Branching Out; A Torch To Pass On

[EriChar]

NOTICE OF TRANSFER

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His day’s mail having been opened, in silence, the large frame of one Rear Admiral Smoker was still as the words at the top of a letter leapt forth from paper, and into the air in front of him.
So, that time is here already, huh? Scanning through the contents of the missive, there was a bittersweet mix of emotion in the heart of this white-haired marine; while it was perhaps to be considered good news to have a newer and better post offered, at the same time, it was sad to think that the bonds built here would need to be broken. When a soldier was moved to another base, a piece of his or her life seemed to break away, and was sometimes lost, which was perhaps a source of apprehension for the fellow who now brought a fresh pair of buck cigars to his lips, and struck up a match to light them both. His feeling of concern not apparent on his face of course, given the guardedness with which the Rear Admiral operated, the man never the less released a long, hazy gasp of smoke, and stood up from his desk; moving across the quarters he had been assigned as ship’s captain, and staring out of the window to the skies outside.

Through the glass that, unlike the enlisted who shared a single porthole, his authority had earned him, the Marine man looked to the wisps of white that strolled through the heavens, creating his own clouds around from the brown bars between his bite.
We’ve all got to fly the nest sooner or later… With his eye caught by the outline of a dark-coloured gull, for the succession of several seconds, Smoker watched the soaring animal sweep across the sky; using wings and experience both learned and passed down to navigate it’s way above the treacherous waters below. There was an odd sense of intrigue about the movements that this feathered flyer seemed to make, a presence of form that for some reason captivated the usually focused soldier’s gaze, as its wings were tipped so effortlessly to remain undaunted in the face of any gathered wind, and toss up the proverbial middle finger to the efforts of gravity to drag the creature back downward. Seagulls were simple animals. There was nothing fancy or particularly sophisticated about them, and yet; when in flight, even these most humble of avian animals seemed capable of such subtlety and grace, that it might have been called beauty by one of artistic inclination.
Of course, the man from Loguetown was not so poetic or pretentious to consider such a thing; but the fact that he could be captivated enough to watch a simple seagull soar it’s course across the sea was a statement upon the mixed melancholy that his news had brought. The times were a’changing.

“I better get back to work…” Muttering quietly to himself, the morose Marine man sucked down his cigars to stubs, and blotted them out in a glass tray next to the letter, before striding across the cabin in which he had been ‘hiding out’. Slipping outside onto the deck, the man did not have much time to absorb the sea air, as quickly after his previous intake of tobacco smoke, he felt the urge to have more. Living up to his name, Smoker was not without the sweet sticks of smouldering leaf for long, and as he batted away the salutes of the men he passed, once again the ‘chimney’ that was the rear admiral had been lit.
Ducking underneath the uppermost deck, and into the dark innards of his craft, the vessel’s commander was forced to walk with a sense of bow-legged mannerism, in order to easily move through the cramped ‘belly’ of his craft. In comparison to the average soldier, this imposing leader was at least a foot or so taller, and much broader, thanks to a body honed to the extreme by training and combat. While the Marine shipyards seemed capable of achieving a great many feats, building corridors large enough to comfortable contain the frames of their larger officers, was apparently not much of a priority. At least, it wasn’t for the warship that the ‘White Hunter’ now stood on.

Continuing to ‘toss up’ his paw to wave away the compliments given to him by the officers and enlisted men he passed, the Rear Admiral plunged his way through the maze-like array of straights, bends, and stairs, until he reached the location he had set off to meet; a large, bolted door which was flanked either side by four of the battleships guards. Whatever was inside, it was something that her commander did not want to slip out without notice.
“As you were.” As they braced into an attentive state at the sight of their commander, almost immediately Smoker dismissed the action, finding ever more distaste for the pomp that was involved in a fighting force; ultimately, the White Hunter was a man with a job to do, and more often than not, these shows of ‘respect’ were more bothersome than anything. As long as they followed their orders loyally, and weren’t complete idiots, the cigar-smoking man wasn’t really that bothered how his subordinates behaved; for all he cared, they could walk around in dresses and high heels, as long as they did a good job.

Slipping past his guarding force, Smoker dragged the bolt on the barred door across, and released the lock on it, allowing himself to slip into the room behind. Given what the room had been isolated for; the questioning of the pirates and other lawbreakers they routinely detained, the White Hunter had a rough idea of what to expect when he stepped through the door, but was a little curious to see how this particular ‘examination’ was proceeding.
“So, Chief… How is our ‘guest’ enjoying his stay?” Calmly, with a sense of casualness developed through confidence in his man, the rear admiral stepped into the interrogation, and questioned the lead ‘investigator’…

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[Aubs]

His eyes flittered over to the door for an instant, just to see who it was that had entered the room. While it was uncommon for someone to just walk in on an interrogation, the captain of the ship always had the authority. So when the one and only Smoker opened the door Chief Petty Officer Rutherford couldn’t help but smile. If there was anything that the White Hunter was good at it was making an impression unlike the smaller River, who was lean and strong, but certainly not as big as Smoker. In the moment that past before River spoke the Chief couldn’t help but think of just how long he had been in the Hunters. It must have been going on a year now. What had started out as a tag-along assignment had turned into the ride of a lifetime with one of the more famous members of the Marines. The ship had grown to encompass an entire division of marines, and all because Smoker didn’t know when to give up. Leaning back in his chair, it all become clear to him.

The standard issue hat that River always wore backwards was sitting on the table, allowing the blonde-haired man to run his fingers through his slick-backed hair. He wore the standard uniform with few exceptions. Over his white shirt River wore a tight-fitting black thermal fleece that zipped down his chest, and around his waist he tied a green sash, with its part leaning to the left side. His weapons had been left outside the room so that he wasn’t too tempted to hit the “guest”, which he wasn’t too pleased about. Tapping the simple wooden that separated the two River took only a moment more to think before speaking. Instead of addressing the fishmen across the table from him the Chief spoke to his commander instead.

“You know sir, for some fucked up reason this guy thinks that because his country isn’t officially recognized by the World Government as an Allied Nation he doesn’t have to listen to the Marines. I tried telling him that if that’s the case, then his crew attacking us at all must be a declaration of war. He doesn’t seemed too impressed though so I can only imagine what he thinks is going to happen here.”

Turning back to the detainee, the veteran looked him over once again. He must have been a clown-fish or something, because he was mighty colorful but not very big. It was said that Fishmen were 20 times as strong as a man, but River was almost certain he would win in a fight against this specimen.

“You better sit up straight. I’d dislike if you were killed before you talked.”

When the reaction wasn’t immediate River gave the desk a resounding kick with his formerly relaxed leg. Because the thing was strapped down it didn’t move, but the jump that the fish made let him know that he was getting closer. Now Rutherford by his nature was not an interrogator, that job was better served by the Intelligence people. However he fit a certain role on this ship, that of the fixer. When something had to get done Smoker seemed to place him near the action. True it did mean that there were times where River spent the battle securing an escape route or prepping a landing zone. Hell when he had first joined the crew it was a success for him to even bring in reinforcements to a fight. This was a very top heavy crew, with Officers are high esteem and renown. In fact the entire force was like that. You did not remember the Petty Officer who fought off a small crew of bandits, you remembered the Captain who destroyed an enemy ship.

Not straying too far away from the topic at hand, River thought once again how lame it was that he was still an enlisted marine when his service record was so deep. Yes there was that moment where he refused a direct order, but Justice wasn’t that simple. At least Smoker understood that. As long as he was around then Marines like River would have a good chance at making something of themselves. So perhaps, even if River wasn’t getting any stronger with the assignments he was being given at least he would be useful, that’s all he really wanted after all, to do his job.

