Somewhere on the North Blue Sea

Lookout duty on a ship, any ship, was, for the most part, peaceful and relaxing. High in the crow's nest, any sailor could take some time for himself high above the hustle and bustle of the everyday routine on the deck below. Swabbing the deck, hoisting the sails, moving cargo, tying down the rigging, all of the menial tasks one would normally be subjected to could be ignored in favor of a breathtaking view of the deep blue sea. Probably no other place on the average ship was quieter.

Michael hated lookout duty almost as much as he hated quiet.

None of said tasks were taking place down below. Takashi and the Doc were both holed up in their respective territories: the galley and what would amount to a poorly setup clinic. Doc was probably passed out drunk at this point, and Takashi was either cooking, meditating, or both. It wasn't worth interrupting either just because Michael was bored. The "Pansy" as Michael knew him was in the captain's quarters probably folding his panties or something. The Captain himself was hanging off the side of the ship off some sort of rope and pulley contraption, sitting on the side of the ship like it was a bloody park bench. He was fixing up some of the holes in this poor excuse for a boat. They didn't even have a single cannon or ounce of gunpowder on board, leaving Michael all the more bored out of his skull. If something didn't happen soon he'd probably end up leaving a few more holes in the ship for the captain to fix.

Oh well, even if he didn't have a cannon to practice with, there was nothing but ocean for as far as the eye could see except that one ship on the horizon.

Wait...

Michael grinned widely and rushed down to the deck. Things were about to perk up a bit around here, and he wanted to see personally how the new Captain would react.

My name is Hammie, and I'm writing this... well, I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I'd say it was because I think I might die soon, but really, what good would a journal like this do? It's not like I'll have my own tomb where some historian a hundred years from now will be researching the famous Captain Hammie and search for the journal of my travels. My brother, on the other hand...

I think that's the reason I'm on this journey; family, that is. Nothing against my stepmom, I'll always be grateful to her, but for some reason, that hasn't been enough for me. My birth mother is probably dead, that I can't help. But my father's still alive, and I should at least meet him before one of us dies. Not that I'm expecting any sort of long-lost father-son reunion where we catch up and play baseball, I just want to know who he is. Just meeting him would satisfy my curiosity. However, the Grand Line isn't a place one just waltzes right into. You're either one of the best sailors in the world or you have a military escort.

"Hey Cap'n, looks like the Navy's catchin' up to us. Want I should open fire with our cannons, y'know, all zero of 'em?"

And I was really hoping for the latter until recently too...

The small, wooden platform that allowed Hammie to repair the side of the boat (as well as get some privacy for his thoughts), consisted of a wooden plank suspended by ropes on either side connected to a quickly rigged-up pulley system. Between leaving port nearly a day ago and now, Hammie had put together the contraption, as the hull of the boat needed repairs badly. Luckily there had been an overabundance of spare lumber and other supplies to spare the ship. It used to be a short-range supply boat before Hammie and company had hastily borrowed it in their getaway.

Michael assisted Hammie in pulling up the contraption. Once he was back on deck, Hammie wasted no time in looking for the slowly closing-in ship in the distance. Even from here, however, he could make out two things: the navy's colors, and the fact that the approaching ship was at least four times the size of this dinghy. "We're sunk, aren't we?"

"Seems that way, Cap'n."

Marine Ship

Captain Douglas stood confidently on the edge of his ship, letting the wind blow in his face while he observed the small stolen supply boat his ship was rapidly approaching. His uniform marine jacket was open and blowing in the wind to reveal his shirtless, perfectly toned chest. With his clean chestnut haircut, pretty-boy looks that somehow managed to stay masculine, and the sculpted muscles on his 6 foot frame, he seemed more like a poster boy for the marines than an actual captain. In fact he was, having been the centerpiece for three promotional campaigns for recruiting bright-eyed navy cadets as well as being "Mr. January" on the Official Navy 'Handsome Marine Hunks' calendar.

As Douglas maintained his stance, currently indistinguishable from his camera poses, a much younger preteen approached him and enthusiastically gave his report. "Captain Douglas, sir! We're nearing firing range, shall we load the cannons?"

Without breaking a stride, the captain replied in a deep, commanding voice reminiscent of a superhero. "No, prepare to board. We're going to give them a chance to surrender first."

"But sir! They're pirates! Why don't we just blow them out of the water?"

