Matthias Scott - Air Pirate; Part 3

Stirling paused, his body in shock for a long moment after that dreaded word came over the line. The only thing that made the gears of his mind turn again was his communications officer asking him what was going on. Slowly, he looked at the man, then at the phone that was still in his hand, and set the latter down with a soft click as the earpiece relaxed into its cradle. Then without looking to the other man, Stirling spoke gravely. “Alert security. We're being boarded.”

Then, at once, he seemed to come alive and looked toward his two helmsmen, “And change our course, damn it! Hard to port, all ahead full; ten degrees earthward, on the jump! Level us once we're near the deck. I want us skimming foam off the wave tops, boys!”

The two helmsmen jumped into action to follow their captain's orders. One worked the left set of controls – the large wheel that controlled the vessel's gargantuan rudders at the tail section. The other worked two controls; one small wheel that rotated forward and backward – sending it earthward or skyward respectively – and a marked engine output lever. Unlike military airships, newer commercial airships, and nautical vessels where engineering directly controlled the vessel's engines, older designs like the Fayer had a system on the bridge that directly controlled their speed. The other airships abandoned this system because it required extensive maintenance.

Going from a decent cruising speed to sudden full power made the airship shudder, and the lights flicker, making most of the bridge officers glance around – and pray silently that the old girl wouldn't fail them at a time like this. After a couple of moments, the lights came on strong, and the engines screamed outside the bridge gondola as their triple-bladed propellers tore through the air. Unknown to the crew of the Fayer, the Albatross was able to easily correct its course thanks to the four beacons that marked the Fayer's position in the clouds. Even so, the maneuver had bought them valuable time and had stranded the pirates already on the Fayer with no way to either get off of it or to get reinforcements.

With the airship's sudden course change, the men in her upper decks had to brace themselves against railings and walls to keep their footing. Suddenly they were feeling lighter as they heard the roaring machinery of the hulking radials outside the hull. Balancing himself on one foot, his coat heavy as it hung from his frame, his other foot was upon a railing as he tied his second boot. He could see his men looking around in wonder at how light they felt – though everyone knew what was happening. The Fayer was attempting to escape.

“They're diving. They must think they can outrun the Albatross at lower altitude.” Captain Scott smirked slightly, “They don't know what model of vessel is after them.” The lookouts had been neutralized by the pirates the moment that they came down their ladders to investigate the gunshots. The Chief Engineer was currently tied up, along with the lookouts, with some spools of wire that had been found. They were all bruised thanks to the beanbag rounds his men had used, but other than that, they were fine. “We have to get to the bridge, quickly. These ladders go down as well as up. Move!”

His men nodded when they heard the order, moving to the ladders that served both the rearmost lookout post and the lower engineering deck. Thanks to the angle it was a little more of a challenge to stay on the ladder than normal, but they managed – or at least the first couple did. About the time that the first man was halfway down there was a cacophony of gunfire that all the men recognized instantly.

Bullets ricocheted off the metal cage that was meant to keep men from falling off as the airship pulled up or dived, and the two men that were furthest down grabbed the sides of the ladder and slid down, bending their knees to absorb the impact. As soon as their feet hit the deck plating, they rolled; the first rolling to his right and the second to his left – both of them between a lower couple rows of helium tanks. The third man on the ladder had barely started and was yanked up by his comrades. They'd all been lucky – the men firing the weapons weren't professionals, and hadn't been prepared for their weapons to swing up from their own recoil.

Looking up, they could see their captain acting as if he was going to try and come down next, but both motioned with waving hands to stay where he was, and he did so. The two grinned up at him then and motioned for him to wait.

“James!” The one that had rolled to his left called out over the sub-machine gunfire, looking upward. “You okay?”

“I'm fine, Jesse!” James called back in the same manner, a big grin on his face. Then he made a few exaggerated miming motions to his sibling before he spoke again – his brother smirking a little as he did. “How about you, Jesse?”

Jesse faked a groan as the SMG fire died down, then called back. “I'm hurt bad, James. Caught a couple bullets in my leg. Hurts like hell!”

Once that was out, James leaned close and whispered. “Alright brother, you circle around and flank 'em. I'll stick it out here and draw their fire. This old design should have a stairway up near the front that leads into the cargo area, and the crew quarters below that. They must've come up that way. They gotta be further down the rows now, too. Try and get behind them, but be careful, alright?”