With sudden purpose he rose to his feet and stepped off to the side of the scene. Perhaps it would give Smoker a moment to impress, he was certainly more intimidating than River and would probably make a very convincing bad cop. Leaning against the simple wall, crossing his arms as he did River spoke offhandedly.

“You know, I can’t authorize your execution, but the captain of the ship can. As you can see, you have very little time left to make a good impression. Why don’t you start off where we left? There is going to be an attack on an island by your crew, but you refuse to tell us who that crew is or where the attack will be, instead you keep telling me how ‘you’ll see’ and ‘I’m no snitch’. Makes me wonder why you were so easy to catch right?”

The clown-fish didn’t speak, but instead made a strange gulping sound that might have been confused as a fish not breathing properly. It was more likely a moment of weakness that the punk showed as he realized not only that he could be killed here for not talking, but that he was more or less given up by his crew. But what the purpose was no one was quite sure. They had approached the man after a sting of sorts, the Reflection Route had been reporting that the fishmen were getting violent. But whether or not a crew of fishmen was going to attack, and where they were going to strike was of high value.

Yup, definitely about to crack.

---

Jamz!

[EriChar]

“Well, that’s a funny thing, isn’t it chief?” Responding to the remark of the man who Smoker called ‘Chief’, River A. Rutherford, the sense of apprehensive distance that the earlier news had handed him was now completely removed from the Rear Admiral; the White Haired Man’s comportment being as cool as ice, and completely removed from any sort of emotion that could be shown as a weakness to the fishfolk man who sat in the chair. In these kinds of circumstances, with a desperate man looking to seize on any advantage he could find, one had to be a brick wall; impassable, impenetrable, so that the only option was to take a hand that was offered to get by this wall, even if it was given by the grim reaper himself.

“He might think that, but all it means is that there’s no chance of a diplomatic reprieve…” Shrugging at the suggestion of the Marines supposed ‘limited reach’ in this regard, the ship’s captain decided to lay it down as it was; they were, the soldiers of the ‘World Government’ after all, and regardless of where you were from, the black sail a pirate raised was an affront to the whole world. When you drew the old skull and bones to the top of your mast, it was a message to say you’d dropped out of the ‘normal’ world and into another; the landscape of the criminal, and when that happened, your ass became the proverbial grass, for the lawnmower men for characters like Smoker and the Chief.

Shut in the dark room with River and the ‘clown’ they had captured, for a short period, the rear admiral stood in a steely silence; unyielding in the face of the physical and verbal aggression that was cast from his subordinate toward the ‘victim’ of their interrogation. Like the shield of the knight which is steadfast when the sword is in motion, Rear Admiral Smoker was unwavering in the face of their captured enemy, showing no sign of either enjoyment or dissatisfaction at what was going on, instead being a book without any words written on it; blank, and impossible to pick up any information from. Had he been leading these proceedings, things might have taken a different path; the White Hunter was not so physical as his aspiring protégé when attempting to garner information from a captive, and instead preferred to outwit them. However, the captain of the vessel was not so unrefined that he did not appreciate the merits of variation; this fishman was proving a tougher nut to ‘crack’ than expected, so the white haired man had elected to ‘keep him on his toes’; bouncing between the aggressive threat of the Chief Petty Officer, and the subtler traps that he himself could lay.

“He was pretty easy to catch, wasn’t he?” Sensing that it was time to take a short break from the ‘direct’ approach, the White Hunter moved the theme of the examination toward a more clouded inclination; picking up on the chief’s ‘closing statement’ without missing a beat.
“And even easier to keep; unfortunately for him.” Since forcing the information that they needed from this fellow did not appear to be particularly successful, Smoker decided that ‘pulling’ the details they desired might prove more successful than ‘pushing’. Hinting toward being the ‘good cop’ in this scenario, the leader of this Marine force offered a subtle surface of sympathy for the soul who sat in his interrogation room.

“Keeping his mouth shut while his buddies ran off… A good guy, huh?” Trying to push the clownfish off the track in his mind of the noble, loyal action he had achieved; sacrificing himself in order to spare his companions, and keep the Marine forces at bay. Instead of this, Smoker sought to point out the ‘reverse’ the viewpoint. While it may seem an awesomely loyal thing to do, and there was every possibility that this aquatic fellow’s companions were mourning his loss, there was an equal chance that they weren’t; they could have ‘dropped’ this fishman without a moment’s hesitation, and given it no thought afterward.
“Pity the same couldn’t be said for his mates, eh?” It was an unknown factor, of course; without finding his friends, neither Smoker, nor the Clownfish could know how they had handled his departure, but that was the point. Whatever was the result of being left behind by them, it was the ‘unknown’ that was the most useful part of the whole matter, since few things were scarier than information not known. The imagination was left to run wild, and while whatever was good in a person would hope for the best, the evolutionary imperative that was pessimism; the expectation that things might go wrong, had a nose of an advantage in the mind of the target. Smoker, if this went right, would not need to be the person who changed this prisoner’s mind; with the right push, the fishman would do it for him.


“I mean, his buddies are probably enjoying a drink and a laugh at his expense, and this doormat is letting them? Looking at the hangman’s noose, for the sake of a bunch of turncoats… I wonder if it’s nobility, or idiocy?” Continuing to pressure the prisoner through suggestion, rather than intimidation, the craft’s captain coolly looked on with confidence as he saw the clownfish fight against his own mind; wrestling with the assertion that the Marine had made. Just offering that one like olive branch of sympathy between the two, and poking the stick into the right place, Smoker seemed to have found a little ‘window’ in the fishes psyche which could be exploited.
“Poor guy; I bet I know what your so-called ‘friends’ would call it…” Sucking in another sweet stream of smoke as he chuckled softly to himself, the smoking man kept that slight hint of sympathy and understanding toward the clownfish that he had developed earlier on. It was close now, very close; that time when the ‘song’ that this little ‘canary’ was holding within him, would be chirped to the whole world…

[Aubs]

Breaking someone down always took a certain finesse. Interrogating was about finding out what kind of person you were working with and locating the weakness in their psyche, like a tactician working out a master battle plan. River had approached this discussion from the standpoint that the almost shivering little clownfishmen would crack under pressure. Smoker by contrast took the approach that this pint sized fishy would be more concerned about being left alone, being useless to his stronger friends. It was without question the right way to go, and it once again reminded the Chief that not all jobs were easy, some required training and experience, two things he never thought he would get considering his jacket. But enough mopping, Smoker had showed the man’s weakness now it was time to exploit it.

“You know.” River said calmly, settling into his chair and leaning forward to build trust with the guest, letting him know that this could all work to his advantage. “You might still get the last laugh here. It’s not right for them to just leave you behind, like you can’t take care of things, I mean who are they to decide these kind of things. If my crew treated me like this I’d certainly be upset with them. What do you say to this? You take us where this crew is heading, and we make sure they don’t get themselves or anybody else hurt. You tell us which ones are the real leaders, then you and the others get to walk?”

Leaning back, River mad brief eye contact with Smoker as if to see if he wasn’t going to get himself chewed out. But it occurred to the Chief that any crew of fishmen that was dragging out little guys that didn’t even look like they wanted to fight was most likely using coercion. This made him suspect that not all of the members of this gang were actually about attacking other vessels. The reports had said that the last ship was taken with only a handful of pirates, so why have lackeys like the clown?

Our hero took a moment to think to himself, seeming unconcerned with the answer. As the detainee looked from River to the boss, the veteran knew that this was all over. Smoker had gained some trust by playing up the little guys fears, trying to help him and such. So when the clownfish looked back, face and eyes showing a need to save his own scales River knew that the boss would only need to make the final push, he had earned it after all.

“I’ll take you there.”

