| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <Shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Triumphant Return |
| Date: | Sat, 31 Oct 1998 10:06:22 +0000 |
>>>>>[TO: D J H Coppinger, Director: Cpt L R W Lynch
CC: Archive
Hello, Uncle David, hi there Mother, we got back after ever such a long
adventure. It went on a lot longer than we expected going in and then
getting out was easier than we thought, I suppose because we'd had all
that practice on the way in.
Anyway, it was sort of a success and sort of not. But we've got loads
and loads of footage and so I think it's easiest if you just watch the
good bits yourself.
By the way, Mom, congratulations on being promoted, now I only have
date-of-rank instead of seniority, which is still pretty funny if you
ask me.
+++++begin video
"We're here for a boat?" Stephanie asks.
The target of her question beams beneficiently at her. Wearing a white
linen suit and a fine Panama, holding a fly-whisk, slightly overweight
and red-faced, he might have stepped from a Graham Greene novel as the
archetypal Englishman abroad.
"Ah, yes, Miss Stephanie. Colonel Jedburgh informed me of your
requirements. Now, I have several possibilities for you. For instance, I
recently acquired an Aztlan missile boat, fully armed, and ready to go
whenever you wish-"
"I'd _love_ to take that one, Mr Carleton, but I'm ever so sorry but
we're going to be moving up the Amazon and a fast-attack craft would be
just a _little_ over the top for that sort of cruise and over-the-
horizon antiship missiles aren't much use if you have to shoot it out
with pirates at a hundred yards or so, and anyway none of us are trained
to operate a boat like that and we can't take outside crew along."
Stephanie looks regretful, though, probably at the thought of having to
do without the 57mm rapid-fire cannon much favoured by the small Aztlan
warships.
"Oh, well, just a thought. You don't know someone who _would_ be
interested?" he asks.
"Auntie Quinn might like it, she's loopy about warships." Stephanie
scribbles a phone number, hands it to Carleton. "But it's for my merc
unit, so it needs to be above board and everything."
"My dear young lady, I would never insult your aunt by offering a
legitimate buyer a suspect vessel. Besides, your unit could quite
comfortably exterminate my little dealership here if I were to sell them
a pup." One of the region's flies falls foul of Carleton's whisk. "Very
well. I do have a vessel that seems to meet your specifications quite
precisely. This way..."
The boatyard contains scores of vessels, mostly bancas and small yachts
and racing boats: all ideal for different classes of smuggling,
espionage and blockade-running. The largest ship is a rust-streaked
tramp freighter of perhaps two thousand tons, her faded paintwork
alleging she's the Santa Maria out of Lisbon, though a closer look
reveals that she was once the "Pacific Illegible" from Nagasaki, and
possibly another ship before that, the names painted and repainted: but
the tattered Liberian flag at her jackstay tells any observer not to
bother asking questions. Either board-and-search her, or let her pass,
because the Liberians won't care either way. Carleton trots along the
jetties until he reaches the one he wants.
"There." he says, with some satisfaction, pointing to a dilapidated,
dirty River Commander. "I think you'll find her ideal."
"Nice boat," Ronin comments, with only the vaguest hint of sarcasm.
Stephanie casts a critical eye over its lines. "Hmm. Harley, you know
what to do."
"You got it, dude." The rigger scrambles aboard, still favouring her bad
leg, and vanishes below decks.
"We'll need to fiddle the armament." Stephanie suggests. "The stuff on
there is nice, but we're meant to be river rats, we couldn't afford
Gatlings."
"Neither could the previous owners." Carleton admits. "That's why I was
forced to repossess their boat, after they used it as security on the
weapons. I had hoped you'd see it that way, they're rather valuable and
I have a buyer lined up-"
"Good, just knock the price of the boat down accordingly. What do those
Vanquishers weigh..." Stephanie counts on her fingers, muttering
arithmetical formulae under her breath, smiles. "Oh, great, we _can_ do
it. Get the Vanquishers off the forward mount and put a ZU-23 on there
instead. Lose the egg-crates and put ammo stowage there instead to keep
the balance right. Aft..." She surveys the aft gun mount, a hybrid
affair with a Stoner-Ares heavy machine gun and a cobbled-together
missile launcher that leaks wires from an access hatch. "I'm not sure
_what_ that is but I don't want it on my boat when it fires, thank you
very much, can you just get rid of it and put a pair of M2 heavy-barrels
or a twin Dash-K or a KPV-PKT combo on there?"
