Lost Pirates

by Jamie Hawke

  “You won’t hit him like that,” Frank shouted, charging all-out but pausing to fire back at a man in one of those glider suits who’d landed on the wall of the fort.

  “Won’t stop me from trying,” Milly replied.

  Three men with gliders shot out from the wall, coming right for them, so Frank stopped, knelt, and used his targeting reticle to pop them—one, two, three—down.

  “Good fucking shooting!” Mary shouted. “Now hurry your ass!”

  He stood to run, but the plane appeared, a spray of bullets tearing up the ground in front of him. They kept coming, so Frank changed his course and sprinted into the tree line to his left, hoping to get out of sight.

  Only then did he see the pirates coming in through the jungle, apparently hoping to cut off Teddy’s retreat. Not in person, at first, but as red dots on his reticle thanks to the awareness skill he’d upgraded. He cursed, not wanting to let his team get cut off but also not wanting to be separated from them. In the end he chose to take out as many of these bastards as he could.

  Frank turned on them, emptying his magazine with three more shots. He felt for more ammo but had none. He switched to the pistol he’d brought, taking down a few more before one of those bastards rose up from his side, apparently having charged through unnoticed. It was all too chaotic, what with those red dots and the shots going off from both sides.

  The man plowed into him, knocking the pistol aside, and then lunged with his sword. Frank dropped and rolled, grabbing the pistol in the process, so that he came up and fired—brain matter exploded out of the back of the pirate’s head as the shot went right through at point-blank range.

  Three more pirates showed up on his reticle, so he spun and aimed, searching for them. One was supposedly right in front of him, but not according to his eyes. Another appeared to his right, so Frank turned and fired, but then something moved above and there was a man in a glider, swooping down on him. As the reticle showed Frank where to shoot, he lifted his pistol only to have another pirate appear and nearly slice his arm off.

  Frank spun at the last minute, drawing his sword but dropping the pistol, and ran the pirate through only to be clipped from behind by the one with the glider.

  Both Frank and the pirate went sprawling, but before Frank had recovered he turned to see a large man with bushy red hair grinning as he unstrapped and aimed a flintlock pistol. It felt so amateur now, after seeing what he’d brought to the fight, but it would still kill him.

  Throwing himself sideways, he hit a downward slope and went rolling. Halfway down the shot went off, missing, and Frank was up and running. He kept moving, sprinting in what he hoped was the direction the rest of the rebels had taken but saw no sign of them.

  A glance back with his reticle showed the red dot in pursuit, but far enough back that he had a moment. He needed to get ready, to take this guy down somehow.

  No weapons. Frank glanced around, looking for anything he could use in this fight. A half of a coconut shell lay nearby and he lunged, but the pirate was there, grabbing him by the ankle and pulling him down. Dammit, how had he covered so much ground so fast? The man scrambled up, clawing at Frank and then rising, fucking coconut shell in hand.

  A grunt escaped Frank’s mouth as he threw both hands up, hoping at least one would connect. Both did, catching the pirate off-guard—one to the throat and the other to the chin, which hurt his hand. The hit to the throat, however, caused the pirate to gasp for breath, and then Frank had him. A good thrust of the hips and Frank was maneuvering out of there, tossing the man sideways and lunging with another punch that caught his opponent in the stomach.

  Frank pushed up to finish the job, but the coconut shell came flying and slammed into the side of his face. The pirate followed, tackling him again. But this time when Frank fell, he saw the coconut beside him and managed, in his daze, to grab it and slam it into the man’s face. Nothing crazy, but it drew blood and was enough of a distraction for him to kick the pirate’s legs out from under him.

  A tuft of hair in his hand, Frank pulled the pirate up by his head and then slammed his face into the almost spiky base of the nearby palm tree. It was gruesome, far more blood than he’d expected—perhaps because of his upgraded strength? But it wasn’t over. He slammed the man against the tree again, and again… and again. It didn’t stop until there was only a smear of blood and the last, gurgling sounds of the man dying.

  One last hit and the pirate twitched, then stopped moving altogether. Dead.

  There was no time to catch his breath. Frank needed to find his crew. Still getting over the fact that he’d actually survived the scuffle in the jungle, he staggered toward what he hoped was the direction of the ships while his mind reeled with the question of how his side had fared.

  He wandered, thirsty, confused… soon realizing he was lost. Clouds were overhead now, blocking out the light of the moon. An evening mist was breaking through the trees, his face damp on the right side, little droplets clinging to his eyelashes. He didn’t want to wipe them, though, for fear that his jacket might be covered in enemy blood.

  Why he was in this mess was beyond him. He hated that he’d allowed himself to be lost on an island with bloodthirsty pirates. For what? Because he was horny and his ladies had convinced him he was some great warrior? Stupid hubris had gotten hold of him, and he’d let it bring him here.

  What if they’d left already? Would he be captured by the enemy, or die of starvation out here? These thoughts haunted him as he trudged on until finally he emerged from the tree line and saw a beautiful sight.

