The Corsair's Curse (closed for Ossoria)

[Delvian States]

Hemar Isles, Southeastern Cornellia, 23 February, 2014:

The crew of the slaver ship, the Syracuse, consisted of some 58 pirates, plus the officers elected by the men. The captain was Vanya Borsa, one of the most vicious slavers and pirates known to his own people. He was known as the Dagger, because he would not hesitate to knife men without warning or formal challenge. He commanded one of the most ruthless crews of pirates and slavers in the flotilla of corsairs sent from the Delvian principality of Soca, a known haven of slavers.

And now he was unleashed on the hapless Hemar, a race of Bronze Age people loosely related to the Philistines. Their goddess, Isaura, was admittedly, to all appearances a mermaid, but she was seriously worshiped by the natives and the pirates had not hesitated to profane her rites by raping, killing, looting, and enslaving the locals during the festival of her death and rebirth. They fought back bitterly, but it was useless, only got more of them slaughtered by the deadly firearms, the Uzis and other SMGs of the raiders. The trail of death and destruction was a serious one, but then they seized the women and children as captives once all of the men were slain.

More than eighty such victims now struggled to avoid suffocation, disease, sea sickness, overcrowding, and thirst or hunger while aboard the Syracuse, a slaver ship that had made this kind of run some four times now without any problems. Borsa foresaw no problems this time around, only smooth sailing as they set forth in their heavily armed merchantman vessel to return home for the sale of these many captives at the open, public market. Yes, slavery was legal in the Principality of Soca, and the Prince would surely reward them for their good, hard work. They would soon be rich enough to live like princes or nobles themselves, and that would be more than worth any trouble they suffered here. International norms didn't matter. Only profit and power counted to them.

Especially to a brutal reaver like Vanya Borsa, who had already committed many horrific acts in the name of his city and his Prince, not to mention his own avarice and lust. Now, it was time to wipe the blood off his dagger, clean his gun, and watch the sea as his diesel privateer ship carried his crew and he back home.

Oh, but then they saw it. The perfect victim, a vessel seemingly ready to attacked....what was the harm in going for one more prize? Fortune favored him, did it not? He had luck. His crew had luck. The ship had luck. This voyage and raid had proved this. It was time to stop and board this new ship, and see what he seize from it.

It was happy hunting once more. Borsa brandished his dagger and told his first mate, "That ship there, I must have it. Then we can go home. Full speed ahead."

[Ossoria]

Thus far the voyage had been just another quiet and routine leg of the unending toil of international maritime commerce, and while some would have called the trip boring, it was something that Jean Lafferty, the Captain of the MV Providential Endeavor lived for. Unlike many of the people serving in the Royal Ossorian Merchant Marine, Lafferty hadn't first tried for a position in the Royal Ossorian Navy, as she had felt that the stricter discipline aboard a High Queen's Ship to be too suffocating. However, she had felt her blood yearning to go to sea, and as a result of many years of work, she had been entrusted with several million airgids of ship, crew, and cargo, and sent to ply the sea lanes across Cornellian waters under various contracts for her parent cartel.

Her crew's current contract had them running a load of general cargo from Grossprussia to the newly-aquired Ossorian territory of the Eusebian Islands. A collection of islands inhabited by an undeveloped culture stood in the way of a straight-line course, so Lafferty had charted a course which gave the islands a wide berth to their starboard as they passed by on the islands' eastern side. Lafferty, who had the watch, checked the GPS and paper charts to make sure that all was functioning smoothly. If all went according to plan, they should reach their destina-

"Bridge, Lookout."

Lafferty picked up the handheld mic, "Lookout, Bridge. What'd you have? Over."

"Unidentified vessel on our starboard beam," came the slightly metallic response. "I'm trying to get an idea for what they're on about or who they are now, I'll let you know if we get anything more. Over."

"Roger, just keep an eye on them for now, Bridge out."

As Lafferty replaced the mic on its holster, someone behind her asked, "Something up, Skipper?"

Lafferty didn't have to turn to know that it was Alwyn Moriaty, the Endeavor's first officer. Without turning her head, she replied, "Not sure yet. Could be nothing, could be something. We should know more soon."

Moriarty grunted in reply as he moved towards the radar screen. "Well, nothing's come in over the last few status updates, so at the very least nobody from our cartel has run into any problems in the area."

It was Lafferty's turn to grunt as she scanned the view out of the bridge windows, intending to look for obstacles in their path even though she had lookouts for that very job. But soon the crackle of the radio brought her crashing back to reality.

"Bridge, Lookout. They just turned into us, possibly trying to match our course!"

Lafferty seized the mic as Moriarty worked the keyboard of the radar screen. "Say again, Lookout, they're turning into us?"

"That's what it looks like from here ma'am, still no idea who they are...wait! I see something...oh shit, they're flying a black flag!"

"Are you certain, Emyr?" Lafferty said, deliberately forcing her voice to stay level so as not to panic the young man on the other end.

"Yes, ma'am. Definitely a black flag. I don't see any adornments on it, but there are people walking around on the deck. I cannot tell at this range if they have any weapons or anything."

"Good job, Emyr, just keep an eye on them and tell me if they do anything else. Bridge out."

"They're definitely headed our way, Jean," Moriarty said from his position in front of the radar screen. "We need to get the crew into defensive positions and prepare to try and resist boarding attempts. What do you want me to do?"

Lafferty didn't need to think very hard on the matter. Unlike herself, Alwyn had been in the RON and had been trained for eventualities such as this. "Take a few people and try and buy us as much time as you can, I'll be here trying to get word out and make us as hard a target to get hold of as possible."

"Yes...my lord," Moriarty replied, slipping back into the rigid formality his training had ingrained upon him and that he tended to fall back on during times of stress. Lafferty only hoped that training would help keep her crew out of danger.

[Delvian States]

The Syracuse continued to plunge forward, its diesel engine pumping furiously as the crew eagerly awaited the notion of yet another prize. The boarding party was prepared, some six stout men with Uzis and grappling hooks. Their job was simple: board the foreign ship, seize key areas and help get the others across to take full control of it. Once the foreign crew were either killed or captured (any in the latter category would be added to the slaves below), they would take the new ship as well as the old back home, a real bargaining chip with the Prince and the merchants of the city.

The rest of the crew would be busy keeping an eye on the captives and other loot, keeping the ship in good shape, and keeping an eye out for threats. There was a lookout, naturally, there were some fellows ready to board other ships if necessary, and there were guards near the armory. The entire crew was rather preoccupied, even the priest. Yes, there was a chaplain for the crew, a Father Milorad Timko, whose idea of penance for sins such as rape was to fast on saints' days and donate money to the Church. He was satisfied that this would work for him, too, since he partook of the crimes as well, and no one thought any less of him for that. These were heathen savages, after all. This was their best chance to convert, was it not?

Meanwhile, Borsa grinned viciously as he waited for the Syracuse to close that distance with the new ship. He was pleased with the readiness of the boarders, as they stood on deck and prepared to grab onto the deck of the other vessel. He was pleased with his prizes and his catch so far. He was pleased especially with his prospects of capturing more booty. And, yes, he was pleased with the pretty, dark-haired young captive whom he had already taken and used more than once.

