Psychos of the Caribbean 3

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Ah yes, the cargo job. I’d never done one before. Especially in the age of globalization, cargo ships are necessary but vulnerable pieces of the economy. They’re giant targets that can’t reverse or change direction very quickly. They’re mostly automated, so they don’t need a lot of crewmen, either. Let me rephrase that. There are hardly any people on them who can fight back. Also, it keeps the cost down if they don’t carry any armament.

That’s why y’all have heard of small boats of a few pirates being able to capture these things. That, and a bunch of pollution and illegal fishing in sovereign waters off Somalia, but you can’t much expect foreigners to take fishing rights seriously for a place with no government. It’s a wonder this fellow we’re attacking didn’t set up there instead. I really should have asked the President for a name for him, but it only really matters so I have something short to call him in reference.

So that’s the quick rundown on cargo ships and international politics. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle. Yooooooo, Psycho!

That’s right, I’m all for education. Always be wary of someone who wants to keep you ignorant. They have ulterior motives. They might say it’s to protect you, that the knowledge would hurt you. It usually would hurt them instead. Funny how that works.

Like Captain Flamebeard. The man with the fiery facial hair had a problem with me discovering what it was like to stand on the front of his ship and declare myself the emperor of the world. The third time I tried it, he had someone throw a harpoon at me.

I turned around. “Who threw that?” The crew, decked out in their pirate costumes, didn’t answer. They glanced at me and went back to their various duties. I doubt they really had to work that hard. I don’t think they even need the wind on their side with Flamebeard empowering the sails like he does. Then again, I left all the technical sailing stuff to them. “Carl, did you see who threw that?”

I glanced at my henchman. The inner-city thug hunched over the rail, spitting up. At this point, he had to be down to the stomach acid. He just shook his head, then heaved again. I hopped down and walked over to him. “Is anything staying down at all?”

He didn’t answer, just spat up something clear. Right, saliva. Forgot about the saliva. If you’re going to puke a lot, try to remember the saliva. Vomiting, much like fucking, will get saliva everywhere. You won’t believe how much the human body produces. And anyone who does know is probably suffering from one very sore throat.

“I wanted you here to watch my back. I lost the eyes in the back of my head, but I didn’t think you’d be useless like this.”

Carl mumbled something, then tried again, louder. “How’d you not throw up?”

“Some people are more susceptible to seasickness than others. If it helps, it does effect me.” I pointed to my forehead. “Feels like my brain isn’t completely connected to itself. I can’t do math. How about you, Moai?”

I turned to the magically animate statue. He just stared at me. To Carl, I said, “See? Even Moai’s lost his marbles.”

Moai and I both glanced down to Moai’s marble bag, which hung empty around his neck. They went overboard a few minutes out. Luckily, this wasn’t a trip that would last more than a day. The President tracked the ship as it approached so we could set out on a quick intercept. In a ship with flaming sails, we’d be better off relying on speed over stealth.

“If it’s any consolation, the ninjas aren’t doing any better.” I pointed over to where some of the Chinese ninjas hung over the railing on the other side, tossing their egg rolls into the water.

As little as I think they actually need to do on this thing, at least Flamebeard’s crew was ready to fight.

When we got close, Flamebeard himself approached me as I used the little landlubber’s room down below deck. “We’re almost there! Ye’ll be wanting to get ready. Do yer want me to bring ya yer brown pants?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m almost done swabbing my poop deck. And I’ve got a very different set of pants to wear.”

With my lack of an internal power supply, I can’t really wear my power armor. Maybe if I did a bunch of crack, speed, and Red Bull, but I don’t want to go down that road. Energy drinks are dangerous. That didn’t mean I was completely out of things to wear, though. If y’all recall, there’s at least one costume I’ve held in reserve. If Flamebeard asks, I stole it from the rightful wearer.

Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time Patriot missiles were deployed in other countries. So deploying the Missile Patriot isn’t out of the question. I stepped out onto the deck in my red, white, and blue soldier’s uniform, and strapped the helmet on. I passed the CO, XO, and finally stopped at the DJ.

“The Cap’n banned me from playing the Pirates of the Caribbean theme no matter how many times you ask,” he said, running his fingers through a Fu Manchu beard.

I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m here for. DJ, I’m requesting a song for a fight. A beat-down, you might say.”

He thought about it for a moment, then reached over and tapped at his MP3 player. I raised my hands to the air and had time for a quick “What the fuck?” before I heard the first lines of the song blasting over the ship and our radio signal.

“If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eye Joe, I’d been married long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?”

It’s dangerous to make a guy bust out laughing at the same time he’s launched into the air by a pair of forearm-mounted rockets. Something tells me the Cap’n requested something to take the piss out of me. Ha!

