Wicked Tides

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The Ravager was dead in the water.
The afternoon sky was a deep blue with only several puffs of white clouds smudging the color above. The open ocean below was calm. Sun sparkled off the water, its bright prisms of light dancing about the ocean's surface. The large vessel stood like a floating rock against the calm waves that lapped against her dark hull.

"Well, at least we’re on schedule." Captain Weeds mumbled to himself as he stood on the upper deck and surveyed the Ravager.
The ship’s hull flowed in a slick, aerodynamic design. The dark wood of the hull contrasted with the deep blue-green of the surrounding ocean. Three masts protruded from the deck in a triangular formation with a single mast toward the bow of the vessel and two side-by-side masts toward the stern. All three were angled backwards twenty degrees off vertical. Rigging stretched out all around the ship, creaking above Weeds' head.

The entire ship was destroyed. Two of the masts were broken off, pieces of the sails dangling above in tatters. Rigging hung in the air, tangled and knotted in chaos. The wood and metal of the hull was riddled with large holes that were partially patched. Splintered chunks of debris of various sizes lie strewn about the deck. The entire vessel was a chaotic wreck.
It was perfect.
Weeds' crew busied themselves with their work below him, oblivious to the surrounding clutter and damage. Some of them checked the damage making no effort to repair it, but to ensure its credibility. Others tugged and loosened clothing on their bodies to secure an appearance of distress. Powdered soot was passed around and applied to various areas of their bodies. True deception always found credence in the finer details.
Weeds wore a big grin under his neatly trimmed beard as he studied the men and women that served under him. A black quad-tipped hat laced in silver adorned his head. Dirty blonde hair mixed with a touch of gray flowed to shoulder length from under his hat. He wore a dark-blue-and-black outfit that was lined with silver-and-black trim. His small boltgun hung on his hip, loaded. Shining black boots finished off the outfit. Weeds felt good.
"Still no sign, sir," Gabe reported as he came up to meet the Captain.
"They’ll be here," Weeds responded, looking to the man.
In his early thirties Gabe was all muscle. Standing six foot tall, he had broad shoulders and his chest stuck out with power. His dark hair was tied back in cornrows which kept it out of his tanned, stubble-covered face. He wore a rough dark-gray vest and loose dark-brown tactical pants that were decked out with various pockets and straps. A dagger was strapped to each of his thick biceps.
"The decrypted data sphere's said they'd be through here. The intelligence better not be faulty," Gabe said as he looked out to the horizon. "And it’s hot out here."
"I should hope not. Your team secured it," Weeds said with a smile and a wink as he slapped Gabe on the shoulder. It was like hitting a brick wall. "So how does it feel to be back onboard?"
"Good. Real good," Gabe said. "I've missed this."
"It's been what, three, four months now since you got the Spec Ops command?"
"Three and a half."
Weeds nodded thoughtfully. Gabe was a former Ravager crew member and Weeds was glad to have him around again. Several months ago Gabe had been chosen to lead a Special Forces unit and hadn’t been onboard since. His squad of eight was aboard the Ravager with orders to help achieve the ship's objective.
Weeds could see the frustration simmering in Gabe's eyes. He was second in command next to the Captain on this mission and didn’t want to disappoint his old leader. The delay of their target was eating away at Gabe. Weeds easily picked up on the twinge of guilt that had befallen his friend.
"It’s good to be back, sir," Gabe said. Weeds always had a way of making people feel better. "Looking good today, I see."
"Always," Weeds said.
"And what about him? He all right?" Gabe asked, nodding to the bow of the ship past several crew members and wreckage where a lone figure was leaning against the railin

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Wicked Tides

Submitted: April 28, 2014

The Ravager was dead in the water.
The afternoon sky was a deep blue with only several puffs of white clouds smudging the color above. The open ocean below was calm. Sun sparkled off the water, its bright prisms of light dancing about the ocean's surface. The large vessel stood like a floating rock against the calm waves that lapped against her dark hull.

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