Dieter. We’re going to New Berlin.”
“May I ask why sir?”
“Well, according to the commodities guide, one of the best places to sell this platinum is The Ring, right on New Berlin’s doorstep.”
“I’m familiar with the facility sir,” Dieter deadpanned.
Honeycutt nodded once before continuing. “Plus, we could lose a little bit of heat there.”
Dieter looked confused. “Well yes sir, New Berlin is very cold.”
“Not that kind of ‘heat’ Dieter,” Honeycutt replied with a grin. “I meant we could lay low. I imagine Gallia is…less than pleased…that we took the platinum.”
Dieter was in the process of leaving the small captain’s room when he stopped. “Question for you sir…why aren’t you selling the product here, at Nago?”
“Because we won’t make any money,” William stated forcefully. “Kishiro won’t give us market value for this metal, so we might as well travel a bit to make some real cash.”
“One more question sir…”
“Do all Rheinlanders question orders this much, or is that a trait unique to you?” Honeycutt replied with a grin to tell the other man he was being sarcastic.
“Just me sir. I consider it a First Mate’s job to ask questions until decisions have been made.” Dieter replied with a small smile of his own.
“Well, a decision has been made, Dieter. And I do appreciate you asking questions. Helps me think things through when I have to explain them out loud.”
“Makes sense, sir,” Dieter replied with a nod. “I will set the coordinates now.”
“You aren’t going to the bar Dieter?”
“I had not planned on it. I have enough Rheinbier to last the voyage to New Berlin.”
“Alright, in that case I’m going to the bar,” Honeycutt declared. “Better get the rest of the crew, right? Your ship, Dieter.”
Honeycutt made his way through the transport. It wasn’t very big, just a standard Serenity-class vessel with a small crew. Currently there were only about a half-dozen pirates total, including the two officers.
It wasn’t hard to find the bar at Nago Station, and there William Honeycutt saw the rest of his crew sitting around a prefab metal table with nearly-empty bottles of Kusari liquor in a neat little row on the table.
“Jesus boys, we’ve only been on this base for an hour, how much have you boys been drinking, and where can I get a glass?” Honeycutt asked, a broad smile on his face.
“Cap’n, how the hell are you! Pull up a chair!” One of his deckhands staged up to the bar and dragged a metal chair to the table.
“Have some of this sake…I personally can’t stand it, but it will get you drunk fast, and that ain’t a bad thing at all,” another replied with slurred speech.
“Just one boys, then we gotta shove off,” William said, motioning to the bartender, who quickly scurried over.
“Yes sir?” he asked in English with a Bretonian accent.
“One more round of sake for the five of us, and a box of bottles to go,” Honeycutt requested, the sounds of cheers from his rowdy crew ringing in his ears. Being a captain certainly has its perks, he thought as he poured himself a drink.
//Part four of five. Thanks again for reading! Please post feedback here
Planet Cambridge, Cambridge System, 822 A.S
William Honeycutt sat in a dimly-light bar in East Cambridge drinking straight from a bottle of Corsair-brewed dark rum. He was in the shadow of the Cambridge Research Institute’s School of Social Sciences and History, at a bar full of college-aged coeds enjoying a Friday night could attest to.
Coming back to Cambridge always made Honeycutt feel a bit nostalgic. He went to school here, a lifetime ago, back when he had dreams and expectations and silly things like that. Now his dreams were full of gunfire and credits – and I wouldn’t trade them for the world, he thought with a grin.
While Honeycutt was clearly enjoying watching the young ladies, he wasn’t here for companionship – although I won’t turn any down, he thought to himself wryly.
His ship, the Jocelyn’s Delight, was stowed planetside in a small rented garage, disguised to look like any other transport. Other than his First Mate, the steadfast Gerhardt Dieter, who was staying at a small apartment across from the ship, Honeycutt had dismissed his pirate crew a few weeks ago. He wanted to lay low for a bit planetside as the heat from a few daring raids in the Taus and even in the Leeds war zone died down.
Cambridge was the last place most people looked for wanted pirates. After two years of pirating every faction in just about every system from the northern Taus to the southern Omegas, Honeycutt and his crew were marked men with prices on their heads, so a few weeks shore leave were good to recharge both body and mind.
Honeycutt knew a friend from his more lawful days, a Cambridge professor named Thomas Callahan. Callahan was, in addition to a professor of computer sciences, a man who liked to play blackjack.
