Chapter 2: The Day God Slept (P.1)

Henry took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes fixated on the coastline where Nandobe's Independence Day lights created a luminous path in the starry distance. He couldn't help but feel the absence of his daughter, mother, and the comforting warmth of his own bed. However, duty called, and the novelty of owning his own Whaler ship quickly wore thin, especially after he missed his daughter Liza's 3rd birthday. Initially, he had entertained the idea of hiring a crew to lighten his workload, but his diminishing earnings quickly proved that notion wrong. For Henry, hunting blubber had become a matter of life and death. Demand for the stuff had soared after some Elladan popstar featured it in a music video, now fetching tens of thousands with each haul. However, it demanded more and more of his time.

"Why didn't I join the Marines?" he pondered aloud.

A hearty laugh erupted from behind him, accompanied by the sound of netting hitting the deck with a wet slap.

"Because you can't shoot a gun to save your life, Captain. Remember that time in Piland with those pirates? If I could bet my paycheck on how many rounds actually hit their boat, I'd still have six thousand denars," Morgan remarked, his black beard sticking to his barreled chest as a bucket of water splashed over his head.

"Aye whatcha on bout?" Morgan grumbled, pointing a thick finger at Bugsy.

"Sorry, sir," Bugsy chimed in earnestly. "The lads were saying yous smell like dead lobsters. I thought I could help yous out with that."

Bugsy was a slender shiphand, barely eighteen years old, with a lanky frame, broad shoulders, and a thick mop of brown hair. He might not have fit the typical sailor mold, but he was hardworking and kind, if not a bit gullible.

"Alright, back to work, the both of ya, we got the nets out, we should be heading southwest to dock at Waldborg."

"Aye captain, should we turn on the speakers? I know the crew would love some tunes, many have started liking Moschian singers of late, fitting since we are headed for Moschia." his wheelman Alba stated.

"Sure Alba, I am gonna get some sleep, set the course and catch up on rest as well, same to you Bugsy, Morgan." Henry said, flicking his cigarette but into the sea and turning to his compartment door.

Henry had chosen to name his ship "Adventure," perhaps a reflection of a longing he held dear. However, he couldn't deny that the sense of adventure had never truly left him. The vessel was large, often targeted by pirates, and at the best of times, it grumbled and complained on the high seas, which wasn't ideal for a whaler, but it was what he had. He missed celebrating Independence Day, and he missed his family dearly. But as the main provider, the clock never stopped for him.

As he lay down on his cot, he retrieved a picture of his father. In the photograph, his father, Henry Sr., was clad in a flight suit, embodying the very essence of a warrior. Although the fiery red hair was a discrepancy, the square jaw, muscled frame, and commanding presence of his father filled the younger Henry with an overwhelming sense of pride. He hadn't chosen to follow in his father's footsteps, as witnessing the Brush War unfold live on television every night had left the young man exhausted. His mother, too, would stay up watching the live feeds, witnessing jets being shot out of the sky, surface-to-air missiles and man-portable air-defense systems causing a deep-seated phobia to take root within him. The anxiety of wondering if the next jet, or the one after that, might one day be his father's haunted his thoughts.

Henry closed his eyes, clinging to the memory of his mother's joyful eyes as her husband returned home from a prisoner-of-war camp. His father had appeared thinner, his eyes slightly bulging, and his hair had turned snow white, but he had come back home.

A sudden jolt and impact against the grey steel floor forced Henry's eyes open. His natural instinct to run flared up but was met with the cold, plastic-like butt of a gun pressed to his ear. Two voices were yelling at him, but his hearing was impaired from the blow. From the corner of his eye, he spotted men dressed in military-style dark green or aqua uniforms adorned with all sorts of equipment. The language they spoke gave them away as foreigners, but from which nation, he didn't know. The one who had hit him, forced him to his feet, their eyes meeting for an uncomfortable stretch of time, finally the soldier said in Daygi.

"You are the captain yes?, we are from the Federation of Elberian States, your vessel sent forth a threatening signal, you are being boarded, detained and searched as we investigate the incident. You are to comply with Elberian law in this matter."

The Adventure had been well within Daygisi waters he knew, but there was an incident the day before Independence day, an incident where supposedly a fishing trawl rammed an Elberian vessel.

"We were on course to Moschina, not Elber." He managed to say.

The soldier looked to the other and translated. The other soldier, possibly the officer, said something back.

"You are transporting rebels, correct? We have found weapons onboard. Were you making contact with the rebels in the Federation?" the soldier continued.