  There they were, on the beach, his ladies running back calling his name, apparently having just realized he wasn’t among them. He lifted his hand to wave, opened his mouth to shout to them, and then there was a thud. It took him a second to process that it had been against his head, cold pain reverberating outward from a spot somewhere in the back of his skull, and that he was falling. Before he made contact with the ground, he was out.

  19

  Frank woke to find himself in yet another cell. He had already seen more of pirate prison cells than he’d ever wished to, and this one wasn’t much better.

  The stale air of the cell was enough to push Frank to insanity, but he couldn’t afford to lose it now—not if he wanted to end this. To return to his ladies and, maybe, return home. Not that he even thought that was a possibility at this point.

  He wondered about the scribbling etched into the planks that held this place together. Spanish, he knew that much, but the only words he could make out were “the devil” and “sea,” from his time visiting California as a child where everything was “del mar” and from playing that computer game his dad had told him not to play, Diablo 3. Compared to that first cell he’d found himself in back when he’d first arrived in this pirate hell, though, this cell was at least clean. No sludge lining the walls. No crazy man next door shouting and singing his stupid songs.

  Frank would give anything to be back home with his dad now. Screw those stupid games, forget sneaking out at night to hang out with Greg at the local 7-Eleven… He was never proud of the two or three times he’d done that anyway.

  He sat in the dry dirt, staring at the cracks of what could liberally be called a window up at the top of a wall. Blue sky, the sound of crashing waves. This had likely been an old Spanish fort, he thought. Taken over by the British, or pirates, so the Spaniards were forced into their own old cells.

  The voices of guards told him someone was coming before he heard the crashing of a bottle and, moments later, keys scraping in the metal lock.

  He had no intention of standing, but when The Pirate King himself walked in, Frank’s heart nearly exploded as he scrambled to his feet, eyes searching for a weapon.

  “Stand down, boy,” The Pirate King said. “You think I’d kill you like this?”

  “What, then?” Frank backed into a corner, unconvinced.

  “I simply… wanted to see you for myself.” He looked Frank up and down, his eye
s seeming genuinely curious. “Come, this is no place for you.”

  “Not if you—”

  “You want to stay here?”

  Frank cleared his throat, not sure how to answer that.

  “Of course you don’t,” the Pirate King answered, leaving the door open behind him as he exited. “Don’t dawdle, or the next person to enter this cell may find your rotting skeleton.”

  With as much speed as his cramped legs would allow, Frank followed The Pirate King. The light outside was bright and, for a second, Frank thought he was in a forest. But as the light blotches cleared from his eyes, the forms around him shrank and he saw they were, in fact, two dozen men in gallant vests with long beards, pierced ears, and scars covering their skin.

  Pirates.

  “You thought I’d bring the ‘Ghost’ out in the open without a guard?” The Pirate King laughed. “That’s what they call you, you know. You’ve earned yourself quite the reputation.”

  “So you’re scared of me?”

  The Pirate King scoffed. “Hardly.”

  With a wave of his hand, he was off again, the others following, pressing up behind Frank so that he had no choice but to stay with The Pirate King. They followed a small path through the woods that opened up into a narrow walkway that hugged a cliff leading down to the ocean that he had heard from his cell.

  “Me and you, we could’ve been friends once,” the Pirate King said as they walked. “A different time, perhaps.”

  Frank glanced at him, suspicious. A different time?

  The Pirate King glanced at him, a knowing look, and then kept on. At the top of the path, a white mansion stood tall on the edge of the cliffs. Its second-floor balcony wrapped around the entire building, rows of potted flowers between the tall white columns. It was intriguing but nerve-wracking. What could the Pirate King be taking him to such a place for?

  Servants bowed and moved aside as the group approached the wide double doors, and Frank found his jaw dropping at the immaculate paintings and the sparkling chandelier that hung over the dual staircases.

  “Not the worst place to live,” The Pirate King said as he motioned for Frank to ascend the stairs. “After you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Frank climbed the stairs, wondering if at any moment he’d find a cutlass splitting his head open from behind. A voice inside him argued that they wouldn’t have brought him here for that… But it had to be a trick.

  He was guided to the left hallway and a door at the end, which he walked through to enter a room that looked out over the ocean. He couldn’t believe what he saw there—ships, so many ships.

  “Two dozen, to be exact.” The Pirate King smiled knowingly. “They’ve been gathering throughout the night, at my beckoning.”

  “Why’ve you brought me here?” Frank approached the wrought-iron bars, feeling the cold metal against his hands. “To brag?”

  The Pirate King laughed. “You strike me as a boy—a man I’d rather be friends with than see dead.”

  “Thank you?”

  “Yes, well….” The Pirate King stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder. “There’s something special about you, even if you were pulled into the wrong crowd. I’ve brought you here to offer you a second chance.”

  “You want me to betray my friends.”

  “No, I would never. I want you to turn against the rebels who would stand in the way of a just cause.”

  “Which is?”

  “An empire, don’t you see?” The Pirate King removed his hand to gesture at the boats beneath them. “Every good civilization was brought together at some point—or crushed. You’re a smart lad. You know your friends will be put down, given time. But under my, no, our leadership, the buccaneers can unite. A pirate nation, if you will. These seas, the islands in them, prosperous, happy. Alive.”