He could take even more lovely captive women soon enough. Not every girl was for trade, after all. Some slaves he intended to keep. The rest he would sell into bondage and misery. It didn't plague his conscience at all, because they were not Slavs. They were slaves. They were inferiors. And he would teach these heathen their place....the place of submission to their masters. If they failed to learn, well, he was more than willing to kill some to scare the rest, just as he would with the new ship.

"Come to me, my beauty. Just you wait. You will be boarded very soon," Borsa thought out loud, suddenly laughing as he heard screams from a slave mother being separated from her daughter, the latter taken to the cabin for an obvious fate by the first mate.

Yes, Borsa knew how to pick them....every bit as evil as himself.

[Ossoria]

"Pirate vessel approaching our aft-port quarter, ma'am."

Son of a bitch, Lafferty thought angrily. Coming in on that side was supposedly an attempt to pin them between the oncoming boat and the islands, but the pirates' boat was faster than their container ship and much more maneuverable, so such tactics were completely superfluous in the actual outcome. It was effectively out of her control at the present to do anything more than keep up the speed and hope that it gave her crew time to act. However, that did not mean that she was completely out of the game.

"Get a message to the Navy and the cartel. Message reads: 'Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. MV Providential Endeavor under attack by unknown assailants, situation uncertain but doubtful.' Include our coordinates, speed, and heading."

While her radio operator busied himself with sending the relevant data, she picked up her radio. "Alwyn, enemy vessel coming at our port-rear quarter, what is the status of your team?"

---

"Copy that. I see them," Moriarty responded. "Rourke, Lockhart, and I just got the last of the boxes out of storage and we're setting up now, Gratten and Mayclin are on the upper and lower cannons, and Sandys and Carse are on the deck. As soon as they get in range we'll give them a proper welcome. I'll let you know if anything changes on our end. Out."

The pirates were still clawing their way up, and were most likely aiming for the freewall, the lowest point of the outer hull along the sides of the ship, where they would also have the easiest time of boarding and the highest chance of successfully grappling their rails. Or so they thought. In reality, once they got closer, Sandys and Carse would engage their only passive defense measure: a series of meter-long metal rods commonly found in reinforced concrete, which would be flipped over a hinge and locked into place at the topmost part of the hull. They would do this in sections as the pirates approached, until the entire side was thus armored, and then they would run to the other side of the ship and do the same thing in order to prevent the pirates from using that side either. This was designed to make it annoyingly difficult, if not outright impossible, for the pirates to board from that section of the ship, forcing them to either speed up and try to board from the bow and risk being plowed over by the cargo ship itself, or slow down and try for the stern.

Which is where the rest of Moriarty's team was positioned, Gratten and Mayclin operating high-pressure water cannons to make life difficult for the pirates who showed themselves, while Lockhart and Moriarty himself were armed with a pair of Long Range Acoustic Devices, or LRADs. The LRADs were capable of projecting a loud and painful noise at range and would cause increasing levels of pain to the point of outright auditory damage the closer the pirates got to the emitters. Should all of these measures fail, however, each member of the team was armed with a 12-guage shotgun loaded with electro-shock projectiles, as well as a 9-mm pistol loaded with hollowpoint rounds.

Once everything was ready, Moriarty looked at how near the pirates were, alerted his team and the bridge to put on ear protection, and powered on his LRAD, dialed it up, and pointed it squarely at the pirates before pushing the activation button.

[Delvian States]

The noise was incredible, and unfortunately for the crew, there was no protection, no expectation, no warning that it would come. The men covered their ears as best they could, but otherwise bent over in pain from the sheer effect of the sound. They were incapacitated at a key moment, and the hooks were dropped on the deck for now. That didn't mean that they were done fighting, however. The element of surprise was lost, but now that they knew about each other, the crew were resolved to fight back.

Once the pain eased, one guy picked up an AK-74 carbine, while the rest found Uzis, shotguns, and old fashioned M-1 Garand rifles. They tried their best to aim and fire at the enemy crew, but their focus was off, the water continued to push them back, and the noise continued to irritate them, even if they weren't doubling over anymore. They were caught in a "spray and pray" situation and they would lucky to even hit the deck of the ship. Still, desperate men will fight back when sufficiently angry or afraid. And this was the best that they could do in these conditions.

Borsa cursed his luck, but he couldn't do much beyond that. Even smoking was impossible in this situation, due to the water. He paced the deck, furious, seeking a way to fuck the crew of the other ship up as payback for what they did. He was livid, in fact.

This situation continued for a good while, and the crew lost track of time, but it was soon clear that they were wasting ammo, so they stopped and gathered to decide what to do. The skipper then made a crucial error. He ordered some of the captives brought to the deck and knives put to their throats. To make it clear that he would do it, Borsa actually slit the throat of a fifty year old Hemar woman in full view of the Ossorians. He wanted to see how the crew would react to this act of absolute cruelty.

Fear, after all, was what drove men most of all. More than love, hate, pain, etc. Time to use fear against these newcomers and let them taste it at last.

[Ossoria]

MV Providential Endeavor

The crew has seen better days, Lafferty thought. As a result of the barrage of blindly fired bullets, three of the initial ad-hoc security team were injured, including Moriarty, who had taken a round through the upper arm but had refused to give up his LRAD, forcing the medic to patch him up while under fire herself. But even worse was when Gratten took a bullet which tore the entire left side of his face off. Rourke had dragged him inside the superstructure before take up his water cannon and getting hit through the abdomen himself not five minutes later.

But it was oddly worse when they watched one man slit the throat of what looked like an elderly woman. Lafferty wasn't exactly sure what he had hoped to accomplish with that, but she had ordered the entire crew to be given a weapon after that spectacle. She didn't want any of her people to fall into that monster's hands, and she was determined to do anything she could to keep it that way.

"...Providential Endeavor, this is the Royal Ossorian warship Pádraigín..."

---

ROS Pádraigín

"...We have you on radar. Do everything in your power to maintain your current heading and speed and we will be at your position soon. Pádraigín out."

Lieutenant Commander Illiam Canavan was on the bridge of his corvette, watching the radar plot. As his vessel raced towards the engagement at over thirty knots, he prayed that his crew would arrive in time. After what felt like an eternity, one of his bridge lookouts called out that they had spotted the cargo ship, making way for his commander to see for himself.

"Good eyes, Mr. Ivers," Canavan said as he looked through the mounted binoculars a few more moments before turning them back over to the young sailor. "Keep them glued to that ship. I want to know if anything changes that you can see."

Returning to the bridge, he made a beeline for his private command chair and sat down. "Bosun," he barked, "Action stations."

"Yes, my lord," came the reply, followed seconds later by the klaxon blared to life and the bosun's voice rang out over the ship-wide PA.

Canavan ignored the noise and the scurrying figures as they ran along the deck back into the ship's superstructure and barked more orders. "Helm, maintain flank speed, come to new course zero-zero-five."

"Yes, my lord, new course zero-zero-five, maintaining flank speed."

"Guns, unmask the fore-76 and make ready to fire. First round, HE shell, apogee airburst, elevation 45 degrees, straight ahead, let them know we're here. Second round, load DART ammunition and aim for their engines."

"Yes, my lord, elevating gun and...fire!"

The main gun of the corvette elevated its barrel and fired, the shell exploding at the highest point of its arc. There was no denying that there were armed warships ready for battle in the area.

The only question which remained was what the pirates would do.

