HMS Swiftwood + HMS Chamberpot

These are the pride and joy of the Privateer and Red Man, Ernest Starvos. He's the captain of the HMS Swiftwood, the original ship of the Swiftwood class, found in used ship yard. This is his and her crew's story:

Starvos looked with disdain at the wrecks that littered this end of the shipyard. Most of the kites were severely damaged, some were only portions of a larger vessel. Almost everyone of the ships had had their lift vanes salvaged, so they rested on their sides or what was left of a side.

Reiher clucked his tongue as he looked at the wrecks piled before him. "From this we are to make a ship?" he asked.

"More likely we're gonna make a bonfire," said Potter, "we'd git better use of the wood."

Starvos looked about and saw something in the far corner of the yard. He motioned and the three picked there way through the wrecks and came upon a Swiftwood class kite, its hull mostly intact, except for the upper deck that was burned and the missing port wing gun position. But the masts looked sound and there weren't too many holes in the sides of the ship from cannon and rod gun fire.

Potter walked around the to the prow and stared at the Martian glyphs that were half covered in soot. Starvos looked at the starboard wing and said "This one looks like a Swiftwood, but... the root for this wing is much thicker that on others I've encountered."

"Well," said Reiher, running his hand along the keel, "this is an old ship. The wood is very dry, very dry. If we take her, we need to do something about fireproofing it."

"Hey Ernst," said Potter, still trying to decipher the name on the prow, "can you c'mere and take a gander at this name. Does it say, what I think it says?"

Starvos walked up and looked at the glyphs as well. After a moment of study, he said, "Mein Gott! It cannot be!"

Reiher walked up and looked at the squiggles that made up Martian writing. "What? What's so important about the name?"

Starvos looked at Reiher and said, "You said that this ship was old. How old?"

"Well, once Martian wood dries out," replied Reiher, "it is hard to date. This ship could be fifty, a hundred, even two hundred years old."

Starvos looked at Potter and they both looked back at the ship. "Ve haf to buy this ship, ja?" said Starvos.

"Yup," said Potter.

Confused, Reiher asked, "Why? What is so special about this wreck?"

Pointing at the ship, Starvos said, "This is a Swiftwood class kite, or more important, this is the class kite, the Swiftwood."

Reiher shrugged, "So? It is the prototype, ja that is nice. Full of problems and jury-rigged fixes I bet. Vell, if you vant it, let's make an offer on it."

The two men watched with disbelief the younger man go back to his inspection. "He has no soul, I tell you." said Starvos, mentally working out the cost to repair the vessel.

"Ben?" said Starvos, "How much to repair this ship?"

Reiher did sums in his head and said, "Hmph, about ten thousand pounds. I wonder what the shipyard wants for it?..."


The somewhat obese Martian yard master sat back and said, "Cho, you wanna that kite eh? Lemme fink for a moment..." he pulled out some parchments and did some sums. "Here we go. I canna let it go for nine touwsand and sixty three pounds."

"Vat!" blurted out Starvos. "That much it to repair vill cost!"

Potter stepped in between the two, "Pardon me Ernst, let me do some dickering here..." Smiling at the Yardmaster, Potter said, "Howdy pardner, me and my friends here, cain't go much further north than four thousand and thirty pounds."

Martian replied "An wat me chillens posed to eet sand and you goooot will. I think no. Yoo paya I eat touwsand, no less."

"Shoot pardner," said Potter, "I know that you have sum margins to make, but that old wreck will erode away before you see the backside of eight thousand pounds. I cain't go no further than five thousand pounds. I mean at that we'll be eating sand ourselves."

"Feeve?!? Feeve tauwsand? Da sandy fees hab eeten you skull meeet teenk eye. Meen oly mater coult put dis fina olly sheep rite in towd day. You paya I feeve tauwsand feeve hunnert or you walky home teenk eye."

Potter shot a look at Starvos, who desperately wanted to shout with joy. Reiher was nonplussed, more interested in the Martian version of blueprints hanging on the walls of the office.

"five thousand five hundred?" said Potter, hedging his bets. "Well let me palaver a bit with my partners."

"Chu go onna head," said the yard master, knowing that he had his canal fish snagged, "eye be here."

Potter nodded and herded the others into a corner and said, "Well?"

"Ist gute," said Starvos. "Ve cannot a better deal make."

"It is a piece of junk at half the price, but..." said Reiher.

Potter turned back the yard master and said, "Kai Yuni, you have yerself a deal. We'll even hire yer yard to repair the ship to a sailing state. You want a bank draft or do we go to the bank and transfer funds there?"

Kai Yuni smiled and said, "Bank draft is bloody top drawer Squire..."

