Book 1: The Rebirth of the Aztecs

Chapter 8 Part 4: Mojitos Interrupted

Drake coiled his hand over the smooth wooden sunbathing chair he had been lounging on ignoring the sticky feeling on his fingers from whatever mystery substance had been smuggled aboard by the freaks. A man really couldn’t just shut off a switch in his head, and forget the last twenty years of his life without serious brain trauma. Even if the pirate captain was still a marine in the royal service there wasn’t much he could do with the intel. It was no wonder Drake’s inquisiting uncle had given them a bonus. The King and his council needed this intelligence a week ago. Though ten years would’ve been preferable.

Drake’s mind raced as all the possible geopolitical implications and worse case scenarios came flying through his mind like a carousel run on a Hellcat’s pumping cylinders. When the news hit the airwaves they were certainly going to find more ports hostile to any ship bearing the flag of the Republic of Catalina. A problem that was only going to increase as hostilities escalated. Never mind if, or rather when given the circumstances, the Aztec wannabes crushed their rivals and forced the warring cartels and old Mexico strongmen under their heel. The world was about to become a much more dangerous place for nerdowells running ops out of their floating dive hotel.

The silence in the meeting stretched to a tight pensive brood as all the pirates doubtlessly started thinking of the home they’d left behind. Loved ones, houses, towns, everything they knew from their childhood had been wretched away, and now looked like it was going to be burnt from afar.

“Well,” Beatrice said with a resounding clap that shattered the stillness,” The world isn’t ending yet boys, and the summit hasn’t even finished. We have time, and your King has been warned. May I recommend we get ourselves to a friendly port for resupply and retrofit Captain. I hear we have winnings to spend before the Tenochmari Warlords invade the Pacific.”

Chuckles went through the men at the blatant attempt to build morale, and push a crew from the doldrums of soul sucking muscle wasting despair. Yes, the world was still turning, and at least for now Catalina was her own nation and people. There wasn’t much a tiny ragtag crew of pirates could do about such machinations after all. Drink and be merry for tomorrow we die and all that bravado Drake still wasn’t ready to accept. He might be on board after a good Mojito though.

“First officer, this crew of Pirates requires rum! Get somebody on Mohito duty so we can party properly before we finish up our meeting,” a gruff cheer went up from the officers on deck. Their hearts weren’t in it yet. At least not till they had some rum to force tomorrow’s dangers at bay for another day. Drake knew he wasn’t going to be able to join. He was too stubborn about being a proper Captain to let himself get wasted enough to forget his duties, and the ex ranger marine knew he was going to need to make some calls on the satellite phone before the day was out. Logistics was a monster that never slept. Calls into port weren’t free unlike what most grunts thought.

The lovely waitresses who ranged from drop dead gorgeous to bring her home to mommy pretty girls had just handed out the first Mojitos when the ship's PDA system sent out three tight whoops. Drake’s head whipped around at the code for battlestations their crew had agreed upon. They’d gone through great pains to install some rudimentary, and very much outdated early World War Three military radars on their cruiser. They were ancient but they could still read out a probable destroyer over the horizon especially when said destroyer had no reason to assume a civilian ship could see them coming. Boy was she a bitch to hide from customs when in less friendly territory.

They had a man watching those screens day and night with a panic button ready to send the battlestations signal to the whole ship. The three quick siren whistles were something that wouldn’t freak out guests, who often thought it was a drill or a sound check, while getting everyone's attention. Drake hadn’t even finished letting his imagination run wild with the possibilities when the dreaded code words came through the speaker.

“Captain , we have a code lame duck. Please come to the bridge,” Drake recognize Turner’s voice on the intercom, and as a man who used to call in airstrikes and airship artillery barrages from hidden observer positions deep within enemy lines the ranger marines lines his tone was as solid and firm as a opera singer in full repose. Drake wished he could get that kind of self control one day, because right now he was freaking out like a private on his first dive.

Lame duck was their code word for frigate or customs craft barrelling down on them on the radar. They were about to have company, and given the fact this was the non militarized zone set up and strictly enforced by the powers that be after WWIII there was no way this was going to be a friendly visit. Nobody had jurisdiction here unless given just cause. Like finding a pirate ship hiding out while pretending to be a cruise ship for example.

There was a brief pause as everyone in the meeting stared at each other with object shock on their faces. Everyone guessed the implications, and nobody was naive enough to think this was a routine inspection of overzealous coast guard boys. Not this far from civilization in no man's land. These goons had a mission, and these pirates were it. No way this was a coincidence after their spy ship raid meaning things were about to get serious.

Drake pulled himself out of his stunned slogged mind with a force of will. If they had already found the end most enterprising volant merchant men of the sea discovered long before retirement then this pirate crew was going down swinging. Besides, they had a few tricks up their sleeves if their unexpected guests weren’t planning on simply blasting the super yacht out of the water, party goers and all.

“Sampson! Get the new guy prepped with your team, and suit up for direct action in our sub pen,” Drake shouted as he prepared a plan, a very desperate plan, in his head.

“Beatrice, Don, you’re with me, Chief, I want all your boys on deck with every toy in their arsenal ready to fly. We are getting company and we are going to give them a grand Troy’s Folly welcome or die trying.” Which meant they were probably going to die, but hey at least they got some good mojitos for a last meal.

The Story Will Continue Every Monday

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