[Delvian States]

Borsa now realized that if he didn't act soon, his goose was cooked. He had to get out of there, no matter how much he wanted that prize. Cursing, he ordered the engines to turn away from the foe. It was too late. The engine was sputtering, virtually coughing, doing no good at all. He wasn't going anywhere. There was no doubt now, they were screwed. They had to either fight or surrender. The former meant certain death at the hands of what was obviously a proper naval vessel and its crew. Compared to a pirate/slaver ship like the Syracuse, there was no contest. They were screwed.

Unless.....then the devious idea came to him. Hostages, of course! They would let him get away for fear of what might happen to the captives. That should buy them their escape.

"Alright, one last gambit. If this doesn't work, we'll have to surrender. Signal to them that we have hostages. They either give us safe conduct and repairs to our engine to get out of here, or the captives all die, one by one. He has 79 minutes to comply with us," Borsa listed the number of living captives, of course.

What else was there, but the taking of hostages and the threat to harm them? Nothing else might buy them their escape to freedom and hopefully most of their loot, naturally. Borsa wasn't eager to be taken alive. He didn't know the laws of the nation that sent this ship, but he didn't wish to take his chances. Many others, including Timko, agreed. It was time to reach safety and home, at whatever price.

Borsa wasn't going to just wait to be slaughtered. He would fight back the only way that he could.

[Ossoria]

"My lord, the enemy has indicated that they have 79 hostages aboard. They say that they will kill them if we do not allow them to make repairs and withdraw."

Canavan grunted from underneath his binoculars, which he had trained squarely on the former pirate ship that he now regarded simply as a slaver ship. Slavery was one of the few practices that had always been banned by Ossorian religious practices, and was what many Ossorians considered to be one of the most contemptible practices in existence. It was the duty of the Royal Ossorian Navy to stamp it out wherever it came to be found within their sphere of influence, and this was no exception. However, the slaves were now hostages under threat of death from a man who the crew of the merchant ship which was currently racing away from the area had reported as being utterly without mercy.

The choice was clear.

"Guns, put five HE rounds into their engine compartment and sink that vessel immediately. Bosun, prepare the RHIB and the helo for SAR operations and have the Marines prepare a storage room for prisoners."

The gun barked five times in rapid succession, the shots following after the other so rapidly they seamed to blend into one.

[Delvian States]

Borsa didn't know how he found himself in the open waters, but now he was wet, sinking, and he could swear that he saw the fins of sharks closing in, not far off, as if drawn to a new supper. Borsa was absolutely pale with horror. Few things panicked Borsa more than the idea of sharks. Ever since he watched certain films about a Great White Shark, Borsa was abjectly terrified of sharks.

In any case, he was no longer skipper of the Syracuse or anything else. He was a drowning man, or so it seemed, in open waters facing the risk of being attacked by sharks. He didn't dare to hold out or try to make demands now. Instead, he called desperately for help. He forgot for a moment that these were the same sailors who had sunk his ship and he asked them to rescue him from the deep. Fear of hanging wasn't anything compared to fear of being eaten alive.

Nor was Borsa alone. At this point, not a man among the crew or a woman among the captives was too proud to take help. They all cooperated with the Ossorians, given the alternative. Even Father Timko, who crossed himself when he recognized that these were Ossorians, known to be among the fiercest abolitionist states of the heathen world, still gave up. It was no time for pride at all. It was time for survival.

All took whatever help they could get.

[Ossoria]

As a culture steeped in maritime tradition, it was expected of any Ossorian to come to the aid of people in the water. However, in this case the tradition was followed with a sense of indifference in some cases. The Ossorians took their time and prioritized rescuing the slaves over their former captors, even when a member of the latter group was closer than one of the former. The sailors and marines looked at the obvious differences in skin tone, clothing (or lack thereof), and most horrifyingly to the Ossorians, the age and gender of the individual before plucking them out of the water. The result was that the slavers became increasingly frightened and desperate as time progressed, thinking that they would be left behind to drown or be eaten alive by the sharks.

It wasn't until all of the 62 surviving former slaves had been recovered, given dry clothes, and sent into the ship for a hot meal and a medical examination that the Ossorians turned their attention to the slavers. Where the utmost care had been taken with the former slaves, the recovery crews roughly yanked the slavers out of the water and immediately restrained their hands and legs. Rather than be given dry clothes and a hot meal, they were strip-searched, restrained again, and left stark naked on the deck under an armed guard.

Nobody among the Ossorian crew knew the Delvian language, and even if they had, none of them wanted to talk to any of the...things that, as the Bosun put it, "were contaminating [her] flight deck." If anything, the cold glares of pure disdain and utter contempt directed at them by the crew and their guards spoke volumes to the 33 remaining men whose fates were now as certain as the passage of time.

[Delvian States]

For Borsa, the message was rather blatant. They were being punished for something, perhaps for attacking that ship. The notion that these strangers would seek to punish them for seizing people for the slave trade was utterly alien to Borsa. To him, slavery was as normal as fishing or whaling. It was simply a fact of life and no one in his own principality condemned it. Oh, there were rumblings that the new Tsar wanted to abolish slavery, but the prince had oppose this move every time in the Diet. Slavery was a major part of the Delvian way of life, except in those 8 states where it was already banned. That was still something that Borsa couldn't fathom.

So, to Vanya Borsa, it was clear that this was vengeance for the threat to the merchant ship. However, when he voiced this to Father Timko, the priest shook his head.

"No, these are Ossorians. Ossorians hate slavery. Why they are out this far, I do not know, but when I saw their flag, I knew what they were. I just didn't think that they had any naval support for their merchant fleet out this way. Maybe I was naive, I suppose. I heard that they almost intervened in the fighting in Perringrad, but withdrew toward the critical phase. While we are here, I should hear your confession, for we are all going to die soon. That much is clear to me," Father Timko explained.

"If they were going to kill us, why did they rescue us?" Borsa reacted with some disbelief.

"Because, my son, they want the honor of killing us themselves. They do not wish to leave it to the ocean deep. Slavery is a capital crime in Ossoria. These heathens are strange, of course, but that is neither here nor there. It is time to confess and receive absolution. Death will be our penance, all of us for any past sins. Death is coming to claim us, but I would rather we all avoided Hell. If you die unshriven, however, you know that Hell will have your soul forever. Confess your sins to me, Captain. Do not let shame or embarrassment consign you to perdition. Also remember that each one of these our captors will one day face God and answer for what they did. At the Last Day, they will hear His own judgment. And someday soon, they will be cast into Hell to burn forever for their sins," Timko preached briefly.

Borsa knelt and began reciting a whole litany of wicked, perverse acts, ones repulsive even to the skewed morality of Father Timko and the crew. Not that these surprised them. Borsa was a known rapist, thief, and murderer. If he died unshriven, Hell almost certainly awaited him, something far worse than sharks in fact. He had committed no fewer than sixty mortal sins since his last confession and countless venial sins. He was definitely a sinner. Even with confession and absolution, he was no candidate for sainthood.

