Warmachine

[ArkhamAsylum]

I agree with the people above. Take your time to write this incredible story.

[ArkhamAsylum]

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[srielley]

Wow!!! Great story.  Keep up the great work.

[Machao6]

Thanks for your support chaps. I'll drop some more in later today.

[Machao6]

He was woken by a kiss forcing air into his lungs. Then he retched water. Pushing himself free of his blurry saviour he took a moment to expel all of the fluid that was spluttering up from his windpipe. He collapsed back into an arm and a leg that propped him upright. They belonged to the blonde girl haunting his fate, proving once again that he was being spared for something significant. He stared up at her lovely face, watching the concern melt away to elated relief.

"He's alive!" Casey Trenner - bloody from a scratch on her head and her overalls tattered by shrapnel and burns - exclaimed excitedly.

Fisk was too dazed to resist when the amazon scooped him up in her arms, still dripping wet. They were walking up a spill of mud where the risen banks had collapsed, forming a short ramp into the water. The jungle crowded round eagerly as Trenner walked alongside, chattering.

"I thought you were a goner for sure, Cap. This little stowaway saved both our asses. She picked us both out of the water and swam like a freaking mermaid to the bank. Just legs. When I came around she had one arm round my waist and another round yours, swimming backwards. I don't think she speaks Myrmad as when we made it to shore she carried us both and I was telling her to put me down because I could walk. The rest you know - she gave you the old mouth-to-mouth and hey presto! Captain Fisk rides again! Never thought I'd be jealous of an unconscious person."

Fisk found it hard to concentrate on talking. "What...about the others?"

"I think they all made it out, Cap, thanks to you."

"...boat's only as good as her crew." Fisk murmured grimly. At this, Casey fell quiet. It was great to be alive, but they had shared B31 with twenty others who were no longer with them, and Fisk felt exhaustion, agony, and emotional loss all at once as events caught up to him and his mind began playing back the sight of familiar faces snatched away in puffs of pink mist, or lying with frozen expressions while bloody water sloshed about them.

Neither had any idea where their golden-haired guardian was walking. Behind them the estuary was hurriedly covered up by fronds of leaves and hanging boughs and branches. The amazon sometimes held him aloft as she barged through webs of thorny vines that scratched and scraped her hard, pale body. Trenner followed in her wake until their path was blocked by a wide patch of liquid mud that gurgled ominously. Without a word the amazon held Fisk to her body with one arm - he wrapped his legs around her waist in a bid to make life easier - and beckoned to Casey with the other. Bemused Trenner approached, but when the amazon bent her knees and motioned for the engineer to get on her back, she balked. "Wait, what? That doesn't seem like a - whoa!"

Impatient to be moving on, the amazon simply grabbed one of Trenner's legs and held it next to her hip while the engineer got the idea and latched on with all four limbs. Now holding their combined weight with no apparent unease the amazon searched the branches above them while the two clinging sailors jostled for comfort where their limbs collided around their guardian's waist and shoulders. Snapping a low branch off, the blonde used this to hook and drag down two vines, which she tangled around each arm. Taking a moment to ensure that Fisk was not nodding off, with a nuzzle and a kiss, she tested the vines by picking her feet up and letting them - and her arms - hold the combined weight of three people. Satisfied that her arrangements would hold, she backed up as far as the vines would allow and then proceeded to swing across the mudpool. She landed heavily but with the grace of a cat, and did not wait for Trenner to disembark before continuing on her path. To the relief of both she cupped her hands beneath their overlaying pairs of legs.

She walked for a few miles. Fisk was becoming more alert and ever more aware of the agony across his body from the stresses and buffeting it had sustained during their battle. Trenner too was complaining about back pain, cuts and bruises. They busied themselves discussing what would come next. They had to link up with the other boats and gather their forces, but the problem was they had no way of knowing where the others had run too or even if they had stuck around to be found. Fisk believed that Kitchener would try to lead the boats out of the Malaise and go home, but Trenner insisted he would confirm Fisk was really gone before doing so and that the crew wouldn't leave without their commander. There were also the refugees to consider. They didn't seem to want to leave either, although Fisk had no idea why anyone would stay in the face of these odds. All the while their bearer said nothing, smiling kindly when spoken to but never responding. Both were convinced she could not understand them. She resisted their attempts to stop her and dismount, blithely carrying on with a snort of laughter or a playful, stubborn noise. They were following the river, never quite out of earshot. Her path seemed to vindicate itself by turning first into a dirt track, trodden void of flora by wildlife and people, and then to moss-covered paving, old and disused. 

Eventually, as the sun was setting, she brought them to a clearing. Trenner, who was facing forward, drew Fisk's attention to old, wrought stone - pillars and steps, reclaimed by greenery and revolted against by eruptions of grasses, roots of trees, and blooms of wild flowers. The place had an arena feel to it, a lowered epicentre oval in shape, with climbing stone tiers leading up to what was once a ring of columns. Most were now toppled and crumbling, but a few stumps stood testament to the grandeur and at the landward-head of the oval was a statue, broken and destroyed. Only a pair of marbled feet, bleeding moss where they were severed at the ankles, remained. Their guide seemed to linger in the epicentre for a few moments, turning about as if looking for someone, or perhaps simply remembering. Then she headed waterward, and there were faded stone steps leading down to the riverbank. Here she finally permitted her wards to dismount, and both the engineer and the commander peered up and down the river hoping to find one of their boats, but to no avail.

The amazon picked three white flowers and wove their stalks together to make a tiny wreath, which she placed on top of a wooden post - which Fisk had assumed was a dead sapling, but on closer inspection found it had been put here and was holed for tying rope to. A mooring post, presumably. He realised then that their guide had brought them to a familiar place - at least, to herself and, he smiled as he thought of it, the boat full of her companions from the village. Now she left a signal visible from the river - that someone was here. Three flowers, three people. He laughed out loud when he realised her silent plan, and she looked at him nervously. He turned and hugged her, then planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Captain, you'll freak her out!" Trenner warned. The blonde simply touched her cheek gently as if expecting to feel something there. Fisk nearly capered in delight as he began to trust something in himself. A sensation of foreshadowing. Ancient peoples might have called it good omens. He had a certainty that not only had his boats survived, but that they would assuredly find them thanks to the quiet genius of his - apparently fatebound - guardian. He stopped short of jumping up and down as his aching body brought him back to horrid reality, but he felt a sense of security that was combining with the relief of having survived despite all odds.

"We'll make camp here," he declared as if they had any other options "there has to be something to eat around here. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving cap'." Trenner complained.

"Not you, you're always hungry!" Fisk snapped, resting a hand on the amazon's shoulder.

He mimed eating and she watched him in bemused silence just long enough for the engineer to laugh at them both. Then she nodded, and headed straight into the river where she crouched, and waited for fish. Trenner set about gathering forage, having no idea what was edible or not and hoping their guide would be able to tell. Fisk set about gathering firewood and kindling, and built a makeshift grill bar that the amazon soon populated with a large fish. She took a look at what Trenner was doing and threw out most of what she had found, so the engineer focussed on finding more of what was left and eventually produced a decent portion to supplement their main course. The amazon returned again with two small fish, then took a stick that Fisk had whittled using a pocket tool that Trenner had triumphantly produced. She was gone for some time, and just as the two sailors were asking each other whether they should start looking, she returned carrying a brace of lean-looking hares on her stick. She skinned the animals barehanded and laid the pelts out to dry by the fire, then proceeded to bone then as Trenner and Fisk paused to watch in morbid fascination. When night fell they had a small but warm fire and were eating fish, game, and berries. Trenner had also secreted a hipflask in one of her overall's pockets, and this time Fisk had no inhibitions whatsoever about their state of readiness. If Larinthians came now, all they could do was run, and running into this jungle at night was as sure a fate as surrendering.

So they drank. It was not good liquor, but it washed down their scavenged repast and made them giggle. They made the amazon try it. She recoiled from the burning spirits, but after an initial shock took another, longer gulp. Before long they were resting upon each other, or at least Trenner and Fisk were resting their heads on the amazons crossed outstretched legs while she leaned against one of the stone columns near their dying fire. She played with Fisk's hair, and he was now jolly enough from the drink not to care.

"When's the last time you saw your wife, Cap'?" Trenner asked abruptly.

The commander sighed. "Nearly a year now. After the battle of Merroy all leave was cancelled. I've been running small boats this whole time. I think it's a punishment detail."

"Hey, wouldn't have met me otherwise! Were you on a proper ship then?"

"Yes. The Unreconstructed ."

"What happened?"

"She got deconstructed at the battle of Merroy. Hence, they don't trust me with a proper ship anymore."

"No, I mean, what actually happened."

"We were in the patrol flotilla that found the Eastern Fleet."

"Really? How bad was it?"