“Don't you worry. I don't plan on really gettin' shot today.” Jesse grinned and then headed to the starboard side as his brother moved to port. They were both still in the gear they'd been wearing before the boarding action, minus the hooks, but they still didn't want to take bullets if they didn't have to. Besides which, if they did, there was the likelihood that they could end up shot in the head. These men obviously didn't know to aim low on their targets, so if they let rip with those lead slingers they'd probably end up aiming at the chest and sending a magazine's worth of ammunition where their heads were.

Taking off his helmet, James rested it on the end of his shotgun's barrel and slowly began poking it out. As soon as it was around the corner of the tank, SMG fire raked the area and he yanked the shotgun back, then thrust it around the corner and pulled the trigger. The bean bag that left the barrel wasn't accurate past twenty feet, but from the shout and the groan that followed, he deduced that he had scored a hit. A second round was racked into the trench gun he held and he fired again, hearing a loud expletive – one that was said so hoarsely that he had a pang of sympathy pain for where it had probably connected on the other man.

Glancing over his shoulder toward his brother as he ducked back from the corner a bit, letting the Fayer's security forces waste more ammunition, James saw Jesse peek around the corner and flash him a thumb's up. As soon as the SMG fire died off on the port side, Jesse ran out on the port side while ducking down. Meanwhile, James took a few steps back, then ran and jumped out from behind his cover, rolling to the far side behind a conglomeration of pipes that went to an exterior engine and acted as the transport for coolant and the housing for electrical wires.

The startled security forces fired too late to stop him from reaching cover, but a bullet did manage to catch him on the shin. It didn't go through the boarding gear, but he felt like his shin had been kicked by a mule. Even so, he lifted the trench gun over his head so that the barrel rested on top of the pipes and fired twice more. This time he only heard the sound of men diving for cover before another torrent of bullets was began bouncing off his cover. He and his brother's plan was working, and that fact made him grin as he reached inside his trench coat and pulled out shells for the shotgun. He didn't have to reload yet, he still had three more rounds, but if he did so now he just might catch them by surprise if they thought he ran out of ammo.

While the security forces seemed preoccupied with James, Jesse moved quickly and as quietly as possible past row after row of helium tanks – only pausing when he glanced up and saw a few of the Fayer's men, at least seven, climbing the forward ladder. By now he could hear the SMG fire just a few rows ahead, and just past that was the ladder, and he ran into a full sprint as he heard three blasts from his brother's shotgun. Immediately after, he heard the men on the level with them send up a war cry, and then the sounds of pounding feet as they rushed toward his brother. Planting himself where he was, he aimed upward and began to slam-fire the trench gun he held. The first two bean bags simply smacked against the metal cage and dropped harmlessly, but the third barely touched it and went tumbling through, past the ladder, and smacked the third man down in the face.

His nose broke and he lost his grip on the ladder, dropping down onto the next man, and the two of them went down onto the third man, wedging the three of them together inside the grate and blocking the rest. At least three had climbed up, and possibly more, but he couldn't worry about them – and he didn't think about the others that might be waiting next to the ladder. He turned and ran down the nearest aisle between tanks to the port side and turned the corner just as he saw his brother pop up from behind his cover. Eight men were charging him. As if they'd planned it, both brothers swung their trench guns up and began to slam fire – James starting with the man furthest to port, and Jesse starting with the furthest to starboard.

Before a single man could get a shot off at James, the brothers had dropped all eight of them and ran to grab their weapons. Slinging the shotguns over their shoulders, each of them grabbed two SMGs, one in each hand, and kicked the others away – keeping the eight men firmly under their control. Then they took stock of what the actual weapons were – ENI (Europa National Ironworks) MP-7s (“Machine-Pistol” - 7.65x28mm). No wonder they hadn't gone through anything that they'd hit – they'd be able to kill a person, but penetrating anything stronger than cloth or flesh would be a miracle. What struck the brothers as odd, however, was the fact that these were military weapons; they weren't even on the civilian market.

Deciding to try and figure that little mystery out later, Jesse called up to the upper level. “Captain! We've got things pretty well handled down here, but I think there might be a few up there with you guys! Some of them were trying to climb up there. Only somewhere in the ballpark of three to five managed to do so, though.”