Timko then bless and absolved Borsa, but he kept looking over at the Ossorians and wondering if they would interfere. He hoped not, but since they planned to kill him and others, there was some consolation if they slew him over doing his job as a priest. There was even a certain martyrdom to it. Still, he wanted to have a chance to shrive all of the others. For his own part, Timko had strange ideas of what he did right and wrong. He always waited until the men were all dead to take any women, so that he would only be guilty of fornication, not adultery. Adultery, unlike rape or fornication, was a mortal sin, after all. Since there was no one there to shrive Timko, it was even more crucial to avoid mortal sins, as his church didn't accept the notion of Purgatory. It was either Paradise or Hell.

For now, however, he blessed those whom he could and absolved them of their sins, telling them that their deaths soon to come would be their penance to God. He did not hide the fact that they were soon to die and why it was that this was sure to happen, as he wanted none to be surprised and unshriven, and thus to enter into eternal torment. It was oddly very conscientious of a man who just hours before had helped to enslave women and children and slaughter men. Then again, the state branch of the Delvian Orthodox Church in Soca didn't condemn slavery, so why should he care?

Several seamen, sure enough, knelt to receive absolution from the priest. They all just hoped that it was good enough to escape being sent to Hell.

[Ossoria]

Senior Master Chief Petty Officer Tesni Kilrea stood on the flight deck, glaring at the huddled prisoners as they did...whatever it was they were doing. To put it completely frankly, she didn't care, but she did see it as an opportunity of sorts.

As the senior non-commissioned officer aboard the Pádraigín, a position which put her effectively at the right hand of the resident deity of the corvette and granted her the name of 'Bosun', and as such it was her duty to ensure that the ship ran as smoothly. Those who stepped out of line quickly learned an irrefutable fact of Ossorian naval life: to cross the Bosun was about as wise as to play with a live grenade near the magazine.

But what Kilrea saw when she looked at the mass of pathetic garbage that was currently sullying her flight deck was a grade-A pain-in-the-ass. With all of the freed slaves and prisoners aboard, Pádraigín was currently carrying more than twice her normal complement. Had she had things her way, she'd have her Marines simply line the worthless meatbags along her taffrail and gun them down. But she didn't, the CO wanted to do things in a more by The Book fashion and they had just gotten orders from On High that they wanted as many of the leaders as they could get to be taken back home for whatever it was the schemers at Fleet Headquarters wanted them for.

Which brought her right back to her current problem. Nobody on the crew spoke a word of Delvian, and it was equally doubtful that any of this scum spoke any Ossorian. Their demands had been transmitted in English, which not many of the Ossorians knew well outside the radio crew, and even then Kilrea doubted highly that even if that individual were among the survivors they'd let on that they could communicate.

And so, here she stood, watching them. It was patently obvious that whomever everyone was talking to was somehow important, and it was Kilrea's guess that the first person who had spoken to him at length was also somehow important, but other than that she had no real leads to go on. After watching and waiting a few more minutes for any more bits of information to crop up, she had made up her mind.

"Private Athey! Madigan!" she barked in what any green, wet-behind-the-ears recruit would instantly recognize as a command voice.

"I want that man," she said pointing squarely at the priest, "that man," she pointed at the captain, "that man, that man, and that man. I want them on this side of the flight deck, and I want them kept separate from the rest of these fucking slagheaps. Put them under tight restraint, use your imagination with any who resist, but do not under any circumstances kill them." When met with a questioning look at her last order she tersely replied, "Orders from Fleet."

With that settled, the two Marines moved into the collection of prisoners, pulled the first man Kilrea had pointed out out of the group and deposited him with another two Marines where the Bosun had indicated.

While the Marines carried out her orders, Kilrea turned to one of her enlisted sailors. "Pass the word to the captain, let him know that our...guests... are ready and await him at his pleasure."

[Delvian States]

The priest wasn't too thrilled at being interrupted in his blessing, but he had little choice, since he would be killed and those poor folk would go unshriven anyway. They would just have to hope that none of them had committed mortal sins since their last confession, or else they would land straight in the pit, to be tormented forever for their wickedness. Given what a lecherous, thieving, murderous crew this was, that would be a lot of torment.

Meanwhile, the few that were selected were definitely noticed by the rest, and several of those not chosen breathed a sigh of relief, sure that the Tall Poppy Syndrome was in effect here. They were just lowly pirates, would probably be released in time. Might have to spend some time in a chain gang, but they would live to tell about it and be back on another pirate ship to fight another day. After all, what would these Ossorians? (was that the name) gain by executing ordinary pirates? Granted, they apparently hated slavery, but no one hated it that much. This was punishment for piracy, not slaving, right?

So the rest of the crew convinced themselves that they would survive, would live on to tell their children and grandchildren about their time on a heathen warship, being arrested and shackled for piracy. It would never occur to them that there would be any other likely outcome. The idea that the Ossorians took this shit that seriously was simply unthinkable. Sure the skipper and first mate would swing. Doubtless the priest would be released as a man of the cloth. That was how civilized navies acted, right? Not even a heathen captain would dare to hang a priest.

"All this fuss over a little reaving, can you believe it?" Rumen Gajevic, a member of the intended boarding party, asked one of the others in Serbian.

"No, not me. It is a bit silly, if you ask me. Reaving is the way for a young man to make his fortune," answered Bretik Bozovic.

The rest of them just nodded their heads, for it was true. This was how things had always been, so that was how they always would be. Young men from Soca often made their way in life by starting as pirates. It was a good way to get a head start on prosperity, on affluence and success. That in turn would attract better brides and even better mistresses. Not to mention a nice set of pretty slaves. Wine, women, and song....and all that it took was the courage to pillage and plunder in far-off lands. Not a bad way to live, not at all, as they saw it. None of them thought that there was anything immoral about it, whatsoever. It was just the way of the world.

[Ossoria]

"Now hear this, now hear this. All hands not on duty muster on the flight deck. Repeat, all hands not on duty muster on the flight deck."

Five minutes later, the crew was assembled. After the bosun had gotten them into order, one half of the crew on either side of the deck with a corridor between them leading to the hangar, Lt Commander Canavan walked out onto the deck.

The nearest NCO shouted, "CAPTAIN ON DECK!" which caused the crew to instantly snap to full attention as their CO walked down the line of mute sailors towards the ten Marines who formed a line between the prisoners and the rest of the ship.

Once he had reached the end of the line, he looked over the prisoners for a moment before turning back to his crew. "At ease," he ordered, and the company assumed a parade rest position. He looked up at the top of the hangar where six groups of three sailors each, all selected by lottery, were positioned and then down to the five men the bosun had singled out who were guarded by the last two Marines. "XO, Bosun. Let's get it done."

With his executive officer on his right and the bosun on his left, and one of the radio operators who understood English to her left, Canavan faced the 28 remaining prisoners and addressed them with a cold, emotionless voice whose words were duly translated into English by the radio officer. "You were apprehended after a failed attempt to seize a merchant freighter under the protection of Her Royal Majesty, Tara Séarlait Ailíse Silven, High Queen of Ossoria. Additionally, you were apprehended in possession of 80 individuals impressed into involuntary servitude. Under the Articles of War, these are capital offenses for which the only punishment is death by suspension by the neck until dead. Bosun," he turned on his heel to face Kilrea, who likewise turned to face him, "execute the sentence."

