“We’re in, Ford,” the Captain declared as he marched back up to the counter inside the Expedition Office.
The clerk smiled. “Well, excellent! Good to have you on board. Let me just get the registration forms.” He bent down to rummage through his desk, and popped up again a few seconds later. He placed his pen at the ready at the top of the first form. “Now firstly, you’ll need to select a name for your crew.”
“A name?” The Captain furrowed his brow. “A name…”
“It can be anything,” Ford chimed in helpfully. “But the usual format is to go with ‘the Something Crew’. Like ‘the Skull Crew’, or ‘the Flower Crew.’”
“I see.” The Captain scratched at his stubble. “Well, definitely none of those. Give me a minute.”
Ford nodded. Obviously, he had nothing better to do.
The Captain bowed his head, deep in thought.
“I’ve got it,” he said after a few moments. “The perfect name.” He let the silence play out, building the tension.
Finally, he said it.
“The Metal Bird Crew.”
“Are you serious?” Marek blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Beck shook her head in disappointment. “That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard.”
“Ah, come on.” Keresi sounded distraught, his face in a grimace.
“What’s the problem?” the Captain asked, feigning ignorance. “All of my ships have followed that format. It only makes sense for our crew name to follow suit.”
Keresi sighed. “Yeah, well… that’s just getting a problem from another problem.”
The Captain folded his arms decisively. “That’s the name.” He arched an eyebrow. “Are you all saying you don’t want to be part of the Metal Bird Crew?” Marek was sure he detected the faintest of smirks on the Captain’s face.
“Eh…” Keresi began, before chuckling. “No, we’re still in. It’s just…” he shook his head. “You really need to work on your creativity.”
The Captain smiled, eyes sparkling. “And you still fail to realise that there can be profound creativity in the prosaic, Keresi.”
Keresi was unsure of what to make of that, and just looked confused. Beck looked on at the two with the weariness of a mother watching bickering siblings. Marek guessed this wasn’t the first time the Captain and Keresi had veered into pointless bickering, though it all seemed good-natured enough.
“Metal… Bird… Crew.” Ford sounded out the crew’s new name as he wrote it down on the form. “Perfect. Now I’ll just need everyone’s identification papers to finish the registration process.”
“Certainly,” replied the Captain, placing three sets of papers onto the counter.
“Alright,” said Ford, “Rulio… Keresi… and Beck.”
Rulio? Marek smiled inwardly. So, that was the Captain’s first name.
Ford looked up and pointed at Marek. “And him?”
Marek was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he didn’t have any identification on him. He had lost his wallet during the storm, either before or after he ‘travelled’.
“Uh…” he began to mutter nervously, playing for time, but then the Captain tossed another set of papers on the counter.
Ford studied them for a few seconds. “Alright, then. And Tobias.” After he had finished transcribing the necessary details, he shuffled the papers into neat alignment and handed them back to the Captain.
Marek was confused. Who the hell was Tobias? He sensed a story there, but was hesitant to ask about it – especially given how naturally reticent the Captain was. He made a mental note to ask Keresi or Beck about it when the opportunity arose. Anyway, it was lucky for them that the substitution had worked – either they didn’t have photo ID yet, or Marek had a passable likeness for this Tobias character. Perplexed, he decided just to roll with it.
“Alright, that’s it. You’re now officially Bronze Class privateers,” Ford declared, filing away the paperwork. “Ah, yes! The rings.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a large loop, strung with various sized rings.
Ford measured their ring size in turn, then retrieved four bronze rings and handed them out to each member of the Metal Bird Crew.
The ring felt nice and weighty in Marek’s hand, and he spun it around to study the design. The band was flat, engraved on both sides with a kind of lined floral-esque design. It thickened outwards to meet the central emblem on the top of the ring – a side view of an eagle’s head, engraved flat in a stylistic relief. The dark bronze metal offered an almost black, ink-washed look within the lower engraved areas. Slowly, Marek slipped it over his left index finger – unsurprisingly, it was a perfect fit. It felt nice and snug, not too obtrusive. Somehow, it just felt right. A stylish representation of his newfound future, and all the opportunities it would bring.
Ford piped up, breaking Marek’s thoughts. “Would you like to see the currently available missions?”
The Captain nodded.
“I’ve been told they’re working on some kind of fog-dispersal gadget back at Pearl,” Ford continued, sliding over a list, “but until those are ready for distribution, the available missions are all going to be your standard variety.”
Marek glanced at the list over Rulio’s shoulder. There were about two dozen options listed, most beginning with ‘Supply Run…’ and offering a paltry 50 Expedition Points. There was only one that stood out to him as anything unique: a ‘Recovery Mission’, offering 100 EP.