Ordinarily that wouldn’t be a problem, but Callahan didn’t play blackjack very well, so in order to pay back the tens of thousands of credits owed to some less-than-reputable people, he sold shipping information that he hacked from Bretonian computers to men like Honeycutt.
Honeycutt had used Callahan’s info before and it was always top-notch, and he was getting the plundering itch after a month away, so it was time to pay the good professor a visit.
On cue, Callahan walked into the bar, looking like a skittish colt. Seeing Honeycutt sit by himself at the bar, he nervously walked over and sat down.
“What are you drinking?” said the young-looking bartender.
“Gin and tonic,” Callahan replied in a bit of a nasally tone. “Fisheaters if you have it.”
Sipping the drink through shaking hands, Callahan subtly slid over a sheet of paper to Honeycutt, never turning to face the man.
Written in a neat script, was the following: There’s a shipment of Omega-11 diamonds due into Cambridge in four days time around 1500 SMT. It is coming via the Omega-3 jump gate.
Honeycutt smiled and just as subtly passed over a thousand-credit note. “More when I have the diamonds,” he whispered. Callahan nodded, finished his drink and left.
Honeycutt stood to leave himself – he had a few days to kill before getting back to the grind, and wanted to make sure his ship was ready for action. As he stood he turned blindly into a woman walking by and spilled his rum all over her.
“Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you man?” she yelled over the din of the bar, the rum soaking into her clothes.
“Listen, miss,” Honeycutt began talking then completely turned around. He noticed two things right away. Wow, she’s beautiful, Honeycutt thought to himself, trying not to stare. And she was. Honeycutt estimated her age at late-20s, not that far from his own. She had dark hair and eyes framing a pretty face that right now was smoldering in anger.
The second thing Honeycutt noticed was the clothing she was wearing. Instead of the suggestive, casual attire of the rest of the coeds, this very angry lady was dressed as a member of the Bretonia Armed Forces. Oh no, I’m so screwed. Odds are she knows who I am! Honeycutt thought, trying not to drop everything and panic.
“Yes?” the soldier asked.
“I’m sorry for spilling all over your uniform,” Honeycutt forced himself to say, all the while expecting a platoon of guards to come arrest him. “Let me buy you a drink to make up for it,” he found himself saying, silencing that little voice in his head that told him to run the hell away from the military officer.
She smiled and that little voice that told him to run fell silent. “Sure, why not?”
The two made their way to an empty corner table and spent the next few hours getting to know each other. Her name was Caroline, she was born on New London, her brother was a soldier on Planet Leeds, and she was stationed on a cruiser in orbit, planet side for a few days.
Honeycutt used one of his many alter identities – one did not survive a life of piracy without some prep work – and told Caroline he was David Walters, a simple trader who made a living hauling freight from Omega-3 to the Ring at New Berlin and back, occasionally taking the odd job up to the Taus to supplement his income.
She can really handle her gin, Honeycutt thought a few hours in. He himself was trying to drink as slowly as possible, in case he needed to make a clean getaway.
“You are pretty charming for a trader,” she said, a slight slur to her words. The bar was nearly empty – they’d been drinking and talking for a few hours now.
“Have to be, Caroline,” Honeycutt answered, keeping his guard up. “His Majesty’s Royal Navy doesn’t take too kindly to freelancer traders.”
“Screw those guys,” Caroline declared. “We’ll kick ‘em out of Leeds yet.” She was starting to slur her words more.
“We should go,” Honeycutt softly said. “Any more gin and you won’t be in fighting shape to save Leeds.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” she said. “I’m on leave for a few days, and then we are to go pirate-hunting in Cambridge and Omega-3. Between the Hessians and the ‘Sairs the place is crawling with scum.” The pair walked – fairly well considering the sheer amount of alcohol consumed – to the front of the door.
“Tell me David, you aren’t a pirate, are you?”
The hairs on Honeycutt’s neck stood up. Be calm, he told himself. “I’m not anywhere charming enough to be a pirate, Caroline.” Honeycutt flashed his best grin as he paid for the drinks.
“I owe you for the uniform,” he explained as he transferred the funds over to the bar.
“You certainly do,” she replied.
The two walked a few blocks to a hotel complex, a few blocks away. Caroline seemed to be sobering up with each step taken.
They walked up to the front door as Caroline swiped her key card for entry. Honeycutt turned to leave when her arm reached up to stop him. The jig is up! the nervous voice in Honeycutt’s head blared. I’m going to be arrested and spend the rest of my life at Newgate!
