Whispering in a clipped, annoyed voice, Slosh exhorts the crew. “Lacey’s gang be some pirate wannabees. One of ‘em must have overheard us at the Pit Stop. They’re armed but not well.” He thinks for a moment, and then notices Iron making his way to the main gun.

“What is it ye be wanting, Lacey, old boy?!” Slosh shouts towards the shore.

“Heave-to, lads!” Slosh whispers again, resolve now in his voice. “Cast off lines! Man the sail hoist!” He continues sauntering quickly towards the cockpit.

“You so much as set foot on my dock and I’ll kick yer hoop so hard you’ll be tastin’ shoe leather for a week!” he shouts again at Lacey. The jab seems to work, as there is momentary silence from the shore.

Hearing the order to shove off, Iron pulls his gun and sets at the rigging work that can be done close to the Aegir.
Under his voice he mumbles "They gonna give us any trouble, or ya what that I should put one across their bow?"

Upon Slosh's words Clump crouched reached out and pulled his greatcoat towards him. Pulling his gun he called over too Iron.

"Get this thing moving I'll handle them!"

Croching behind cover he shot at the nearest enemy, he started to shft to a different target as soon as the bullet cleared barrel. He smiled in anticipation, as out of the corner of his eye he saw his watersport, if needs be as they move away he could activate one of it's smokescreen generators.

The guys look like they've got this handled well. I don't think the speargun would be any good, what with them spraying bullets down the line like that. I put the speargun aside and pulled out my dagger, trying to remain hidden behind cover. If any of them made it to the boat, they'd get a nasty one from me.

Clump’s pistol barks into the darkness and a split second later the sound of a ricochet and broken glass echoes from the beach. Suddenly it is palpably darker, as one of the pickup’s spotlights must have been taken out.

One of the pickups swerves about, backing a trailer of some kind into the water with a loud splash. The other pickup revs its motor, as doors slam shut again. It’s headlights glare, and you can feel the timbers of the pier rumble. The mad fraggers are coming barreling down the pier!

Abandoning the gun mount, Iron begins hoisting sail, the synth-canvas slinking up the mast effortlessly. As the sails unfurl, clear and diaphanous in the starlight, they seem to hang on the breeze for a moment, until they snap taut, billowing in a sudden breeze. A surprisingly fierce wind whistles around the Albacore and the ship begins rolling forwards.

“Cast off lines, I said!” Slosh shouts from the cockpit. Two mooring cables—one towards the prow and one towards the stern—are quickly running out of slack as the vessel surges away from the pier.

No time to untie those lines. Damnit, should have gone for them earlier. I shoulda known something like this was going to happen. I sprang out from behind the safety of cover, dagger in between teeth, and dived forward for the lines. I came out of the roll, snapped the bone blade from my mouth, and gave a good swing. I cut my momentum forward, faced the other rope, ran and jumped again, giving it another hard swing.

Here's hoping those lines aren't reinforced or something...

Iron sees the truck comming up the peir. He clambers back over to the gun.
"Oh frag this, they are loony, and now they got something in the water. Premission to open fire."

"Damn missed!"

Clump exclaimed as he flips the swicth activating his ultrasound sight on his manhunter and seeks out whatever was in the water.

With a mighty leap, Carol bounds to the aft cable, touching blade to rope just as the slack is exhausted. The cable snaps quickly and easily, recoiling back towards the pier. The fore cable catches fast, though, bringing the Albacore lurching to port. Still carrying her momentum, Carol bolts to the fore cable, maneuvering across the deck of the veering ship and cutting the line, freeing the vessel. All can hear the spin of the wheel in the cockpit as Slosh whips the rudder to starboard, pulling the ship away from the dock and the trailing tendrils of rope.

“Blast away, Mr. Iron!” the skipper calls from the wheelhouse. Aegir crackles as Iron squeezes the trigger, bringing the machinegun to life. A hail of bullets rakes across the front of the speeding pickup, which is unable to dodge or maneuver on the narrow dock. The rugged truck stands up well to the fire, although several shells penetrated under the hood, and the windshield is shattered. Still, the vehicle barrels onwards, approximately a third of the way from the start of the dock to the Albacore. With his thermographic vision, Iron sees two heat signatures zipping away from the beach on the opposite side of the dock—likely either jet-skis or small boats.

With his ultrasound sight humming in his hands, Ralph sweeps the shore across the dock from the boat, Two jet-ski-shaped smudges appear from the turbulent background of water and trees. Both crafts show signs of a long protuberance emerging from the prow.

I only have a few seconds to take these guys out, well I enjoy a challenge.

Clump thought as he aimed and fired at the Jet Ski too the left before shifting firing at the Jet Ski upon the right, after firing he started to edge over towards his own Jet Ski if he couldn’t take them out then a smoke screen should come in handy.

He smiled as the Agier controlled by Iron opened up on the truck.

Not going to much more help now, unless they get close to the boat. So I ducked behind cover again, making sure my speargun was nearby. I knew we were practically in the clear, but the adrenaline rush was...well, fun! It was just fun, I don't know how to say it. Just makes you feel alive.

I suppose I'm lucky, though. I probably couldn't kill myself if I wanted to. Right, go get 'em Iron!

