Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (7 page)

“I hope you’re not thinking to throw the thing at the enemy ship,” he joked. Those gathered around us joined in laughter as I returned the gun carriage to its rails and helped the man climb off.

“Now I’ll have to re-aim,” Skeetrix said, hitting my arm and crouching behind the gun, just as the heavy cannon from the gun deck barked, almost in unison, sending a deadly broadside of lead at the rear of the enemy ship. From my vantage point, I saw the brilliance of Captain Nicatrix’ plan. Not only had we disabled the enemy from our hidden vantage point, we now had sailed behind the enemy ship, effectively “crossing their T”, or positioning ourselves perpendicular to the enemy so our guns could fire without having to endure return fire. We had, in fact, the most advantageous position in naval warfare, right behind the enemy, able to fire deadly rounds into their weakest armor, sending hot lead raking through their decks to kill men and destroy the ship’s interior structures.

“Full thrusters ahead,” Nicatrix shouted to the quartermaster, who was now below, directly commanding the gun crews. I was about to ask Skeetrix about how that would sit with the blue-furred alien, Gav, but the thrusters below us fired and I had to scramble for a handhold. A firm, gloved hand grabbed my arm and kept me from flying over the gunwale. Darmelia held on to me, a wan smile on her face, which despite the grim expression and two tusks jutting from her lower jaw was somewhat attractive. Her eyes were green and freckled with brown, nose was slim and feminine, and lips were full and wide. She had some bony ridges on her forehead, and long green hair that was stuffed under a metal helm, jutting out the sides and draping over her broad, muscular back.

“There will be time enough for that later,” Skeetrix growled.

Darmelia pulled me closer, helping me get my feet under me and flashing a playful grin, and for a moment there was something so familiar about her. Beneath all the orcish features, heavy armor, and the weightlifter’s bravado, there was a face that I knew, but couldn’t identify. She shoved me back with surprising strength once I had steadied myself.

“Perhaps,” she said coyly, returning to her gun and barking orders at her men to finish reloading, and turning her back to me.

I shot a glance at Skeetrix, who knelt next to me. He laughed, finishing his adjustments to the gun and standing beside me and threw a brawny, furred arm around my shoulder, his laughter growing, “You may be able to defeat a thousand adversaries, unarmed, but that, my friend,” he motioned to Darmelia, who was just out of earshot, “is something I doubt you can handle.”

Soon we were swathed in a cloud of gun smoke, the stench of sulfur and saltpeter that made your eyes tear and left a salty taste that no amount of water could wash away. The Captain kept our ship to the rear of the Vershani vessel and fired broadside after broadside into her stern.

The situation aboard the enemy ship deteriorated in just a few minutes as each shattering shell wracked her. Top decks became a hellfire of flaming fallen masts and sails, spattered with blood and remains of the dead. What few live crewmen were visible fought the storm of fire that had spread across her rear.

“See?” Darmelia motioned to the enemy ship. “Not too hard for you now?”

It looked like our task would be far easier than any of us could imagine, for little could live now on that ship. The pounding of our guns had beaten the fight out of the enemy ship, and I doubted there would be any resistance among the survivors.

The guns rumbled below as another broadside slammed into the stricken Vershani ship. The Lady’s Nightmare lurched in the opposite direction and I shot a glance back to the aft castle, where Captain Nicatrix was peering through her spyglass at our target while listening to a conversation between the quartermaster Mr. Picklett, the pilot Dal’naeth, and Zann. She nodded once and snapped her spyglass shut, and Mr. Picklett came down the main deck, shouting below, “Stow the guns, batten the portholes, and come top side. Secure the bowsprit and ready for a rear boarding action, boys!”

The crew cheered, like a Stones crowd at Wembley Stadium, and then doubled their efforts. I could hear the rolling of the guns as the crews brought them back inside the ship and hammered their wheels in place. Outside, the portholes banged closed, and above, the rigging men came forward to remove the two triangular sails that jutted forward along the bowsprit, a mast that spurred ahead of the ship. Two of the men that scrambled along the rigging were massive creatures, and one I recognized as a pigrilla creature, though smaller than the ones I had faced against when I fought the Mist Army. The other was ape-like, white-furred, and huge, wearing heavy armor that did little to hamper his lithe movement along the ropes.

“Get a move on, Morloki,” Skeetrix roared at the bigger of the two; without stopping his agile ambling across the rigging, Morloki growled, “Go fuck yourself, furball.”

The half-dozen crewmen made short work of the sails, but the gun captain beside me continued to harass them every step of the way.