---

Standing out on the deck, River made a great sigh and placed both hands on the rails in front of him. The sun was setting now setting at their back, casting the ships long shadow across the blue of the water. Even from this vantage point higher than the water level, the water looked too calm. He knew that they were heading to an island of sorts, which only made him wonder more why this was the enemy’s course of action. When watching the water no longer held his interest, he sighed once more and decided he should discuss it. He spoke loud enough that the Admiral would hear him, who he knew to be standing on the deck also.

“Why would they attack Inlet Grove, it’s just a collection of small businesses and a tiny marine base. It must be some kind of statement, as they don’t need the ship coating that the locals provide, so they must have it out for us instead. What do you think sir?”

After the clown had told the pair that Inlet Grove Stop, the tiny island that marked the final stretch of this Route was to be the next target for the wandering fishmen gang who had taken up pirating, it had taken a bit to ensure that this was accurate. This target did not match their last few, which had been ships out at sea, with no World Government affiliation. They were escalating quickly, and they needed to be stopped right away. There would be more to this than was apparent, that was for sure. In the meantime though, knowing from their little birdie that the attack wasn’t supposed to happen until after the sun went down, it was a race against the sun. Who knew when and how they enemy would attack, but fighting a whole crew of fishmen did not seem like a pleasant task. They had contacted the island though, so they should be on high alert for the White Hunters arrival, that in itself might save lives.

Turning around, River focused on his commander, the legendary White Hunter. This ship didn’t have the entire crew on board, but would it have enough to defeat this threat? It would be lying to say that River wasn’t a bit worried, but assuming that they arrived in time to help the islands small marine base they should be able to deal with this threat. Little did they really know just what they were getting themselves into.

---

Songz!

[EriChar]

Having moved from the humid and musky lower deck, Rear Admiral Smoker found now relief or refreshment from now being stood in the briskness of sea air; a tense wetness seemed to cling to him, making his innards feel hot and body discover no level of breeze or blast that could cool it. Inside the soul of the cigar-mouthed man, a simmering heat of emotion was blazing within him, one that might have even given the volcanic power of a peer a run for its money in temperature. A man who rarely displayed much of his emotions, this was not to say that he did not feel them as fully as anybody who was more passionate in their displays, simply that the White Hunter was more attuned toward seeing beyond the haze of feeling, and making rational choices. With the right stimulus, even the unfeeling appearance of this Marine Officer could be broken, and the wrath within him brought forth.
It was rare, of course, but concern was probably the biggest key for this man, concern for his fellows; you put one of his people in harm’s way, and you can be assured that this man will most certainly have fire with his smoke; a burning desire to protect and impress justice onto those who seek to do harm. The news that they had been given was certainly what was needed to enrage a man with the moral centre of this Rear Admiral, and this was why, out on the deck, the usually quiet fellow was now casting a scathing silence over all around him. Practically ready to burst, the intensity with which he had received the information had left much of the deck too nervous to approach the man; it would take a firmer friend than the bond of a working relationship to break the noiselessness that now clung to the timbers and the air of the white Marine ship.

“It’s probably the right sized place to raze and get a reputation, without the risk that one of the bigger bases would create…” As he answered his subordinate, the former commander of the Roguetown base kept his voice low; easing the words from his lips like one might guide a candle away from gunpowder. Smoker was wary of committing too much of what he held inside him into the air, for fear that any sort of ‘surge’ might break the wall behind which he was holding back his feeling, and launching into the most irate of tirades.
“They’re probably looking to build some momentum to move onto ‘bigger’ jobs; things that are more challenging and with bigger rewards.” Pushing the words from himself slowly and gently, the man’s brow was furrowed as he struggled to restrain himself at the notions which he spoke of. For this warrior-leader, it seemed incredibly cowardly to follow the course of action that their informant had laid out; striking at largely defenceless lands, while the bulk of their guard was away, was for the White Hunter the method employed not by people who deserved renown, but rather ridicule. There was no great pride to be found in the slaughter of the weak or innocent, and yet at the same time, it seemed exactly the sort of enemy that seemed ever more present on the seas. There were certain who, for all of their lifestyle, could be respected for one thing or another, but they seeming fewer and further between these days. The life of a sea bandit seemed more to be becoming one for the cruel and opportunistic, and it was easy to understand why a great many would be driven with such zeal to tar this entire cast with the same brush. Unfortunately, it was perhaps the aggressive stance of the Marine force that was driving their ‘great enemy’ to these lengths; like a power struggle spiralling out of control, as the soldiers of ‘justice’ became less ‘civil’ in their tactics, the depths to which their enemies might sink seemed to grow lower as well.

“I’d say we better stamp them down before they get rolling on this course…” Letting out a long, white, smoke filled sigh as he reflected on the whirlpool of destruction that engulfed the world, the leader of this solitary ship elected to ignore the large picture that was being painted of the world, and instead focus on what he could do right now.
“And while there’s still something left to be saved; that little outpost won’t hold out long against half of what our clown claims it’s up against.” With a force of pirates on the cusp of achieving a status to share with the ‘super rookies’ of previous generations, Smoker did not reckon that what was little more than a guard tower on a small island would be much of a defence at all. The white haired Marine had seen exactly what happens when you fail to ‘put down’ a threat like this in the now oh so infamous ‘Mugiwara’ gang, and was not about to let yet another group go ‘Supernova’.

“So, let’s see if we can’t find a bit more speed in these sails…?” Eager to get to work, the commander’s head snapped around his ship, knowing that every second they couldn’t gain, would be one that Inlet Grove could ill afford to be wasted. Even if he had to half-kill his crew getting there, Smoker was determined to beat the criminals to their target, before another ‘Illusia Incident’ was born…

[Aubs]

“You heard him. Trim the sails, we have leagues to cover!”

Stepping away from the railing, the Chief went to the crew and began directing. It was his job as the highest ranking enlisted Marine to control the workload and tempo, leave it to Smoker to decide what was to happen and when. Both men knew however, from their discussion with the fish that sometime throughout the night was supposed to be the attack on the island. From what he knew of the island, it would be a devastating attack. And this crew of fishmen, apparently it had two of good name, the captain and the first mate that were considered to be rising stars in the Line.

Catching a peek of his commander from his current work station, River had the distinct feeling that the Rear Admiral was concerned about much more than a few enemies. The depth of his simmering was hard to miss for one like River, who had been in his service for a long time now as far as tours went. Smoker had been around even longer than that, and must have had a few skeletons in his closet so to speak. If it were up to River though they wouldn’t add another body in there tonight.

Seeing that the deck was hard at work, the Chief went below for a moment, meaning to collect his weapons and gear for the mission at hand. He would have to find Petty Officer Wilde, the man he had long ago selected to be his own right hand and to control the squad of men he was assigned to train and control during operations. They had become one of the elite forces in the Division, and he was immensely proud of them. But would that be enough to secure the people in the middle of the night form an enemy that could attack from land or water? With a long sigh of his own, River picked up his trusty flintlock pistol and one of his tonfa’s. Turning on his heel once again the marine headed back from the deck, and the painstaking minutes it would require to arrive at their destination.

---

The island of Inlet Grove, which had become known as the Inlet Grove Stop, was not so much an island really. Like a few of the more famous structures in the Grand Line, this was a small island made up of Yarukiman Mangrove trees. Three of the large things had formed a large triangle which didn’t exactly close on one side. This had formed a bay in that a monster had taken up residence. The gap in the trees tight formation had caused a very deep cove to form, where not only the monster resided but a special type of fish that was useful for ship building had taken up residence. The trees were weren’t as old or as large as they could be, but the top layer of soil which had formed at the surface level had created a small forest, where other lumber was available. From these strange origins a town had risen spanning most of the island, mostly from their craft of ship-coating bringing in good money from patron. Marines took to the island in order to protect those workers, and receive free coating of course. Their base was located near the back on the furthest leg of the triangle. Without question that made the defense here weaker than it should have been, if River had been given any say he would had insisted on building the base in the bay, monster or not. But complaining aside back to the story.

