Tagline: Bomber - 'I got there just in time'

Spoilers for Season 4 Episode 14: 'Live Catch'

This chapter was rewritten a few days after I originally posted it, because the first version was rushed and off the top of my head. Since there seemed to be fair interest in it from readers, I decided to have a go at improving it to something more like my usual standard. Hope you all like it.

Bomber pounded angrily against the door with her fists. Her cheek still stung from the blow that bastard fisherman had dealt her, but right now she had much bigger problems on her mind. They had the XO, and could be doing god knows what to her at that very moment. Bomber squeezed her eyes shut, unable to block out the image of his face as he ordered that the X be taken away – and promised Bomber that she'd be next. The navy cook felt sick at the thought of what would happen if she didn't do something, but she and Two-Dads were locked in that stupid little store room and she had no idea how to get out. Again she pounded on the door . . . and paused at the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor outside. Two-Dads heard it too, and they immediately pressed themselves back against the wall either side of the door. The door opened, and the navy sailors pounced. The fishermen yelled in surprise and anger as Bomber and Two-Dads slammed into them. The two teams struggled for a few moments, the fight barely more than a scuffle in the confined space, but for one glorious moment the navy pair had the upper hand. Bomber managed to squeeze past the other three as they grappled, and got to the door, and even as he lost the advantage Two-Dads called out to her.

"Go, Bomber, go!"

She didn't want to leave him, but it could well be their only chance. She slipped out past the door and made it halfway down the corridor before something yanked her back. One of the fishermen had made it out too, and had managed to grab her shirttails as he caught up with her. Bomber screamed furiously as his hand twisted painfully in her hair and forced her head back. She fell to her knees, clawing unsuccessfully at the man, and was dragged kicking and swearing back to the store room. After she'd left, Two-Dads had lost the fight, and was now lying in a heap on the floor with a crescent shaped cut around his eye and blood dripping from his nose. He groaned in pain as Bomber was tossed unceremoniously into the room to land half on top of him. She quickly rolled off, but the door slammed shut behind her before she could even get to her feet. The dismaying sound of the wooden bolt being rammed into place echoed down the corridor outside.

Bomber slammed herself against it and let rip an infuriated scream – there was no way they'd be able to save the X now. Anything could happen to her. Bomber gave the door one final frustrated kick, yelling obscenities at every man on the boat, while Two-Dads let out another pitiful moan behind her. She turned to attend to his injuries and winced sympathetically at the sight of him.

"My god, are you okay?"

"Yeah, you should see the other guys," he joked in typical Two-Dads fashion, "I had to keep 'em busy."

"Okay, alright . . . alright, let me have a look." She brushed his hands out of the way and gently felt his ribs for breaks. Finding something, she put gentle pressure on the spot with her thumb.

Two-Dads cried out and tried to roll away. "I thought you said look!"

"Sorry! Alright, I think you might have a broken rib. I'm sorry."

Bomber sat back on her heels, biting her lip in worry. The X was sick and helpless, and Two-Dads was in pain and immobilised. And there was nothing Bomber could do to help either of them.

Meanwhile, in a small and dirty cabin in a quiet part of the ship, the man who had tried to assault Bomber on the other boat now had the X on a ratty bunk. Kate could hardly move, and her eyelids were so heavy she could barely open them. The man was perched next to her on the bunk, grinning down at her lecherously. There was a sadistic gleam in his eye as he unbuttoned her shirt, as though he was unwrapping a much anticipated gift and enjoying it immensely. He took in the sight of her with disgusting delight, torturously pawing at her breasts through her grey tee before letting his hands slid down to the fastening on her pants. Feeling him begin to unbutton them, Kate tried to push him away, but was too weak to do more than bat pathetically at his bald head. He reacted violently, seizing her wrists and pinning them down roughly either side of her head. He squeezed ferociously, enjoying holding her down. Making her helpless. Controlling her. He leaned low over her, pressing his face to her cheek so that her head lolled to the side.

"You struggle, and I hurt you, okay?" he purred. Kate's breathing picked up, fear seeping through the fog of sickness that clouded her mind. He lingered at her ear for a moment, breathing in the scent of her hair appreciatively before sitting back up and continuing to unbutton her pants.

Kate's head was spinning and she felt fiercely nauseous. She could scarcely feel the tatty mattress beneath her, feeling more like she was in a sickening freefall, her only anchor the groping hands of the man above her. But, sick as she was, Kate was completely aware of what was about to happen – what was happening that very moment. Her limbs were leaden, her head rolling from side to side with each rough jerk he dealt her as he stripped away her uniform. She whimpered in distress as he yanked her pants down to her knees, some distant, foggy part of her brain hating the weakness of the sound. His thick, meaty fingers delved between her legs to fondle her through her panties, letting out a deep groan of pleasure as he did so. After a moment he was forced to release her to attack her boots, which would have to come off before her pants could.