High in the air, I could see see the ship. Small people ran around, gathering numbers and weapons. I looked down upon them and scoffed! They looked like aunts, in that they were about to scream “Uncle” after I got done fucking them up. I swooped in for the kill, braking suddenly using one of the would-be defenders. He absorbed just enough of my kinetic energy to go flying off the container and over the side of the ship.

He made a poor wall, but a decent soccer ball. The hit bled enough speed from me that I could reverse the rockets and drop myself on the container. He’d left his rifle behind, something I discovered along with the existence of a second gunman. He caught me with a shot to my side, but the armor prevented penetration. Still hurt like a bitch. I grabbed the loose gun and swung the butt into the second dude’s face, knocking the spit out of his mouth. I slipped around behind him, grabbed the stock, and shoved the end of it deep inside the guy’s turd holster. It was more fun than a barrel of monkey shit.

Now, I know I told y’all a long time ago that I don’t care for guns. They’re usually pretty boring as weapons. Let’s also remember that I’m a bad guy who does whatever he wants. That should adequately explain why I squeezed the trigger and blew a hole from the man’s ass to the top of his skull, spewing bodily fluids into the air. And not the easily replaceable bodily fluids, either.

Down below, I saw men rotating a cannon in a clear space along the edge of the deck. It looked more like an anti-air gun with its quadruple barrels, but that would still do plenty to a bunch of people on an open deck. I swooped in to deliver a prompt ass-kicking in the name of American involvement in Latin America. One fellow I kicked off again, leaving him floating in the middle of the ocean in clothes and whatever he had in his harness.

Once again, it didn’t stop my momentum right away, so I turned it into a run toward another guy who drew a knife. I grabbed his stabbing arm and lifted my legs up, catching him in a head scissors that spun us both around until he dropped to the deck. Another man, preferring force over good sense and ability to measure distance, pulled the pin on a grenade and rolled it to my feet. I had enough time to pick it up and rocket toward him, shoving my fist into his mouth and leaving the grenade behind. I threw him up to the man strapped into the big AA gun’s harness while he frantically pissed himself.

It wound up killing three birds with one stone, because we here at World Domination in Retrospect like to go above and beyond.

Then I radioed the rest of the team, “You guys won’t believe how good this song is. It’s really got a beat you can kick ass to.”

“Any resistance?” asked Flamebeard.

“Less than there was a few minutes ago. Looks like your standard Darkwater mercs, and one ack-ack gun that y’all no longer need to worry about. Send in the cannon fodder!”

I heard a cheer from the other side of the radio, followed by Flamebeard issuing the order, “Send in the cannon fod-, I mean the clan fodde-; send in the clan!” A moment later, Flamebeard’s ship took to the air on empowered sails riding the sky aflame. Lines fell from the side of the ship, with Chinese ninjas sliding down in their colorful outfits. One of them didn’t even get all the way down before a lucky burst of automatic fire sent him off to the mystical Chinese sweatshop in the sky.

The pirates followed them, hesitantly. Flamebeard’s men were of the opinion that it wouldn’t be proper to get between some ninjas and their adoring bullet fans. Really, us getting onto the ship was most of the battle anyway. Most of those left were the crew, and an attack by pirates, ninjas, and patriotic superheroes was above their pay grade. Really not a lot of people to fight on these things. On the plus side, the rocking got more tolerable. I almost, just barely avoided telling Carl, “I need you to keep watch on Flamebeard’s boat.

So we got the server. I checked it myself. It was all there, storing data representing a lot of money and a truly epic porn stash. The whiskey almost didn’t survive, though. The pirates wanted to party. I reminded them the whiskey was part of the President’s deal. Besides, there was plenty of other booty for them. Like gold bars, sports cars, weapons, and drugs.

For a guy building a new nation in the middle of an ocean, you’d think there’d be more food, but we stopped looking the whole thing over once we’d had our fill. Then we departed, having left the President’s official bobblehead sitting where the server used to be, bobbing its head and waving his national flag.

It wasn’t until we were well on our way back to Isla Tropica that we realized we forgot the ninjas on the ship. Turns out they were stealthy after all.

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4 thoughts on “Psychos of the Caribbean 3

  1. Pingback: Psychos of the Caribbean 2 | World Domination in Retrospect

  2. My very own name

    Ha, see why you should never wear your Missile Patriot armor? The moment you wore it, you were fooled by ninja knockoffs. But now you’ll get to use Gecko armor again, so there’s a really nice side.

    Typos:

    “I jumped swooped in to deliver a prompt ass-kicking in the name of American involvement in Latin America.” – “I jumped and swooped”

    “I grabbed his stabbing arm and lifted my legs up, catching him in a head scissors that spun is both around until he dropped to the deck.” – “spun us both”

    “Down below, I saw men rotating a cannon in a clear space along the edge of the deck.” – I think this one wild better with “saw some men” or “saw a man”

    Reply
  3. Pingback: Psychos of the Caribbean 4 | World Domination in Retrospect

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