The sky was dark now, the sun having just set behind the clear blue horizon. While it was more dusk than night, the crew was very agitated. They needed to get set up on the island fast enough to stop whatever attack was coming, and that time was now. One of the ports on the island came into view, as did the tall mangroves and the smaller foliage that had risen out of the sea. The mangroves towered up, with three main stalks. Those three looks like mountains compared to the flatness of the island and its root base. With these angelic trees watching over the smaller world below their boughs, the island itself had an otherworldly feel. Catching it during the sunrise or sunset must have been a special sight. A few bubbles floated here and there, not mostly produced from those trees. Wooden houses of circular shapes could be seen even from here, as well as bushes and other trees, most likely formed from the debris of the mangrove that had become mulch. River could see the gap in the three trees that formed the entrance the bay that concerned him so much. Having read the packet of info on the island, River knew that it wouldn’t take too long to walk to the Marine Base. However, he decided to ask the Admiral what his thoughts were.

“Sir, I suggest going inside the bay. I doubt we could really disturb the supposed monster, but it will make it easier to establish operations.”

As he waited for an answer his grip tightened and loosened on the tonfa grip in his right hand. Starring out at the fast-approaching collection of trees River became aware of how tight the situation was. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known before that moment, but the darkness that was settling over them told the true story. If the attack was coming then it was coming soon. The clownfish had been tied to one of the masts. Eyes flickering that direction, River could see him starting to stir also.

Time for Smoker to make his decision.

---

Song!

[EriChar]

So, this is Inlet Grove? Releasing a white cloud of twin-cigar born smoke from his mouth, the man in charge of this Marine force peered around his environment, as the ‘culumosmokus’ struck into the darkness of the sky; standing out over the backdrop of blackness that now surrounded them following the fall of the sun into the sea. A place with a base that one could prod into the proverbial shoe box, this kind of backwater locale was not one that a Rear Admiral tended to frequent, and in his own personal experience, Smoker had never received opportunity to stop off here even in a career as long as he was. Perhaps the result of the World Government, and by extension their fighting force, having such a broad control of this sea-covered sphere; there always seemed to be more bases to visit than had been visited, just by their sheer number. This tiny outpost which the White Hunter had barely even heard of today was not exactly a hub of Marine activity, and the island it sat on seemed to house a scarce many souls above the personnel stationed. It was quiet in the night air, silent to the degree that while the locals might have found it peaceful, but the smoking soldier found it unsettling; rushing her to prevent a fight, the island upon which they had pushed to reach as soon as possible, now seemed too quiet. Almost anticlimactic, there was a strange sense of disappointment at not finding a bay being bombarded by broadsides.

The rumoured ‘monster’… Checking up on the intel that the Marines had on this inhabited mangrove, Smoker had heard some detail on a sea king or something similar that stalked the waters around this land, and perhaps attributed to the place’s lack of development; leaving carnage in its wake when the locals tried to strive to expand themselves.
“Yeah, looks like the Prof’s tinkering might have the occasional unexpected benefit…” By the reckoning of the Rear Admiral, the sea-stone lined hull that had become something of a ‘standard issue’ to all battleships, his own included, seemed like it would provide a certain level of cover against the beast that prowled these waters. While originally designed to protect the ships from the kings of the sea that swarmed around the still ocean known as the calm belt, it was a reasonable estimation to make that the effect that this measure produced applied to most forms of sea life, removing much of the ship’s ‘stature’ from the sea around them, at least in the eyes of those aquatically inclined, and allowing for much smoother sailing through the waters. Had the material they used not been so lacking in quantity, a sharp mind might have marketed the properties to the fisherman, to prevent the attacks of the monsters and lure greater catches toward them, but that mineral was not so plentiful. Perhaps because of the powerful properties it possessed, the largest part the metallic substance that seemed to embody the sea was largely limited to military use only; the Marines secret weapon that lined hulls, bound criminals, and put them on a firmer standing with the terrible abilities some of the brigands might possess.

“Take her into the bay; it’ll be the best place to set up a defence from…” Reasonably confident that they could slip by the ‘Water Basilisk’ as the report had named it, Smoker decided that their unfashionably prompt arrival would provide an excellent opportunity to ‘get the jump’ on their supposed attackers, allowing them the vital minutes they needed to prepare an ambush for their opponents, and maybe provide themselves with an upper hand in this fight. Battling fishmen, who were not only at home in the sea but enhanced by it, the Marine rear Admiral knew that every little advantage they got would be worthwhile, and not something they could pass up. While his Devil Fruit power made him ‘elite’ in the terms of an ordinary battle, the confines of a collision between combatants at sea pressed more limitations of what the White Hunter could do, which was dangerous in the face of enemies who were enriched rather than disadvantaged by their locale. This victory would be no individual effort; everyone would need to be at their best to succeed, and the ‘heroes’ that may emerge, would only do so through the support and cooperation of their fellows. That was perhaps the beauty of the Marine force? While each and every person might not be a Garp or Sengoku, they had a fluidity of their number that few pirate forces could match; while some may not see much strength in number, for the soldiers of the World Government, it was the volume that they came in that made them such a formidable force.

“OK, let’s get a landing party organized; I want at least some level of fortification put up before our ‘guests’ arrive.” Snapping his mind from the semi-casual nature in which he had responded to the query of a trusted subordinate, Smoker once again assumed his ‘command mode’; projecting his orders out from his lips with clear sense of command.
“Speed is the key here, the more we can get done before they make it here, the better we’ll do.” The White Hunter wanted to take every advantage they could get in this fight, because ultimately, the easier a fight can be made the better; the Rear Admiral did not want to be dispatching letters of condolence to wives and families after this. He wanted every man or woman on his crew to survive and be proud of what they had done today, rather than obsess and lament it. A victory paid in the blood of one’s troops was not a ‘win’ in his book, and while some might favour the course of using their troops as ‘fodder’ to overwhelm the enemy, any loss of life was a stain on a commanders name. It might be naïve, but for all the skill and strength that Smoker had, he knew he wouldn’t survive without the people under his command, and did not want for them to not do the same. Whatever his rank said, this smoking man was a boss, and bosses took care of their underlings…

[Aubs]

Like most things in the world, the story of the battle at Inlet Grove was not seen immediately on the surface. It was never as simple as looking at the reflecting waters what told you what was really going on. Smoker had decided to go into the bay, which was the best course of action by far, as expected of the one and only Hunter. But what the man didn’t know was just what was lurking under the water, close enough to touch his ship but quiet enough to avoid detection. One might have been concerned about the monster that inhabited the depths between the mangroves, but that is just what the fishmen wanted them to think. For right below the surface, perhaps only a few hundred meters below the White Hunters prized ship was a second ship, coated and now awaiting the signal from their own captain. The crew sat calmly, not really needing the bubble round them, but what the hell?

The Fishmen looked up to see the Hunters floating by, causing them both a moment of concern and in the case of a few more rowdy members stirring some excitement. While the attack was supposed to be an easy one, one ship of Marines wouldn’t make that much of a difference to a skilled group such as theirs. Well that wasn’t the entire story, but as far as the World Government knew it was. You see, this ship had more than just pirates on it, it had families on it to. Some were hostages, some were conspirators without the prowess to fight themselves. That was the beauty of this plan after all, it wasn’t just pirates, it was so much more; and these humans would never see it coming.

All at once, the crew turned back at the sound of an opening door, the captain’s door.