“Gonna drop a fucking yard arm on one of your balls,” yelled the big white simian, waving a twenty foot sail spar with intimidating ease.

“Quit screwing around and do your job, white monkey,” Skeetrix replied, drawing laughter from his crew.

“You all laugh?” the ape yelled, now hanging upside down absentmindedly, removing a tie to the last yard arm. “I’ll come down there and eat your soft insides! You too, Darmelia. I’ll fuck you by your entrails!”

But despite his threatening tone and thunderous voice, Skeetrix and his crew were wracked with laughter, helped in large part by the volumes of alcohol they had all consumed. They were unafraid of the alien, whose furred arms were as thick around as my midsection and whose canines were like eight-inch daggers. When his part in clearing the fore sails was done, the ape dropped down among us; though he was hunched over, his bulk dwarfed me.

The crew was silent for a moment as the ape glowered among us, his gaze finally settling on me.

“You’re lucky they sent that weakling Zann to fight you instead of me. I would have eaten your brains and fucked your headless corpse.”

He took a few steps closer to me and arched his back to seem taller, though it wasn’t a natural posture.

“You think you can beat me?” he snarled.

I smiled. “Easy.”

Skeetrix’ men laughed, to the detriment of our newcomer, who scowled at them all as if taking names.

“I’d like to see that,” he said.

“Anytime you’re feeling lucky,” I said, the cocky smile still there, taunting him, egging him on, but I could tell that he was play-acting. Maybe it was how aggressive he was, something that wouldn’t last long on a ship with these many men, or perhaps it was the raucous laughter of the whole crew. It was an act, maybe a big joke. Or so I hoped, because this guy was bigger even than Epic.

“I’m always lucky,” he snarled, brushing back the pale white hair on his arms. “Ask Darmelia.”

“Not even in your dreams, Morloki,” she snapped.

“I would be gentle with you at first,” Morloki started, ignoring me and our stand-off at once and moving toward her. “But after time, I would revert to my ways, I would have to make love to you like my people do. You could not handle it.”

The men laughed at Darmelia’s expense, but by the smile on her face, it was clear that this was an old joke.

“My last lover’s heart exploded when I was only half-satisfied,” Darmelia said, waving him off.

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen one of Blackjack’s people to sleep with, woman,” he said, and the crew’s laughter now included me.

While this was happening, Captain Nicatrix ordered the ship turned to port as the thrusters shot us forward, closing the gap between the two warships. Again I almost lost my balance and would have fallen to the deck if not for Darmelia.

“I think it was one of your kind, Morloki – a big, useless ape. Sadly, I had to finish myself.” She mocked tears, gripping my shoulder tight. “I think if my dear Blackjack shows the courage to withstand the Drookah love embrace, he would be up to the challenge.”

She eyed me, taking her time, and I felt like a well-cut piece of venison. It was provocative and demeaning at the same time.

“His hips are narrow,” she said. “But I’d rather take the risk of poor Blackjack dying on me than endure the boredom of love-making with a tiresome ball of white fur.”

She won that round, and the crew let Morloki know it, but he took it all in stride, leaning over to me.

“You’re going to want to be careful with that one,” he said, matter-of-factly despite our previous stare-down, confirming that it had all been a joke. “Her idea of mating is more like slow, torturous homicide.”

Meanwhile, the Lady’s Nightmare was coming to top speed, chasing the foundering Vershani vessel. Fires roared aft on the enemy ship, consuming, sails, masts, crew and materiel alike, a long column of smoke trailing behind it as she slowly descended away from us. Our pilot, Dal’naeth, kept us in the chase, but it wasn’t hard to stay with the stricken ship.

“So you’re Blackjack,” Morloki said finally, as if now was the proper time for introductions.

“I remember this bastard,” the new alien said. He was similar to an Earth lesser primate, like a hunched over macaque or lemur, but man-sized, perhaps five-feet tall if he were to straighten up. His fur was patterned with subdued colors, with a long tail that was ringed with black and light gray. He wore a ridiculous trench coat and hat, and a pair of huge hand cannons were tucked in at his waist. His arms were strong and muscular, straining against the jacket’s material.

His companion on the ropes also came down on the forecastle, landing beside Morloki on the gunwale.

“My name is Brutalis, and I was there when you destroyed the Mist Army.”

“Really?” I said.

The crewmen around us settled down at talk of that day.

Brutalis nodded. “I’d like to know where you found that big monster thing.”

“It was in that lake,” I answered. “I just pissed it off and sent it in your direction.”