“Well done, Sergeants!” Captain Scott replied, “We'll mop up the rest and then we can move on.” As soon as the words were out, another eight men slid down the ladder, collected the weapons and ammunition of the prisoners, and bound them up. Meanwhile, on the upper engineering level, Matthias and the other ten men moved forward, five on the port side and six on the starboard. By the time that they reached the other ladder, they'd swept the entire area between the two... and saw nobody.

“Where'd they go?” One man asked.

“Maybe a bit further forward...?” Another suggested, but wasn't convinced of it.

About that same time, Captain Scott felt the hair on the back of his neck stick up and a shiver shot down his spine. They weren't doing the hunting. However many men had gotten up here were the hunters. The pirates had somehow become the prey.

“Spread out men...” He said quietly, “...I think they got behind us somehow.” He looked to the port side group, “You five continue checking forward, the rest of us will...”

But he never got to finish the order. Before he could there was a hail of gunfire from their rear and above them. Two of the three gunmen missed entirely, but the third man had aimed lower on his target. While the first bullets would have only given minor injuries thanks to the crewman's uniform, the SMG walked its way upward as the stream of bullets continued. More than a few found their way through the head of the man that had been standing directly to the captain's right. The body dropped, but even as it did, Matthias grabbed the man's trench gun and span with the other nine men, returning fire – the ten trench guns sending up a tremendous roar as they were all slam fired.

The three gunmen that had been standing atop one of the helium tanks were hit with such collective force that they were thrown from their perch and crashed to the catwalk with three loud metallic thuds. Dazed, they hadn't the time to recover before their weapons and ammunition were taken and they too found themselves bound and being dragged to where the lookouts and Chief Engineer were held. On the lower level of the Fayer's engineering section, James, Jesse, and four of the reinforcements they'd been given had advanced forward and accepted the surrender of the only two remaining security personnel that weren't incapacitated in some manner already. The two men that James had managed to hit without properly aiming had been there as well – along with five men caught up in the ladder. There had been two more that Jesse hadn't seen tangled up after the others fell.

With the one man down and the Fayer's security forces neutralized, Captain Scott decided it was time to speed things up a bit. Leaving ten men behind to watch over the prisoners, and draping the fallen man's trench coat over his form, Matthias took the other nine with him and headed down into the storage area. The sweep was quick, as the cargo bay had long aisles that went from floor to ceiling with little room to hide. Past that they headed down to the crew quarters where it also went quickly – most of the few crew members that were in said quarters were asleep, and the ones that weren't were not prepared for a fight. All of them were rounded up quickly and restrained in a single room with two guards posted outside.

The remaining eight men moved to the bridge, and by this time the cargo vessel was not too far from where her captain intended to level her off. The big girl was slowing her speed, but had yet to change her angle. The bridge being served by three entrance and exit points (two ladders and a set of stairs, the pirates broke into three groups. One group of four would take the stairs, and two groups of two would take the ladders. It took only seconds for everyone to get into position, and once they were, Captain Scott gave the signal. As the four rushed down the staircase, Matthias and James dropped down the ladders, rolled to make room for Jesse and the other man, Jeremy, and all eight sprang to their feet. James and Jesse moved to the helm consoles while Scott and Stirling sized one another up and the remaining five pirates kept their trench guns trained on the others on the bridge – which included five, startled, security personnel.

“Captain Stirling, now would be a good time to order your men to stand down. The rest of your crew is out of action, and I can guarantee you that this will not go well for any of us if you don't.” Matthias said calmly as he looked at the other Captain, dressed in finery befitting a man of his station who was undoubtedly wealthy. “I would suggest making your choice in short order, Captain. We're almost out of time.”

Ahead, the ocean loomed, but having been given orders earlier, the helmsmen began to level off the airship – though in the storm she handled more like a pregnant sow than an aircraft. Her large frame had to fight the wind that wailed all around them, and some of the rips and holes in her hull from the battle in engineering and the initial landing on the craft were being torn open further as she was buffeted by the massive storm.

“I don't fear gods, creatures, or pirates – and I certainly won't surrender my ship to the likes of you!” Stirling snapped and drew a two-shot pocket pistol. He aimed directly at Scott, but the pirate captain was faster and let loose with the trench gun he held, the bean bag slamming into Stirling's shoulder and pirouetting him like a top as he fired. Unfortunately, it was Jeremy that caught the bullet; the round grazing his neck as the five security personnel on the bridge made to open fire. However, they too were blasted by shotgun fire from the pirates, the bean bags felling all but one of them in an instant. The final man standing had trained his SMG on Jesse and let rip, but only a few rounds hit his midsection, driving him backward into the helmsman that handled the airship's climb, decent, and speed controls.