Now it was time.

---

River stood over the crew as they lowered a small boat towards the water. He would be on the boarding party, he always was after all, and so would his squad. They had made a name for themselves since joining the White Hunters as being the first ones on shore, acting as the vanguard for the main force, and usually for the decisive fighters such as Smoker himself. The boss was right in his musing of course, it was the numbers that allowed the Marines to be so successful. But then again it wasn’t just countless numbers, it was the use of those people to support one another, and to bring waves of very process skills and techniques over the enemy that made them such a powerful fighting force. It was only in the worst situations that a man the caliber of Smoker needed to be involved directly.

As the other ship in there party of two was lowered to the water’s surface River turned back to his commander and mentor to give him his last report before stepping off. “Sir. I will leave part of the landing party to secure your LZ, and I’ll push forward towards the base at the back of this mangrove. I will have the leader here contact you directly. Permission to depart.”

It would only take a few minute at a brisk pace to reach the dock on the far side of this tree, perhaps a half hour. The benefit of these mangrove islands were that the landscape was very flat and it was never that big. You had to get lots of trees together to get a big island, and here there were only three plants, meaning it wouldn’t take but a few hours to walk around the whole island. The superstition of this bay monster had made this a much weaker defense though, having the Marine Base and its dock facing the other direction entirely, and having no dock inside the gap between trees they called a cove. No matter, the Chief would do his job, and then Smoker could do his.

---

The water lapped against the white stone of the marine docks on the far end of the back mangrove tree, facing the open ocean instead of the bay at its back. In the highest part of the central tower that overwatched the defenses, a young seaman was sleeping soundly at his den den mushi station. No one ever called them anyway, so this position of duty was always looked at as a break night to catch up on sleep. His partner was relieving himself down by the water at the moment, or at least he said that’s what he was going to do before our friend fell asleep here. The calls from the hunters had gone unnoticed of course, so it was no surprise that the guard did not see the enemy approaching him at the moment. That calm water that only so gently nudged at their buildings, it held the enemy and they were coming. Slipping out of the water slowly calm the fishmen, almost casually the emerged from the blue and stepped onto the dock. Without a word they entered the closest building and set to work. Getting rid of the marines would make it easier to deal with the people after all. The other team would be dealing with the marines that arrived by boat, floating silently up towards it from below. Then from there it would all be too easy to exterminate the weaklings on the island.

The young marine was about to pull up his standard issue trousers after taking a moment to release his water before returning to the duty station to promptly fall back asleep. It was another boring night here on Inlet Grove, just like always. The moon was bright at least, that was strangely pleasant. Yawning as he began to zip up his fly the seaman never heard the pirate step behind him. His training must have been sub par. The air stopped all at once when the hand went around his throat. His thoughts stopped as well, panic and pain creeping into him as his feet slowly left the ground and he was held airborne. Black edged his eyesight and began to grow until all but the faintest slit of reality was left.

And then it was gone.

---

---

Song!

[EriChar]

It’s quiet here… Stood practically at the very centre of the upper deck, his hands resting on the butt of the baton which was usually worn on his back that Rear Admiral Smoker played that most difficult of games; ‘waiting’. None of his spotters on the ship had caught sight of anything close to a vessel in this dark, dead night, and the transmission from the backwater base had reported no kind of suspicious activity. The Chief having been waved on his way to reinforce and fortifications prepared in the town; there was little else to do but await the news of some sort of sighting, some clue to the attack no matter how big or small.
Maybe our man has sent us to catch wild geese? Casting his eye toward the mast where the clownfish had been secured, the smoking man scrutinized the frame of the fishman as he tried to guess what the worried-looking prisoner was thinking. Was he nervous because he expected the attack, and did not wish to feel the wrath of his future allies? Or was the fishman’s sense of apprehension born from the fact that those around him were suspecting they had been fed a tall tale? In the interrogation room, with the pressure they had plied and caused the clown to crack, Smoker had been certain that the truth had been spoken; the gut instinct that the white-haired man often relied on had led him to believe that the attack was going to happen here, and yet; so far it had not. Not normally a feeling that was wrong, for the sake of this currently peaceful land, the Marine hoped that he had been fooled. The White Hunter was sure that even if he did beat the fishmen to the island, from the sounds of the story there wouldn’t have been much in it, and certainly not enough time that they could now be stood, idle and waiting.

It’s probably better to wait here all night with nothing but boredom, but… Scratching the back of his head, the Rear Admiral had a feeling aside from which had been inspired by the scene’s doldrums, that there was something amiss. Deep down within him, there was an unease that was not born completely of worry or fear, but rather one that spoke to him like it had when the clownfish had spilled his story; an instinct born from the pit of the stomach that as much as he hoped that the island would be spared an attack, the time spent to wishing would be wasted. Striking from the wooden ground upon which he stood, the Marine struck across his ship and to the radio operator, who sat glued to a Den-Den Mushi that they had dedicated a line to the Grove Base. While it was not active, all that had to be done to contact either way was pick up the receiver and it would ring through. They had already contacted the base on their way to the island with the instruction for regular reports of the situation, and with the understanding that anything out of the ordinary would immediately be passed along; whatever it was. Smoker wasn’t trying to be ‘pushy’ in his defence of the island, however, the sense of unease he was feeling forced the man to scoop up the microphone attached to the strange stalk-eyed snail, eager to get the next update.

“This is Smoker. Anything unusual to report?” The deep voiced chirping of the snail at the other end interrupted by the rustling of a hand, the impatient Rear Admiral did not wait for a message of acknowledgement, briskly moving to the point at hand. Eagerness made by a sense of foreboding anticipation, the White Hunter did not have the time to exchange pleasantries even as much as a greeting; he wanted to know what was going on, what unusual detail might be unfolding, if any, so he could respond to it as speedily as possible.

“…Oh, no, Not really. Everything's perfectly all right. We're fine. We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?” A chirpy tone returned to the query, the Den Den Mushi’s expression changing from its usual placid, distant countenance to something entirely more upbeat; it was odd. A happy, chatty voice was bouncing back at the Marine through the broad, toothy grin that the snail gave off, far from the usual sleepy and grim expressions which might have been expected in the situation.

“Who the hell is this?” His brow furrowing into a tight frown, alarm bells rang in the head of Rear Admiral Smoker as soon as the words were said; there was something about the way the words were spoken that seemed ‘off’, a sort of lacking professionalism that no communications technician would demonstrate in the face of someone holding the authority that the White Hunter now possessed. There was a sense of casualness, lacking discipline with the words which tipped the Marine off, as he demanded to know who had answered the call.

[Aubs]

“Nobody, wrong number! Try again later.”

With that the Den Den made a crashing noise and static took over the line, while the little bug’s large lips flapped and wiggled strangely. What Smoker would think was not really the concern of the people on the other side of the mushi. The pair of fishmen that now stood over the silent body of the marine watchmen had more important things to worry about than some Marine. Now this team of pirates was unaware of the situation inside the bay, as they had set out long before Smoker and the crew had arrived. However, that did not mean that Smoker was unknown to his enemy. The Fishmen turned to leave the tower and meet back up with the rest of their group, moving down the long flight of stairs to do so.

---

Meanwhile, on the Marines vessel, mired just off shore in the bay between groves, the real fun was starting. From the water below a team of no less than 10 fishmen latched onto the hull of Smoker’s ship and began shimming up the sides. It did not take long before they were standing on the deck, spaced around the ships length. More would be arriving soon, and would most likely try breaking into the lower regions of the ship, somewhere above the seastone hull. The first noise of the impending battle came as a watchmen was flung off the ship with a savage toss. As the young marine screamed through the air, the fishmen drew what weapons they had, and the fight was on in earnest. The vessel rocked slightly as one fish in particular tried punching into the hull mid-climb. He was unsuccessful, but patience was a virtue. One fiend even managed to fit himself into one of the doors on the main deck, and began his descent into the belly of the ship, cutting down the do-gooders as they came at him.