"Yes, my lord," she replied. As the CO and XO moved to the side, Kilrea began barking orders, "Marines, Six prisoners to the hangar!" Six of the ten Marines roughly pulled a prisoner each to their feet and marched them between the two divisions of sailors to the hangar door, directly in front of the five that had been pulled out while the other four kept their SMGs trained on the remaining prisoners. "Cast loose the lines!" Six identical hemp ropes were thrown down by the sailors on the deck above the hangar, a noose tied neatly on the end of each with exacting precision. The bosun made sure that the ropes were secure and the knots tight before handing it to the Marine who then placed it around the neck of the prisoner they held. "Lift!" At the command, the sailors pulled the prisoners up and secured the ropes, letting the prisoners hang until they ceased moving, after which point they were lowered, a weight attached to their ankles, and thrown over the side. Then the next group of six were marched to the ropes and the process repeated, as it would be until all 28 men had been executed and disposed of.

[Delvian States]

For those few who understood English, such as Radivoje Maslovaric, this matter was so horrific and absolutely chilling that he literally shivered from the sight, even as he awaited the fate that was coming to him. He was only a cabin boy, but he was still guilty of the same crimes of the others and had very much done his part to assist the skipper and first mate. At 18, his life was about to end just barely past its majority, so tragic. Still, he crossed himself and accepted what was coming, hoping that because of his relative youth, he was not as stained and sinful in the eyes of a just God.

Father, into Your Hands I commend my spirit, he prayed in his native Serbian, quoting the words of Christ, though he knew that the Lord would never have been seen in a place like this.

Many of them were unable to grasp what was said, but they could see what was done to others. It wasn't rocket science. When the first group of six was hanged, the message became plainer to the rest, and many of them lost control of their bodily fluids. Several of them wailed, others remained stoic, and one even spat on their captors in defiance. Such a mixed-bag of attitudes, but as many different men as there are, so there are always different reactions to the certainty of death.

In any case, the five that had avoided this fate were sure that it was only postponed now, especially since two of them spoke English as well. They stood trembling, but obstinate, in the face of this doom, the priest chanting prayers under his breath, one of them muttering an old Romany curse on their captors, and the skipper fixing an icy stare of absolute malice at the Ossorians. Yes, no two of them faced Death quite the same as the rest. It was a shocking revelation about many of the bravest and most fearful in the crew, who really had courage right then.

Not that it would do any of them any good. They were all condemned, just as the 28 were. It was only a matter of time....and pomp and ceremony.

As for Blagoy Jokanovic, the one who had slit the woman's throat, his stare that never left him at the end as he was lifted was one of sheer horror, as if he had seen something worse than even their executions ahead. He had the look of a man frozen in the middle of a scream.

[Ossoria]

Two weeks later

The ROS Pádraigín entered the harbor of Ardath Naval Base on the north-western coast of Kenlis with her flag flying in the breeze, her crew manning the rails, and a broom lashed to the top of her mast.

After the execution of the slavers, the corvette's company's first order of business had been to figure out how to house their various guests and still be able to effectively operate the ship. The easiest was the five slavers that had retained for whatever purposes their superiors had requested them for, these individuals were locked in a closet and kept under armed guard at all times by a pair of Marines armed with tasers and a remote to activate the stun belts each man wore.

The Hemar were another matter entirely. At 62 persons, they nearly doubled the corvette's typical complement, and finding space for them all while simultaneously keeping them away from the more sensitive areas of the vessel was a challenge. In the end, the bosun had the enlisted mess converted into a makeshift housing unit by suspending hammocks manufactured from tarps, spare bed sheets and even some old tablecloths from the ceiling and laying down sleeping bags between the tables. During the day they had been allowed to wander around the flight deck and foc'sle, so long as they weren't interrupting whatever the sailors were trying to do at the time. However, they presented another problem to the crew, as they placed a significant strain on the corvette's resources, especially food and medical supplies. It wasn't their fault, as it was a direct result of their mistreatment at the hands of the slavers that many of them suffered from various injuries and malnutrition in general. As a result, the Pádraigín had been compelled to travel a few days out of their way to meet up with a support ship and take on additional food, medicine, and clothing to compensate for the Hemar's needs.

But as they entered port, the crew and their officers were just glad that they had made it without any major problems. While most of the crew were focused on the liberty they had been promised and the chance to reunite with their loved ones far sooner than they had originally anticipated, the less scrupulous among them were also busy trying to figure out how much each of them stood to bring in in terms of prize money and how they planned to spend it. Although they had been forced to sink the pirate vessel itself, the Royal Ossorian Navy awarded a per-head bounty for each slave liberated and each slaver captured to the ship's company who participated in a particular action. This money was totaled and then divided into sixths to be dispersed. One-sixth of the total was awarded to the commanding officer, another sixth was awarded to the executive officer and the bosun, another sixth to all of the other commissioned officers, another sixth all of the other non-commissioned officers, and the remaining two-sixths was awarded to the enlisted crew. To add icing to the cake, by long-standing tradition all prize money was exempt from any form of tax. Although each enlisted man wouldn't make much more than a few hundred airgids at best, it was generally agreed that it wasn't a bad paycheck for a few hours work.

In addition to the expected crowd of relatives waiting for their family members, two other, much smaller, knots of people were present on the pier as the corvette came into her berth. One was from the Office of Foreign Affairs who were waiting with a charter bus to take the Hemar for a more thorough medical exam than the medics aboard the corvette were able to perform as well as any additional treatment they would require followed by a debrief by several linguistic anthropologists to get more insight into the Delvian piracy operation in their homeland and their experiences in particular. Once that had been completed, they would be offered the chance to be taken back home. The second was an unmarked van which screamed government organization from its sheer lack of identifying markings. The van and those nearby belonged the Office of Intelligence, and they were there to take custody of the remaining slavers and try to extract any information from them before they were executed as well.

After little over an hour, the crowd had largely dispersed, the slavers had been moved to the van and were on their way to an OI facility to have their brains picked apart, and the Hemar were boarding the OFA bus and preparing to leave as well.

---

Office of Intelligence detention facility

The small concrete room was dark save for a single lamp that hung from the ceiling. Directly underneath it was a metal chair with leather straps built into the armrests and front legs where the wrists and ankles would be fastened as well as a single large belt which would be fastened around the chest. It was into this chair that the first of the Delvian pirates was thrown soon after his arrival at the facility, while a single individual patiently waited in a corner for the guards to finish securing him to the chair. The individual waited until the guards had withdrawn before speaking.

"I am with the Ossorian Office of Intelligence," the figure said in perfect Russian while methodically pacing back and forth around the restrained man. "And you are a prisoner here charged with piracy on the high seas and of engaging in the slave trade. And while I have little doubt that there will be additional charges to be added to the list being brought against you once the shrinks finish interviewing your former captives, honestly that is none of my concern and not what I am here for anyway. So do us both a favor and don't bother extolling me with your perverse exploits and base rationalizing for why you started out in that field of work. That kind of shit is for the people at the Office of Justice to bother themselves about. All I want from you is simple. I want to know who you are exactly, and I want to know what kind of operation you were a part of in the Hemar Islands."

The figure stopped pacing and said, "Now, let's start with a name. You do have one, don't you? Or would you prefer that I make one for you?"