"KPV-PKT, eh? Quite the machinegun aficionado, aren't we?" Carleton
asks, mopping his brow. "I was told you knew your stuff, Miss Lynch."
"Captain Lynch, if you like. Officer commanding, Kursk Company,
Rusanov's Rebels."
"Kursk. An armoured unit, then? Of course, that explains it. Yes, oddly
enough I have a sideline in armoured vehicles, and it just so happens
that someone brought in an old BTR-80 that had been carelessly driven
over some mines. I could quite easily strip out the turret weapons and
put them on that aft mount. As for the ZU-23... that's quite common,
there are a number of 'technicals' around here with such, I can acquire
and fit it easily. Are you sure you don't want the rocket launchers?"
"Not much use in the river. I take it this boat used to be used for
open-ocean hijacks?"
"Well, my dear young Captain, if I knew of any such illegal activity I'd
report it to the proper authorities at once." Carleton chuckles. "Quite
frankly, I don't dare concern myself with what my customers do, as long
as I get paid I'm quite content."
Harley emerges from the forward hatch. "Boss-dude? She's sitting sort of
deep because she's got insert panels in the hull, pretty tough, looks
like a Saeder-Krupp retrofit. Nice job, she should bounce small-arms.
Controls are okay. Sensors, are fragged."
"I'll see what I can do there, if you like." Ronin suggests. "Might be
able to save us some cash."
"You want the job, you've got it, amigo, I don't know jack about fixing
radar. Using it, sure, but it's all black magic to me." Harley agrees.
"Engine room's a disaster area, it's freakin' horrible in there, ankle-
deep in diesel and shaft grease and crud. I could cry, I swear... Two
big Paxman Gibraltars, maybe three thousand horses each, probably never
been serviced or maintained. Which, given the state of the boat and the
monkeys that used to crew it, is probably a good thing? Less they
fragged around with the motors, the better, you ask me. Nice little
Yamaha APU forward, as well, in just as bad a shape but it oughta scrub
up well. Okay if I crank her?"
"Of course." Carleton wipes his brow again. "Always tense, when I'm
trying to make a sale." he explains to Stephanie.
Harley vanishes into the wheelhouse: after a few seconds, the small
auxiliary power unit can be heard turning over, sputtering into life
after half-a-dozen revolutions. Once coaxed to life, it runs smoothly,
revving up to full power.
The coughing, grating rumble of the big diesel engines comes next, puffs
of blue smoke belching from the exhausts as one of the V-24 Paxmans is
forced to turn: after twenty or so sluggish revolutions, it backfires
once, and the exhausts spew black smoke that lightens to white, then to
haze grey, as it settles to a choppy, grumbling idle. The other engine
starts more easily, though with more smoke: one cylinder misfiring
regularly, as Harley vanishes below decks. A few moments later, the
exhaust vomits soot, and the misfire eases off.
Harley runs them up to full revolutions, holds them there for a minute -
it's _loud_, but the diesels once running seem well-behaved - and slacks
back down to idle, before shutting down. Hopping back to the jetty, she
nods.
"She's an okay boat. Engine room looks worse than it is. Needs a steam-
clean in dry-dock, though, and some rework."
"It'll take forty-eight hours or so to sort out the weapons fit and get
you a new radar, if you can't repair the one she's fitted with. I can
crane her ashore and you can clean to your heart's content there."
Carleton replies. "Satisfactory, Miss Lynch?"
"I think so." Stephanie names a price.
Carleton sighs. "A low bid, Captain."
"A fair price, Mr Carleton."
"Hard, but fair. Very well. I do, after all, get the Vanquishers back."
The dealer offers his hand, and Stephanie shakes it.
+++++end video]<<<<<
-- Stephanie <10:06:43/10-31-59>