---

The Chief had already moved off into the woods, making a line for the HQ just beyond. Behind him the second landing craft and delivered a squad of men to secure an area to download the rest of the crew. They had set up a circle of torches, staked into the soft dirt that covered the mangrove roots to act as a beacon for the crew. What light that their circle provided was casting shadows in every direction, but did not give the group enough sight to witness the boarding of their flagship by ravenous pirates. Had it not been for one screaming Marine they may have never known. The loud splash grabbed one of the seaman’s attention, drawing his eyes towards the ship, with just enough time to see something crawling up the side of the vessel. Head cocked to the side, the young man was forced to squint at the distant activity. All this left him very vulnerable to the webbed hand that grabbed his ankle and whipped him into the water with a blood curdling scream.

“Landing Team to White Maiden, we are under attack!” came across the den den waves a few seconds later as more pirates walked right out of the water and onto the little area set aside by the Marines.

---

River ducked behind a tree as the call came out to the Hunters, His men, all with their signature blue bandanas tied to their arms did the same. The veteran leaned out from behind his hiding place just enough to see the HQ almost a stone’s throw away. A moment of decisive action came over our hero as he thought things through. He could go back and help the other squad, but that wouldn’t help them regain contact with the Marines of the island, making them more susceptible to the following attacks. Or he could push forward and hope for the best. Like any good leader, River took the time to run over things in his mind before deciding on the third course of action, throwing caution to the wind.

“Petty Officer Wilde, take half the squad back with you to support the landing zone team. I will push forward and link up with the HQ here.”

“Aye Aye.” Was his only response and the blue-haired man nodded solemnly to his friend and turned quickly on his heel. River did not like sending his men back without him, but they had trained hard, harder than most marines of their rank should ever have to, if they weren’t ready than no one was. They were Hunters after all, every last one of them. The Chief on the other hand took off at a sprint towards the HQ, his few remaining troops on his heels. At full pace he planted his right hand onto a large root about waist level and propelled himself over it, keeping his stride as he run towards the ever-closer objective. Then all at once the soft ground beneath his feet turned into the clinking of cobblestone. They had arrived near the front of the island facing side of the Marine base, the low wall defended it from ground forces and the portcullis remained open. Just inside its threshold was the small squat buildings that outfitted the marines or housed others.

But no sooner had they entered than did our group see a fellow marine laying in a pool of his own blood.

---

---

Jamz

[EriChar]

Now that’s pretty damn suspicious… The odd response to his inquiry only raised the volume of the alarm bells within the head of the white haired marine, as the line clicked out at his odd ‘conversationalist’ disappeared. Now, even more than before, Smoker was sure that something quite literally was ‘fishy’ at the Inlet Grove Outpost. His instincts told him that somehow, the ‘fishes’ had snuck in and seized it while they weren’t looking.
I need to get a hold of the chief and warn him… If the suspicions he had were correct, and the situation was quickly amounting to this result being the case, the Rear Admiral needed to alert his landing party. They probably had no idea that they had been sent on what was now a fool’s errand; supporting a base that probably wasn’t there anymore. While its structure might still stand, if it had been overrun by these aquatic pirates, there ‘core’ was no longer there.

“Rear Admiral Smoker!” As if the radio operator and his system had anticipated the interest of the ship’s leader, before the White Hunter could even ask for a line to be put through, and incoming call had been sent to them, altering the man on comm’s, who in turn called for the captain, though not with happy news.
“Sir, the landing team; they’re under fire!” Piping up in panic, the radio operator of the White Maiden practically sprang out of his seat to relay the news, apparently desperate to gain the attention of his commanding officer on the matter, as well you can probably expect.

Both the base and the reinforcements are taking hits… Words wrenching the stomach of the white-crested Marine, Smoker’s spine tingled with a combination of anxiety and anger; rage born partly at the sudden change in their situation, but also his own inability to predict this outcome. It had been stupid of him to assume they had arrived first, against a foe so acclimatised to sea life as a Fishman pirate crew. No doubt they’d arrived first and laid a watery trap for them, with their little clown as the bait; and the Rear Admiral had played right into their hands like a first day command officer.

“Get back in touch with the team; tell them I’m heading out to reinforce them, and that we strongly suspect that the base is already overrun.” Clenching his teeth and strapping his bat behind him, the smoking man knew he had a lot to make up for. In his mind, he had failed as the captain of the ship and the rescuer he had hoped to be in this situation; not only allowing his targeted base to fall before he could do anything, but also now facing the prospect of the men he had sent to save it, now falling under the crosshairs of attackers.
“We’re gonna regroup together, and storm the base to chase these bastards away.” Something needed to be done quickly, before everything here went to hell, and nothing could be done. Aboard the craft, aside from her main guns which now seemed useless with a whole island now separating the ‘heroes’ from their enemy, the most powerful fighting force they had was the commander himself; the powerful abilities of the logia-using White Hunter standing on a par with the average seaman numbering in the thousands. It might have been something of a clichéd expression, but when he needed to be, Smoker was a one man army, and it sounded like an army was exactly what they needed now. However, the final ‘prong’ of this trident of force, would prevent him from moving just yet.

“S-SIR!” A stumbling voice falling out from the entrance to the underneath of the deck, a marine whose white uniform had been stained crimson tumbled forth as words sputtered in desperation, calling out for any superior who would answer his call. The fastest was, of course, the now very on edge Smoker, whose body erupted into smoke to catch his Marine before he planted face forward in the deck.
“They’re… Inside…” Supporting the soldiers weight comfortably, the Rear Admiral looked into the fading eyes of his subordinate as the man spat out the words that confirmed his worst fears; it wasn’t just the base, nor his reinforcements that were under attack, but rather all of them, the ship included. It was an epic fail on the part of Smoker and his White Hunters to have so badly messed up this situation, and it was down to them to put things right.

God damnit all; even I can’t be in three places at once! Frustrated by the simple volume of action unfolding, all far too close to home for comfort, the ship’s leader tried to restrain his emotion as he gently placed his subordinate on the floor, hoping not to harm him further in his anger. Allowing his grip release, the White Haired man peered deeper into the deck, and felt his blood boil as he caught sight of a leering fellow not wearing white, but rather the colourful decadence of a holiday maker, over skin that was far from a ‘human’ shade.
Looks like we fell right into their trap! Releasing his emotions on sight of one of the fishmen that had burst into his boat, Smoker gave a rare howl of battle fury, not bothering to unsheathe his jutte and instead finding himself craving the satisfaction of direct contact in this matter. Exploding in a plume of white clouds, the Rear Admiral angrily thrust his whole body forward, aiming to smash his foe right back out of his ship…

[Aubs]

Unaware of the predicament that Smoker was in, River and his gang continued forward with their usual violence of action. Though it had not occurred to the Chief yet, the crew was in a bit of a bind at the moment. One force had been sent to soften up the resistance while the main body waited for the real attack. And right in the middle of that rather smart plan the White Hunters had inserted their flagship and their commander. For what it was worth, if anyone was capable of getting out of this sticky situation it was the great hunter himself. River by contrast, would have a bigger issue with what was ahead of him.

The small building that had been inside the gates, most likely the guardhouse, was packed with River and the few men he had left. Wilde was taking the rest back to reinforce the landing zone for Smoker’s forces, and he hadn’t expected to need the manpower here for the meet up. He had been wrong, then again they had cut the timing very close considering what they knew about the enemy’s plan. Even a few hours cost somebody their life, and now the Marines had to deal with that fallout.