Douglas turned around to face the eager young boy and smiled. "We're not here to kill anyone, Chapa. Our primary goal is to retrieve the stolen ship for the poor merchant who lost it to begin with and then capture the pirates alive if possible." Seeing the boys look of confusion at restraint, Douglas tried to clarify, "Contrary to what you might hear in the navy, our top priority is not to blow every pirate we see out of the water. We have the safety and security of civilians to worry about first, and we should try to capture pirates alive for a fair trial whenever possible."

Chapa hesitated for a bit, processing the information from his superior in his mind, before suddenly perking up and saluting, "Sir, yes, sir!"

Douglas nodded, "Good, now go report to First Mate Vezzali and make sure she's ready to lead the boarding party."

"No need, sir, I'm already prepared." Now stepping up to the captain and the cabin boy was a thin woman in an elegant white fencing uniform, complete with rapier in one hand and the helmet in the other, for now revealing her long, raven-colored hair and dark-skinned feminine features. "First Mate Valentina Vezzali reporting for duty. The men are prepared for boarding whenever you give the command."

"Good, hopefully they won't be necessary."

"DAMNIT!" Hammie was running around the entire ship, heading into various compartments only to emerge seconds later, tugging at every rope in vain, and exploring every aspect of the ship. "Isn't there any way to make this thing go faster?"

Michael, meanwhile, sat calmly against the mast. "How should I know? I don't steer these things, I shoot 'em (when we actually have stuff to shoot 'em with that is.)" He pulled out two rather large pistols and checked their basic workings, getting them ready for the inevitable clash with the Navy. "Even if this boat was in tip-top shape, not that I don't appreciate the effort mind ye, we ain't outrunnin' a full-throttle Navy pursuit ship. I suggest ye get yer stretches in before the fightin'. Ye can fight, can't ye, Cap'n?"

"Not... how many soldiers are there again?"

Michael lazily picked up the telescope at his side and peeked at the now much closer Navy ship. "Well, judgin' by the people on deck ready to board, I'd say aboot fi'ty gi'er take."

"Not fifty soldiers! You'd have to be some kind of monster to take on that many armed marines!"

"Then I hope ye have a little monster in ye, Cap'n, because fi'ty soljers is nothing compared to what you'll be facing on the Grand Line."

Hammie stopped running around, partially because he knew he needed to keep a cooler head, partially because he was out of breath. "We could talk to them, convince them it was all a misunderstanding? Maybe they'll listen to reason?"

"Ye ain't dealt with marines before, have ye Cap'n?

"The boarding party is ready, Captain Douglas."

Douglas stepped out in front of his men and surveyed their ranks. The navy soldiers all stood at attention with rifles in hand and sword at their side. "Good work. This is the sign of a good ship: the organization and courage of its crew. This is what makes me proud to be your Captain." Douglas shed an almost cliche tear.

Hammie had given up on finding some sort of win button on the boat and had now taken to pacing in front of Michael, considering any remaining options. "Where the hell is everyone? They'll be here any minute!"

"The Doc's passed out drunk on his desk. Ye can try to wake him if it makes ye feel accomplished an'all, but he ain't gettin' up in that state. Takashi's closed himself off in the galley cookin'."

"So get him up here, we're under attack!"

Michael paused in his preparations to slowly stare up and look Hammie straight in the eye. "You tell 'im."

Hammie briefly considered his first meeting with his new 'cook'. After the chill was done running down his spine, he rethought his original plan. "... Maybe we'll just leave him alone for now. I'm sure if things get really serious, he'll come out and help."

"Good thinkin', Cap'n." Michael resumed the maintenance of his pistols, if they could indeed be classified as such.

"Well, what about Jude?"

"Door was locked. If ye ask me, guy who dresses like a girl would only get in the way in a real fight."

"Hey, Jude can handle himself in a fight, even if he does go overboard with the theatrics. Probably why he's not out here yet." Hammie knocked and tugged on the cabin door, but it was locked tight, and no one was answering. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know but you better do it now." Michael lazily pointed behind Hammie. The captain turned around to see that not only had the navy ship caught up with them, it was now side-by-side with their own ship, and about fifty armed soldiers stood ready on deck with who Hammie could only assume to be their captain standing in front.

"... Shit."