A week later, Starvos was watching as the yard crew removed the pulleys and belts for a Power Grapnel from a wrecked screw galley, when Potter sidled up to him. "Ernst, I need a hundred pounds," he said.

Starvos looked at Potter and said, "For vat Jackson? So you can go whoring?"

"Naw," said Potter. "I'd only need five pounds for that." He shot a grin at Starvos, then continued, "No, I need a hundred so I do sum recruit'n. We gonna need crew in about a month, so we can make the trip to Syrtis Major. That means we're gonna need some good top men, and thar ain't no better top men than Marsies. I think I've found them, but to make them wait on the Swiftwood, I gotta keep them happy."

"For that, you need a hundred pounds?" asked a bewildered Starvos. "You could keep three whole crews happy for a month on a hundred pounds!"

Potter kicked a bit of wood then said, "I also found some boys that will make good marines for us. Americans just like me... well, almost. Ya see, they fought on the losing side of our last unpleasantness, and came here than rather live under the Union. Trouble is that they found the Brits to be about as bad. I need about sixty pounds to get them out of the local lockup and pay some fines. I'll be taking 'em under mah wing so to speak."

"You mean that they vill be under your recognizance?" asked Stavos.

"Yep," he said, wondering what he had gotten himself into...

He soon found out.

Potter looked over a score of men, ranging in ages from forty one to forty five, lined up on either side of a four sets of planks stretched across a pair of seesaws. Bales of Martian stith grass lined either side of the planks. There were fourteen men on one side, and six on the other.

Each man was armed with a stout wooden staff with padded ends. "OK you men on the right, all you have to do is cross that plank to the other side. You fellas on the left, you have to keep them from doing that. The team that does what they is supposed, gets an extra beer ration tonight. Alright, Go!"

After about five minutes one man was left standing, after having knocked over two men with his staff, only one of the men he had hit was on his side of the planks. Potter shook his head at the groaning men. Over the groans, the deep chested laughter of a Martian could be heard.

Potter looked over and saw a tall, lanky Martian with his plume of hair blowing in the wind, leaning against a post to the training area Potter had set up. "Ho, dat was pitiful! You'd be hanging from de broom of a deck swab!"

That got some grumbling from the rebels, but Potter had a glimmer. "Yeah, do you think you can do better?"

The Martian stood up and looked at the ragtag collection of Civil War veterans and said, "By myself? Ho! Wid eads! Gimme a stick, I show you how it is done. I shall defend all four, try to pass me!"

The rebels, eager to show up the native, gathered on one side, their padded staves ready.

"OK, Go!" yelled out Potter.

He watched as the Martian leapt from plank to plank, knocking men over, parrying blows, and delivering withering attacks on the men like a whirling dervish.

In under three minutes, he had cleared the planks, and sauntered over to the other side. "Der! Dat's ow you do it!" said the native, breathing hard. He then set aside his staff and helped some of the men up. More than one looked at him with respect in their eyes.

Potter smiled, then said "That was amazing! Say, can you help me teach these men those moves or at least sumthin close to them?"

Looking at the tops of the humans' heads, the Martian said "Maybe. You humans are too short. But maybe, I can help."

Potter looked at the men, most of whom looked back at him nodding. "Wouldja be a will'n to lead these here men into battle?" said Potter, noting only one or two of the men shot him a look.

The Martian laughed, then said, "A Marsie lead humans? Ho! Otay! I do it. If you men want me to..."

Almost all the men nodded and said that they would.

Grasping the Martians arm in the traditional greeting, Potter said, "Well then welcome aboard... I'm Jackson Potter, late of the Union forces of the United States of America, what's yore name?"

Grinning, the Martian said, "Jak Alai, late of de pirate vessel Bloody Claw..."

Later that week, Yuni asked to see Potter and Starvos. Yuni smiled, something that neither men trusted. If Kai Yuni wanted to put the screws to the humans, he would first smile...

Yuni lead them into the warehouse that fronted the shipyard on one side and the canal on the other. Yuni's shipyard built both kinds of boats, as the men found out, watching a 200' canal boat slide into the blue waters of the Martian Grand Canal. While Yuni might have had the morals of a shark, he was the best that money could buy.

The warehouse was built on a foundation that probably was older than the pyramids on Earth, the pink Martian limestone blocks were impossibly fitted together without mortar or cement, with joints so tight that a razor blade could not fit between them. This fine workmanship was topped with an ugly brick and timber construction, not much more than a few decades old.

"Aiee! Eye hab real gut dal fo cho!" said the corpulent Martian. "Dey come in wid odder chipments yasserday."