Off-balance, both men fell between the controls, flailing and trying to grab anything to catch themselves. Instead, they caught the wheel and the engine controls, pulling both forward to their stops. All at once the wind suddenly pushed the airship in the direction that its controls were aimed, and the cargo vessel pitched seaward sharply. The first thing to hit was the upper hull, fabric ripping in a ghastly fashion with nearly the same audibility as the clattering of SMG fire. Next came the bridge gondola. The forward windows held the waves back for about three seconds before they suddenly cracked in a spiderweb pattern and then shattered immediately after. They had been designed for pressure changes from altitude, not for impacting the ocean; they'd never stood a chance against the sea.

Everyone on the bridge tried to grab something and hang on, but most were at the mercy of the water – and there was little to be had from it. Captain Scott grabbed the ladder he was near, and as the water slammed through the forward windows he reached out and grabbed Captain Stirling, pulling him to the ladder. James and Jesse grabbed the consoles that they were near, as well as the helmsmen. The rest simply tried to grab what they could. The saltwater rushed through the bridge, carrying shards of glass with razor edges with it, and blasting out the rear bridge windows as the entire gondola was submerged and dragged through the water. One of the pirates, a bridge officer, and a security man were all injured and lost their grips, being sucked out the rear bridge windows before Jesse was able to reach up and spin the control wheel backward enough to make the vessel rise again.

When it did, a bridge officer was nearly sucked out of the rear window by the flood of water that was pouring out, but another officer and one of the pirates managed to grab him and pull him back inside. Another man moved to the port side and opened a door which was used to access the catwalk that wrapped around the bridge, thus allowing the remaining waist-deep water to drain out – or at least most of it. With the fore and aft windows blown out, sea spray continued to enter the gondola until it was away from the wave tops, and then only the rain poured in through the burst windows.

As the ocean water drained, the pirates grabbed up the weapons left on the bridge, and Captain Scott snatched Captain Stirling's two-shot pocket pistol, twisting the dual-chamber so that the hammer was lined up with the live round. Pistol clenched tight in his fist, Matthias stuck the gun right between two of its owner’s ribs while using his other hand to grab the man by the neck. Both of these points of contact were then used to shove his back up against the ladder as the pirate captain spoke.

“Surrender this ship,” He said, the metallic clicking of the pistol's hammer cocking back interrupting his speech briefly, “right now.”

Slowly, Stirling raised his hands in surrender, fixing Scott with a glare. “The ship is yours.”

“Good.” Matthias grinned then, before his face suddenly went neutral and he cracked the man over the head with the pocket pistol's grip. A moment later, the Fayer's bridge officers and the rest of her crew were being escorted to a few of the rooms. Guards would be stationed across the hall from those rooms, and two men would be posted in the hall at all times to prevent escape attempts from happening.

The Fayer, despite being an older design, thankfully wouldn't require a large crew to keep her under full operational capacity – and once she rose above the storm her speed would increase as well. With that in mind, Matthias waited on the bridge, helping some of the men as they replaced the windows; apparently, the ship had a lot of spare parts thanks to the Chief Engineer. That also meant that other damage would be able to be patched up, which was good if they intended to sell the airship outright as well. He hadn't quite decided on that just yet. Regardless, however, once the crew was confined, guards were set up, and temporary crew positions were assigned, Scott made his way toward the cargo hold with James and Jesse.

The intention was to take stock of what they'd managed to capture. His contacts had told him that, aside from the cargo it was transporting, it was supposed to be carrying a payroll shipment in the vessel's safe. He had yet to check the safe, but he wanted to see what the other cargo was. If there was supposed to be that kind of cash on the ship, surely the cargo would be impressive as well. Yet, as the three of them opened the first few crates, they found nothing inside them that was impressive.

“It looks like it's all gonna be food.” James scoffed.

Matthias shrugged, “At least we won't have to buy rations for a while longer.”

Then Jesse chimed in, “Yeah, that's true, but what were they gonna do with all of it?” He said as he looked over the crates they'd opened while prying another. “Feed an army?”