Captain Douglas eyed the two supposed 'pirates' on the deck of the boat (which he could swear he saw pieces of flow gently past his ship as driftwood) and wondered which was the captain of this motley crew before arbitrarily deciding that neither could be. The first guy, sitting with bad posture against the mast, had skin so tanned it looked like it was sunburned too many times over and bright, red hair, no, stubble growing out of his head. The front portion of his hair, no, stubble and eyebrows were missing altogether, as if they had been singed off or something. He didn't wear a shirt, but it seemed he made up for it in fabric by wearing overly baggy pants, which Douglas couldn't help but note the poor quality of. This guy needed a tailor.

The second guy on deck looked even less like captain material. Granted, he wasn't a sloppy mess like the first, but he was just so, so plain and unnoticeable. Black t-shirt, jeans, sneakers, leather gloves, a tool belt. It was safe to say Douglas had an eye for good looks from his modeling years, though he usually kept quiet for fear of his men thinking he was subject to the "don't ask, don't tell" policy in the navy. The second guy's face and build weren't bad. Little plain, sure, but he seemed to be pretty muscular, at least when compared to the first guy. Innocent, boyish looks meant he was probably pretty young or at too innocent to lose that naive look in his eye. This only supported Douglas's suspicion that maybe these "pirates" were just victims of circumstance, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, at least for the captain and maybe one or two others on board.

Nevertheless, he was a captain of the marines, and he did have certain duties that had to be fulfilled before deciding the guilt or innocence of men. Douglas shouted out in a commanding voice (for he had no need of a megaphone) "In the name of the marines, I must speak with the 'captain' responsible for pirating this vessel."

To Douglas's surprise, it was the second guy who spoke up, albeit in a voice so soft Douglas could barely make out what he was saying. "I... er, guess that'd be me, sir."

Douglas noted the confused murmuring among the men. These were bloodthirsty pirates, right? Then why did their captain seem so nice and respectful? The general consensus was that the pirate was just intimidated by their glorious captain or that he was scheming something.

Clearing his throat, Douglas, in his most impressive voice, declared, "You have been charged with theft of a seafaring vessel, escape from federal custody, and resisting arrest."

Douglas couldn't quite hear, but the shirtless one muttered something to the effect of "That all? Seems kind o' lighter than usual."

"This is your one and only warning. Surrender peaceably and I'll go easy on you. Resist, and I'll have no choice but to use as much force as necessary and prosecute you to highest degree possible." From the back of the marines, the soft sound of applause reached Douglas's ears. Chapa must have gotten overexcited again.

The pirate 'captain' scratched the back of his head in thought. "Well, to be honest, I'd rather not go to jail, sir. Could you maybe, I dunno, let us off with a warning or something?"

Much more audible than Hammie's voice or the slight applause of Chapa in the back was the unanimous face-fall of the entire marine boarding party.

"I..." Douglas, taken aback, actually had to struggle with his words for once, "I don't think that's a possibility."

"Look, if it's about the boat, we can give it back to you. Once we reach the next island of course. Wherever that is."

Completely missing the obvious flaw in logic here, if for no other reason than sake of time, Douglas continued in what was now a calm conversation. "Well, look, um... what was your name, son?"

"Hammie, sir."

"Captain Hammie." Not even on the bounty list. "You've committed some pretty serious crimes here. If it was just the boat theft we might be able to negotiate, but you broke out of prison with several convicted felons who are now sailing under your command."

"Well, yeah, but I didn't know most of them before me and my brother got thrown in jail, and we didn't do anything illegal, I think, either. Before getting thrown in prison I mean, sir. I'd much rather, you know, NOT be a fugitive of the law. Sir."

Douglas stroked his chin thoughtfully. As I thought. The captain and... his brother I guess, aren't pirates, they're just fall guys for the real pirates. If I can just get them to come peaceably we can solve the confusion, he and his brother can go freely and the real pirates will serve their sentence. "Well, listen Hammie. I think--"

A fireball erupted on the good captain's chest as he fell backwards onto the deck. Hammie turned around at Michael, who was holding the still smoking gun. "Michael!"

"Yer welcome, Cap'n. Thought he'd ne'er shut up." Michael grinned as he cocked the gun. While Hammie stood slack-jawed and eyes widened in a disbelief, a slender marine wearing a fencing uniform called for the attack as the soldiers began the siege, screaming curses at the foul, treacherous pirates.

To Be Continued