The Sea-Salt Wars, Part One... (Closed. ATTN: Amurcka).

[Yankee Britain]

OOC:

Readers will please note that Amurcka and I are choosing to RP this conflict as having occurred before his present conflict against Herrebrugh.

IC:

Protectorate Waters
Between the Mainland and the Isles of Scilly

Lieutenant Yasmin H. Burgess scowled in disgust as she watched the fishing vessel through binoculars from the small flying bridge of the Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate BPNS Alicia P. Bevan, currently on fisheries patrol duties between the mainland and the Isles of Scilly. When you patrolled these waters as often as she did, you got to know the regulars like family. You also got to know the crooks and thieves. This bastard had all the marks of an Amurckan vessel lumbering about like he owned the place. A palpable sense of arrogance seemed to ooze from the steel hull, odd as that was to think.

“That doesn’t look like one of the regulars,” quipped Lieutenant Gretchen Higgins, the XO.

“That’s because she’s not,” Burgess replied. “Look at that hull design, and the name: SS Democracy. She’s from Amurcka, or I’ll eat my panties with salt.”

Higgins grimaced. Obviously she had just pictured the smaller brunette woman trying to ingest her underclothes, and didn’t like the idea. Burgess just chuckled.

“Relax, Gretchen,” she said, lifting the binoculars again. “They are from Amurcka. Those bastards have been fishing Protectorate waters illegally for years, now. They just slip out here, grab some choice catches and run out.”

“Not today, though?” Higgins asked with a smile. Burgess grinned.

“Not today,” she confirmed. “Hail them, and ask that they identify.”

"Attention fishing vessel SS Democracy, this is Protectorate Navy warship of your starboard stern, identified as Bevan. We request you state your purpose in Protectorate waters. - Over."

[Amurcka]

"Oh shit! Oh shit!" The crew were running in circles aboard the SS Democracy. Captain Samson tells them to shut up and gets his binoculars. As he peers through them, his eyes widen.

"Well, shit. Those fuckers've seen us. You guys brought bribe money, right?"

The men stand at attention, but look nervous and guilty. Captain Samson facepalms.

"You didn't bring it? Fine then, I'll handle this." He presses a couple buttons and speaks into a microphone.

"We're here to, uh...trade, over."

The captain looks nervous, but more assured as he strokes his gray beard.

[Yankee Britain]

IC:

Burgess scowled again, this time at the radio handset. Lying bastards. The response hadn't even been mildly convincing. There was fishing equipment all across the ship's deck, and her search of the decks revealed not a single sign of a tradeable cargo. There was fishing equipment, however, and plenty of it. She'd be willing to bet a hold search would reveal an impressive haul of fish there, too, fish hauled from waters legally ruled by the Protectorate.

"What happens now, Skipper?" Higgins inquired.

"What do you think?" Burgess asked with a laugh. "Load up both the helicopters, including Marines. I want a fully armed squad ready to set down on their deck within fifteen minutes upon my own orders."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Higgins said, and went to issue the orders.

Burgess lit a cigarette - hadn't she been trying to quit? - and picked up the handset again.

"Democracy, this is Bevan. By all appearances, I would say you are lying to me. Given the appearance of your ship, this is both insulting and infuriating. I would also say you are now legally guilty of poaching in Protectorate waters. I strongly suggest you heave to at this time and prepared to be boarded. - Over.

Meanwhile, ten Marines were decking themselves out with Dragonskin reinforced with ceramic plates, Kevlar-made helmets, assaults rifles, pistols, and anything else they would be needing for a boarding mission as the two SH-60 helicopters were quickly readied.

[Amurcka]

The captain yells in expletives not appropriate for children as he slams the microphone to the ground.

"All hands," yells Captain Samson. "All hands, prepare for battle! Show no mercy, take no prisoners!" The soldiers immediately run into the barracks to grab their M4 carbines, M249 SAWs, and standard issue armor. They quickly run out in full suit as Captain Samson prepares the cannons.

[Yankee Britain]

IC:

"What the fuck!?!"

Burgess did not know who had uttered the oath, and she did not really care. She could see what had prompted it.

"The crazy bastards are getting ready to fight us!" Higgins blurted, sounding almost like she couldn't really believe it. Burgess knew she was having trouble.

"Put the helicopters up quickly," she barked. "Make sure they have a full loadout of missiles. Raise that crazy bastard's frequency, and bring us up to General Quartes, now!"

"Democracy, this is Bevan! What the fuck are you doing? You have no chance against a dedicated warship. You can only succeed in killing yourselves and raising the charges brought against any of you who survive. Yield now, before somebody has to die. - Over.

Meanwhile, the Bevan was picking up speed, her powerful military grade turbine systems pumping out a massive amount of energy. The two helicopters were now in the skies, loaded with five Marines each, but also carrying chain guns and Hellfire missiles. Bevan trained her 76mm main gun very deliberately on the Amurckan vessel, a clear warning.

[Amurcka]

Captain Samson still does not answer Bevan. Quickly, he turns his small, fast ship around, and speeds in the opposite direction, as he yells commands at his men:

"Fire, fire! Don't actually aim at the Bevan, just hit around them so we can escape!" The men are terrified, but they follow through with their captain's commands. He then speaks into the microphone, but after pressing buttons that indicate his message is to Amurcka.

"We're going to need some backup, they've spotted us."

"Roger," says a man replying in a generic voice. "We're sending Apaches your way."

[Yankee Britain]

IC:

"Democracy is firing!" the rating handling the weapons console barked. "Deck gun fire, incoming!"

"Helm, take up a zigzag course pattern," Burgess ordered, moving to stand in the central area of the bridge.

Immediately, the Bevan commenced swerving back and forth as she pursued the hostile fisherman, thankfully only facing the fire of a single deck gun, since the enemy's decision to run meant they could not train both on the British frigate.

"Guns," the Captain said, using the generic term for addressing the Tactical Department. "You may engage with the 76mm deck gun. Try to wreck his engine."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" The enlisted man began typing in commands on his keyboard, and within moments the Otobreda Melara 76mm gun, having been loaded from below, began firing rapidly, armor-piercing shells directed at the back of the Democracy. If they could wreck her engine, they could stop an intensely bloody naval battle before it even began.

"I just hope they've had at least the sense to close watertight doors," Higgins said.

[Yankee Britain]

OOC:

I'm bumpin' this'un.

[Amurcka]

As if in a deus ex machina from a bad story, the Apache attack choppers sped towards the SS Freedom, blasting their Dillon miniguns and missles at the enemy ship...and hilariously missing, as the four Apaches are only just on the horizon. The Otobreda Melara's shell blows a huge hole in the Freedom's hull, causing the men to panic.

"WHAT. THE. FUCK." Captain Samson is enraged as the ship continues to speed away. "Fuck it. Men, fire on that enemy ship!"

The single cannon quickly aims, and lets off a single round.