[Delvian States]

"Why should I tell you anything, my son? Perhaps I should listen to your confession instead? No doubt there are sins to confess. I am a priest, after all. I can hear confession, assign penance, and grant absolution for your sins. I do not know on what basis you claim the right to charge me, but I deny you that right. God denies it to you as well. No doubt you will do as you please, but you must answer to God for it someday, and it is not I who will be condemned then, on the Day of Judgment, but yourselves. I am Father Milorad Timko of the Delvian Orthodox Church, the chaplain of the Syracuse. I seized the chance to bring these heathen from their lands to a Christian one, where they will learn of Christ and His church. Whatever evils may happen to them in the meantime, it is all for the good if they come to Him. Every baptism done is cause enough to enslave these people. We did them a favor, but now you have returned them to Satan's bosom. You are heathen, too, aren't you?" Timko ranted.

He was tired of being treated like a criminal, when he considered himself a man of God. True, he had to do terrible things at times in God's service, but God would forgive all that was done for Him and let those who did them into Heaven, anyway. Was that not the way that it was meant to be? To Timko, this heathen abolitionism was the work of the Devil. God ordained slavery, so slaves should know their place and stay in it. They too would receive their reward in Heaven for their meek submission in this life to their masters. That was what Scripture and tradition taught him, so that was what he believed.

Timko crossed himself and started chanting "Kyrie eleison," repeatedly.

He decided not to listen to any more nonsense from the interrogator. He would praise and speak to God instead.

[Delvian States]

Caphtor was the priestess of her tribe. She was not totally reassured by her new situation, not until it became clear that they had not simply exchanged one set of masters for another. Nor were the others completely confident, but as the new strangers proved their actions were only good, healing, etc. toward the Hemar and that only the pirates had reason to fear them, Caphtor took heart and others followed her lead.

Finally, when someone tried to speak to her, she did her best to articulate in her own language, but also with signs, symbols, and her tone what precisely what was going on of late. These pirates had set up some kind of stronghold on a smaller islet not far from her fishing village and they had been raiding for plunder and slaves for probably months now. It had steadily grown worse, until the entire island was in terror that they would be next. Rumor had it that some residents of the colony had sought to turn it into a real settlement or town, and that was what she and others feared, for if they did this, then they could launch far more frequent raids and possible seize the island outright.

As for the priestess, she thanked Astal for these strangers and also for keeping her safe from rapine. The irony was that priests and priestesses of Astal were not celibate. On the contrary, they often mated with both strangers and locals to help them bond with the Goddess herself. Even so, it was not good form to force a priest or priestess, and the male priests had all been slaughtered, much no doubt to the wrath and indignation of Astal in her lair near the bottom of the ocean.

"May Astal bless you with great catches for this. You have rescued a priestess, namely me, and avenged her priests. You have protected children from harm as well. May the fish all consent to be caught and deem an honor to nourish you with their meat."

It was an article of faith for the Hemar that fish chose to be caught and not to be caught at certain times, depending on who had or lacked Astal's favor. To be caught be an enemy of Astal was a disgrace and no fish would consent to it, but to be caught and eaten by a friend of Astal was a great honor and the fish would leap into those people's nets.

[Ossoria]

Faced with obstinate stonewalling on the part of all five of their prisoners, the Office of Intelligence decided to pursue the only other reasonable route available and turned to the Hemar refugees, whose debriefings were being handled by the Office of Foreign Affairs with the aid of a team of linguistic anthropologists and psychologists. Using the information that Caphtor and her companions were able to give them, which frankly was both thin and not the most accurate that the analysts at Intelligence could have hoped for, but it did serve to narrow down the search. With this information in hand, the people of the Third Intelligence Directorate (Military Intelligence) directed a campaign of overflights of the Hemar Islands using Ossorian reconnaissance satellites, systematically eliminating areas of the island chain until they had a group of probable target sites for the slavers' stronghold.

With their target areas now better defined, the Third Directorate issued a request to the Royal Ossorian Air Force, which deployed some of its long-range IAI Eitan reconnaissance drones to definitively locate the fortress. In a classic manner of operator practicality winning out over analytic conceptualization, the ROAF drone pilots timed their flights to arrive over the target areas at night, using infrared cameras to track heat signatures and normal optics to home in on any abnormally bright areas. In short order the ROAF reported to the Third Directorate that they had located the target and provided a series of daytime photographs of the area. The fact that "those fucking airedales" as the lead Intelligence officer had so eloquently put it had thought of something so patently obvious was not something that the Office of Intelligence as a whole, and the Third Directorate in particular, was going to live down in the Ossorian security community anytime soon.

---

Office of Intelligence detention facility

As a consequence of the face of their continued resistance, the interrogators had decided to go to the next level with the slavers' interrogation. With this in mind, they transferred the the pirates to a cell block that was several meters underground, depriving them of any source of natural light. Each cell was fitted with a single, fixed source of light which was never turned off. After a few days, their concept of time was well and truly off balance, not helped by the fact that the interrogators had been intentionally irregular with their meals. The overall effect was that the prisoners' grasp on reality itself was starting to slip and their subconscious was beginning to play tricks on them.

The priest was again seated in the chair in the middle of the interrogation room, though this time his arms were left bound together rather than to the chair itself, and once more the interrogator waited for the guards to withdraw before beginning.

"These photographs were taken just yesterday," the figure said without preamble, laying a series of aerial photographs on the table before the priest. "This is your base of operations in the Hemar Islands." The figure next pulled out a sheaf of paper. "This," the interrogator said, laying it on top of the photographs, "is an order directing the Royal Ossorian Air Force to drop a fuel-air explosive device with a yield comparable to an small nuclear device..." the interrogator stabbed a gloved finger down right in the center of the compound in one of the pictures, "...right on top of it. Everyone inside would die within moments. Think about that for a moment, everyone in that fortress is like your crew, full of sin and damned to go to hell for it."

The interrogator let the words sink in for a moment before proceeding. "There are two ways in which this can play out. One: this order is approved and executed and everyone dies without confessing their sins and receiving forgiveness. Two: the island is given the chance to surrender, the people are allowed to seek last rites and forgiveness of their sins before they are executed for their crimes, and this order," the interrogator waved the sheaf of paper in the air, "goes away forever."

The interrogator lay the order with a delicate precision. "The choice is yours, priest. You can save every person inside that fortress from an eternity of suffering, and perhaps yourself as well, or you can let them all be damned to eternal torment. All you have to do to is tell me what kind of opposition we can expect to find when we get there."

[Delvian States]

Father Timko saw that the enemy could play it a bit rough, and frankly, he was rather exhausted. Clearly, this was a trial from God, and just as clearly, God had indicated that he must cooperate. If he did not, his sailors could be damned forever. He couldn't baptize the slaves now, but he could still save his countrymen. It was all that he had left to do.

"Fine, I will give you what information you need. If only so that my men do not join yourself and the Hemar in the pits of Hell. I still believe that I have done nothing wrong in the sight of God, but in any case, I wish to protect the souls of myself and my compatriots. It is really simple. We have a stronghold on a small isle near that last fishing village. It is somewhat well-armed and well-fortified, with a few machine guns, some RPGs, that sort of thing, and a few small boats, not to mention fire-ships just in case. There are roughly 200 or so there at any given moment, depending on how the raids go. There are other such strongholds, too, on the other islands. They are similarly armed and defended. And, of course, there are about 9 other corsair ships operating out of that base, much like the Syracuse. Is there anything else you would like to know, my son?"