Morloki laughed, “I was too smart to join those worthless bastards.”

“We ruled this place,” his smaller companion said.

“And now you tie down the yard arms,” Darmelia said, drawing some muted laughter from the crew. But it was clear that as much as Morloki was a jokester, Brutalis was morose and serious, and the laughter died down quickly.

“If there’s any hard feelings left over....” I started, wondering if I was going to have to kill the monkey boy, or his larger friend. Or both.

Brutalis laughed, revealing an ape-like mouth with four nasty canines.

“We lost, you won. That battle was already fought. And I lived,” he added, “So I proved smarter than you that day.”

“That’s a good point” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to worry about any retribution.

“No time for love-making, you sour, drunken bastards,” Skeetrix roared as he drew his weapon and pointed it at the approaching burning ship. “There’s bloody work left to do.”

As if on cue, the whole crew began to chant and roar, and to slam the hilts of their weapons on the gunwales of the ship. It was a terrible sound, a hundred pirates raging in unison, shouting the same word over and over again as we came closer and closer to our prey. I had been the victim of the horrible thrum not even a day before and found it interesting that I joined their harmony so easily.

“Death!”

Chapter Four

I could feel the blood rush through my body, feel the expectation of a coming fight. The weight of Drovani’s gift felt heavy along my waist, and my palms grew slick as I clenched my fists. I knew I could unleash my strength in this place. My enemies were tougher and would butcher me if I let them, so it was kill or be killed. The prospect made my heart race. It was a test, a question whose only answer was blood. There was something different this time, though: with no Apogee to pass judgment, I could really let go and swing for the fences.

More and more crew gathered forward, since we were going to ram our bow into their stern and board there. Zann, Skeetrix, Darmelia, Brutalis, and Morloki were the heavy hitters, but here and there were a few wicked-looking fellows, and I was glad to have them on my side. For a moment, I had a mental flashback of my former group, the Impossibles, with Cool Hand, Haha, Influx even Dr. Zundergrub, based on the rough bunch that surrounded me. One in particular stood out. His features were swathed with cloth much like an Egyptian mummy, though woven into the fabric were pieces of coppery armor in the arms, legs, and face. How he could see through the face mask, I don’t know, but he wielded two swords, much like mine, and had the dangerous feeling of a coiled cobra about to strike. He caught me staring and nodded.

Darmelia slapped me on my shoulder, drawing my attention forward as we approached the Vershani ship at an alarming rate. The enemy ship was foundering, listing thirty degrees to port and reeling to starboard, while losing altitude nose-first in a reeling spin. Below was an endless abyss, so we had plenty of time, but boarding a ship that was falling away from us like that was madness. Dal’naeth, pilot of the Lady’s Nightmare, was insane for trying to match the Vershani ship’s death throes, as insane as Captain Nicatrix for giving the order, because the chance of hitting the enemy ship dead-on and not killing ourselves was becoming zero.

My fellow crew mates were oblivious to the danger, or perhaps the alcohol was augmenting bravery. The chant had grown louder and louder, now just a long droning snarl as opposed to an actual word, and the continued banging against the gunwales was leaving their surfaces slashed and scuffed, with chips of wood flying with each successive slamming of the crew’s weapons.

I caught Darmelia staring at me, and she smiled and shouted at the top of her lungs; “We’re in good hands, boys! Blackjack is going first!”

That was our strategy: me first. Send in the big guy and hope he could withstand initial, most vicious salvo. I admit it bothered me, being the meat shield, but between the yelling and hollering, and the pumping of blood pounding my ears, I had no time to reflect on my situation, to consider how mindlessly I was being used. We were moments away from impact, the distance shrunken to just a few dozen yards and closing. Darmelia took my arm and guided me to the edge of the railing overlooking the bowsprit mast, now cleared of sail, yards, or rigging, and now resembling a long spear stabbing out toward the enemy vessels. Beside me, several men readied grappling hooks on long ropes, to tie the two ships together. I went to draw my swords, but the orc woman checked my arm and shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said, with a bare whisper meant only for me. “You’ll need both arms free to climb across.”

I nodded, taking a firm grip on a gaffing hook that jutted from the gunwale.

“Grab onto something solid,” Zann shouted, warning us of the imminent impact, which would be a bone-jarring crash given how fast we were going.

I held on to the railing, and to my surprise, Darmelia grabbed my crotch and buttocks, flashing a wide smile.

“Solid,” she said, gripping tightly.