As the question was voiced, the lid of the crate popped open and was shoved off; the three men falling silent for a moment as they beheld what lay within. Amidst the straw that was used to cushion the contents, the three men could easily see multiple Kenning Automatic Rifles. They were most obviously new, still holding that factory shine and smelling of gun oil. With each weapon were three box magazines - each capable of holding twenty full-size .30-06 rifle rounds - and a bayonet. Matthias knew the weapons well – he'd been trained to use them during basic. Originally they'd been developed to use a fifty-round drum and be mounted with a bipod to act as a light machine gun. However, the army soon realized that a lighter magazine would make them more portable while providing the same firepower.

By the size of the crate and the way they lay inside, he estimated there were probably about sixteen of them inside this one crate. What surprised him next were the looks on James and Jesse's faces. Then he remembered where the two had come from – some sand dune in the middle of nowhere named Black Lake. They'd been small-time bandits at the time, but that was three years ago. It made sense that they wouldn't recognize the weapons.

“What the heck are these, Captain?” Jesse asked.

“Kenning Automatic Rifles. Model .30-06, Mark Three. The original was supposed to be a light machine gun. These have a slightly slower firing rate and smaller magazine, but lighter parts and overall a lighter weight. The LMG was the Mark One. The first battle rifle variant was lighter with a smaller magazine and no bipod; that was the Mark Two. The Mark Threes are the same as the Mark Two, except that they also have a bayonet lug. There's also a Mark Four, which introduces a select fire switch for toggling single shot and automatic, and a Mark Five that takes the Mark Four and adds a suppressor, a scope, and reintroduces the bipod.”

James blinked as Matthias doled out the information. “If I ever want to know something about weapons, I guess I know who to ask.” He grinned a little, then looked back at the KAR-M30-06s. “So these are the Mark Threes, huh? They aren't sold to civilians, right?”

“No, they aren't, and neither were the MP-7's that the Fayer's crew were using. Considering how inaccurate they were, I suspect they hadn't trained with the weapons either.” Captain Scott said, the gears in his head already spinning and groping for some kind of explanation.

“So who are these guys? Gunrunners?” Jesse asked.

“No... if they were gunrunners, they'd know how best to use their weapons.” Matthias chuckled, “And wouldn't have been flanked like the two of you did earlier.” His face then returned to that solemn mask as he thought.

“They're obviously civilians, so what's with the guns if not gun runners? Mafia guys would know how to shoot too. Any kind of organized crime would. So would smugglers probably. So lacking that, Cap', I'm out of ideas.” James said as he leaned against the crate.

“I have one, but I want more proof before I say it.” Matthias said, then motioned toward the other crates in the area. “Crack open a few more, guys. Let's see what's in the others.”

The brothers nodded, and the three men set to work with their crowbars. Crate after crate was opened, and more supplies were found. Food, water, more weapons, ammunition, and even combat uniforms and pieces of gear. Finally, the brothers both called out for their Captain, and Scott made his way over.

“Sir, take a look at this...” Jesse said as he pulled out what looked to be a trench coat, but thick as if it were stuffed and with a fur lining around the neck. “...the hell is this for?”

The pirate captain chuckled. “Don't you think it would be a bit warm, Jesse?”

“Well, yeah.” Jesse said slowly, not quite connecting the dots just yet.

Thankfully, James did it for him. “It's cold-weather gear, Jesse.” He said flatly.

“Precisely.” Matthias said as he took the coat, testing the weight. Surprised at how light it was, he looked the coat over admiringly for a moment before putting it back. “Might make a nice flight coat if not for how thick it is. Too tight in the cockpit.”

“So what's all this doing here?” James asked as he looked around at the crates that had been opened – and all the ones that hadn't. “What is this, a shipment for the military?”

“That's what I was thinking. It was supposed to be carrying a payroll shipment, but our informants had no idea for who. This shipment was probably meant for a base in one of the colder climates, and the payroll is probably for them too.” Scott nodded slowly, as if to affirm what he was thinking. “Congrats, boys. We just knocked over a military shipment.”

“Oh hell.” James said, shaking his head. “Now they're really gonna hate us.”

“They already do.” Matthias grinned.

“Any idea where this was all headed?” Jesse asked curiously.

“No, not really.” The Captain said slowly. “You know, I think I'm going to check on that. I'm curious now.” He stroked his chin in thought. “I think I'll check the bridge records. They probably have something in there for navigational purposes, and if they don't then it's probably in the Captain's Cabin.”