“Are you coming up with me?” Caroline asked. Honeycutt took one more look at her dark eyes, nodded and walked inside.
//This is the conclusion of my story. Thanks for reading! As always, please post feedback here
Keswick Ice Cloud, Cambridge System, 822 A.S.
William Honeycutt was back on the bridge of his ship as ice crystals bounced off the hull. In order to keep up appearances, he ordered one of his dozen crewmen to harvest a little water from the ice outside.
Just in gun range was a trade lane ring for the lane headed from the HMS Norfolk to the Omega-3 Gate. Given the density of the cloud, however, any ship taking the trade lane wouldn’t see the Jocelyn’s Delight until well after she disrupted the trade lane.
“Sir, transport on long range sensors,” Gerhardt Dieter said, reading a display. The rest of the Delight’s small crew was also on the bridge of the ship at their stations.
“Class?” Honeycutt asked tersely.
“Behemoth, sir” Dieter answered. “Daumann IFF…cargo shows unprocessed diamonds sir, straight from the Omega-11 fields.” Honeycutt saw Dieter flash a small smile before composing himself again.
“Disrupt the trade lane,” Honeycutt ordered. No sooner were the words out of his mouth before the guns of the Delight opened up on the lane. A quick flash and the Daumann vessel dropped velocity quickly.
“Daumann vessel, this is Captain Honeycutt of the Jocelyn’s Delight, spill your cargo bay or be destroyed,” Honeycutt ordered in his most intimidating voice over the local comms.
“Cowardly pirate!” a voice with a thick Rheinland accent cracked over the same channel. “We will do no such thing!”
“Open fire boys,” Honeycutt made sure to keep the local channel open when he gave the order. Men are brave until their shields fall; then they turn into cowards, Honeycutt thought with a smile.
The gunners of the Jocelyn’s Delight were both skilled and experienced, and the transport’s shielding steadily fell. It wasn’t long before they totally collapsed, and the ship’s hull began buckling under concentrated laser fire. The transport tried to return fire but her shots were erratic, and the ones that did find home were easily absorbed by the Delight’s augmented shielding.
“Last chance Daumann!” Honeycutt yelled over the blaster fire.
“Fine!” The captain of the halfway destroyed transport shrieked. “Take the diamonds! Just don’t kill us!”
On cue, one by one boxes began being jettisoned from the cargo hold of the damaged transport. “Bring ‘em in,” Honeycutt ordered.
After a moment of the boxes being tractored, a loud alert resonated through the cabin. “Sir, capital ships on long-range sensors,” Dieter declared, using the same tone of voice one might order a cup of coffee with. Nothing phases him, so nothing phases me, Honeycutt thought, more of a reassurance than anything else.
“How many Dieter?” Honeycutt asked, trying to keep his voice as level as his First Mate’s.
“One crusier, two gunboats,” Dieter replied after scanning the console. “About 6 klicks and closing.”
Honeycutt, still seated in his captain’s chair, punched a keypad in the arm. “We’ve got about fifteen hundred units of diamonds,” he stated to the crew. “That’ll be enough. Dieter, set course for the Omega-5 jumphole and – ”
Just as he was about to finish the order another alert went off. “Sir, two more gunboats closing from the rear,” Dieter said with the barest hint of worry.
“Fun,” Honeycutt grinned. “So a cruiser and four gunboats, huh?” They must really want that bounty on my head.”
Honeycutt thought for a second. “Get us toward that jump hole,” he decided. “We’ll have to hope we can outrun them.” The cruise engines came to life as the ship’s autopilot turned toward the Omega-5 jump hole.
The cruiser and gunboat escort from the north was about four klicks away, while the pair from the south was about three kilometers and closing. The Delight hit cruise speed and sped past the pair coming from the south. Just as they were nearly out of range, the Delight lurched forward, dropping out cruise.
Honeycutt recognized right away what had happened. “Since when did gunboats carry cruise disrupters?” he asked no one in particular. Both gunboats closed to intercept the now-stranded pirate ship.
“Pirate vessel,” the communicator barked in a heavy Bretonian accent. “We have orders to take the pirate known as William Honeycutt alive to stand trial. We will not hesitate to destroy this ship if presented with no other option. You have thirty seconds to power down and prepare for boarding.”
Honeycutt rubbed his hand on his day-old stubble and thought. Escape is out of the question – they’ll just disrupt us again. Surrender is DEFINETELY out of the question, so the only option left is – “turn the ship around, power down the shields. Gunners, lock fire on the front gunboat and fire and restore power to the shields on my mark. We want ‘em to get as close as possible before we send ‘em to hell.”