He was drained by them, but at least he could sleep knowing that he would secure his comrades their place in Heaven. Nothing else could be preserved now, only their souls. Their bodies were doomed.

[Ossoria]

Ardath Naval Base

Leaning against the railing of the wing bridge on the starboard side of the assault platform ship, ROS Oisín, Captain Junior Grade Crystin Hare watched as her ship left the harbor and entered the southern waters of the Sea of Mallia. Inside, the crew was starting to settle into the usual watch cycle that defined life at sea and the first detachment of the 700 Royal Marines embarked aboard the ship began their own regimen.

Looking through her binoculars, Captain Hare watched as the ROS Telia, one of their four destroyer escorts, moved into formation with her ship. Had she cared to look at the radar screen, she would have seen their fast combat support ship, the ROAS Finley, which had arrived the day before from Rhyli Auxiliary Base to join up with the other ships of Task Force 150 which were departing from Ardath. The Telia, like her sister ships the Tarda, Aerris, and Esair, had embarked an additional squad of 12 for this voyage, though instead of Marines, they had taken on a squad from the 2nd Special Operations Battalion, or "Asrai" as they were colloquially known.

Knowing all these things, as well as the fact that they had the corvette Pádraigín barely visible at the head of their formation, told Hare all that she needed to know about her mission even before she had been briefed by the Commodore who was the overall commanding officer of TF-150. They were going east, to take the fight to the pirates and slavers who had taken refuge among the helpless people there and begun to fester like the gangrenous sore they were. But they had become complacent, and after goddess-only-knew-how-long of gorging themselves on their ill-won spoils and sating their perverse appetites on those who could not fight back against lowlife scum using modern firearms had made them arrogant.

Well now, Hale thought with a grim sneer, those cac ar onóracha will be in for quite the surprise soon enough.

[Delvian States]

The "stronghold", as it were, contained about four hundred or so pirates at any given moment, though with so many vessels departing and returning at various points, it was never quite clear how many. It also contained more than a hundred or so slaves at the time, kept under lock and key in specially made cells and forced to entertain quite frequently the pirates themselves. These were the slaves who were not sold, after all. These were the ones that the pirates chose to keep for their own pleasure. They were mostly women, though some pirates preferred youths and so a few of those were kept around as well.

It was a virtual town or at least a camp in many ways, but also rather heavily fortified by their own standards and meant to intimidate possible raiders or rivals. Some called it the Fort, some the camp, others named it New Soca, but whatever the name, it was walled, defended by towers, machine guns, light artillery, and RPGs, plus the various rifles and submachine guns in the group. There were also what few guns and armaments some of the ships possessed, though not most of them. It was certainly the sort of place to inspire terror and awe in primitive locals, but against a modern navy, it would not be quite as formidable.

That no one expected modern company was reflected in the failure to consider that the fort would stick out for its lights in the darkness, for its rather blatant black flags, weapons, and walls, and for the overall fortified appearance, almost like a castle in some ways. There was no recon aimed at watching the skies, there were no aircraft or anti-aircraft artillery, and only sentries posted near the edge of the fortress watched out for even land and sea-based threats (well, aside from the ships themselves).

This was the situation while the elected "Admiral", one Bora Vodenicarovic, was not so much engaged in manning the ramparts as in enjoying the pleasures of a young Hemar captive. She was a lovely one and seemed to be almost accepting of his attentions by now, which put her ahead of the ones who still actively resented and resisted him so often. While he still used the others, this was by far his favorite slave girl, and he found himself treating far better than the others, even feeding her more and giving her vodka to drink.

Still, she was definitely a slave and while the others found it amusing as he did it, Bora would not hesitate to slice open her throat if it suited him. Since it did not suit him at the present, she lived. He gave her a name, since he couldn't understand her true name. Instead, he named her Sveta and considered her his personal captive. Pretty soon, he had made it clear that she was off-limits to the other pirates. Since they were scared of Bora, they didn't cross him on that point. He used the other girls now and then as was his right as the "Admiral", but less than before and thus did not make the disparity too unfair between the other pirates and himself. After all, there were plenty of captives to bed.

This was also what many others did right then, if they were not on sentry duty, gambling, playing dominoes, smoking, drinking, and swimming or wrestling among other sports. Some were eating as well. But it helped the Ossorians greatly that the pirates, especially their leader, were so unprepared to meet the threat. After all, they were not aware that such a danger existed.

But they were about to find out....

[Ossoria]

The first of the Asrai teams landed on the beaches just below the walls of the slave fortress not long after the clock struck 0300. Dressed entirely in black, the teams emerged from the water like a series of shadows, each member of the twelve-man team scanning the area for threats which did not appear. Once satisfied that the area was secure, the team leader keyed his radio and gave a terse "Two, clear," before returning to scanning the area.

He did not have long to wait before his radio responded with an equally terse "Two inbound." With that, he and the rest of his team lit off a series of flares, taking care to look away from the flash and light in an effort to preserve their night vision, and depositing them where they knelt before moving several paces away from the brilliant specks of light. Farther down the beach, he saw the flashes of light as the first team lit off flares to mark the LZ for the first of two LCACs, each loaded with the four Marauder APCs which made up the first wave of the Ossorian assault.

Once the flares were set and the LCACs nearing the beaches, the Asrai knew that nobody could really miss the roar of the LCACs' engines for long, and they needed to breach the walls and get the Marines inside before the defenders had much time to come to grips with what was happening. To that effect, they passed along their exact coordinates, the range and bearing relative to their position of the walls to the ROS Aerris, which had been assigned to them to provide fire support. Within moments, a series of five-inch shells screamed out of the sky and blasted an opening in the pirates' shoddily-constructed wall.

As soon as the dust settled, the Asrai quickly moved in, stacking up along either side of the breach after the Aerris had signaled that they had ceased firing. Moments later, the first Marauder had reached the wall, its turret-mounted machine gun firing in bursts to suppress whomever might be in the nearest tower. As soon as the APC had cleared the pile of rubble, the Asrai moved in alongside the second Marauder, the team leader firing a white flare into the air before leading the way. This was the signal to the Ossorian helicopters to move in and fast-rope in additional Royal Marines outside the walls, who then pushed in behind the Marauders and the Asrai, who were already picking new targets for the destroyers to bombard from offshore.

At the same time, two more Asrai teams were taking up positions in the harbor, aiming to cut off the pirate's chance of escape by sea. Additionally, the ROS Pádraigín and two of her sister ships waited outside the harbor in the event that some of the pirates made it past the special forces teams.

Within minutes of the first moves having been made, the Ossorians had landed over a hundred Royal Marines and all four special forces teams, supported by eight APCs, and more were on their way.

[Delvian States]

Bora was still engaged in coupling with Sveta when the underground bunk fell, having been too focused to notice when the first shots were fired and the first bombardment began. He never would get his pants back on....dead men do not get dressed. Sveta was luckier, having been underneath the slain Bora, whose face and half of his skull were blown away. She had a bit of his brains on her, but she didn't dare get up, being terrified of the strange sounds of so many powerful magical weapons and choosing to stay put and not risk her life in the crossfire between these powerful witches and wizards and their thunder magic.

Many other Hemar stayed put, in their cells, in many cases not having a choice, unless they were being used at the time. Those in the latter case also stayed put, no matter how unpleasant it might be for them, rather than risk being killed by these alien magicians, including both their captors and their apparent enemies.