I barely felt the collision; shards of wood and the strange alabaster material of the Vershani ship exploded through and around me, showering me and the crew with debris, as we were jostled like small children in an overturned school bus. Darmelia kept her grip tight, her eyes boring into mine as we flew up, down, and around, kept in place by my hold on the railing. Several crewmen lost their hold and were thrown about, and one man, a smallish fellow whose grip failed, fell overboard to his death. Our first casualty.

I hardly noticed, my attention on the lovely orc-maid who suddenly made my blood pound for different reasons. One look into those sapphire eyes made me eager to finish the fight quick so we could start celebrating.

When the impact had settled, grappling hooks went across the gap between the ships, and Darmelia squeezed my genitals and slapped me on the back.

“Here you go,” she said, and I hurled myself over.

Something happened to me the last time I visited Shard World, when I was in proximity to one of the great masters of this place, the Lightbringers. Just being near this creature had boosted my superhuman strength, agility, and toughness to another level, as great as any of the so-called supermen who were almost worshipped on Earth. Maybe even to the level of men like Lord Mighty, Paladin, and Epic, a man whom I had beaten in single combat. The Lightbringers were the source of power that had turned Dr. Retcon and the Original Seven into living gods, and those that followed, like myself, into demigods.

Before meeting the Lightbringer, I was told I had Class-A strength, which is the second highest classification of power that we recognize on Earth. Class-Zero is reserved for the fellows named above, and, of course, those of the Original Seven who showed physical prowess, like Valiant, Retcon, and Apostle, now dead, and Global, the last remaining of the Seven. After my encounter with the creature, I’d say I’m close to that bunch, especially after the beating I gave Epic.

So when I hurled myself across, I didn’t just hop over and scramble across: I flew through the air landing on the burning remnants of the Vershani aft castle. My arrival was like a crash atop the white, marble-like material, leaving a thirty-foot indentation of shattered deck. Bodies of our enemies lay all about me in various states of dismemberment or burning, but there was no visible opposition on the top deck, nor on the main deck below, though much was obscured by fallen sheets, crumpled masts, and crashed debris.

I looked back at my crew beginning to scamper over the large gap between the railing on the bow of the Lady’s Nightmare, and the edge of the damage aft castle remnants. I grabbed a few of the grapple ropes, put my foot on a bulkhead edge and heaved, pulling the bow of our ship just a few feet closer, so that our crew could just jump down onto the damaged deck of the Vershani ship. With that, they were a wave of bodies, a throng of raging aliens looking for something to kill, eat, or fuck.

They rushed past me with abandon, taking the stairs down to the main deck, jumping down over the railing, or even climbing up the damaged rigging to find enemies. Zann landed next to me, his eyes wide with awe, and slapped my shoulder, leading me to the railing that overlooked the empty quarterdeck below. Even now, our men were swarming into the hold through the stairs below us and across the deck to the forecastle, where the last vestiges of crew were likely to be.

A brawny arm grabbed me and hurled me down as someone shouted “Cover!” and a hundred long rifles barked from the forecastle, ripping into our men and the remaining woodwork of the aft castle. Blood fountained from chests and men doubled over, stitched from head to toe with lead as the volley of guns took a heavy toll. Peering through a gap in the railing, I could see a dozen dead or injured men, the quarterdeck awash with blood.

Across the quarterdeck from our position, the Vershani soldiers rose and let loose a second volley on us.

More men collapsed, and by now chaos had turned to a smoke-filled, blood-strewn disaster. I was surrounded by our screaming, panicked crew, diving for cover, begging for mercy, and slowly dying. Zann was hit, though judging from how fast he had healed from our fight, he would probably survive the gaping, bloody chest wound. Darmelia was down, though she insisted she was fine and almost shot me when I tried to check her injury. Skeetrix bled from a mangled left paw, ebbing pinkish blood, but he seemed unaffected otherwise. I’d been hit several times, but fortunately, the Vershani weapons were no match for my tough skin. It hurt like hell, though. Worse than all that, we were pinned, unable to return fire, and our enemies seemed to have an unlimited supply of ammunition. Some were taking advantage of our situation and climbing the damaged rigging, finding vantage points to get better angles on us.

“This is bad,” Morloki said, using my bulk as cover. His armor was dinged, and a trickle of blood flowed from his cheek.

“Maybe we can make it back to our ship,” Brutalis said, “We can use the bow chasers.”