Opening a local chat, Honeycutt began speaking. “Alright alright, this is William Honeycutt. No point in risking my crew. I surrender. You can board whenever.” He cut the communicator. One of the gunboats closed in to board the powered-down ship and take Honeycutt prisoner.
Honeycutt opened up his in-seat console and scanned the nearest gunboat. “Hmmmm…only a half-dozen life forms aboard, must be crew…no marines…” his voice trailed off as he finalized a plan.
“I’m sorry sir, were you speaking to me?” Dieter asked.
“When they get half a klick away, open fire and power the shields. We’re going to do something a little crazy,” Honeycutt said with a smile.
“You are going to engage two gunboats, sir?” Dieter asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Not two, just one.” Honeycutt stood up and check his sidearm. “We are going to force an entry on one, take it over and use it to distract the others while we get away.”
“That’s your plan sir?” Dieter asked, voice teetering on the edge of incredulity. Honeycutt could see the rest of his bridge crew exchanging sidelong glances.
“Yes it is, and it is gonna work,” Honeycutt said, trying to convince both himself and his crew. There was no threat of mutiny or anything quite so dramatic. Honeycutt’s crew was loyal and skilled, and he had paid them handsomely over the years.
Still, attacking a Bretonia gunboat head-on was near-suicidal. The gunboats were about a klick away and closing. They dropped out of cruise and were leisurely travelling to the Delight. The cruiser and the other two gunboats were off in the distance, sitting and watching the engagement play out.
The first gunboat closed within the designated half a kilometer range, the second a few hundred meters behind and to the right. Honeycutt walked to the helm and took the controls.
“As soon as we move, raise the shields and start firing,” he ordered. “Concentrate the fire on the left side, amidship. I’m going to maneuver us on that side so the other gunboat doesn’t have a shot.”
A second or two later, Honeycutt hit the thrusters, and the ship jumped forward. “Fire!” he yelled, and found his men lancing shot after shot at the unsuspecting gunboat.
Honeycutt had managed to bring the Delight alongside the gunboat in the few seconds of surprise. A quick glance showed the gunboats shields were already at half strength. Guess those special Corsair modifications paid off, he thought to himself.
“Launch the mines!” Honeycutt yelled over the noise the guns made. The Delight started lurching from the fire of the gunboat, but the other gunboat was still trying to maneuver around to bring its guns to bear.
“Mine away Captain,” Dieter replied, eyes glued to a console. “Gunboat shields at twenty…fifteen…ten percent. We are at fifty percent ourselves sir.”
“Launch more mines. We have to knock out those shields.”
After a few more tense moments, Honeycutt saw the shield matrix of the gunboat wink out. “Keep firing, I’ll try to bring us in nice and snug. All crew, prepare for boarding!”
Honeycutt steered the Delight so that it was nearly touching the gunboat. The Delight’s gunners were hitting the gunboat, who was returning fire, but with Honeycutt’s flying he was out of the field of fire of the main gun.
He strafed the Delight until its hatch was parallel with the boarding hatch of the gunboat. He extended the mobile airlock hose and secured it tightly to the gunboat’s entry hatch.
“Dieter, you have the helm. Keep a few, the rest of you, on me!” Honeycutt stood and ran to the small hatch in his ship. He could hear his ship grind against the gunboat as he ran down the hall. That’s close enough. Now, here’s hoping I lined it up right. If he was off by even a foot, the airlock wouldn’t secure, and he would be floating in the vacuum.
Grabbing some extra ammo, Honeycutt and the half-dozen crewmen who were the boarding party stood in the small tunnel connecting the Delight with the gunboat’s hatch. “Blow it!” Honeycutt ordered, as one of his crew was already setting a shape charge.
After a few seconds, the gunboat’s hatch was blown apart. Honeycutt was nearly thrown to the ground from the force of the explosion. “Jesus mate, use enough explosives?” he asked, shaking the ringing from his ears.
Once safely inside the gunboat proper, he and his men fanned out. “You three, go that way, you two up with me,” Honeycutt ordered once everyone was on board the gunboat.
Honeycutt ran down the hallway to the bridge, his men providing covering fire. They didn’t see any crewmen. They must not know we are here, but how could that be? Worry about it later, he thought as he reached a hallway. Throwing himself on the wall, he glanced down the hallway both ways.