"Terrible. We lost three ships in as many minutes. Destroyers versus a line of battlecruisers. The Ubiquitous was cut right in half by one of those shells, I saw it with my own eyes. The opening salvo nearly flattened us, I was about the only bridge officer still standing. I hid behind the wheel counter - that went. Lost power but the engines were good. We'd already transmitted our contact report, so I had to fuck or walk. I tried to fuck."

"What did you do?"

Fisk sighed as he remembered. "Like what we just did, but on a bigger scale. Two hundred souls aboard. Ran straight at them and fired everything we'd got. I was sailing a pylon by the end of it, the poor thing had so many holes in her. I don't think any of our missiles hit, there was so much going on I lost track of whose was where. After the first barrage I told them to load ECM interceptors and fire as they bear. Left them to it. Wouldn't have lasted five minutes without them. We were taking fire from every ship at one point  - can you imagine? The whole eastern fleet pointing its guns at us. And they still couldn't hit a barn door. Not that you'd know from looking at us. Guns were knocked out. One was blown clean off the hull with the gunners still inside."

"So...how did it end?"

"We fired all four torpedos at the Snakehead, and all four hit. Fat bastard listed forty degrees. By then I didn't need phones, I could just shout through the hole in the floor to adjust course. The engines were about the only thing still working properly so I made to ram."

"No way!"

"Yeah, as it happens, there was no way. Ship lost with all hands."

"So how did you get out?"

Fisk rolled over so the other side of his face was resting on the amazon's warm thigh. "I played dead. Water was sopping round my feet by the time I bailed. There was an upside down life raft so I got stayed near and hid on the other side of it. At one point the Larinthian ships turned toward me so I had to get undeneath it. I was so scared I thought I was going to suffocate, I stayed in there so long. But eventually I ducked out and when I did the Larinthian fleet had gone. Our Home Fleet had sallied to give battle and, I am told, destroyed nine out of thirteen capital ships including the Snakehead. In exchange? Five destroyers and two cruisers, and a couple of battleships in for repair. Not a bad innings for Admiral Kellew's first outing. Smashed the Eastern Fleet, saved the motherland."

There was a pause while Trenner digested his story. Then; "So, about your wife..."

"What about her?"

"I just..its hard to remember people have families back home. You share a boat with people, you just kind of assume you're all the family you're going to have. I always found it hard to picture you as a family man, Cap'."

"She's a tailor in Lithgow. One of the best. She received a Royal Commission to make the Princess' Bridesmaids dresses. Most stressful eight weeks of my life."

"Your life?!"

"Aye, mine alright. Every decision was wrong, every word out of my mouth was like pouring fat on a fire. She's normally very accommodating, but that summer was awful. She probably wouldn't take kindly to me using this one as a pillow, mind, but I'm too drunk and too tired to care."

"And too comfy," Trenner suggested, nuzzling the amazon's flank "you're comfy, did you know that?" In response the Amazon rested a hand on the engineer's tousled head and proceeded to massage her scalp. Fisk noticed that the bandages he had put on the blonde's injured hands were gone, and although there was a visible scar it was little more than a scratch now. After a few moments of indulgent silence, Trenner spoke again. "We need to find out her name."

"Names are a big deal for amazons. Arman was saying its a major cultural thing. Akin to a marriage almost."

"What?"

"Yeah. Apparently no amazon has a name until some guy gives her one."

"Well, who's the guy?"

Fisk raised a hand vaguely. "Any guy, apparently ."

Trenner considered this quietly for a moment. "Unfair."

Fisk laughed at her declaration. "How about you Casey? Anyone at home?"

"Nah. Girlfriends come and go, but no one sticks around while I'm on patrol. Girl's are pussies before they turn 30 and realise what commitment is."

"How old are you again?" Fisk teased.

"Twenty nine. Fuck off." This made the commander bawl out laughing, so much so that Trenner then laughed at him. "But seriously," she continued with amusement "there's no one I care about back home. I wonder what happens if I name an amazon?"

"Don't. Arman said it's a lifelong commitment. You're allergic to commitment, remember?"

"Yeah but...those muscles though..." She paused to run a finger down the amazon's bicep. "She seems to be soft on you Cap'. What with the hat, and the mouth-to-mouth, and I saw you bandaging her hands." For a minute Fisk felt a pang of cold dread as he wondered if Trenner had meant his close encounter in the mess/surgery after the battle, but she went on. "Admit it, you're tempted by the natives."

"I'm married with a kid, Casey."

"She doesn't seem to mind. And you don't seem to tell her that you mind."

Fisk opened his mouth to respond but no words came, and that caused him some panic. He sighed tiredly to conceal his doubt with irritation, but Trenner pressed home.

"Siren's a good name. You should call her that."

"Do it yourself!" Fisk snapped, and no more words were exchanged for a time. Eventually Fisk's mood got the better of him and he spoke again. "Do you think I was right to do what I did today?"

Trenner had evidently almost achieved sleep, for her answer was groggy. "We're alive aren't we?"

"I know we're alive, but...the crew aren't. Twenty lads. Did they deserve it?"

"Arman and Kitchener got out, I saw them on the Lander."

"That's not what I asked."

The engineer sighed and considered her answer. "I think if you hadn't done what you did, then the people on the lander would have been captured or killed. If the other boats had turned to do anything about it they'd have died for nothing. I think you did the best you could do and for what its worth, while they probably wouldn't have volunteered, the lads that died signed up to do as they're ordered. They didn't jump overboard or turn the boat around, so...maybe they wanted a fight and that's what you gave them. I think if I'd died during that one I wouldn't have held it against you. And I think the people on the Lander had better appreciate it when we catch up to them."

"If we catch up to them..." Fisk grumbled, and realised the booze was taking away his earlier sense of certain positivity. Trenner did not speak again and eventually started to snore quietly, so Fisk took it upon himself to try and maintain a watch. He was awake when a helicopter scoured the river with a searchlight, and nearly roused everyone to move, but refrained when he saw that it was sticking to the waterway and hadn't spared a second glance at the old arena. Eventually he too succumbed to slumber.

[ArkhamAsylum]

Great work. Looking forward for more.

[Machao6]

He was woken by the amazon shifting from beneath. Although she had carefully tried to lay both bodies to rest, the movement was such that Fisk shook awake and instantly regretted the sensation of his body screaming at him. It felt for all the world as though every muscle was stiff and sore. His many cuts and scuffs homogenised into a single pain that made contact with any surface difficult. He found himself arising groggily and forced to his feet. Trenner slept on.

The amazon had gone down to the riverbank where she watched the water passing by forlornly. No boats had moored overnight. She was looking upriver toward the estuary like a hitchhiker waiting for the next prospect of a ride. It was then that Fisk realised she wasn't waiting, but watching. She heard his approach and beckoned for him to join her, but when he did so there was nothing to see. The river bent away and there were some miles between this point and the estuary where their battle had taken place before. Their comrades' boats would be well past here by now, but still the girl watched the river bend intently.

Then he heard it. Engines! 

It was a Larinthian patrol boat. Even as he turned to shoo the girl away from the river she was picking him up to do the same. She ignored his protests and rushed back to where Trenner was still snoozing, pausing to scoop a long arm around the engineer's waist and pick her up like a tigress with a cub. Trenner mumbled something sleepily, but didn't fully rouse. Then the amazon retreated into the jungle where they waited, and listened. The boat trundled past, but Fisk felt his heart dropping as he realised there were now enemies between him and the surviving boats. He assumed the Larinthians were doing the same on the other "toes" of the Bird's Foot. He swore under his breath, and his blonde guardian ran her hand across his chest soothingly, sensing his agitation. When the boat was out of earshot, she returned them to the arena. By now Trenner was finally awake.

"What now, Cap?"

"Doesn't look good. The Larinthians are searching for survivors. I'd hoped to make a big enough noise that they only focussed on the one boat, but I shouldn't have let that last boat get away after it hit the lander. Damn it!" He kicked a piece of rubble that skittered across the arena floor. Despite his best efforts to conserve his force they were now separated, aimless, and at that rate easy pickings for the Larinthians who could simply funnel ships down the Malaise until they were found. The sacrifice of his twenty crewmen to save the rest had been in vain, the same vanity that had brought him to this suicidal detail in the first place. Kitchener would have been right to leave, and at that moment, Fisk found himself hoping that his second in command had done just that.
Then there was an explosion. It wasn't nearby, but it was distinct enough to be only that. A rattle of gunfire. Then silence. Fisk grinned. "Let's go!" He ordered, setting off downriver toward the noise and leaving the others behind. Trenner yelped as the amazon picked her up and followed.