Henry's thoughts halted. "Rebels? No-"

Before he could finish, the officer yelled at Henry and punched him in the gut. An explosion of air left his lungs, and some gas released from him involuntarily.

"Why would a whaler be carrying military-style weapons?" Henry said through his teeth.

"Why indeed, your ship is being escorted to our carrier group, have your papers ready for proper identification." the soldier said ushering Henry through his compartment door.

As they moved through, the sun blinded him, his eyes failing to adjust in time and causing his muscles to tense up. The officer took notice and gave Henry an impatient kick to his back, sending the captain hurling to the deck and into a pile of what at first looked to be fish blood.

"Captain?" a worried voice rang out.

Henry shifted his head to see Bugsy tied to a pole along with two other deckhands, all three looking to him for an explanation. The blood lacked the smell of seawater, but was fresh and pooling around him. He didnt remember being shot, nor did he hear any round fire off. He looked around and spotted Alba laying against a container, his hand pressed against his stomach.

"They shot Alba? Did you see?" Henry asked, his eyes not moving from his friend.

"I saw nothin, they pulled me out of bed, threw me here with this lot sir." Bugsy replied.

Helicopters flew over, showering the men with a light misty rain of salt water, normally it would be a minor thought, but Henry felt a knot form in his stomach as Alba screamed in agony. One of the Elberian soldiers struck Alba with a cane, giving orders to a few other soldiers, presumbly to gather the rest of the crew.

After some time wandering the deck, the soldiers had become familiar faces to Henry. They numbered only five. The Officer wore a beret, his face covered like the rest with scarves that matched their camouflage. They had managed to gather most of his crew, whose numbers were never great, but they still outnumbered the boarding party by sixteen. The Translator walked with a limp, suggesting he had been wounded recently. The other three had some forms of bruising, but nothing as severe as the Translator's limp.

The ship was being towed from a distance, and although Henry could hear the other Elberian sailors through the radios, he knew they had not come aboard his ship. Alba had been treated in the meantime, his eyes filled with tears, his voice reduced to a rasp. His gaze darted back and forth, but he couldn't see Morgan anywhere. The big man was hard to miss, especially in the daylight.

The Officer took notice of Henry once again, pointing in his direction. Two soldiers came over and picked Henry up. His head finally came above the lining, and his eyes widened at the large number of ships in the closing distance, including one so massive it looked like a part of the clouds.

"An aircraft carrier" He muttered in awe.

It was easily the largest ship he had ever seen, he could make out people on the deck, the size of ants, but their movements were precise.

"Your manifest says you have 16 men, we count 14 including you, where are the last two?" The Translator asked.

"I don't know," Henry said immediately.

The Translator again relied on eye contact with his superior.

"We have concluded your vessel is hostile to the national interest. You and your crew shall be detained aboard the Lance of Zara—" His voice was cut off by the sudden roar of several fighter jets flying above them, accompanied by an air horn blaring from the starboard side. A siren rang out from the distant carrier. The Translator's eyes turned into a furious blackness.

"Who did you signal?!" he yelled.

Henry's words tripped in his mouth.

"Who did you signal? We have heard no SOS!" This time, The Translator's voice trembled as several more armed men arrived on board, some from the lower deck, which, no doubt, the Elberians would have cleared already. Their weapons were trained on the Officer and the others, and two of the five turned their guns on them as well.

A tense silence ruled over them all. Henry's mouth watered in anxiety as he watched the Carrier become a flurry of activity, with the number of jets overhead increasing. Attached to their stomachs, he noticed large white-clad missiles and torpedoes. One of the Elberian traitors removed his face mask, revealing himself as Asher, one of Henry's deckhands.

"Step away from the captain!" Asher said, repeating the order in Elberian.

"Okay, relax, we are just doing our duty," The Translator said, letting go of Henry and putting his hands in a calming gesture, an attempt to ease the situation.

"That's why there's a whole carrier group? For a whaler?" one of the deckhands said.

"He's got a point, wasn't easy letting the navy know. Turns out there are wolf packs all over the area. Put down your arms, or I will personally blow your heads off," Asher said, his voice and accent revealing he was a Norska from the coast of Daygis. A realization set in as another man, this time dressed in Navy white, climbed over the railing on the starboard side. His grizzled beard contrasted his neat and orderly uniform, free of blemish. He smiled, his grin was inviting, his tone was whimsical almost as he said,

"Admiral Druc, I believe? Bold to avoid being on your ship. I myself follow a similar doctrine: My men should see me in action rather than behind some desk. Sadly, this has backfired dramatically."