“He only took one hit, so whatever attacked him was strong enough to do it quick. No exit wound either so it wasn’t a gun.”

That was Maxwell, one of the combat medics he had. He wasn’t a doctor by any stretch, but he could bandage up a Marine to keep him in the fight, and that was a valuable asset. River trusted his analysis, so he didn’t need to double check, but the thought did occur; if the fishmen had already attacked then where was the fighting? Had it been that quick, or were they that late?

“Chief, light's still on, top level.”

Barto, real name Bartholomew. A good fighter, if a bit inflexible sometimes. River, those two and one of his more experienced Marines, Ward made up his remaining team. Four low ranking Marines versus however many fishmen were attacking, it didn’t seem like great odds. Leaning out the doorway, his long rifle held high and ready, Ward screened their next movement, across the courtyard and into a nearby barracks building. River slipped in first, pistol at the ready with his tonfa tied as tightly to him as possible to keep from hitting things. The odds weren’t great though considering that the front gate had been breached. It was likely that the barracks had already been cleared. But when they flipped on the lights River was met not with a barracks of men, but a nearly empty infirmary.

The sigh was immediate, and very relieving actually. It didn’t mean that the members of the base hadn’t been attacked in their sleep, but it did mean that it there was a chance that someone was still out there. That or they had all been killed, but River did not want to think about that yet. “Max, grab what you need, we are going to head into the main base and set up shop. We still don’t know what happened here yet.”

“Aye Aye”

Taking back off into the night, the four man team stopped at the nearest corner and peeked around. The empty cobblestone walkway between squat buildings did not betray anything just yet, but the fact that the front gate guard was dead meant that anything could have transpired. Reaching for his Den Den, the veteran chief leaned his back up against the wall and called out to his commander, thinking that now was the time to get guidance before he booked it into the base proper.

“White Maiden this is Chief. We are inside the base, I believe that the enemy has beat us here. Requesting permission to search for survivors. Landing Party is being reinforced by my squad, how copy?”

The line was dead as he waited, waited much longer than he had expected to. As the time drew on River began to worry, and then he began to hope someone would respond at all.

The Maiden was fine, no doubt about it. Right?

---

---

Music

SPOILER: Click to show

had a major bad week, and lacked inspiration, hopefully this will let you take back command of the thread.

[EriChar]

These guys are nothing special… Supposedly, with their adaptations to aquatic life, and over the top levels of physical prowess, the mammalian species known as the “Fishman” was viewed by some to be a superior form of life, when compared to regular humanity, that is. Capable of overpowering the average man even as infant’s, and only becoming more powerful and often belligerent as the number of their days gathered greater totals, it was a perspective that could be understood usually, but not in the current case. Certainly, those higher placed names and knights of the sea were cut from a far different cloth than the rags that these dolls seemed to be born from.

Fuelled by the fires of fury, the billowing bundle of smoke that was the Rear Admiral charged through his ship in a wash that was as white as his nickname; dominating these allegedly ‘better’ fighters in the same way he would deal with any ordinary man. The advantage of his devil fruit paying dividends, for all the strength that these brutes of the blue seas seemed to possess, it was useless to them; knuckles and weaponry cast harmlessly through the haze of clouds before Smoker’s own armaments caused a far greater impact upon the proceedings. This ambush had caused its damage to the ship and its crew, but with the calibre of combatant who had been pushed into the chaos, it was little more than a minor intrusion for the White Hunter; having traded blows with Shichibukai, Supernova and the forces that threatened Marineford, this rank of fishman was nothing more than an annoyance.

“Oh, Smoky! You came to help little ol’ me out?” Flattening the fish in a flurry of white gas like an angry steamroller, as Smoker plunged deeper into the decks, a voice from the medical bay inferred that at least one other member aboard the ship had the capability to ‘disrupt’ this operation made by their aquatic foes; the ship’s doctor seemed to have taken great offence to an unexpected ‘guest’ in her med bay, and proceeded to make them welcome. Somewhat chipper, but looking a little worn from her confrontation, the blonde was now mounted on a the broad frame of some chubby type of merging of man and fish, throttling the fellow happily with a length of gauze between her fists.

That damn doctor is the worst one on the ship… Swooping in to the rescue, the white haired man slammed the butt of his baton into the gut of the floundering fish-foe and made him fall to the ground, concerned more about the ‘backchat’ he’d get from a failure to act than concern from the unscratched physician’s safety. While she rarely left her ‘surgery’ for more than a meal and a chance to tease those that she had taken a liking to, the vessel’s leader included, she was certainly a force to be reckoned with, and in these kinds of emergencies, definitely one they needed.

“Oh, my heeeerooooo!” Clambering off the back of her unconscious target, as Smoker exhaled a deep wind of disappointment at the dissatisfaction that this rampage had brought him, he did what he could to ignore the pointedly purposeful swooning of his chief medical officer, and snatched the snail from the Medical Bay’s wall to check on how things were going.

“This is Smoker; status report.” Growling into the microphone of the sickbay’s snail to show his discontent, through his cigar smoke the Rear Admiral tried to calm himself a little as he awaited the news of the ‘damage’ that the attack had left them with. Having personally flattened a half dozen of these water-loving clowns in his personal rampage, he hoped that whatever number, if any, that remained might be reconsidering their assault.

“Rear Admiral, Sir. It seems the invading party has been beaten into a retreat.” The face of the snail in his hand looking pleased if a little worn from the excitement, conveying that of the radio operator, the familiar voice has a tone of relief, either at the situation or the sound of their superiror’s voice; possibly both.
“While some sections have reported losses and damages, we seem to be holding together. In no small part due to your timely actions, I’m sure.” The hopes of the hunter confirmed, at least for the moment, there was one thing off his ‘to do’ list now crossed off. The ship was once again secure, so even if the base and landing party were not, they could do what they can about it.

“Good. Any other news?” Dragging a heavy draft of his cigar within him, the White Hunter afforded himself a short and subtle respite as he enquired about the rest of their ‘prospects’; conscious that while this skirmish had been won, there was far more to do before the battle was done.

“Chief Rutherford has checked in as well, and also encountered resistance, which his party has overcome.” It was a relief for the commanding officer to hear that one of his best officers had apparently made it through their encounter without significant losses. With the ship a bit broken down from the attack, they really couldn’t afford to lose much more of their combat force; without knowledge of the true depths of enemy force, it would be stupid to think one battered ship would be enough to repel it, regardless of who her captain was.
“He now requests permission to search for survivors.” Now there was a question; with the state of affairs, it was tempting for Smoker to pull River back to the ship and regroup, to mend their scars and start fresh, but at what cost? It was pretty clear from the earlier radio conversation with the base that it was already overrun by enemies, and the longer they waited to respond, the more time was given for their enemy to fortify themselves. Already having set up a range of tricks and traps for them on arrival in whatever short time that these fishmen foes had already been here, while the White Hunter was reluctant to charge in there ‘guns blazing’, he equally didn’t like the idea of leaving a Marine Base and what was left of its staff under their ‘thumb’. While there were probably more than a few nasty weapons that could be ‘commandeered’ by the pirate scum from even in a backwater base as this was, there was also a matter of pride here. For everything that this man was, and his thoughts of orders, it was painful to think of ‘one of their own’ suffering under the force that occupied it.