“Want us to stay here while you do that? We can start taking inventory of all this stuff.” James put in, and Matthias gave a nod. Soon enough James and Jesse were busying themselves opening more crates, and their Captain was headed off to the bridge. By the time that he got there, he was fairly sure that this wasn't exactly normal. The EAF didn't usually use civilian airships to transport their payrolls. Their supplies, sure, because they were bought from civilian companies, but not their payrolls. So what was this one doing pulling double duty?

The bridge did have navigational charts, but only that took the vessel across the South Sea between the two primary landmasses, and to do that they were island hopping. He doubted that they were offloading any of the equipment along the way with their course carrying them that far. The last stop on their route also made no sense for offloading their military cargo – there were no military bases in that area. That in mind, he figured that it couldn't have been the end of their route. Yet, if that was the case, why wasn't the rest plotted out?

Seeing that they were near the cloud tops, he headed for the Captain's Cabin, which in the case of the Fayer was a small room just off the bridge. Stepping inside as the sun streamed through the cabin's portholes, he considered the rather spartan setup before looking through a few drawers on the bedside table and the small desk. In one of them, he found Stirling's log and cracked it open. Flipping through pages to the ones for the last few days, he saw that the latest log entry was short, simple, and to the point:

'Made contact with our Benefactor.

Have received navigational coordinates for first portion of journey.

Have also received contact number to call once at destination.

Course plotted in for first leg of journey.

Shall hire an escort and utilize storms in attempt to avoid pirates during crossing.'

Below the entry was a phone number, and that was all. Closing the book as he took in this bit of information, he stepped from the cabin and slid the log into his coat pocket. This was becoming more and more curious. Moving to the middle of the bridge, to the radio station, he checked it and was glad to see that it was still working. The wires within were protected.

Adjusting a few dials, he found the frequency that the Albatross used most often and cued the mike. “Crimson Albatross, this is the Silver Fayer, Captain Matthias Scott, commanding. How do you read me?”

The radio was silent for a moment, then gave a series of garbled pops and clicks that covered the barest amount of a voice. Then came the sound of static for a short moment before it fell silent once more. Scott blinked as he looked down at the radio. Perhaps it didn't work as well as he thought it did. Then came the static again before a voice, quiet and mixed with that annoying electronic noise, came through again. This time, however, he could understand it.

“Thank the Gods.” Came the voice of Commander Erwin Greer – the Albatross' First Mate and Chief Engineer, “Thought you went down, boy. Scared us all half to death.” As he spoke, the signal was getting stronger, and his voice was clearing. “Could barely hear that first transmission of yours. The storm must be affecting it.”

“Maybe, that or the saltwater that ran through the bridge.” Matthias countered, then added: “We're going to need some engineers and a few extra hands to act as a repair crew over here. The Marines are good, but I'd prefer to have the experts.”

“Will do, Cap'n.” The old man's voice said in response and the radio went dead again. Scott waited patiently for him to return. He knew already that Greer would be issuing orders on the other vessel. A minute or so passed and then the old engineer was back. “Alright, crews are standing by. How many casualties do we have?”

“Two. Could have been far worse.”

“How?” The old man asked incredulously.

Off to starboard, the Albatross breached the clouds like a submarine during an emergency surface. Her long silver-gray hull shining in the daylight above the storm, and only interrupted by her former military designation along the bow – CA-32 – and the identifying icon on her vertical tail section: an image of a brilliant red albatross perched within a large laurel wreath above a crossed rifle and saber.

“Set course for Avarice Island, and I'll tell you on the way.” Matthias replied, then heard a mix of a crowing and a croaking sound, then a small screech off to port. “Hang on a moment.” Setting down the mic for the radio, he stepped over to the door that had been opened earlier to let out the ocean water and opened it again, leaning out to look around. When he did, he was met by the sight of his red and blue feathered pet. “Archie!” He admonished lightly, “You should be in my cabin. What are you doing here?”

Even so, he couldn't help the small smile that came to him at seeing his pet. Shaking his head slightly, he turned to the side and held his arm up like a falconer. The archeopteryx perched upon the Fayer's railing cawed happily and flapped twice as it hopped from the railing to his arm, and then walked its way up his arm to perch upon his shoulder. A light laugh came to the captain then, and he spoke softly to the animal as he stroked from the back of its head and down its neck gently.

“You silly bird.” He chuckled as he closed the door and walked back to the radio set, “Maybe we should put you on the tail, huh? Would you like that?”

Archie preened and let out a parrot-like whistle of approval at the notion.