  Frank shook his head, trying to ignore the words of this man he knew to be insane. But he had a point. The pirates would be defeated, if history had its way. His friends among the rebels, they would all find the noose or the end of a fellow pirate’s sword, when their time came.

  But this man, he had a way to avoid that. Maybe he’d bring the rule of law to them? The mystique of the pirate life, songs and living on the open waters. Could this way of life be preserved into the twenty-first century?

  Regardless, that wasn’t going to happen.

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” The Pirate King said. “I offer you life, I offer your friends a way of surviving what’s to come.”

  “And how do you know what’s to come?”

  The Pirate King glared at him, hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’ve certainly figured that out by now, eh?”

  Frank shook his head. “Aye, but not all the details.”

  “I’ve surmised that you come from a time ahead of my own, a time when either the Nazis have won, or been pushed back.”

  “You’re from the 1940s?”

  “We were at war when I found my escape with a young, confused couple. They showed up, talking about some other time, a time in the future, and said they could take me there. Said we’d find a way to get me weapons and send me back so that we could stop the Nazis before Hitler ever rose to power.”

  “And… you—you?” Frank had to gather his thoughts, as this was quite intriguing. “You’re saying you were doing it for that reason?”

  “Of course! Only, it didn’t happen that way. We ended up here, and I saw my opportunity.”

  “And the couple?”

  “Didn’t.”

  Frank frowned, wondering again if his Grandpa could’ve been involved in this. “You didn’t kill them though, or at least, not the man, did you?”

  The Pirate King turned, eyeing him suspiciously. “I did not.”

  “So you must know who I am.”

  “I imagine you’re connected to him, in some way. Am I wrong?”

  “He was my grandpa.” Frank stood tall, glaring. “What happened to his wife?”

  “That, my boy, is a sadder story, I’m afraid.” The Pirate King ran his hand along the hilt of his sword, and Frank lunged.

  He didn’t stand a chance though. The Pirate King merely backhanded him, sending him sprawling across the floor. When Frank looked up again, the sword was pointed his way.

  “You’re fucked, man,” Frank said.

  “Maybe…” The Pirate King grinned as he went back to his story, as if he hadn’t been able to tell it to anyone for years. In fact, that was probably the case. “I was an engineer with the U.S. military in World War II, working to support the work of such greats as Einstein or Oppenheimer. You could say I was a coffee fetcher, while those over-glorified math wimps got all the credit for everything.

  “You see, there were three scientists—Einstein, Rosen, and Podolsky—who had been working on technology to exploit a theory they had. They hypothesized the existence of wormholes—tunnels through space and time that could theoretically bridge any two points in the universe, allowing someone to travel from Point A to Point B instantly. If they could perfect a way to generate these wormholes, it would change everything. The US could end the war in twenty-four hours by placing personnel and weapons at key locations, instantly. And then, from there, the universe was their oyster.

  “I immediately saw the potential of the technology. I became obsessed with it and began working on designing and building my version of it in secret. I suspected that the geniuses were deliberately failing at their attempts to build the device, however, because of its military applications. They had no intention of making it work. But I figured it out, to a degree. I built the device and was going to test it when military police raided the barracks where I was living. Someone had ratted me out.

  “I fled, gunfire all around me, and when I spotted a fighter plane spinning up for takeoff, I forced the pilot out and made my escape in the plane.”

  “But… my grandpa…?”

  “That’s where it got complicated. The device didn’t work as planned but connected wi
th something your grandparents had built, so that we were drawn together. Then what you know about the spat, and after they were gone I used my knowledge and the fighter plane to conquer first, a single pirate ship, then to amass my army and make a play for changing the world. There’s so much that I can do if I can just remake the world in my image.”

  Frank stared, realizing that the Pirate King was nothing more than a petty and egomaniacal engineer with delusions of grandeur. Right now wasn’t the best time to point that out, however.

  “And since you’re his grandson and you’re here,” the Pirate King said, glancing over at Frank. “I assume the compass is somewhere nearby. Hand it over, and I let you go free. Don’t, and I’ll take it anyway, making you a permanent guest.”

  Frank considered all of this, then said, “So that you can change history? To make the world a better place?”

  “Up till now,” The Pirate King said with a curious glance at Frank, “I was under the assumption that I could change the outcome of history, thus avoiding the whole Second World War. With my empire established, my pirates would evolve with time. We have an advantage when it comes to technology, as you’ve seen, and perhaps we could form our own nation—a nation of power! We would step in where the other countries were too afraid, stopping the Nazis before they could hurt a soul.”

  Frank turned, so confused. The potential to change history? To stop the suffering of millions of people before it happened?

  He glanced at the Pirate King, remembering Captain Steele and the others who had died in the fight against this son of a bitch. “And how many people would have to die to build this empire of yours?”

  “How many people died to make Italy what it is? China? Great powers in this world were built on the deaths of those that stood in their way!”

  “Which makes you no better than Hitler and his damned Nazis.”

  The Pirate King’s face flushed and his nostrils flared. He drew his sword and pressed the tip to Frank’s chest hard enough to tear his jerkin. “Choose, now. With me, or against me.”