“Tell the chief to proceed cautiously; we don’t know what else they’re got waiting for us. And let him know the ship is fine for now, and that I’ll be bringing reinforcements personally.” Resolving himself to gamble, and see if the combined force of his vessel couldn’t turn this around before it really got out of hand, Rear Admiral Smoker had his answer, and so he passed it along to his forces. The fight was far from over; what they’d just gone through was just the warm up…

[Aubs]

The line buzzed with the commander’s relayed response. With a pop the line went dead again, probably pushing the limit of River’s young Den Den. Proceed with caution. That wasn’t necessarily the Chief Petty Officers strong suit, but it was something he might be able to manage. As he tucked his radio-bug back into his pocket, lost in his mind’s eye, the voice of Barto came to him.

“Chief… Fishman at the door of the lookout tower.”

Muttering a very quiet curse to himself River turned over his right shoulder and peeked around past the large man. Sure enough there was a sizeable fishman apparently guarding the door into the lookout tower further into the base. While it wasn’t the main tower, which was in fact to the team’s right, the looming ocean and the watchtower was a good location to set up base while they scoured for survivors. It did occur to our hero however, that the water was probably not the place he wanted to go at the moment.

“To hell with it, Barto you and I will charge, Ward line up your best shot at his head. We will keep him distracted, there should be some cover around the docks. Maxwell you hang back just in case.”

With that River lifted his pistol up to shoulder level and whipped around the building, coming to full height as he did. He fired as accurately as he could from the distance, pinging a shot off the wall just over the enemy’s shoulder. Barto moved right behind his Chief, drawing the standard sword that River made all of his squad members carry and fight with until they mastered it. That meant that they had to beat at least 3 squad members before they could they carry anything else. Maxwell and his sword waited back with Ward, who had long ago been allowed to put his blade away in favor of his true weapon, that long rifle. Even if the Marines couldn’t get all its soldiers the best rifles it could get some, and Ward’s accuracy earned him that distinction.

Pain and pressure forced our hero to the ground, pushing him off to his right. The moment he hit the ground River felt the warm blood trickling down his arm. He had been clipped by some projectile, what it was he did not know. With a jolt the veteran scuttled his way behind something as another shot hit his cover. Deep breathes helped bring him back to the battle as River made sense of what was around him. A low wall of cobblestone at his back meant that he was most likely at one of the ends of a building. Most bases were built to be defended, and this nook would help them do it. To his left, but over his right shoulder the Chief saw Barto hunkered down as well. They he must still be a hundred meteres or so from actually engaging the enemy, and the team was being pummeled by something dangerous. While they didn’t know it just yet, it was only water that they were afraid of. But then again they were fighting the legendary terror that was Fishmen, so it should have been expected.

"I think we got his attention!" yelled Barto from his little niche, who had for some stupid reason a smile on his face. Sometimes things like this made River wonder if he had bred monsters instead of men.

"Don't get too excited, we still have to beat him."

Sometimes it sucked being the bait.

---

Crack! Went the butt of the Marines weapon over the Fishman’s thigh. Only a few of the humanoids had appeared in front of the landing party, who were tasked with securing the area that the rest of the Division would land on and work out of. Part of River’s original team had been left behind, but they needed help, and they got it in the form of Petty Officer Wilde, the Chief’s second in command for the squad. River’s squad had swelled to 18 men, plus he and Wilde. 14 of those men were at that landing zone, trying to hold on. While the Petty Officer had actually won the fight yet, he was making a valiant stand, which was all that could be asked for considering he was outclassed by these monsters of the deep. If Smoker could clear that ship, then surely he would see the men struggling to stay alive.

Ducking under the large arm of one shark-bred fishman, Wilde sliced at the things shin, trying to take off part of its leg. Even as the blade got stuck in the meat, the Marine kept going. With all the moxie he could muster up Wilde place his foot on the backside of his blade and pushed down, tearing it through his foes leg with sheer effort. Another squad member jumped in to finish the fight, leaving them with one less Fishmen to kill. Just then the Maiden began to turn in the waters of the bay. Whether or not the men saw it, it signaled that next step of this battle. But was it for better or worse?

---

---

Music

[EriChar]

“How romantic… Now me and ‘my hero’ get to ride off into the sunset!” Smoke billowing from the back of his bike, as he jetted off from the deck of the White Maiden, the warm night air of Inlet Grove provided a refreshing rush over the face of the brow-furrowed rider. A scowl on his face caused by the less than savoury comments of the companion riding pillion with him, the Rear Admiral’s day had not improved significantly in the short time it had taken him to get his prized craft ready, and had actually gotten worse with the choice of escort. With the situation as it was, with unknown numbers of wounded within the landing force and base, there was a need for someone medically trained to accompany and asses; but the volunteer had not been Smoker’s ideal choice. Hoping for a medic or even a ballsy nurse, the only person who had raised their hand as a willing party to this had been the demonic doctor whose plainly purposeful attempts at teasing the commander grated on his nerves. Now, speeding to reinforce the group he had sent on his Billower Bike, he had the company of the most irritating woman on the ship gripping his ribs and whispering words of obvious obnoxious intent to bug him.

Damn woman; she’s enjoying this isn’t she? Swerving around the vines and broad branches of the mangrove around his vehicle, even a person who was of such usual degrees of tolerance as the White Hunter couldn’t help but feel the strong temptation to flick her off the back of his speeder. Surely, with a second attacking force following on foot, with Smoker himself as something of an ‘advanced guard’, she would have been picked up by friendly forces sooner or later? For certain, it was only the woman’s ability to heal the injured that awaited her, that kept her from an untimely ejection from the seat she currently occupied.

“It’s a shame you left your white horse on your other ship, eh?” The sawbones pulling herself closer to him, with a sort of mocking chuckle, she seemed completely unconcerned about the challenge which awaited their force, but that wasn’t surprising. As the only other crewman that had been able to hold her own against their earlier invading fishman force, Dr Helena Leonard was not your average physician; even among battlefield surgeons, she was a bit of a wildcat. There were rumours that, had she not been so effective a doctor, she’d now be one of the Marines greatest fighting assets. However, it appeared that she preferred to ‘torture’ those on her operating table, than others in battle, and had elected for the path of the medical practitioner, over that of a soldier. Much of this was unknown, of course, to her commanding officer, who found her largely as an irritating, if at times useful, nuisance.

No, don’t rise to it, you’ll only make her worse… The breadth of his patience wearing to a thin state, Smoker willed himself mentally to refrain from sending any sort of admonishment back in the direction of the disturbed doctor behind him; he had discovered in her term as his ship’s medical officer that this girl was not particularly fussed whether the attention she received was of a positive or negative nature. As long as there was interest shown, she was happy, and oftentimes encouraged to crave more through similar means; if he wanted her to quiet down and toe the line, he had to effectively ignore her, and let her whimsy go away.

“And the strong silent type, huh?” Once again piping up, apparently either not yet at her limit for lack of attention, or wise to the plan of the White Hunter to defeat her with ignorance, the blonde-headed surgeon once again spoke up, apparently playfully pressing her face against the thick-coated back of her commanding officer. Sometimes, it seemed difficult to tell her antagonism was merely a way to blow off steam, or some measure of ‘playground affection’ she liked to show. However, a cautious man such as Smoker preferred to believe the former; it was certainly a safer thought.
“I better hold tight because I’m going weak at the knees…” The exposed torso of the white haired man now finding a pair of hands snaking their way around his trunk, it certainly was tempting to slam the nose of his craft into the trunk of the nearest tree; if only he didn’t cherish his Billower Bike so.

“Oh, hey, what’s that?” One of the curling arms now straight in front of them, the voice of his annoying accompaniment drew the attention of the Rear Admiral away from how quickly he could enact his logia defence in a speeder crash, and instead onto the sigh of what seemed to be a flash of light in front of them. It was a brief burst of light, like the shine of steel catching the torchlight that beamed from the front of the machine he rode; but it was something to aim for. Whether it was friend or foe, Smoker did not know; but he was willing to take the chance to find out…