The explosion had not been far after all, but due to the nature of the jungle and the winding river the sound was cushioned. Barely an hour after they set off they could smell burning fuel and see the reflection of flames on the water. He could also hear voices, and recognised some Myrmad words. Fisk's pace increased to a run as he became more and more certain. At the next bend the remains of the Larinthian patrol boat smoked, half-sunken, and on the inside of the bend hidden until he was virtually aboard, was one of his flotilla. He sank to his knees and gasped with relief. It was Lieutenant Porter's boat, now under the command of a Petty Officer named Lord.

"Don't shoot!" Fisk shouted from above, and the men aboard flinched and raised their weapons. Lord waved them down and took his hat off.

"Is that you Mister Fisk?"

"The very same! Permission to come aboard?"

Lord spread a hand invitingly across the deck."It's your boat, Commander."

Fisk leaped from the overhanging bank onto the deck and sprawled clumsily, too excited to care. "What are you doing hanging around here?"

"Our prop is buggered sir. Tangled with all kinds of vines and reeds and whatnot. The engine doesn't sound at all healthy. We've been trying to clear it since yesterday but Maxfield reckons we've blown the pistons."

"We'll see about that!" Trenner shouted from above, and the blonde amazon leaped to the deck with the chief engineer on her back just as softly as if she had stepped aboard. Trenner dismounted and busied herself aft, talking mechanics with the other engineer. 

Lord continued. "Wasn't much else to do. The other lander was behind us so we decided to heave to and ambush the first Larinthians that came by, give the slower craft a good lead on any pursuers. See how long we can hold out, or else disembark and make a break for it on foot. Now that you're here though, I was rather hoping you'd got other plans?"

"Plans indeed Mister Lord! Does your radio work?"

"It does, sir."

"Can you use it to get an exact position of the other boat?"

" The other boat is roughly parallel with us on the farther outlet, but...they've run into the same issue as us. They're stranded too. I don't think the Lander has a radio. It's amazing to think we made it up here in the fog without any issues - maybe at slower speeds the tangling wasn't an issue, or perhaps we just got lucky with our route coming up."

Fisk thought quickly. In order to consolidate his force he had to have them all in one place. They couldn't very well sail back to the estuary, especially not without engines. Only two thin slivers of land stood between them, but the Larinthians were closing in. Meanwhile, Kitchener would be taking the Lander and its refugees as far away as possible, and was uncontactable via radio. "Do you have a flare gun?"

Lord nodded, and beckoned one of his crew by the bridge cabinet. "Machin, bring mister Fisk the flare gun, there's a good lad."

Fisk selected a red and a blue flare from the equipment offered, and immediately fired them downriver, one after another. Red meant "I need assistance". Blue meant "The Coast is Clear".
The petty officer watched the flares slowly descending "What are your intentions, Commander?"

"Regroup. I leave part of this plan up to you Lord. You can either punt your way downriver and close the distance between yourselves and the Lander, which I hope has seen these flares and will be returning. Or, you can stay in ambush here. I need your ship's engineer and mine to work on restoring propulsion by any means necessary. I'm going after the other boat."

"But how will you get it to us?"

"Overland, if need be. It's not far. "

"Overland?!" Lord exclaimed incredulously, but Fisk was already leaving. He availed himself of a repeater rifle and a bandolier of ammunition, a heavy hank of towing wire, and some more flares. As he was making to leave however the stern of the boat rose suddenly and the crew staggered. As they adjusted to the cant the stern slapped back into the water just as abruptly. Lord raised a hand to his head to keep his cap from falling but Fisk didn't fall so elegantly. "What the blazes?"

"Prop's definitely fucked Cap!" Trenner shouted, still hanging over the back of the craft. "We're not untangling that anytime soon." As the engineer righted herself and perched on the back board their statuesque companion erupted from the water and pressed herself up on the board. Fisk was treated to the sight of her glistening body, water forming rivulets across generous undulations, her breasts crushed together between her powerful arms as she suspended herself half out of the water. She shook her hair which extruded in a momentary lightshow where the gouts of freed water caught the suns rays. When she opened her eyes they were looking right at him, and he felt for all the world as though he was a deer in the sights of a master hunter. Then she was rolling her body on her shoulders' pivot, swinging her long legs straight up into a handstand that made the crew gasp in admiration. The manoeuvre smoothly transitioned to a flip that placed her on the deck, still dripping but by far the most calm and collected person on the boat. Trenner looked from Fisk to the amazon with a wry grin. "Quit showing off. Our guest kindly helped me make an inspection of the propellers, and I can categorically confirm that they are fucked, Commander Fisk."

Fisk jolted back to presence at the mention of his name. "Time to repair?" He asked, still on the floor.

"Marginal, but the pistons do need replacing. We might have spares on the two remaining boats to fix one of them up to working order, but not both."

The amazon padded across the deck and offered him a hand, which he accepted and was hauled to his feet. "I want you to stay here and start working on the engine. I'll bring the next boat across."

"How are you going to do that?"

The Commander straightened as the amazon handed him his cap and he replaced it on his head. "I think our friend here might be able to help. Now, Ensign Trenner, how did you communicate your needs to our guest?"

Trenner raised her eyebrows. "Why mime, giggling and touch, sir!"

"Understood." Fisk's hand was still holding the amazons, and he used it to lead her to the nearest point of the overhanging riverbank. He pointed up at it and looked at her. She followed his direction and simply rested a foot on the side of the boat. Fisk caught himself studying her long, toned leg and when he looked at her again she jerked her chin at her knee. A little daunted at presenting such a spectacle to his subordinates, Fisk placed a boot on her knee and used it as a step up to where he could place on hand on her shoulder for support and use the other to grab a fistful of grassy tuft from the bank. He was making to haul himself up when the girl simply put one hand under his butt and very nearly launched him up and onto the bank, making the crew laugh. She followed quickly behind with a powerful leap that let her grab onto an exposed root and swing her legs up to join him.

Fisk peered down on his grinning crew. "We'll be back shortly." He hoped he was right, as time was of the absolute essence. 

[ArkhamAsylum]

Great work.

[Machao6]

Fisk walked for a short while downriver, searching for a place where the high banks flattened out, but instead found a high point where a collapsed tree bridged the river and he was able to use this to cross. The amazon insisted on holding his hand while he slipped across the broad trunk. She took the lead through the tangled branches and reeds that were swamped between the next river course and the last. It was raised above the river by eight feet, and the tightly packed trees formed a rampart twenty feet taller on top. Fisk wondered how the hell they would be getting the recovered boat past this and decided the only thing to do would be to travel until a passable opportunity presented itself. Meanwhile the amazon stopped him to indicate a sheer drop into the next river. Long, scaly creatures lurked in the mire below. She led him instead along a thin, treacherous sliver of grassy overhang. Though she probably weighed as much if not more than him, her footfalls were very careful. Fisk by comparison felt like a blundering oaf as his boots pushed through the fragile footing, causing her to reach back with an arm and pin him against the tangled woods that thankfully provided a lot of handholds.

They reached a point where their path, such as it was, tapered away to nothing, presenting them with a six foot gap with only slick, sheer clay surface for purchase below their feet. Here the amazon held out her hand, which Fisk took and felt her close her fingers around his wrist in a firm grip. Then she pulled him away from the safety of the trees and into the drop, using the momentum of his fall to swing him up and toward the ledge over the gap. He didn't realise what was happening at first and so held on to her hand, dangling helplessly instead of using her assistance to cross. Instead of any expression of difficulty or discomfort, this caused her to laugh and do it again. The second time he realised what she intended and latched on to a tree on the opposite side, shuffling further along to make room for her to cross, which she did with a deft leap.

Fisk had waited to steady her landing but instead she calmly stepped into his waiting arms, pressed her body against his and fixed him with her big, blue eyes and a playful smile that parted to seek a kiss. He panicked, not knowing where to put his arms, and then his footing slipped and he fell and then they were holding each other. Trapped, she kissed him tenderly, lifting him up to her lips while he held onto her arms, her shoulder, and finally draped his arms around her neck as he surrendered to her will. When she finished she looked at him as if to gauge his reaction with a raised eyebrow and a coquettish grin. He looked back at her helplessly, unable and unwilling to process the conflicting emotions but comprehending he had never known such desire. For a moment he touched her face, tracing the soft curve of her cheek, causing her to sigh appreciatively and loom in for more with eyes closed. He stopped her with a finger on her lips, causing her to open one eye in surprise. "We have to go." The officer breathed, for his own sake as much as hers.

He tore, gently and reluctantly, free from her fading grasp and led her onwards to where the ground began to slope out. They were able to use leaning trees on the muddy bank to step down into the next river. The trees, black and sweating, continued in thinning ranks well into the water and they were wading chest high when they finally stepped out from beneath the canopy and out into the river proper. The depth stepped off here and Fisk found himself abruptly swimming, but also caught in a powerful current. In a few short strokes he was carried meters away until he felt a powerful arm around his waist, pushing him toward the other side. The girl had to kick in the face of the current to keep station, so Fisk endeavoured to shove them across using his legs. Eventually they made it to an upturned root structure on the other side.