“What’s this one?” Rulio asked, pointing at it.
“Ah, that one.” The clerk consulted the relevant piece of paper. “It seems that a group of paratroopers were dropped over the Duff Islands four days ago. More specifically…” he glanced down at the sheet of paper, “over one ‘Obelisk Island’. Now, nobody’s heard a peep from them since. Likely it’s just a simple communications issue, but it could be something else. At least the Japanese haven’t been sighted anywhere near there, so it’s unlikely to be anything to do with them.” He smiled reassuringly. “Now, you and your crew go and find out what happened to those paratroopers, and you’ll get yourselves an easy jump to Silver rank.”
Marek liked the sound of that.
“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Keresi chimed in. “In fact, establishing contact with some paratroopers sounds decidedly less risky than most of the other jobs we’ve taken so far.”
A wry smile flashed across Rulio’s face. “And it’s worth double the EP of the other missions.”
“The Duff Islands,” Beck said, furrowing her brow in concentration. “That’s back the way we came from, though not as far.”
Rulio nodded. “Indeed, Beck, and also very close to where we found Marek. It’s nowhere we haven’t been before.” He deliberated for a moment longer before deciding. “We’ll take it.”
“Very good,” Ford said as he filled out the mission’s paperwork, before filing it away and handing the Captain a receipt of some kind. “You’re all set to embark. Do you have a ship?”
Rulio shook his head.
“That’s fine,” Ford continued, “Just head over to the Naval Registry and see what they can do for you. I’m sure they have something lying around you can use. Also be sure to go past the Supply Office and Armoury to get all your supplies and entitled equipment. Oh, and one last thing – after this mission, it’s likely you will be assigned a representative from the Port Authority to accompany you on your future expeditions. Just as a sort of auditor, to confirm proper mission execution and completion.”
The Captain didn’t look very enthusiastic about that last note. “Alright. Thank you for all your help, Ford,” he said, reaching out a hand which Ford took in a firm shake.
“It was my pleasure, sir,” Ford replied. “Good luck to you and your crew.”
After a resolute nod, Rulio turned and they all headed outside into the sunlight, which proved blinding after the dimness of the Expedition Office. The thick ocean air hung in a heavy layer of salty vapour across the Port, invigorating Marek with each breath. Overhead, the sun had passed its zenith and was beginning to descend, and scattered clouds were fluffing their way across the radiant blue sky.
“Well, Marek – you’re officially a part of the crew now,” the Captain said as they walked. “How does it feel?”
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Marek hesitated. How did it feel?
Back home, he hadn’t known where he belonged. Sure, he’d had friends, his family, an entry-level job. But there had been nothing that called to him, nothing that he felt he could devote his life to. Nothing to stir his soul, and give his existence any meaning. While all his friends had been sure of their dreams, and how to achieve them, he had just… floated along. But ending up in this place had changed things. It had been completely disorienting, and no small level of terrifying at times. But if he stopped and thought about it, the past few days had already been the most incredible of his life. He had managed to hold his own, more or less, and was even in a proper crew now. Yes, the future was still murky, but wasn’t that always going to be the case? At least maybe here, he could finally find his place, and have the chance to do something worthwhile with his life. It also seemed like he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter anyway, so why not make the most of it? He only hoped that his family were safe somewhere, or somewhen. He had to believe he would see them again.
“It feels… good,” he said finally with a smile.
Keresi laughed and slapped Marek’s shoulder. The Captain looked on approvingly, his eyes glinting through the shade beneath his hat.
Soon they arrived at the Naval Registry, another unremarkable building which was in appearance very similar to the Privateering Office and the Expedition Office. Marek wondered just how many of these random administrative buildings were hidden amongst the streets of the Port Authority.
Within the Registry, there was yet another clerk sitting behind yet another glass window. Marek felt like he had become stuck in some kind of time loop, although this clerk was another young woman, with brunette hair this time.
The Captain began talking with her, though Marek was suddenly feeling so hungry that he zoned out entirely and missed their opening remarks. When he zoned back into awareness, some crucial point seemed to have been reached.
“As luck would have it, we had a ship arrive yesterday that is currently without a crew.” The clerk was saying. “An Elco motor torpedo boat, PT-172.”
“We’ll take it,” Rulio said without missing a beat.
“Very good,” the clerk said. After filling out some paperwork, she handed the Captain a piece of paper. “Take this title to the privateer’s dock and they’ll get you sorted.”