Both men remembered the ship that sailed in and landed the day before. It flew the colors of the Aerian satraps, but both men knew Hill Martians when they saw them. It was probably a pirate offloading booty to the biggest black-marketeer in Parhoon, Kai Yuni.

Yuni lead them to four long wooden crates. The wood was Earth Pine, something both men recognized instantly. Branding marks had been burned off, but Potter could make out the words "U.S. Army" on one brand. Two of the crates were already pried open, so they lifted the lids and stared at the sight of the shiny brass plated barrels of two American Gatling guns. In one case there was a .5" calibre Gatling, and the other held a 1" Gatling.

Both weapons were brass plated with chrome piping. They were fully functional, but gaudy. Then Potter found an inscription on a brass plate that read "General G.A. Custer, American Expeditionary Forces, Mars."

"I don't like Gatlings," said Potter. "Durn thangs jam if you get over eager like. But thar ain't any nordies, so how much Yuni?"

Yuni rattled off a price that made both men wince. "May I point out that these here weapons belong to one General George Armstrong Custer, Hero of the Union, and victor of several battles with Indians? In fact his last battle was won because he had Gatlings. We won't pay more than eighty pounds for the .5 calibres, and hundred and twenty for the one inchers."

Yuni winced, "Holee Seldons mutter, you try cheet poor Yuni. Fine weepons thems. Bud, . . . Yuni likee yous all long much. You pay eye fort hunnert an tweenti for all and take Yuni's sister's husband's sister's son on as cabin boy we call deel."

The two men eyed each other, then nodded. "It's a deal," said Potter. "And tell yore sister's husband's sister that we'll take good care of the young'un..."

The "young'un" was 7' 3" and bore a nasty scar across his face and looked like he had seen the inside of the local gaol more than once. His name was Dea Haruti, and was barely nine Martian years old. [18 Earth years]

"So, wa eye do fo youa?" said Dea.

_Slit some throats in the dead of night,_ thought Starvos, then out loud he said, "You'll be helping us in the kitchen, and doing general work. You are a stout lad, so don't expect soft work."

"Hai! Iz canna be harder dan wat my padder made me do! How much cho pay me?" Dea asked.

"Ve sail for booty and ve will split the take among the crew," said Starvos. "You'll get a full crew share if you do a full share of the work assigned to you. Got that?"

"Eyes got," said Dea with a sneer.

Starvos put his face into Dea's and said, "Unt that attitude ends now! If you do not vant to be tossed into the canal you vill drop that attitude of yours unt follow orders. If you cannot do that I vill toss you myself off the ship. You got that?"

"Yas sar!" said Dea with a look of respect in his eyes.

"Gute," said Stavos, who then reached into his pocket and peeled off five one pound notes. "Ve sail tomorrow at dawn. Enjoy yourself tonight. But ve will not vait for stragglers. Be here or face Kai Yuni's wrath."

Dea's first thought as he walked out of his Uncle Yuni's shipyard was to take the money and damn the Redmen to whatever hell would have them. His second thought was of his mother and sisters and his dead father. He went home and gave three of the bills to his mother. He packed the few belongings he would be taking with him and left. He spent most of the rest of the money in the market buying a a long knife and a used but well made sailors jacket. With the change he bought his friends a few drinks. He was at the shipyard before dawn the next morning.

Dea found that he was not the first to arrive. Supplies were being loaded for the trip to Syrtis Major, the final touches were being put to the vessel as the yard painters finish the decorative trim on the ram and sideboards. The Marines stood in a loose group, a tall Hill Martian their leader.

Redmen were everywhere, including the Resident, Peter Staples. He was affably chatting with Captain Starvos, First Officer Potter standing by, both dressed in their normal uniforms. The Resident was dressed as for an outing along the canal.

German and Parhooni swear words echoed from inside the Swiftwood as it rested in its cradle. The chief engineer, Reiher, poked his head out of the flying bridge on the drag deck and yelled for more ballast stone.

"Quite the vocabulary your comrade has," said the Resident. "I think I heard him mixing German and Parhooni curses in unique forms. I must take notes." He chuckled.

The other two simply smiled and Starvos shot a look at the bridge of the Swiftwood. "Vell, Herr Staples, he is only a German," said the Austrian. "They are far more volatile than ve Austrian... Was mit den kleinen Fischen des Gottes Sie Idioten tun!"

Two of the deck crew were playing with the bright shiny port wing Gatling. The two Martians jumped away from it like startled meekers. Dea laughed, and caught a look from Starvos, whose face softened when he saw Dea Haruti. "Herr Staples, I'd like to introduce you to Kai Yuni's nephew, Dea Haruti. He's apprenticing on the Swiftwood. We haven't quite figured what role he'd best fit, so he will be taught as much as he can possibly bear."