There were patches of solid footing above water here - protrusions of spongy grasses matted into a moss-like lawn, silt and detritus piling behind fallen trees and dipping branches into solid piles. It was wider than he thought, or perhaps the rivers were wider than they seemed. He realised this when they finally found real land that climbed out of the water. This low ridge was little more than a speedbump that tapered off into the swamp and quickly gave way to it on the other side as well. Fisk decided to climb the low height the ridge offered in a bid to find the second boat, but the jungle was implacable.

Then there was gunfire. The initial shock of it caught him off-guard and he flinched, as did his amazon companion who hugged him close protectively. They listened to the sound of a one-sided gunfight and headed towards it, Fisk nodding with satisfaction as he heard the familiar bark of a 45mm gun ending the battle. A few sporadic bursts of automatic fire died away until he was sure they were level with the boat's position. The amazon led on again, this time practically sliding down through a sopping quagmire of mud, toppling trees and exposed roots. The water here was barely liquid and she sank up to her waist in the mess with a disgusted squeal. Fisk realised the danger too late as he skittered down on her heels to come to an abrupt, viscous halt. They still could not see the boat through the waterlogged trees, but there was a bend up river a few meters and he could hear voices so knew they were close.

There was shooting behind them now from the first boat, muffled by the labyrinthine nature of the malaise. Fisk forced himself through the stinking mud which was thinning as they trudged further and further into the water. The amazon broke free of it with a splash and beckoned for him to follow her path, avoiding a long outlet of mud in favour of using the longer, but easier-going water. Free from the dank canopy once more the water here was slow and easy to swim, and Fisk had never enjoyed the sensation of dubious river wash scouring thick mud from his person before. They rounded the bend and there was the second boat, wedged between some rocks that squeezed the river into a narrow gulley. The bow was up out of the water, which is how its 45mm gun was able to fire backwards over the rest of the ship down the stretch to the next bend, where one Larinthian boat was half-sunken and burning, and the other had run into the back of the Pike patrol ship, carried by the current. The crew of B-33 were partially dismounted, some using the rocks as a vantage to keep lookout for further pursuers. Others were straining hopelessly against the boat, trying to lever it off the rocks, but they were against the current and the boat weighed close to forty tonnes. The rest were manning the guns and he could see Lieutenant White using the radio on the bridge.

Fisk found footing and stood in the water to hail the crew. White looked up from his conversation in stunned recognition. "We thought you were dead sir!"

"Not yet comrades, not yet!" Fisk yelled triumphantly, splashing back into the water to swim up to the boat proper. The end of the wire spool was already in his hand as he clawed onto the rocks, latching its heavy-duty fastening onto the boats bow-most mooring ring.

"Tow cable," White breathed with relief as he came up to help the commander aboard "but how did you get the other boat working?"

"I haven't brought the other boat. But I have brought her." Fisk jerked his head over the side to where the scantily-clad blonde was pulling herself up onto the rocks. White's relief wrestled with bemusement for control of his face, but both succumbed to silent admiration as he watched the girl watching the struggling men trying to move the boat.

"What's your situation, Johnny?"  Fisk brought the man back to the present.

"We're stuck sir. The river became thick with reeds and we lost propulsion. We drifted on into this bloody mess. The water is very shallow here and I'm afraid we just took the wrong branch of the river. We've been here since last night. The Larinthians have only started to send anything down river today though - first contact at dawn, second just now. Why has it taken them so long?"

"I have no idea, John, but their lost time is our gain. Me and..." Fisk found himself shamefully unable to name the amazon who had saved his life twice and followed him without hesitation to their rescue "...her...are going to get you out of here." Fisk glanced over the side to where the girl, seeing the struggling men, had made her way over to see if she could help. There was a scraping metal whine and a jolt as the boat began to slide back off the rock. "You're not holed at the waterline are you?"

"No sir," White blurted through his disbelief "no other damage. Hargreaves says we've blown the engine though. Something to do  with the blockage of the propeller."

"It's the same story with the other boat." Fisk paused as the boat wrenched again and slapped into the water. There was a moment of uncertain motion as it drifted onto the next obstacle with a metal thud. "I'm trying to get this boat back to them. Time is of the essence."

"With respect sir, is that even possible? There are two strips of land between us and them. We may be only a few hundred meters apart on a map but it could be miles before we get a junction to change course, and without power..." White had to stop as the boat shifted again, this time with a grunt of effort from the amazon and an applauding cheer from the men.

"It'll take as long as it takes," Fisk explained "our main worry now that we're here is keeping the Larry's off our tail. The other boat has the same problem so the sooner we can link up, the sooner we can move on."

A shout of warning from the lookout warned of an approaching enemy vessel and both officers looked to see small launches, smaller than their patrol boats even but packed with soldiers. Their only defence was firepower and they hammered the boat with small arms fire, driving the crew into cover. An RPG whooshed overhead and another slammed into the rocky river wall beside the boat, blasting the lookout off his perch and onto the hard, unforgiving deck of the patrol boat. The rear twin-gun mount opened fire and Fisk saw the lead boat disintegrate into splinters and pink mist as the high calibre shells tore it apart. The second launch fired a smoke bomb that blinded the gunner, who blazed away desperately but with a defiant roar and a series of further detonations, the launch glided into the back of the disabled Larinthian boat at their stern, shielding the occupants from the gunner while more smoke clouded up to envelop the wreck. The Larinthians dismounted and Fisk's crew armed themselves with whatever was at hand and faced the smoke warily.

"How's it going?" Fisk shouted over the side. An exhausted, sweating bosun's mate wiped his brow and peered up at him.

"We're properly wedged on this last rock sir. Even Miss Muscles here can't budge her. The pressure from the back is killing us."

"There are Larinthians trying a boarding action. Bring the girl to the rear and we'll clear those wrecks."

Fisk unslung his repeater and headed for the stern where his men were waiting for the Larinthians. But so far none had come. He mounted the back board where it was in contact with the enemy wreck and stepped across, nodding at his men to follow. The Larinthian boat was smaller and sleeker, with a thin armoured wheelhouse - little more than a risen protrusion in the centre of the boat, slope-sided. A Larinthian helmet rose from that wheelhouse and Fisk fired, then there was screaming and gunshots all around. A conscript sergeant led a handful of men straight at Fisk with a cutlass drawn, and he had to crouch behind one of the gun mountings as hip-fired bullets howled and whined off in search of him. He rose, fired, dropped an enemy, then the sergeant was on him with a sweeping downward strike that he blocked with his repeater like a quarterstaff. One of his sailors tackled the man to the floor and Fisk had to throw his rifle like a boomerang to disrupt an enemy beyond who was preparing the shoot. Then Fisk was throwing himself at the enemy, wrestling him for his gun. The man was small but he didn't seem to have skipped any days at the gym as he wrenched the Myrmadon round and onto his back against the sloping wheelhouse wall. More of Fisk's sailors were coming on now and the fight had degenerated into a mass brawl of baying, desperate fighters all stabbing, punching and throttling in the smog. Determined not to need saving again, Fisk brought a knee up into his adversary's groin and then landed a square punch that knocked him back and over the low gun mountings on the bow. The man scrabbled to bring his gun up and Fisk dived aside, landing in the path of an oncoming enemy and grabbing hold of his legs to trip him.

They had fallen beside the Larinthian sergeant who was bleeding from one knife wound and was losing the battle to avoid another aimed at his eye-socket in a gruelling grapple. Fisk and the newly fallen conscript rose together but the enemy had his back to Fisk who seized him around the neck with one arm and punched repeatedly with the other. He saw the man draped over the gun mounting aiming his rifle and used his grappled adversary as a shield, but the shooter shifted aim and killed the Myrmadon sailor on top of their sergeant, who coughed a bloody sigh of relief as his desperate struggle ended. Fisk tried to push his captive forward, but was resisted, and instead the man seized the commander's restraining arm with both of his and began to break free. Fisk let the man concentrate on his arm and readied a punch with the other that was timed perfectly so that, just as the man freed himself and triumphantly turned to face him, the first thing he saw was a fist in the eye that rocked him back. Fisk followed with a strike to the stomach and then barged an elbow into the man's face and pushed with his whole body, shoving him back and over onto the shooter who couldn't get out of the way thanks to being stuck in the turret depression. As Fisk searched for a weapon one of his sailors came up with a shotgun and killed both men, stacked as they were on one another. The Larinthian sergeant had just picked himself up off the floor only to find the shotgun pointed at him. He was blown over the side by the blast.