“Thank you,” Rulio said as he pocketed the paper and they departed.
“Try not to lose this one!” the clerk called out after them. Rulio ignored her.
After a quick break to eat hamburgers from a streetside vendor, the next stop proved to be the Armoury. Unlike the various offices they had worked their way through, this was a large, imposing warehouse-sized facility, standing alone at the periphery of the Port Authority furthest away from the dock they had arrived at. Flocks of seabirds were flying lazy rings over its roof, while groups of soldiers variously stood watch and patrolled around the building’s surrounds, cradling all manner of firearms with casual menace. It was quite intimidating, but Marek just stuck close to his new crewmates as they walked, feeling secure within the group safety they afforded.
Once they were inside the Armoury though, the experience proved much the same as at the other buildings they had been to – a friendly clerk behind a window, proficiently trained to be as helpful as possible in whatever areas the place was concerned with. In this case, it was a rotund, middle-aged fellow with a balding, sweaty head, and fingers like sausages about to burst.
“As part of your Bronze Class status you have access to a set equipment loadout for each crew member, as well as a single ship-level loadout,” the clerk explained, after Rulio had told him the purpose of their visit. “While ammunition and equipment will be resupplied after each expedition, any weapon losses will need to be replaced at your own expense. Extra ammunition can also be purchased at your own expense. The Bronze loadout for each crew member is as follows.” The clerk glanced down and began reading verbatim from the list in front of him, which looked ridiculously small cradled in his enormous, fat hands. “One Colt M1903 pistol. Five .32 ACP magazines, containing forty rounds total. Two Mk 2 grenades. One first aid pouch. One steel water canteen.” The clerk shuffled the paper away.
Wait, that’s it? Marek thought, with some dismay.
“The Bronze loadout for each ship is as follows,” the clerk continued, reading from the next similarly tiny-looking sheet of paper. “Two M1 Garand rifles. Twelve .30-06 Springfield clips, containing 96 rounds total. One M1919 Browning machine gun. Four .30 calibre belts, containing a thousand rounds total.”
Alright, now that sounded more like it. Certainly nothing crazy, but it was a good start – even just hearing the words ‘machine gun’ filled Marek with confidence for the mission ahead.
“I’d also like to purchase some .45 ACP ammunition,” Rulio announced after they had all received their allocated equipment. Aside from his personal equipment, Keresi had been given the M1919 to lug around as well, while Beck and Marek had been given a rifle each to look after.
“Certainly – how much would you like?” the clerk asked.
“Ten magazines should do fine for now. Oh – and a medium bandolier as well, please.”
The Captain handed over some money, and the clerk left to retrieve the goods. After a few minutes he wobbled back over with a stack of ammunition, which he pushed across to Rulio. The Captain slid each magazine carefully into the new bandolier before fastening it diagonally across his torso, over his uniform and beneath his cape.
With that their business was concluded, and so they exited the Armoury and made their way back the way they had come, doing their best to ignore the incisive glares of the soldiers.
“We’ll mount the Browning above the ship’s cabin,” Rulio said, once they had cleared the patrolling soldiers. “We can work out who gets what later, although I’ll keep the Thompson.” He gave the submachine gun slung over his shoulder a few taps.
Marek wondered if he would get to use one of the rifles. He supposed he wasn’t a very good shot yet though, and it would probably make more sense for Keresi and Beck to handle them. With an internal sigh, he resigned himself to running around with his little pistol.
Keresi was puffing slightly next to him, sweat dripping down his forehead, with the Browning resting horizontally on his left shoulder like some kind of strange metal carpet. Beck cradled her rifle, expression as enigmatic as ever.
After stopping past the Supply Office depot to stock up on rations and water, they made their way to the privateer’s dock to claim their new ship. Marek and Keresi were tasked with carting a barrel of water each, which quickly proved dangerously unstable as they traversed the rough pavements of the Port, especially with the heavy Browning strapped precariously to the side of Keresi’s cart. Beck carted their food, and looked a far sight nimbler at navigating the streets.
They eventually succeeded in reaching the privateer’s dock with the barrels intact, and Marek was rather pleased with his efforts as a rookie water courier. The dock itself was crammed with various ships, with only a single small building standing off against a wall opposite the water, no bigger than a carpark gatehouse back in his old world. Marek hung back with Keresi and Beck while Rulio went over to the little building and handed over his special slip of paper. After a while, an arm emerged from out behind the window, and pointed towards one of the ships. Marek followed the arm and saw a ship that looked exactly like the Iron Sparrow.
“All sorted,” the Captain said as he strolled back to them, “our new ship is ready to go when we are.”