“Clear!” he yelled as he turned to go down the hallway toward the bridge. Just as he turned, he heard a clank, followed by two smaller ones.
“Grenade!” one of his men yelled, and jumped on top of Honeycutt, throwing him to the steel deck of the hallway.
Honeycutt’s world was a flash. He started yelling orders or something, which led to him inhaling some of the chemicals from the grenade. His men stood up and started firing down the hallway, killing the lone grenade-thrower.
Honeycutt pulled himself to his feet. Breathing was arduous, every breath felt like he’d swallowed a box of needles, and his head was spinning. Worry about that later, he ordered himself.
His men looked unharmed, if a little burned from the grenade. Making their way to the bridge, he entered the same code from earlier, and it whooshed open.
“Drop it navy boys,” Honeycutt ordered, finding his voice was reduced to a whispery rasp. He was still feeling woozy from the aftereffects of the grenade, but he forced himself to stand as tall as possible. Do try not to pass out old chap, he thought to himself, trying to keep it together. There were three people standing at consoles facing forward, all of whom spun around with handheld blasters.
Honeycutt quickly looked over all three, the first two were unremarkable, but the third…
“Caroline!” he said, pain coursing though his scarred lungs. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Small world, Honeycutt,” she replied, keeping her blaster level right at him
“Not small enough dear,” he replied, still trying to stand upright. “Whatever that grenade was made of has done a number on me.”
“You deserve it and more, pirate scum,” Caroline said levelly, still keep the blaster trained on Honeycutt.
“Comments like that hurt even more than this grenade,” Honeycutt said with a sly grin.
“Cap’n…” one of Honeycutt’s men said quietly.
“Right! Ok, drop the guns and step away from the consoles. I’d like not to kill anyone,” Honeycutt demanded.
“Do as he says,” the captain ordered. The three crewmen moved away from the consoles, keeping under Honeycutt’s crew’s watch toward the side of the bridge.
Honeycutt made his way to the main console and entered an order for the gunboat to engage its cruise engines in sixty seconds. He stepped back from the console and was immediately thrown to the deck as the gunboat violently shook.
“What the hell was that!” he asked, pulling himself to his feet. His chest was on fire, and he felt like he was going to pass out. Looking around, he saw that the other gunboat began firing.
“They’re scuttling us Cap’n” one of his crewmen answered. At the same time, the captain of the gunboat rushed one of the crewmen holding him hostage, knocking him down with a well-placed shoulder tackle.
Honeycutt brought his gun up and fired wildly, hitting the captain in the upper arm. The captain uttered a groan and fell to the deck. The other member of Honeycutt’s crew who was tasked with containing the bridge crew was slumped over a console with blood over his face, and the third crewman of the gunboat was also slumped over a different console. The only people left standing on the bridge were Honeycutt and a very angry Caroline.
Honeycutt leapt off the bridge proper and behind the captain’s chair, gunfire whizzing past his head. A stray shot hit him in the leg as he threw himself behind the chair. He blindly fired back, keeping Caroline at bay for at least another minute. The gunboat rocked from friendly fire and alerts were blaring everywhere. His leg was nearly useless from the wound.
This is definitely not good, he thought glumly. Sucking in air, he radioed the Delight. “Dieter, get the ship and get out of here. I’m not making it off here without being captured or killed. I’ll hold ‘em off as long as possible.”
“Copy that sir, Delight out,” came the stoic reply, and Honeycutt could hear his ship’s cruise engines engaging though the communicator.
“Well Caroline, how do you want to play this?” Honeycutt asked at the same time the gunboat’s cruise engines groaned to life.
“Gunboat Hermes and all Bretonia forces in the area, this is Gunboat Majestic.” Caroline said in a small communicator, all the while keeping her gun on Honeycutt. “Authorization code Chelsea Victory…I’ve taken control of the situation. You don’t need to scuttle this ship anymore.”
Turning to Honeycutt, still hiding behind the chair, she continued. “Surrender Honeycutt. It’s over.” She lowered her gun as Honeycutt struggled for air. “I do admire your bravery, trying to seize control of a gunboat. It was clearly unexpected. Stupid, but unexpected.” Honeycutt could have sworn he heard a twinge of admiration in her voice.
Breathing as deeply as possible under the circumstances, head throbbing beyond belief, William Honeycutt stood up and threw his pistol to the side. “You got me Caroline. I surrender,” he rasped before losing consciousness on the bridge of the nearly-destroyed gunboat.