The short-lived attack was defeated and the Larinthians - ten of them - were dead. But there was still a lot of smoke choking the gulley and Fisk needed his fighters to move the wrecks out so they could free their own boat. These orders given, he dropped into the water and helped his men and the amazon push the larinthian patrol boat back at the stern to free it from the rocks, then back at the bow to get it off their own boat. Finally they wedged it as a barrier by turning it and, with a mighty shove, the amazon managed to embed the prow in the muddy bank where the water current trapped its stern against the other side. With no obstruction behind, the tired labourers had to rush back to the boat to push it backwards off its final obstruction, and then try to help it pass the obstacle by applying what force they could to its onward journey in the hope it could be forced past. Fisk produced the wire he had latched to the bow and dragged it astern, handing it to the amazon where she would be able to first pull, and then push the boat from this position. As he took his place on the wire there was a shout of "More coming!" and the crack of repeater rifles.
"All together now!" Fisk ordered, and his dozen or so crew and one amazon heaved on the wire or pushed on the bow. The boat ponderously slid off the last rock and, heavy against the current, was dragged back inch by inch. The men at the front lost all purchase as they fell into the water at the boats withdrawal, so they cleared the way while those at the back hauled against the current. Fisk heaved as hard as he could, feeling the unyielding wire bite into his hands, and wondered exactly how much his contribution accounted for here. The other men, exhausted and straining with their teeth gritted and eyes closed, betrayed his blonde guardian's silent feat.

She hauled on the wire from the back of the pack, anchoring it with a stance that might have resisted a charge of horses. Her pale body was slick with water and rippling muscle twitched and bulged - in her back, her shoulders, her arms, her legs. Each step she took seemed to force the others to do so, using the awkward leverage of the slippery rocks to back the boat up. There was a hollow thud as a mortar fired and Fisk, alarmed at this change in tactics, ordered everyone to get ready to push. Everyone, except the amazon, who didn't comprehend and kept hold of the boat alone. As the crew braced to push Fisk waved her forward and gave the command, and she dutifully dropped the wire and threw herself at the back of the boat which now, with crew, amazon and current shoving it forward, rode up, off the side of, and past the final rock.

The mortar shell landed just behind where they had been hauling the boat back, scattering water and shrapnel whistling overhead and flattening the exhausted labourers onto the rocks or washing them helplessly after the boat downriver. All except the amazon, who pressed through the plume of water and shrugged off a biting shard of shrapnel in her bid to catch the errant craft. As the boat drifted away she caught the trailing wire and braced to halt it, a feat that nearly dragged her off into the water where she would never gain purchase, but on her tip-toes she brought the boat to a stop even as the river's pace quickened. The crew picking themselves up or recovering from being half-washed away watched with astonishment as the amazon closed her eyes and moaned at the strain of holding the boat alone against the river's current. Some had latched on to the boat to stop their own drift after the mortar strike, and now looked at each other incredulously as the slender but powerful blonde held firm amidst another blast that showered over her.  The mortar thumped again.

Fisk had gone back for his defenders, shouting for them to follow. They warned him a tank was coming and at first he assumed they were mistaken, but as he cleared the smoke he saw the turret  riding a crest of wake. It's machinegun reached for him and he had to throw himself aside as it scoured the gulley, felling two of his crewmen who were holding back the infantry following in its wake. He ordered everyone back into the clearing smoke and round the bend, just as another mortar shell landed where he had taken cover moments before. The tank fired and the blast knocked him into the water where he was dragged a ways before recovering, his rifle committed to the bed. He could see his blonde companion tethering the boat for his crew who wearily made their way toward it. Some were aboard already and trained the guns upriver in expectation of pursuit.

The Larinthian tank rounded the bend and fired its main gun, too eagerly for the shell screamed overhead. Fisk's gunners returned fire, their heavy calibre automatics pattering off the tank and forcing its commander to button up.

"Get aboard now!" He roared,  "No malingering!". The last few swimmers caught up to the boat, and he patted the amazon on the back. "You too." She opened her eyes with relief and grabbed him round the waist, letting the boat drag them by the cable. His startled noise was snatched away as the weight of the boat carried them both down river behind it.

[wowser1016]

This is a great piece of work. A thoroughly enjoyable story extremely well written. K++!

[sgsg69]

Another great chapter, you are adept at your craft as your characters are at captivating us.............K+

[Machao6]

Thank you both very kindly!

I must admit this current segment has dragged on longer than the others (almost double length) and I have been worried all the talk of boats would get tiresome, but if you're still enjoying it, great. I've finished this segment now (there are maybe 2 posts worth). I have one final character to introduce in a completely different set of circumstances. Then I'm on to binding all the threads together.

Stay tuned!

[Machao6]

When she finally dragged him up onto the boat with her, they joined the rest of the crew in being utterly exhausted. With one exception and two wounded, the entire crew had survived. Lieutenant White was steering the boat as it coasted on the current. Fisk took the precious calm to regain his breath and kiss the hand of the amazon who had enabled their rescue.

"Three cheers for Mister Fisk's lady!" someone shouted, and before Fisk could find the speaker his protests were drowned out in the chorus of voices raised in thanks. The amazon seemed bemused but understood from everyone looking at her that this was some expression aimed at her, and smiled awkwardly at the men who came to pat her on the shoulder. Someone offered her a hipflask, which she drank from and regretted again, someone else offered her a cigarette, which Fisk took.

"They're bad for you," he muttered, lighting it.

"Well that's got the boat moving again," White shouted over his shoulder at the throng "the question now is where are we moving it to, Commander?"

Fisk took a long, indulgent breath of smoke and exhaled it in a pall before rising and crossing to join the officer on the bridge. "Look for flats, preferably with no trees. Be ready to anchor at a moment's notice." White gave the order and the crew snapped tiredly to work. For a minute they both watched the river banks dubiously, which continued to stay raised and foreboding with waterlogged trees. There was a battle going on over those trees somewhere. The way it was going on, Fisk wondered if Lord had been forced to move from his position, as this was a pitched exchange, not the sudden blaze of an ambush from the blind of a bend. Cutting above the noise he could hear a helicopter, and then its distinctive whoosh of rockets. A line of tracers reached into the air way beyond the tree canopy and the helicopter flew closer to Fisk's boat.

"Ready guns!" he snapped, and the men trained their weapons skyward. They needed no order to fire as the helicopter came into view, shockingly low, and they battered its underside but to disappointingly little effect. The helicopter zoomed out of view and Fisk knew it would now be readying to attack him.

"Load the 45' for Flak!" He ordered, wondering why they hadn't done so already. It was easier to track an aircraft with an automatic, but the bigger gun had the surest chance of taking it out. The Larinthian gunships were formidable adversaries to his boats, natural predators almost. Against their naval counterparts, the Pikes were better armed and armoured, but the Larinthian Vulture was heavily armed and armoured for its weight class and could outmanoeuvre a boat any day of the week despite its relatively slow airspeed. The river gave him zero opportunity to move, but at the moment the high 'walls' of the jungle meant that the enemy's angle of attack limited him either to a fast, inaccurate strafe, or a vulnerable run down the length of the river where all of Fisk's guns could be brought to bear. The commander and his men waited tensely, hearing the throb of the helicopter's blades fade into the subliminal. It seemed to be nowhere at all, and that meant it could strike from anywhere.

"Maybe he's damaged and gone home for repairs?" One of the gunners aired.

Fisk didn't need to answer as a petty officer beat him to it. "Don't you believe it. He's scoping the lay of the river to find a good spot to jump us. Keep 'em peeled Barnes!"

That opportunity presented itself abruptly. A gentle bend in the river turned them away from the thick jungle layers and out into a reed-infested mess. It was mostly water here, but it was treacherously concealed by tall grass and reedbeds so that whatever land and protrusions existed would never be known until the boat hit them. The view opened up so that now they lay in a vague basin, the courses of the river behind them, swamp ahead and to their left, and on the right a low flat descending into the swamps - the next river, Fisk realised with a jolt of excitement.

"Incoming, Two-Four-Five!" The sailors turned to their rear-left according to the given compass bearing and saw the Vulture screaming toward them low, low enough to bend the tree canopy under its blades. It's cannon sawed angrily and Fisk's order to open fire was drowned out as the first shells began to hit. The Pike was armoured but only up to a point, and these 30mm shells were capable of destroying heavy tanks and emplacements with armour-piercing incendiary ammunition. The noise was terrible. Where small arms fire would produce whining ricochets which were nerve-racking, this weapon was firing so quickly that the hollow perforations became a drumroll of doom, sawing a jagged gash in the boat that threatened to carve it in half. Lieutenant White screamed as a bullet seperated his leg at the shin, but his voice was consumed also as the helicopter scored its deadly line across the boat. The amazon, still at the stern, curled up with her hands over her ears.