As for the pirates, the first line of defense was on the ramparts and the towers, but it was blown away fast. With those cleared by the enemy machine guns, the next line of defense was whatever makeshift barricades the pirates could find, at least among those who had the time and the awareness (and the sobriety, unlike many of their drunken confederates) to fight back. This was rather desperate, confused fighting, with whatever arms the pirates could find in a hurry. All around, it was a very pathetic defense, full of terrified Hemar and panic-stricken pirates, who fought bravely but without any real leadership or organization. They didn't co-ordinate their defenses, didn't really have or take time to warn their comrades below in the underground what was coming for them. It was too little, too late. The enemy had them pinned down.

At this point, some foolish pirates tried to surrender, but most fought back hopelessly against the raiders. They fell wherever they stood, bodies littering the ground and staining it with their blood. That night was the last of their lives and they would never see the dawn. The darkness of night made it far harder to see what transpired, anyway, which made it even harder to attempt any kind of response.

By the time that Bora was shot, along with many of his comrades, many were just waking up from their drunken slumber, while others were so distracted by whatever idle pleasures appealed to them, or so drugged or drunk that they didn't realize what had taken place until the Marines showed up and fired on them. Many, however, were engaged in various acts such as what Bora did with Sveta or had just finished, so were in a rather vulnerable position to attempt to defend themselves.

More than a few reached for their guns before their pants, so were shot while still in their boxers or less than that. Others didn't even have time to do that. Several of the gamblers tried to rush the Marines, while those half-asleep struggled to their feet in a daze. One pirate, his mind poisoned by PCP, attempted to bayonet a Marine, while another pushed aside his victim and reached for his Luger in an attempt to put some serious lead into the Ossorians.

It was a last, desperate effort to resist the raid, and even those who made it knew that they were in trouble. They were doomed, but only a few down here, as above, tried to surrender. Mostly, the pirates feared being hanged too much to consider it. They knew the traditional fate meted out to pirates by most navies, after all. Every pirate lived with the fear of the hangman. It was the eternal bogeyman of pirates everywhere. Better to die fighting than to be hanged.

All in all, only about 19 pirates out of 400 tried to surrender. The rest were either already dead or about to die. Their lives and their careers as pirates were over. Now it was time to face their Maker and hope that He somehow took mercy on their souls. It was long odds, but that was the only hope that they had left.

By now, it was all over but the opening of the cells, where the Hemar awaited their cells, Even those pirates still alive wouldn't be fighting much longer. The battle was virtually won. The fort had been taken. The Ossorians had captured their first pirate stronghold in the Hemar Isles.

Bora did not fall until the underground was assaulted, and by then, it was too late. It was at this point that Sveta found herself lying under him, his brains splattering her clothes and skin, as the enemy bullets ripped through those pirates found in the bunks.

[Ossoria]

Gunnery Sergeant Líadáin Myrick walked through the gunsmoke-filled halls of what she assumed had once been a kind of cellar but which now more closely resembled the scene of a police raid on an illegal drug house than anything else. Bullet-ridden bodies and the assorted pieces of what used to be a pack of pirates littered the floor, forming a grizzly collection of islands in the middle of a two-centimeter deep pool of deep crimson blood mixed with broken glass, spilled alcohol, and what used to be a white powder of some kind. In the distance, Myrick heard the chatter of rifle fire, indicating that while the assault itself was by and large a done deal, there were still a few pockets of people who didn't yet grasp that fact.

Standing in the doorway about halfway down the hall from the charnel house now behind her, Myrick saw a new young private from her unit, Padden if she remembered correctly. The way he held himself and his rifle seemed somewhat off to Myrick, until she was what was inside the room. Three Hemar women of various ages, spattered in blood and gore and with barely a scrap of clothing between, were huddled in the corner farthest from the doorway. All three recoiled in renewed terror as she poked her head in and started stammering away in their incomprehensible language with a new fervor that made her believe that whatever it was they were saying was some sort of prayer. She closed the door gently before turning and cuffed him in the side of his head. "Use you head, boyo! Stay here and make sure nobody gets at them until I say so! And for Goddess' sake keep that door shut!"

Farther down the hall she reunited with the lead element of her squad. They had finished clearing their assigned section of the building, and had taken three of the pirates as prisoners, who were now kneeling in the center of the room. Myrick turned to the senior-most of the group, a corporal by the name of MacGann, to hear his report. "This section is clear, my lord: thirteen enemy KIA, these three prisoners, no friendly casualties sustained. We did find these three in that room back there with three Hemar captives, I put Padden on the door to guard them, keep them out of the way of the fighting."

Myrick listened to his short report, all the while glaring down at the three prisoners, none of whom even had his pants on. "Good work, corporal, but I think you miscounted a bit."

"How so, my lord?" he asked, his face showing a little confusion at the comment.

"You said we killed thirteen pirates and took three as prisoners, correct?"

"Yes, my lord, I did," he replied, the realization dawning on him.

Myrick nodded to the Marines who had been standing behind the pirates with their service pistols pointed at the back of their heads, and each fired once. None of the Royal Marines in the room even blinked. "I think you're off on your KIA count by three, corporal."

"Yes, my lord, I must have miscounted as you said. My apologies."

"It's not a problem, Corporal. Alright everyone, let's go see what the LT wants us to do now."

---

"My Marines are reporting approximately 375 enemy KIA with a couple pockets still holding out on the far side of the compound," Lieutenant Colonel Dougal Gilduff said in the CIC of the ROS Oisín. As the current ranking officer of TF-150's Royal Marines, his place was currently in this dark bunker surrounded by glowing computers and officers doing goddess-knew-what rather than on the beach with his troops as he preferred. In contrast, his counterpart standing on the opposite side of the chart table, Captain JG Hare, was completely at home in what would otherwise have been her normal action station. To her right stood Commodore Keane Durkin, the task force commander, who did not seem overly pleased with the news.

"That's almost twice what Intelligence estimated it would be," he grumbled, and the other two officers shared the briefest of looks before masking their exasperated thoughts about the matter. As though intel about enemy numbers had ever been similar to what they faced in actual combat. "Friendly casualties?"

"Negligible, my lord, about three dozen wounded, we're airlifting them back to the Oisín as we speak," the LC replied. "The darker-than-usual night combined with the speed of our assault compounded the strategic and tactical surprise factors. Factors which we will not have as well as we did here. We should drop off a few platoons and start hunting for any additional pirate havens in the area as soon as possible in order to catch them off guard and off balanced."

"But as you just pointed out, now that we've kicked the hornet's nest, any other groups in the area are bound to get wind of it and be on alert," Hare chimed in. "The auxiliary formation and the additional military contingent will to arrive in two days with fresh ammunition, additional troops, construction materials and some additional military hardware. Once we've established our position here, we can begin hunting down and rooting out the rest of these vermin."

"The captain speaks the truth, Colonel," Durkin said. "Our mission was to kick in the door and establish a foothold, not to take on the entire pirate operation ourselves. If anything, sending our current forces out on a hunt for the other strongholds that may or may not be in the area would be the worst possible move for us to make, it would dilute or forces and expose those we have just liberated to attack, in addition to whomever we would happen to leave behind. No, we will continue with the plan. You both are dismissed, see to everyone and tell them that they did a fine job."