I looked back at the bow of Lady’s Nightmare, jutting into the rear of the Vershani ship, riding high behind us; the bowsprit mast soared overhead, entangled into the other ship’s rigging. The railing where we had stood not two minutes ago was behind us, across a twenty-foot dead man’s land and thirty feet up, a climb that would provide target practice to the Vershani sharpshooters.

“I’ll give them something to worry about,” I said and jumped over the railing down to the quarterdeck into a hail of lead.

Having a huge soaring target, the Vershani keyed on me. Their marksmanship was cruel and exact. Dozens of shells slammed against my body, shredding my clothing, but I wasn’t in any immediate danger. After the first volley erupted, a cloud of noxious smoke billowed across the deck, obscuring me from their murderous fusillade.

Taking turns to shoot at me, the Vershani would pop up and fire while others reloaded, making sure to keep a steady stream of fire at me. They were on their heels now, as my companions were returning gunshots from the damaged aft castle. I saw one armored fellow rise up and aim at me, then his eyes widened and he adjusted fire just beside me, shooting off to my right. The bullet few wide, and I heard a metallic clang. Turning, I noticed someone beside me. It was the guy swathed in cloth like a mummy, braving the crossfire. Instead of weathering the bullets, though, this guy was parrying incoming fire with a machete-like blade while hanging on to the rigging with his other hand. He motioned me forward as he blocked another bullet, firing the ricochet back at our attackers.

“All right, super hero time,” I said, flashing a big smile as I jumped again.

I soared across the deck, barely missing a spider web of tangled rigging and lines, and came down with a thundering thump amid the Vershani defenders in the forecastle. I was alone, surrounded by thirty or more snipers and warriors, and for almost two seconds, we just stared at each other, not sure what to do. Taking the initiative, I rushed forward at a group that featured a feather-decorated fellow I could only assume was their leader.

I’m not a trained fighter, meaning, I’ve never taken martial arts classes, or boxing, or anything else. I learned to fight by fighting against my much bigger brother and his asshole friends. I don’t fight fair, and I don’t fight nice, and this Vershani, who looked like a peacock, got me at my worst.

I let out a roar as I rushed across the deck, running past other warriors, hurling myself in the air at him, like a linebacker trying to drop a running back coming through a hole in the line. Except I outweighed this Vershani by over a hundred pounds. I shoulder tackled the guy, slamming him down to the ground in a bone-jarring crunch. I felt his chest cavity collapse and saw blood explode from his mouth and nose. I struggled to my feet with the help of some of the enemy crew, who were striking me on my back, arms, and head. I picked up the bleeding Vershani leader and hurled him at a group of snipers across the deck. My missile crumpled into the others, collapsing them into a heap.

One of my attackers swung a sword at me, but I was so mobbed that he actually hit another of his companions. Others dug at me with daggers or pummeled me. I caught a nasty blow across the face, which sent me reeling, but I just carried the momentum into a punch that sent the nearest warrior flying off the ship. I spun and hit another just as he stabbed me in the stomach, tearing through my clothes but doing no real damage. He caught my punch flush in the face, which disintegrating his cheek and jawbones, dropping him dead. Another slashed at me with a crystal blade, which was thin like a saber, and translucent. The sword hurt me, splitting apart my overcoat and drawing blood from a deep cut in my hip.

I recoiled in pain and he thrust again, stabbing at my shoulder, but I was just drawing him closer, and when he lunged, I reached out, grabbing his wrist and lifting him off the ground. The Vershani warrior became an impromptu club, and his screams resounded across the deck. I swung him into a group of his crewmen, hearing a pop at his elbow joint; knowing I had only one good blow left, I hurled him at his mates. I didn’t bother to see what happened to them, turning on another guy who intended to skewer me with a wicked-looking trident. Sidestepping, the long weapon flew past me, but he was talented, slashing it back at my face. Instead of trying to move back, giving him a free shot, I rushed at him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing his torso down on the floor, then kicking him in the face. The spearman flew across the deck, his corpse slamming like a rag doll into a mast, caroming off and into the legs of several others.

The forecastle was a bloody mess of bodies and parts, but I was still surrounded by armored Vershani eager for a fight. There were enough of them to keep me busy and hold off my crewmates with a steady rate of fire from their muskets. They surrounded me, letting more of their spearmen file to the front, pinning me back toward the railing that overlooked the quarterdeck. Near me was a fallen spar, a long wooden attachment to the end of a yardarm. I reached for it, ripped it off the attached rigging, and swung it in wide arcs at the approaching Vershani. They outnumbered me thirty-to-one, but I had a twenty-foot baseball bat, and for the moment, I could hold them off.