Fisk's gunners returned fire desperately. Twin-linked machineguns and squad support weapons tried to nail the cockpit, which fractured under the deluge. The 45mm barked angrily, producing a black puff of flak ahead and to the right of the helicopter, shaking it off its aim. Disrupted, the helicopter banked away as the gun fired once more.

"Medic to the bridge! Damage report!" Fisk called above the dazed, deafened silence that followed.

A sailor was able to reply from below through the awful carved line in the bridge's floor. "Most of that crap was stopped by the internal walls, but there are some through penetrations. We're taking on water, sir!"

"Fires?"

"Nothing we can't handle. Some rounds went through the crew compartment and lit stored laundry, we've got an extinguisher on it now."

"Make safe the boat." Fisk stalked to the bow and began dragging in the wire. They had to get underway. They would never be able to escape the helicopter unpowered, but every minute they wasted here was a minute the other boat was under attack as well. The helicopter banked around in the distance and the gunners chanced it, the 45mm getting another two shots off before it turned and levelled at them for another run. This time rockets accompanied the bullets and Fisk was transfixed at the sight of the gunship hanging in the air like a predatory wasp, the proboscis of its cannon ablaze, streaks of flame and smoke spitting from its rocket pods alongside. To have made it this far and be killed with such ease!

Then a remarkable thing happened. The gunners were blazing back at the helicopter and in the wild exchange of fire, there were so many pieces of metal flying that it was perhaps inevitable that some of them might collide. Whether it was the 45mm pounding gouts of splinters out into the space between, or the furious volleys of the machineguns trying to find a weak point, something detonated one of the rockets in mid-air. This blast knocked others off course momentarily before they too exploded, creating a chain reaction that chased all the way back to the Vulture which rocked and wobbled, its gun firing wildly so that stitches of impacts on the water arced around. The crew cheered as the helicopter seemed to stagger off course, smoking from several perforations. Then the 45mm finally scored a direct hit, waiting for a moment of stillness, and the helicopter seemed to bend in the middle and drop from the sky in a smoking ruin. The crew left their seats to celebrate, throwing their hats and embracing one another. Fisk looked up at the continent of clouds in the blue ocean above him and took a deliberate, relished breath.

He fished up the wire and traced it's length back alongside the boat until he was at the stern, where his amazon companion was hugging her knees miserably. One of his men reported that the hull was now watertight once more and he congratulated them on a job well done.

"Siren," he said as he crouched before her "I need your help again." He took her hands in his and ignored the aft gunners gawping at him. She let him raise her to standing and seemed to take a breath. Her eyes calmed from scared to anxious as she watched him attentively. He pulled in the end of the wire with its clip and held it up. "I need you to take this, out over there, and find something to hook it onto." He articulated his words by craning his finger like a hook  and attaching it to his arm. She seemed to understand with a nod and took the wire off him, then broke into a running dive off the bow of the boat which was met by some whoops and cheers from the men. Fisk ordered a party over the side to nudge the boat around, which they could do by swimming against it using their legs.

As the boat was turning one of the gunners reported Larinthians emerging from the river behind them. Sure enough the amphibious tank, followed by two swimming APCs emerged. There was a moment of silence as the tank didn't seem to notice them at first, then its gun fired, again too eagerly as the shell whined overhead again, and the vehicle stopped immediately. Fisk found himself imagining the gunner and driver arguing, but ordered his gunners to track the APCs as he knew they wouldn't be able to damage the tank. They needed the 45mm again to knock this brute out, but it was currently blocked by the bridge. The boat was swinging slowly to starboard as his crew desperately paddled it round. Siren was making good headway across the swamp with the wire clipped to her ankle. The tank fired again and Fisk flinched, expecting the worst, but the shot landed short and sent a plume of water showering across him and the deck. The APCs were moving either side of the tank, one cutting left to get in their path, the other moving right to fall astern.

The 45mm was finally able to come to bear and fired at the tank. Unfortunately it was loaded with flak which pattered harmlessly off, but it did engulf the enemy in a puff of oily black smoke for a moment. Fisk ordered his machineguns to fire on the APCs and the encouraging noise of returning fire seemed to alleviate the desperation of waiting for the tank to kill them. The tank moved forward out of the cloud, but again it fired before stopping, sending its shell laughably short to fountain up a wash of water and reed blades. The 45mm fired and this time it scored a direct hit, but remarkably it seemed to bounce in a shower of sparks off the turret. Men had popped up through the roofs of the APCs to open fire with pintle-mounted machineguns and bullets were whipping across the deck, prompting Fisk to seek cover behind the bridge. His crew in the water were pulling themselves aboard only to flatten themselves on the deck amidst the dangerous deluge. Siren had reached what appeared to be an island with a massive fallen trunk the size of a cargo trailer, and was waving to signal that the line was ready. The tank noticed her and sent a burst of machinegun fire across, causing her to duck behind the trunk as rounds tore up splinters. 

"You men, get to the bow and pull up the wire. Start pulling us forward!"

"You want us to go out there like sitting ducks?"

"How else do we get out of here? Come on!"

He led the six sailors to the bow as the machineguns exchanged fire. The 45mm barked again and this time the impact made a gratifying hollow sound and no sparks were seen. It landed toward the rear of the tank however, which was silent for a moment before the turret adjusted and fired once more. This shot hit the boat low, very low. Fisk had been expecting an explosion, but instead there was a horrendous noise like a brick in a washing machine followed by rushing water. Someone inside screamed. There was another call of water below and hammering as his crew tried to stop the flooding.

Picking up the wire Fisk pulled it in so that two others could join him in hauling on it. They braced their feet against the hull lip and hatch covers so that they were almost prone on the deck, and strained. The boat did not move. They heaved until they were red in the face and the blood was thumping in their heads, and finally the boat inched forward. After a few agonising pulls they could add another pair of hands, then another. As the boats gunners suppressed or killed off those on the APCs, Fisks team of labourers found a rhythm and the boat crawled forwards. The 45mm fired again, this time hitting the tank square in the middle of its side, again penetrating. The tank fired again immediately, the shell striking the sloped armour of the bridge with a splintering ring and a deluge of metal shards that cartwheeled in all directions, maiming several of the crew. One of his haulers dropped with a leg injury, while both of the machineguns fell silent as they adjusted to move wounded men out or treat them.

In the silence that followed the APCs produced new gunners, daring the quiet. White, from the floor of the bridge, bellowed for the guns to open fire again, but the enemy had too choice a target and too good an opportunity. They fired at the exposed labourers hauling on the bow, with devastating effect. Fisk was struck in the calf and went down, and his men fell around and on top of him in bloody ruin. Only the other wounded man, prone on the deck, survived. Belatedly Fisk's machinegunners returned fire, silencing the APCs. The boat stopped much quicker than it started.

The tank at least did not fire again. Nor did it move. It stood like a monument in the swamp, its gun pointed at the patrol boat, its hull perforated by two fist-sized holes. The APC to their rear was gaining on them, and the one ahead trying to cut them off was heading directly for the amazon's marooned tree trunk. Both deployed smoke simultaneously, masking their further movements and thwarting the 45mm gun's attempt to line a shot up. Fisk and his wounded sailor were dragged into cover behind the bridge and treated, with some searing haemostatic powder and hasty bandaging. The boat was beginning to list but the two men who had been plugging the holes assured him the boat was now watertight, but that a considerable amount had made it into the hull. Wounded men seemed to be everywhere, and Fisk ordered them taken below to clear the decks, slapping away one man who tried to help him off. Lieutenant White, missing a leg, also insisted on staying, though he was now weak from blood loss. As he searched for the enemy APCs Fisk heard the wire creaking and noticed it was under tension. They were moving!

Following the wire to its other end Fisk saw his amazon companion heaving away, singlehandedly dragging them through the water. She had worked herself into an intense rhythm, legs braced against the heavy log, every muscle on her lithe body working to pull on the wire. As Fisk watched her, propped against the bridge, he felt sure he had known all along she was the key to their salvation. While he marvelled though, the enemy moved. Emerging from the cloud of smoke almost on top of the hardworking amazon came the APC, engines revving as it climbed the sliver of land, driving straight at her.

"Gun forward!" Fisk bellowed, hobbling toward the 45mm. The APCs hatches opened and infantry began to disembark while the boat's turret swivelled to take aim. Siren glanced at the oncoming enemy and kept hauling, and Fisk felt as though she was looking straight at him while she hauled away. The gun barked and the shot struck the APC hard, rocking its suspension and piercing straight through the driving compartment. It kept advancing. The infantry opened fire, sending two RPGs at the boat, both of which struck the 45mm turret just as Fisk got within arms reach of a gunner's shoulder. One moment it was right there, the next it was gone. The blasts shook the boat. Luckily the commander had been knocked flat, as a gout of flame blossomed from the explosion to dissipate above. Of the gunners, nothing was left. Fortunately nothing had breached the deck, and the magazine seemed to be intact.