The Resident looked at Dea with an appraising stare, that made Dea feel more like a side of Gru, than a person. "If you deem it wise, Herr Starvos. I never found it wise better the locals, they always turn on you."

It took all of Dea's willpower not to pull his new knife and "better" the Resident.

"That's what the Confederates said about the Negroes," said Potter, spitting some chaw. "But didn't the good lord make man, all men, equal? And if he made man, didn't he make the Martians too? Equal to man?" He scanned the portion of the canal that was visible and shook his head, "Look at that thar canal, thar ain't nuth'n like it on the Earth. And them canals are thousands of miles long! That thar alone should make them our equals. Not our inferiors." He ended giving the Resident soulful look, one that the Resident couldn't return.

"Vell!" said Starvos breaking the uneasy silence. "It is time for the Swiftwood to lift, no?"

"Yes, indeed," glad to be free from the American mongrel's radical ideas. "Are you going to re-christen her?"

"Ah, the Martians do not 'christen' ships," said Starvos, looking at the priests walking up to the ship, "they do something more deeper..."

Acolytes waved incense burners, and priests intoned prayers in ancient Syrtan. Parhoonian nose flutes warbled along with sharta drums as the eldest priest called upon all forces fair and foul to protect the Swiftwood from all damage and danger. A small animal was sacrificed, its blood painted onto the hull of the ship in ancient arcane sigils. Then the priest finished with another chant that all Martians chimed in on, as well as Starvos and Potter.

When the show was over, Starvos approached the priest and grasped his arm in the traditional way and passed him 10 quid, for which the priest laid a small blessing on him.

"Alright, only the bridge crew unt the engineering staff vill be aboard as ve do first lift," said Starvos, who then looked at Dea and said, "that includes you Herr Haruti."

The rest of the crew left the ship debarked, but the bridge crew clambered aboard. Starvos had found two expatriate Brits, one a cashiered Helmsman, the other a merchantman Trimsman, and hired them on the spot. Filling out the Signalman role was a Martian, who served the same duty on Martian ships.

"Mister Flashman, are you ready to set trim?" Stavos asked.

"Aye cap'n" said Donovan Flashman, "ready to set trim!"

"Mister Kirk, is helm ready?"

"Aye captain," said William Kirk, "helm is ready."

Starvos walked over to the voice tube and said, "Engineering, is the ballast in place?"

"Ja Herr Captain," came Reiher's voice out of the tube, "der ballast ist in place and ready for first lift."

"Mister Potter, have the mooring lines cast off."

"Aye Captain!" said Potter with a smile, and then he walked out on the flying deck of the drag deck and yelled, "Cast off the mooring lines!" He repeated the command in Parhooni. Yard workers and Swiftwood deck hands quickly undid the mooring lines.

"Mister Flashman, take us to neutral bubble."

"Aye cap'n," said Flashman, "going to neutral bubble."

Flashman worked the levers, knobs and the two large wheels and adjusted the liftwood vanes till they just canceled enough of the ship's mass so the that the Swiftwood floated in place. Support struts fell over when the pressure on them was relieved.

However, he couldn't do anything to center the bubble, a spirit level mounted so that when the bubble was centered in the bullseye, the ship was level.

Noting the consternation of his Trimsman, Starvos said "Mister Flashman, minimum lift and trim her."

Relieved, Flashman grasped the main trim wheels and gave them an imperceptible turn. The ship rose up five feet in the air, free of the resting cradles that had supported it all this time. Flashman was busily working the trim controls until he was able to stand back and said, "We're on the bubble sir! We are at trim!"

"Thank you Mister Flashman. Mister Potter! Have the crew take the mooring lines and tow us to the windward launching station."

"Aye Captain! All hands to the mooring lines!" said Potter, grabbing a mooring line and slid down it to lead the crew.

Marines, deck hands, and topmen grabbed the mooring lines, while the yard workers moved the cradles out of the way. With a collective grunt, they began towing the ship to the launching station. When the Swiftwood was in place, the call came out for the crew to board the vessel and boarding nets were tossed over the sides by Reiher and Dea. The crew clambered aboard and went to their duty stations. Reiher and Dea climbed down to the bridge and Reiher saluted. "All ist ready Herr Kaptain!"

Starvos nodded, then said "Gute. Mister Kirk, set course to Syrtis Major and follow the canal. Mister Potter, get me some sheet to fly by. Mister Flashman, take us up to cruising altitude. Let us go to Syrtis Major!"