harpoon missiles with solid propellant rocket motors. Courtesy
of a sophisticated computer guidance system and a revolutionary
thermal sight, the operator can view and track a missile from
launch to target impact—even a monkey has a one-in-three shot.
Upon impact, a disruptor charge detonates reactive armor,
enabling the missile to penetrate just about anything less sturdy
than Mount Everest.
While Thesaurus was pointing this out, I noticed a puff
of white smoke on the Tortolans’ bow. Before me and the crew
could run or jump—or so much as react—we were deafened by
the scream of the incoming missile, then belted to the deck by its
current. It flew about ten feet above us, fortunately, then cracked
the water a hundred yards away. Puzzling though. Even a monkey
would be let go for missing by so much.
“George, do you have a relative in the Tortolan navy?”
Nelson asked.
Before George could remember, the missile struck the
sea bottom and exploded with force enough to rattle our brig
so hard it seemed she’d split. Good news: That iron hull the
Nycroft shipwrights had put on held tough, and there were
no casualties, save maybe a few unlucky fish (which no doubt
Mutherford will pin on me).
More good news: “While you were in court, Cap,” Duq
told me, “we find floating mine stow below deck. We drop it
over side as we leave harbor.”
He pointed at the Tortolan cruiser. As the smoke from
the missile cleared, I could make out that she was dropping
below the waterline. Fast. The mine had done its job on her hull,
which accounted for why her missile had missed us by so much.
And meant she wouldn’t be firing any more missiles.
More bad news: The Tortolan navy’s got more brigs. And I
highly doubt they’ll be taking today’s mining as all in good sport.
P.S. “Theirs” by Flarq (scrimshaw on
salad plate).
P.P.S. Here’s another scrimshaw of the rat we found aboard the
fishing boat who the crew and me voted six to one to keep as
a pet. His name is Bob, short for the name the lone dissenter,
Duq, originally gave him (Shishkabob).
Wednesday, 14 July 2004 7:01 AM
A Bit of Trouble Here
Who knew the little island of Tortola had enough citizens on it
to even have a navy? Till a week ago, I only knew of Tortola as
something they serve up at Italian restaurants.
Right now, two Tortolan navy brigs the size of skyscrapers
on end are coming at us from either side. Plus the Tortolan
air force is in on the round-up. Their air force is just a couple
of open-cockpit deals left over from World War II. But even a
chimp could drop a bomb from one of those things and instantly
“install a swimming pool on our deck,” as Nelson put it. This
wouldn’t be the case if we could shoot them first. Unfortunately,
the pirates we got the Lemming from were board-with-a-dagger-
between-their-teeth types, as opposed to blast-their-enemy-with-
cannons-first types. In other words, we don’t got squat in the way
of weaponry aboard.
I know, I know, you’re thinking: Openshaw, when you’re
lucky enough to get a free boat, you shouldn’t be a whiner if it
doesn’t come with all the amenities you want. Ironically, we’d
been planning to stop off today at an arms dealer Nelson knows
to do some shopping for exactly that kind of stuff.
I don’t want to say things are desperate now, but I’m going
to go see if Stupid George has any ideas.
P.S. Here’s a quick scrimshaw by Flarq of Duq checking out the
Tortolans’ line-up.
Sunday, 18 July 2004 8:14 AM
Greetings From Heaven
The following story was on the front page of the Tortolan Daily
Ahoy on Thursday, July 15th:
TORTOLAN NAVY SINKS OUTLAW
by Jamison Queague, Staff Reporter
MONTEGO BAY, JAMAICA—Late yesterday afternoon, amid
high seas, the Tortolan naval cruisers Vengeance and Thunder
converged on the 64-foot fisherman Lemming, piloted by the
outlaw Gus Openshaw, at 18° 32’N/ 78° 04’ W.
When the Lemming ignored the
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