Deaf, singed, but miraculously unharmed by shrapnel, Fisk could only wince through the heat and stinging smoke to where Siren had abandoned the wire and now laid into the Larinthian conscripts, using the moving APC for cover. One moment she was pushing a sergeant back into two of his troops, the next she was vaulting over the roof of it to fall on three terrified men who were systematically punched unconscious, kicked flying across the water and smashed into the unyielding flank of the vehicle, leaving a bloody spatter. The APC rolled up the trunk and could not climb it, grinding against its bark and digging into the muddy floor. Finally it stalled and fell silent. Siren, having defended herself, began to pull on the wire again.

At the back of the boat the machinegunners had been trading fire with the pursuing APC which had cleared its smoke screen and was now within grenade range. Thankfully the gunners did a sterling job of killing or suppressing anyone who tried to raise their head to shoot or throw anything, and the APC peeled away, the resident infantry no longer combat capable or perhaps deciding to call it a day after what became of its counterpart.

Fisk's hearing did not return during the lull that followed. The horizon smoked where the helicopter had crashed. The crewless vehicles stood like statues marking the battleground. Fisks crew were down now to less than half their number, with six casualties dead before the medics could reach them. He staggered to the bridge and found that Lieutenant White had passed out. He called for someone to help and eventually one of the medics came, checked the man's pulse, and shook his head. Fisk ordered the man to get on the radio, but the sailor just winced at him and whatever words he replied with carried no sound. Fisk repeated himself and pointed at the radio but the sailor called for the petty officer, who also couldn't make out Fisk's shouted slurring. He did however surmise that if the commander was pointing at the radio, then there were only so many people he could mean to contact. When he finished conversing with the radio set, he returned to Fisk and spoke very slowly and clearly so he could lip read. "Other boat - on the run - heavy contact - five dead."

The man looked past Fisk and pointed to where Siren had hauled them to her little island, or at least alongside the immense trunk that jutted out into the water. Fisk crossed to the bow, stumbling as he did so, and he realised his balance was off. He walked like a drunkard, using the side rail for guidance. When he finally made it to thank the amazon, her body was dripping with sweat, amplifying the stunning definition of her muscles, but she was breathing hard. She threw down the wire and nursed her sore hands, rinsing them in the water. At Fisk's side petty officer Moore was clapping and when he looked around to see if anyone else was the remainder of the crew were also applauding. He joined them but was stopped after a few moments by Moore's hand on his arm, and he saw with embarrassment the applauding had stopped without him noticing. He cursed the Larinthians for the loss of his hearing.

Fisk watched the exhausted amazon catching her breath beside the stricken APC. An idea occurred to him then, and he grabbed the petty officer and pointed excitedly at the vehicle, then the boat beneath them. With a slow nod of comprehension, the man barked orders and two sailors clambered over the side with pistols to inspect the wreck. They checked the passenger compartment and found a live Larinthian cowering inside, who was ushered aboard at gunpoint and taken prisoner. Then they lifted out the dead body of the driver, almost hewn in two by a 45mm shell. Reluctantly, one of the men got in and after some tense waiting, the thing shook to life and tried to climb the tree trunk again before stalling out. Eventually they got it working and reversed it into the water, brought back towards the boat, and hitched the wire to it. The amazon climbed tiredly aboard, and Fisk pointed to indicate that he wanted the boat underway. The APC began to gurgle forwards and the wire tensed. Then the boat crawled forward again.

[Machao6]

<Last nautical tangent for now here, moving on to the last character I want to introduce next.>

The going was not fast, but it was quicker than Siren's impressive, singlehanded pace. Using the APC as a tug the boat cleared the swamp and entered the second river channel, again heading downriver. This channel was considerably more shallow and at times the APC dragged the boat painfully across rocks and through cloying foliage. Thankfully however the land was low here and before long they found a curious and sudden patch of the bank that was devoid of trees - or at least, looked like it had been recently cleared. The APC picked its way through the stumps but stopped when the boat was just touching the bank. The driver poked his head out to shout something but the petty officer had to translate for Fisk again by talking slowly and clearly.

"Not wide enough - stumps may damage boat - friendly air wreck ahead."

The commander beckoned for the non-commissioned officer to follow and clambered over the side to see the situation for himself. Sure enough, the jagged stumps here were created by the crashing of a Lexian fighter, which had evidently bounced off the water and careened into this patch at ground altitude. Its wingless, glassless, blackened wreck was stacked against a boulder jutting out into the next - and final - water course, and the trees around it were scorched clear from the fire or explosion that evidently ensued from the crash. There was a charred mess remaining in the cockpit and nobody gave it much inspection. The crew had questions, Fisk could see them asking the petty officer who shrugged. Nobody asked him, and that was fine for now as he had no intention of confiding the other, harder part of their supposed mission - a mission that, seeing this wreck, he was prepared to write off as a complete waste of time. Hargreaves, this boats engineer, hopped off to inspect the wreckage while the rest of the crew set about clearing some of the stumps in the way, which they did using 45mm shells dug underneath them and wiring them with detcord. Fisk kept watching the river behind them, and before them, knowing the Larinthians would not be far behind and wondering where on earth their other boat was. Had they only just set off from their round-the-bend ambush, or had they been coasting the whole time his boat was stuck in the swamp?

The wounded who were conscious manned the guns. Siren had eaten a pair of MREs ravenously, but with unimpressed expression. Fisk eyed the route the boat would take, gauging the width and indicating missed stumps that might pose a problem accordingly. With the gun no longer operable, the shells were dead weight. Whatever was left could be passed on to the other boat. The work was fast all things considered, and he thanked the skies again for their fortuitous approval.

The last few stumps were detonated, and the men stayed off the boat in case they needed to deal with anything as the APC dragged it ashore. The vehicle revved into life and the boat lurched forward, sticking momentarily on the bank while the driver adjusted his revs to accommodate the enormous strain of dragging it up hill. It stalled a few times until the crew gathered to push the boat from behind, and even then they made exhaustive, one-push-at-a-time progress until Siren joined them. Finally the boat got underway, crawling at a snails pace even though the APC 's exhausts chuntered furiously. Fisk joined his crew in trying to push but quickly found his calf injury made him almost a hindrance. Nevertheless he found space to lean against the hull and tried to grimace through the pain. The ground was thick with moss and grass, waterlogged in places with eased the friction of dragging the hull across land. They were only a few dozen meters from joining courses with the other boat now, and Fisk dared to feel triumph as the APC crossed the apex of this thin slip of land and began the minute descent toward the last river.

Perhaps no one heard it over the noise of their own straining or the engine of the towing vehicle. Fisk certainly heard nothing, and there were no reactionary cues from his crew. In fact the first he knew of any danger at all was being fallen upon by Siren. While he blundered on the floor with her trying to determine what the hell she was playing at, a shadow passed overhead, low and fast. He felt, rather than heard, the throbbing of its rotor blades. Another helicopter. He felt a blast and saw pieces of smoking metal scattering out ahead of the boat. Fighting his way free of Siren's protection somehow, he rose to see the APC had been blown apart by rocket strikes, little more than axles and broken tracks now. His crew had scattered for cover and though the wounded gunners returned fire valiantly, their shooting was wild and thin. The boat was utterly stranded, and the enemy circled like a leisurely buzzard for the killing run. Fisk rounded on Siren, who had picked herself up and taken one of his hands, and pointed up to the deck of the boat. The look on his face must have conveyed enough, as she obediently knelt to offer him a shoulder to stand on and, as he did so, stood to boost him onto the deck in one fluid movement.   

The main gun was long gone but the twin machinegun mounts were blazing away and Fisk practically fell across one in his bid to take over. The crewman attending, injured in the shoulder, busied himself with readying a fresh box of ammunition as the commander took aim. The vulture was already firing, its horrendous buzzsaw of bullets tearing through the earth toward them at breathtaking speed. Fisk aimed high for the rotors. The sailor alongside tried to correct his aim but Fisk ignored him. He knew from their previous encounter that the canopy and chassis were proofed against their small arms. The rotors were the only weak link...

It all happened at once. The sawing line of fire found the boat and to deaf Fisk, the result was a visual maelstrom of burning metal splinters and blinding sparks, the very air vibrating with impacts. At some point Fisk had closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the helicopter was smashed in the air, smoking from a dozen perforations, and careening out of the sky toward him. The vulture ploughed into the ground, bulldozing a thick ramp of mossy earth, slowing blades striking gouts of it up before bending and shattering under the inertia. His men were cheering, and he turned to see what they were looking at.