The world tipped nauseatingly, and it was almost beyond Kate to stop herself from throwing up as she grew dizzier and dizzier. But Kate was not weak. Though physically drained and critically ill, the deepest, most primal part of her being was a fighter. She had to do something. She had to at least try to stop him. She could not let herself be intimidated into giving up, no matter sleepy she felt or how difficult she was finding it to think coherently.

He'd finished with her boots and made quick work of her pants, stripping them inside out as he pulled them over her feet. As he reached for her panties with a wicked grin, she tried once again to swing a fist at him. But he caught her arm effortlessly, the tired limb having flopped ineffectually against his shoulder. She received a sharp backhand across the face for her effort, the blow making her see stars. Before she had time to recover his beefy hand had wrapped around her throat and was choking her. She gasped for air and gagged, her feeble attempts to loosen his grip only making him laugh. After several excruciatingly long seconds he let go, and she reflexively tried to roll away, sucking in a whooping gasp. He grabbed her hip, digging his fingers in brutally and forcing her back. She slumped back down, with all the fight wrung out of her. He tore at her panties, breathing heavily through his nose as his excitement built with the anticipation. Kate, overcome by hopelessness and defeat, could only squeeze her eyes shut and choke out faint sobs. Tears tricked from the corners of her eyes into the soft hair at her temples. He succeeded in ridding her of her panties and forced her legs apart, and Kate cried out feebly as he wormed a finger up into her. His free hand slithered up her thigh and under her t-shirt, suddenly gripping her breast hard enough to bruise. He filled his hand with her, squeezing callously then viciously pinching her nipple when she failed to respond. He smiled with satisfaction when she whimpered. He finally let go in favour of fumbling with the zipper on his pants, his other hand still busy between her legs. The bunk creaked as he climbed up. Shadow was thrown over her closed eyes as he loomed over her. But the sounds of the ship were growing more and more distant and muffled, like there was water in her ears. All that was left was his heavy panting. And just as he settled himself between her thighs she thankfully – mercifully – passed out.

Bomber and Two-Dads had waited in miserable silence for well over an hour for their X to be returned to them, but so far they hadn't heard nor seen anything from the men who'd taken her. In fact the only sound that pierced the thick silence was Two-Dads pained, uneven breathing. His broken rib was still so painful that he couldn't move, couldn't even sit up properly. Bomber sat against a set of selves, staring into space. Brooding.

At some point, after an indeterminate amount of time, shouting reached them. They both tipped their ears towards the ceiling with half-hearted interest. An argument was building up on deck, and judging from the increasing number of voices it was gaining momentum, and fast. Without warning the air was filled with the sound of gunshots, first only a couple, but instantly erupting into an alarming cacophony of pops and bangs. Bomber sat up straight and shared a wide-eyed look with her crewmate. They were both paying full attention now, there was no doubt about that.

"A boarding?" Bomber asked hopefully, "The Hammersley?"

Two-Dads shook his head, and winced. "Nah, it can't be," he muttered, "It sounds all wrong. And anyway, the Hammersley has no way of knowing where we are."

"A mutiny then?" she wondered, "Or a raid? Illegal fishermen stealing other illegal fishermen's haul?"

"Maybe . . ."

They fell back into silence, listening intently. Two-Dads looked grim.

"We need to have another go at getting that door open," he said, shifting in an attempt to sit up straighter, "This may be our only chance to get a message to Hammersley, while everyone here is distracted."

They cast about the room for inspiration, and something caught Bomber's eye.

"Two-Dads," she said, pointing, "That do the trick?"

It was an old wooden crate, with a weathered crack running through one of the top most planks.

"It might," he answered, and together they strained to snap off the loose sliver of wood. It came away, and Bomber studied their find. It was old and brittle, and barely thicker than her thumb, but it would be long enough to reach through the gap in the door. It might just work.

"Be careful," Two-Dads panted, holding his ribs gingerly, "so it doesn't break."

The navy cook stepped close to the door and slotted the wood through the crack between it and the frame. She peered through the gap and carefully brought the stick up under the plank of wood that bolted the door, and after a couple of good strong flicks it fell away, freeing them.

"G . . . good . . ." Two-Dads puffed, still trying to sit.

Bomber eased the door open a crack to check that the coast was clear. They argued in hushed voices about her going out alone, but she insisted. They both knew that he was in too much pain, and would only slow her down. She stood a better chance of staying undetected if she was alone.

"Be careful," he warned.

"Always," she replied, leaving the door open just a crack.

Outside in the corridor, she hesitated. Her every nerve screamed at her to go and find the XO, but she didn't have the first clue where to look, and after all the time that had passed she knew she was too late to stop the men doing . . . whatever they'd had planned. She shuddered, and pushed the thoughts away. No, her best bet was to try and find the wheelhouse while the fight was still raging, and radio for help under the cover of all the confusion. Then, and only then, she could start looking for the X.

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