[Mkguild] Super Fox story Return to the Island part 1

[cokane8116 at aol.com]

This takes place right after my last story - Hunting the Ice age. My thanks to Leo for reading and editing this for me.

ChrisThe Lurking Fox
  AReturn to the IslandsByChristian Okane     It was a fairly normal day in the city of BangorMaine.    Bangor’s life and culture had always beentied to the sea. Since its earliest years. Even now with far fewer ships at seathe waterfront was always busy. The days of the wharves lined with scores ofcargo ships was long gone. The fleet of fishing boats was still there, Headedout each day to fill their holds. There was countless privately own boatsranging from small dinghies to large multiengine yachts and everything in between.And there were still cargo ships that came and went but the traffic was a mereghost of past times.    And the city was always a favoritedestination of cruise ships. During the summer and fall it was a rare week thatdidn’t have at least two or three smaller ones docked there. While the largerones anchored out in Penobscot bay. Each flooding the city with it’s cargo oftourists.    One regular sight were the ferry boats.There are over a hundred islands scattered all about. They ranged from big tosmall and many were inhabited. The ferries moved everything from people tosupplies to entire vehicles to these islands.    One ferry had a special run. It was not forthe tourists or the locals. It was headed to a private dock. There weren’t manypassengers on board. Mostly it was food including grain, hay and fish butmostly it was meat. Very large quantities of beef, pork and chicken. Her namewas the SS Williwaw, or as it's nicknamed by the crew The Meatlocker.    The ship was old. It had spent decadesrunning cargo and supplies in various ports. It was a bit slow and it rattledand clanked in the wrong places and at the wrong times. Still, the hull wassound and her engines, although a little old were working fine. She was ownedby the Smithsonian Institution. And if she hadn’t been running supplies shewould have long ago been retired to some museum.    The harbor was busy today. Pleasure craft ofall sorts were running about and just plain getting in the way as peopleenjoyed one of the last good weekends before winter took hold.    The ship had to go even slower than usualand wend it’s way through the traffic. Still having a 10,000-ton displacementmeant she had the right of way.    On the bridge CaptainPhilips was watching and guiding. He had made this trip once a week for thelast six months so he was an old hand at this. Twenty-five years in the navyhad given the man the skills needed to handle whatever came his way. And hestill wore his officer’s uniform with pride.    “Bangor traffic control this is SSWilliwaw,” the captain said over the radio. He paused for a moment and waitedfor the Coast Guard controller in a building on the Bangor waterfront toanswer.    “Go ahead,” came the reply. “This is BangorTraffic.”    “Bangor Traffic this is Williwaw. We areleaving the dock and headed to the exclusion zone,” the captain explained. “ETA1 hour till we cross the line.”    “Acknowledged. You are cleared to enter.Please advise upon arrival at dock and when departing.”    “Understood and acknowledged. Williwaw out,”the Captain responded.    “Captain. I’m picking up a ship bearing 345degrees and headed in our directions,” the radar operator said. “She’s doingabout 75 knots.”    “Seventy-five?” the captain asked.Surprised. That type of speed was banned in Penobscot Bay. He walked over tothe window and looked for the approaching boat. Wasn’t too hard to find it.    The boat was moving so fast that it drew hisattention. It was small – barely 120 feet long. Its powerful engines werepushing the boat at over 75 knots. The propellers were throwing up a hugerooster tail of water. Its massive wave spread out behind it like a miniaturetsunami swamping everything it came into contact with. That was bad enough butwhat really drew his attention was the gun turret plainly visible on the bow.    The captain swore loudly in severallanguages. “Sound the alarm. Call the Coast Guard and tell them we are underattack!”    “I can’t contact the Coast Guard or anyone,”the radio operator said with a twinge of nervousness. “I think we’re beingjammed.”    BOOM! The cannon on the approaching boatfired and the shell came screaming in and splashed into the water. Just shortof the ship.    “Fire a distress flare,” the captainordered.    A sailor went to the wall were a flare gunrested on hooks. Taking it down he quickly loaded a cartridge. Stepping throughthe door he aimed the pistol up and pulled the trigger.    Whump! The cartridge shot out the tube and abright, orange light hissed as it arced up into the air. It reached the apexand hovered there a moment. Then it started to descend. It’s path slowed by theparachute it was attached to.    “Where’s the Police boat?” the Captainasked.    “I think I’ve found it,” first officer saidin angry tones as he pointed off to the north.    The captain looked to where the officer waspointing and spotted a pillar of smoke rising from something stopped andburning in the water.    A man stepped onto the bridge. The AfricanAmerican was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. Over that was a leather bikers’jacket. On the back was written “The Road Lords’. He was the only Road Lordleft but he continued to wear his favorite jacket. To honor all his lostfriends.    His official name, the one Robert chose wasThe Biker but the public started calling him Biker Bob. And despite his best effortsotherwise it’s the name that has stuck.    “What’s going on?”    The captain pointed to the attacking boat.“Pirates.”    “I knew things were going too quietly,” thesuperhero muttered. “Let me give them a little Keep Off message.”    He raised both arms and pointed at theonrushing gunboat. A bolt of electricity leapt from his fingers and streakedtowards the attacking boat.    The gunboat instantly slowed to a stop andthick oily smoke started billowing up from the bow.    “There we go!” He smiled broadly.    A half dozen figures lifted off the nowburning gunboat and started hurtling towards the ferry.    The smile left the Supers face and he cursedseveral times. “Damn Sea Wolves.”    He reached into a pocket and pulled out acell phone. Bob dialed a number and waited a moment. “Yeah,” he said to whoeverwas on the other end. “The Wolves are here. Come quick.”    A long object rocketed out from one of theapproaching people. It slammed into the side of the ferry.    “BOOM!” the ship shook from stem to stern.    “REALLY quick!” The Super added.    “Who are the Wolves?” The first officerasked.    “The Sea Wolves,” Bob explained as he putthe cellphone away. “A gang of Super Villains. Pirates.”    Bob turned to the captain. “This is going toget really ugly. Get your people into the lifeboats and away to safety.”    “Understood,” The captain nodded. “I’ll bethe last to go.”    “Time to earn my pay,” Bob said. “I’ll delaythem as long as possible.”  ***************
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