They walked the short distance to the new boat, and stopped in front of it momentarily.
“Well, let’s hear your name for this one,” Keresi said, with inflated resignation.
The Captain shifted his hat slightly. “I’ll name her the Iron Raven.”
Marek smiled. “Slightly better.”
The Captain glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well thank you, Marek.” He motioned backwards. “Now, those supplies aren’t going to walk themselves onboard.”
Sheepishly, Marek helped Keresi haul their food, water, and other supplies onto the new ship.
Being aboard did little to convince him this ship was much different than the Sparrow, though he supposed it wasn’t surprising that all these military boats were cut from the same cloth. Like the Sparrow, the Raven had little else of note except for its central cabin containing a wheelhouse, galley, and sleeping berth. If anything, this new ship seemed even worse than the Sparrow as it was missing the two Browning M2HB turrets; the Captain had decided to gift them to Kennedy as thanks for rescuing them. The Raven did have two torpedoes on either side of its hull – but in exactly what situation those would come in handy, Marek couldn’t be sure.
After installing the Browning M1919 above the cabin and stowing away their various other weapons, they set about sorting through their foodstuffs. Several boxes had been hefted onto the galley’s table, which Keresi opened. Upon inspection, Marek saw they all contained metal cans with plain labels listing their contents: Potatoes (Diced), Sausages (Miniature), Potatoes (Mashed), and so on. There were a lot of different forms of potato, really – there must be some kind of surplus at the moment.
Rulio picked up a can, inspected it, and then tossed it to Beck. “Baked beans, Beck. I might just give these all to you, I doubt anyone else will want them.”
“Mmm, my favourite.” Beck said. “Although you always said - what’s that?” She stopped dead, and everyone pricked up their ears.
There was definitely a noise, some kind of scratching coming from the corner of the galley. Squinting, Marek saw a large grey ceramic bowl perched on a shelf. He found himself moving forward tentatively, gradually seeing more and more of what was inside as he approached.
What he saw in the bowl was a kitten with white and black fur, not much bigger than his hand. It looked up at Marek with wide eyes – one a bright blue, the other a purplish, misty pink. With a high-pitched meow, it rolled over, rubbing its back along the bowl’s rough interior, legs splayed awkwardly in all directions.
“It’s a cat,” Marek said back to the others in bemusement.
No sooner had he finished saying it than Beck was already rushing over to him. “Oh, let me see!” She stopped next to Marek and looked down at the small fluffy stowaway, which was gazing up at them both with wide eyes. “Look,” she said softly, with a gentle smile. “He has different coloured eyes, like me.”
Keresi leaned forward. “Hmm. Is that your child, Beck?” he asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.
Beck blushed slightly. “Shut up.”
Keresi only burst into laughter, though no one else seemed to appreciate his joke, if it could be called such.
Beck was already distracted by the little kitten again. “I feel like you’re a Muno,” she said absently, stroking the cat under its chin while it purred. “Is that nice, Muno?” The kitten closed its eyes in affirmative bliss as Beck continued to give it attention.
“It must have gotten in here somehow.” Rulio said absentmindedly, looking around the galley intently at nothing in particular. “A stray.”
“Ah, damn.” Keresi sighed, looking at Beck and her new friend. “We’re going to have to take this thing with us now, aren’t we?”
Rulio said nothing, but smiled and gave Keresi a knowing look.
Everyone seemed impatient to get underway after the unexpected diversion in the galley. Despite the fact that evening was fast approaching, Rulio announced they would be departing as soon as all the preparations were complete. When the time came, Marek helped Keresi cast off the mooring lines, and then the Captain steered them carefully away from the docks and towards the entrance to the Port, that single narrow gap in its walled perimeter. Inside the cabin, Beck continued to work on building a small, sheltered area for Muno under her bunk. As they slipped past the Port’s gargantuan defensive turrets and out into the open sea, Marek was filled with nervous anticipation. His first real expedition had arrived, and he couldn’t wait to see what was in store.
Once things had quietened down, Marek made his way to the front of the ship to look out at the water. Evening was descending, the mild breeze against his face steadily cooling. The constantly perfect weather, along with the lush tropical surroundings, created a world that was tranquil, idyllic. No doubt, this Obelisk Island would prove to be another little piece of paradise.
Marek smiled, and glanced to his side. Muno was sitting peacefully on the deck next to him, gazing out at the ocean and blinking slowly against the sinking orange sun. Marek knelt down and gave the kitten a scratch behind the ears as the Raven made its way towards their next destination through the falling night.