As the Albacore pulls away from the dock, Iron wheels the gun around to fire on the 2 incomming water craft. Amazingly even over the maginegun fire you can hear Iron singing out a sea shanty (rather off key).

Wrapping his hand around Aesir’s grip to fire off another salvo, Iron takes a moment to flick his attention to the SmartLink message bar in the corner of his eye: <<<Error: No Carrier>>> the ghostly letters report, hanging in space before him. Looks like he’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Tracking the lead jet ski through the adjustable sight, Iron squeezes the trigger and sprays lead from the maw of the machinegun. Firing over the pier, one or two of the rounds ricochet wildly off of an old metal post, disturbing the tattered remains of a weather flag. The rest of the bullets lodge firmly in the jet ski and its rider. A groan of pain is barely heard over the din of combat, as the craft falters and bucks in the surf, only to recover.

Ralph fires off a pair of rounds from his Manhunter, The lead jet ski, already slightly ventilated by Iron’s fire, drops just below a wave at the last moment, fowling the shot from the pistol. Switching quickly to the rear (right) jet ski, Ralph fires again, neatly lodging a round near a handgrip. The little speeder should be a little bit more ungainly in the water from this point forward.

The wind continues to whip around the Albacore as Carol melts back into the shadowy cover. The gossamer sails catch every breath of the stiff breeze, sending the ship zipping away from the pier. The dockside pickup screeches to a halt, a scant few meters from the end of the dock. The doors once again open, and three barrels are hastily brought to bear on the fleeing ship, which has now put about a ship’s length between itself and the end of the pier. The muzzles flash brightly in a cacophonous roar and the shot from the scatterguns clatters across the fiberglass hull of the ship. Surprisingly, discretely placed deck panels do a remarkably good job absorbing the pellets. A few stray beads of shot whistle by overheard, though, doing some damage to the sails.

“Stop shooting at my bloody ship!” [B] Slosh calls out to the night, sending the wheel spinning once more, and rapidly swinging the boat into a defensive maneuver which sends a blast of spray up over the starboard gunwales.

The two jet skis have also cleared the pier to port, and seem to be wheeling about for an attack run, coming in from 10 and 8 o’clock.

Iron inturpts his jovial singing. "Why dont ya go down now ya fairy!" Iron fires another busrt much longer this time, trying to drive the all ready heavly damaged craft off. "Carol, ya busy? Wanna grap the gun hung aabave my bunk door?"

Clumps smile faded from his face these guys were beginning to tick him off, it looked as thought Iron had the leading Jet Ski in hand so he was going to concentrate upon the trailing on. He ejected the clip currently in his gun and calmly retrieved another clip from his pocket, this one was loaded with ex rounds slotting it into position, he carefully aimed at the rear Jet Ski and fired at its rider.

“Av some o this ye weevil”

He yelled out at his target, then calling back towards Slosh.

“Do we need some low cloud cover?”

His eyes never once left his target as he aimed once again.

Aesir rumbles and roars as Iron hangs a curtain of lead in front of the lead jet ski. Zipping at high speeds towards the Albacore, the jet ski traverses the worst of the stream, and several loud impacts can be heard over the din. Smoke belches from the small gasoline motor, as the watercraft lurches forwards. From the thick, oily cloud, there is a bright flash, and the horrific shriek of rocket fire. The small rocket zips out of its launch tube, destabilizing the jet ski so greatly that it skips and tumbles across the surface a few more meters. Its rider cannot be seen. There is a tense moment, when it seems that all the craft on the water are frozen, and the rocket hangs in mid-air, its exhaust trail glowing dimly in the darkness.

A sense of real-time returns. Slosh’s defensive maneuver pays off, as the rocket streaks wildly to port, smashing mindlessly into the low beach near the pier’s head. A cloud of dust and sand is lofted into the air by the explosion. If the gun fire did not already do so, the rocket strike is definitely disturbing the peace.

Ralph takes aim on the rear jet ski, unaddled by the rush and fury of the machinegun fire. He calmly draws a digital bead on the rider, whose form is faintly visible in the glow of the ultrasound scope. Waiting for the bouncing of the waves and the ship to be right, he squeezes the trigger. The powerful round strikes home, sending what remains of the rider careening off the rear of the craft.

From the cockpit, Slosh hollers, “Great shots, lads! No need for the screen. Let’s just get out of here!” For a moment, the winds drop. An unusually large swell catches the Albacore, lofting it to near the crest of the wave. Letting Mr. Newton do the driving, the sea-cat races down the hill of water, speeding away from Faial and Lacey’s pirates, and towards the dark blue deep.

One day I got to learn to shoot something more than that little speargun. I guess not all my encounters will be underwater now that I'm on a crewed ship. Good shots indeed...just wish i could have helped more.

Iron gives a hearty laugh, rudly inturpted as he dives for the deck after seeing the rocket launch. "Gees, these guys are packing some serious heat" he grumbles as he climbs from the lurching ground. Iron notices the second rider is no longer and shouts back to shore "So long suckas!"
Once underway Iron starts to fully explore the workings of the fast little sailer. Noticing the shot holes in the sail he heads underdeck and returns with a roll of 'NanoSail' sail tape and starts at what he can given the conditions.