It was the Lander. True to purpose it turned for their embankment and lowered its ramp, where the amazons rushed forth toward the stranded boat while Arman, Kitchener and the skeleton Myrmad crew disposed of four smoking rpg launchers over the side and waved at their comrades.  The amazons gathered excitedly around Siren and they conversed energetically until the latter seemed to press them into service pushing the boat, which Fisk laughed at. Even with ten amazons, some of them taller or broader than Siren, the going was agonisingly slow. The crew of his boat slowly emerged from their hiding places in astonishment as the scrum of women heaved and barged the forty tonne chassis down the bank toward the water. Moore snapped at the men, who hurried aboard the boat to relieve the wounded gunners and, Fisk noted, see to any perforations below the waterline.

Just as hopes were restored, the boat shook and reverberated again, this time with a heavy, single strike. Fisk saw his crew pointing upriver to where another of the Larinthians' amphibious tanks had parked itself, wreathed in gunsmoke. Men threw themselves flat as machineguns strafed the deck but there were now fortunately few targets to chose from. Moore loaded smoke canisters into the flare dispensers and fired them, providing a degree of cover, but only from the small arms. The main gun struck again, unable to miss such a sitting duck, and the Myrmadons felt its impact as the cymbals on a tambourine. Fisk peered across the ship as if expecting to survey the damage, but he knew the vessel was holed below the waterline. The main gun, their primary defence, was gone. The torpedo tubes were still intact, the bridge superstructure was chewed by the helicopters but not levelled by heavy ordnance and the twin-machinegun mountings that were useless against armoured targets were now the second-best cover on deck. The commander grimaced and flinched as bullets spat around him, trying to think of a way to turn the tables. His eyes rested on the torpedoes.

To take the option that occurred to him, he had to get below. He used the bridge wall to guide himself amidships,  stumbled through the gangway passage, falling down the stairs and into the path of a crewman who tripped over him. Ignoring the chaos he created, Fisk blundered on forward. A tank shell exploded ahead of him, knocking him to the floor once again. In eerie silence one of his crewmen dragged himself out of the flames, horribly burned and with legs missing. The sight was mercifully clouded over by an extinguisher, and the officer pushed himself on. Finding the forward magazine, now a shambles after all the shaking, rattling and blasting that had taken place, he rummaged for a torpedo contact fuse. Finding what he came for, he dragged himself out and bounced from wall to wall as the boat lurched over some lump in the ground. He took the stairs on all fours, emerging on deck and noticing, amid all the carnage, after only a few minutes below deck, how good the air in this place smelled.

He slithered to the stern and hauled himself up by the rail. Looking over at the amazons straining against the boat's mass, picking Siren out of the groaning, undulating bodies. He shouted. He thought he shouted. He hammered on the railing. Finally he threw his hat at her. Distracted, she picked up the hat and looked up at where it had come from to see him frantically beckoning her up to the deck. Her response made it seem as if she had just started the day, running up the backs of her comrades - who didn't so much as bat an eyelid - and somersaulting to land before him, cap offered casually with a nervous smile. Fisk found himself checking whether this was his only option. Did he really have to rely on her again after all she had done?

A shell screamed overhead, twitching the smoke, close enough for him to feel the heat of its passing on his face before Siren tackled him to the floor again. "You have to stop that!" he thought he said, but she cocked her head at him in confusion. He pointed toward the bow and began to scrabble forwards, but she picked him up unceremoniously and ran for them both. Using his wild gesticulations she made it to the port torpedo tube where Fisk directed her to take the torpedo out of its tube, something he would never have considered before seeing her incredible strength in action. To his astonishment and terror she kept one arm around his waist while extracting the torpedo one handed, even tossing the thing to centralise her grip on it. The smoke was wearing thin now and Fisk directed her to crouch behind the cover of the bridge structure. He held up a hand and shook himself free of her grip, looking for Moore, but he collapsed. A combination of lightheaded dizziness and groggy imbalance left him a bewildered mess on the floor, and Siren dutifully scooped him up with one arm and pulled her into her care. His leg injury was bleeding through its bindings, but there was no time to get it seen to. If this last effort didn't pull off, they were all done for.

That thought made him waver. He found himself clinging to her, burying his head in her firm shoulder. He was saying something but he knew it sounded like a drunkard's lament. He wanted to thank her, beg her, praise her. In response she kissed him, then shook him by the shoulder back to clarity. She flinched as a something hit the torpedo, having no clue what to do with it, and Fisk guided it in her hands down and out of harm's way so he could work on the fuse. Keeping himself steady against her he willed concentration as he withdrew the proximity fuse and replaced it with a contact detonator.  This task drained his failing strength and she had to hold him upright with an arm about the waist.

"Go...and fuck up that tank..." he thought he said, but she shook him again. It was hard to stay awake. He threw a hand towards the tank, unable to keep his arm steady to point with. As he looked at her desperately through fading sight, her expression lit up with comprehension. Placing him carefully in the cover of the bridge she vaulted over the side.

Moments passed while she rushed through the clearing smoke. Though she had spent the last few hours in almost constant exertion, watching her run now would have made anyone believe she was a champion athlete fresh to her racecourse. The tank's machineguns converged in their attempt to chase her as she bolted on at a diagonal angle to it. The mossy ground spat angrily on her heels and just when it seemed as though the guns must finally find their mark, she broke into a handless cartwheel and changed direction, throwing their aim off again. The terror of watching this desperate gambit play out, with their survival as the prize and this incredible, beautiful woman's life as the bargain, flooded Fisk with adrenaline as he clawed his way forward across the deck to watch with baited breath. The torpedo, easily the weight of two or three men, seemed merely an elongated inconvenience as she flipped and sprinted and rushed and skidded toward the tank. The gunners seemed to become more and more frantic, their twin arcs of fire converging and separating at every new move or change of trajectory.  The armoured vehicle began to reverse, like an elephant afraid of a mouse, until it crashed into the protruding wreck of the Lexian aircraft they had found earlier. Unable to move any further, the main gun fired at the amazon, and Fisk felt himself scream aloud as a huge pall of smoke and soggy sods descended, obscuring Siren from view.

When the smoke cleared, she was on the floor motionless. The tank had been waiting to see the fruits of its labours, and now satisfied, craned its gun up to aim at the boat once more. Fisk felt all of his adrenaline suck out of him, leaving only tears, exhaustion and guilt in their wake. He hadn't just failed. All of the lives he had expended in this sad bid to achieve *something* from their nonsensical mission had been totally in vain - and now, the life of this companion, who had trusted and protected him without question, had been sacrificed too. The tank fired again and Fisk was numb to the maelstrom of burning sparks and metal that flew from its impact. The heat of the blast seemed a distant billow against the numbing, frozen dread overcoming him. Finally some collapsing wreckage caused him to flinch and react defensively, covering his face.

When he peered back over the mangled prow, Siren was up and running straight at the tank's side. Blind to her presence, she rushed straight at its flank and hurled the javelin overhead with both hands. It crossed like a javelin, fully thirty meters through the air to connect with the side of the tank and the resulting explosion shook the earth. Fisk stared aghast, having seen many such blasts but none above water, then tears became joyful relief as the blasted-open remnants of the tank were revealed by the clearing flames. Siren, felled again by this massive blast, picked herself up and dusted herself off, then started walking back toward the boat which was still crawling, shunt by enormous shunt, toward the next river. Her pale skin and scant bikini now much maligned by powder burns, mud and bloody scrapes, Siren for all that had happened seemed relaxed - if a little breathless - in her triumphant return. The sailors were cheering and celebrating and rushed out to hug her, and Fisk passed out, smiling.

The tank was destroyed, a torn open can of burning metal and cooking ammunition. The amazons, many wounded, pushed the boat until its bow was touching the water and most were now resting while a few forced the metal hull to comply while the crew welded and hammered it into some semblance of seaworthiness. The Lander  had been ignored during the battle and emerged unscathed, and now its crew attached a tow line from their boat to Fisk's. Most of the boat's surviving crew remained above deck, such was the dismal state of their dead comrades below. Perhaps five men survived unharmed, Moore counting himself among them. There were seven wounded, most seriously, and five wounded amazons to contend with. But once the last of the tank-shell punctures was hastily patched, relief and celebration cut through even the stench of burned flesh and spilled blood. The other boat, Kitchener reported, had passed a quarter hour before when the Lander decided to turn about.

Ahead then, was the rest of the flotilla and the tentative possibility of rest. Behind was hostile country, swarming with enemies, but perhaps now they understood that the war had finally come to meet them even in this distant delta. Arman was already busy working on the wounded, not least commander Fisk, who would have died if left to bleed for a minute longer. Rest then, and repair.
The boat slithered north to join its stricken sister, and the crew watched behind for fear of further pursuit.

[warthog22]

Wonderful last chapter.

[Fbbappreciator]

Omg I loved it ! Thaank you for this amazin story !