Hotlanta Chicken

These Vann Genes are Strong

2008-07-06T10:45:00.001-07:00

This is Raegan Emma Grace, Alex and Julie's third child....note the blond hair, shape of mouth, the nose, and the distance from nose to upper lip.

This is a young little Adrian Christopher, Tom and Marta's sixth child....cover the eyes to note the similarities.

Family Picture Time

2008-04-12T07:19:00.001-07:00

The Georgia Vanns are in full bloom,

if we have any more children, we'll run out of room.

Brookie in her car seat all bundled in a cinch,

Look out Ethan and Christan before you get pinched.

Raeggie Roo on Daddy's arm so cute,

Mom is a hottie for sure to boot.

We're happy in Woodstock the home of our clan,

If you are close by, you are welcome at Casa del Vann!

Baby Brookie

2008-03-25T06:31:00.000-07:00

Come and take a real good lookie,

At mommie's new baby, her name is Brookie!

Well it's really Brooklyn Rose,

She is so cute, you'd like to kiss her nose!

She is truly a very good baby all day,

Shhh...she's sleeping, in her crib she does lay.

Miss I Love Animals

2008-03-25T06:23:00.000-07:00

Christan Marie loves all animals you see,
Kittens, kangaroos, dogs, and buzzing bumble bees.

She loves to read and do her part,
God has given her the gentlest heart.

She loves to go on adventures to someplace unknown,
Her dog is, Mercy, who she loves to give a bone.

Mr. Charming

2008-03-25T06:06:00.000-07:00

Ethan Alexander the most charming of all,

Look into his baby browns and you will fall.

He's active and has energy to spare,

jumping from furniture like a hare.

Building with his legos castles, cars and towers,

Flexing his muscle like a tough boy showing off his powers!

2008-03-25T05:58:00.000-07:00

Raegan with eyes that sparkle and shine,

With those blue eyes, I'm glad she's mine.

She is the sweetest girl by a mile,

Capturing all with her giant smile.

Running after her big sister and brother,

Taking care of babies like a little mother.

Jesus in our Darkest Hour

2008-03-19T12:27:00.001-07:00

Jesus in the Darkest Hour

Our dreams our broken, our hopes have gone.
After every dark night, there rises a dawn.

It's strange to see life in its web,
Coming and going like the tide in ebb.

No promises of what the future may hold,
Except the love that our Savior does hold.

Hard to fathom and hard to see,
The future's clouded, how can it be.

Lives so precious, so tiny, so pure,
Lord, hold me, assure me, give strength to endure.

The pain is real, it builds inside,
Comfort and compassion in You do reside.

Heaven welcomed you where our Lord is praying,
I'll see you again, for eternity, I'll be staying.

From those dark moments that forever remain,
I am thankful dear Lord, that you know me by name.

You are mysterious, but Your ways are divine,
I am thankful that I am Yours, and You are mine.

(Written for B & A Pierce, on the passing of Samuel and Caleb, March 2008)

Mr. Campbell's death

2008-01-28T07:20:00.000-08:00

"Mr. Campbell will die," declared acting Captain Cable.

He had recently assumed the acting captaincy when the former captain died in a struggle in his own quarters. None of the crew, except a few really minded, because First Lieutenant Thomas Cable was a fair and just man. He certainly was ambitious, but he refrained from making the crew pay for his ambitions.

The former captain obliged the crew far too often into his excesses and indulgences. Certainly, until they got into port Lieutenant Cable would exercise them in running out the guns, mending the sails, and the perpetual swabbing of the decks. However, most of the crew didn't mind because, Lieutenant Cable understood the importance of rum.

Now Lieutenant Cable stood on the quarterdeck looking down at the assembled crew. All activity on the deck had ceased and all hands assembled on deck to observe the punishment and purging of a man caught not only in a seditious act, but in murder. The Articles of War declared that a man caught in such manner would be hung from the yard arm until dead. The crew was ready and ripe for a hanging since the long, cold days on the S.S. Calvacade had last been in port over 3 months past. This Mr. Campbell was inserted into the crew at their last port, when their roles were already full and no other seaman had been pressed into service. Most of the crew resented this man who did his job, but had little interaction with most of the crew. Infact, this was the same man who created an uproar below decks and had spent his most recent time locked in the brig. So, justice would be forthwith and they would return to their routine of patrolling the cold North Sea.

"Mr. Campbell is hereby sentenced to death by hanging," declared Lieutant Cable, his long overcoat pulled up to his ears as he shouted above the wind and cold spray of the ocean. A death on a ship is enteraining for a moment, but can upset the moral quickly.

"Hang the man," and with that, Cable dropped his hand and Corporal Watson pushed Mr. Campbell off the yard arm.

SNAP! All men on board heard the crack of Mr. Campbell's neck as his body fell with a jerk.
Most men looked away, some just stared. His eyes rolled back into his head and his tongue poked out the side of his mouth. Most had never seen a hanging and the excitement was fading fast.

"Return to your stations!" bellowed Cable to the crew. "Corporal Watson, move this lot! Lieutenants Marsh and Rider, cut the man down and move him to my quarters for sea burial prepartions."

Roping Cable

2008-01-28T05:19:00.000-08:00

"I said OPEN!" shouted First Lieutenant Cable as he burst into the captain's quarters axe in hand. It had taken far too long for the crew to break down the captain's door.

Splinters of wood fell helter skelter on the floor of the cabin. There was an odd mix of lingering gun powder, dead flesh and blood bathing the room in a surreal shadow. The only light was from the lamp burning on the Captain's desk. It threw a wicked gleem on the clearly deceased Captain.

The shots, the scuffle, and then the silence. The silence was what convinced Capple that something was terribly wrong. He had banged and shouted for the Captain. At first he thought he was taking a terrible risk, since Captain Downy was not a man to intrude upon. Matter of fact, the Captain was not a man to communicate with. Cable loathed Captain Downy, but was the epitome of a good seaman. But, the light scuffling and occasional moans convinced Cable, he needed to find out what had happened behind that door.

Cable was offended that Captain Downy had excluded him from the disciplining of a seaman. If it had just been an interview to determine the facts, then Cable would have been within his duty to be present during such an interview. But, if was discipline then the Captain was required by the King's Law to "dispense all punishments in full view of al the crew" and "all officer's shall be present to observe at such time." The Captain had always made his own law, and these things greatly bothered the capable Cable.

Cable, the fourth son of the parson of Blakeny, had few to no prospect's of a career. So, when he was just 8 year's old, his father called in a favor from a retired parishner, and off little Tommy Cable went to join His Majesty's royal navy. He showed promise, but no more than anyone else his age. After 10 years, he was the fifth lieutenant on a pirate hunter in the sickness-infected Carribbean, luck struck. In a surprise attack by two pirate ships where the captain and all four of the other officers were killed in action, Tommy distinguished himself nobly, while in full view of the fortress and batteries of Barbados, but just out of cannon-shot. He sunk both pirate ships and limped into port. After finding out that he had captained the ship and displayed such noble heroics, he was on the fast track (as such tracks go) to a promising naval career.

"Lieutenant, look..." passed one of the crew that was following in the lieutenant's wake. "The Cap'n's..." not wanting to speak further.

"Dead...." Cutter let the words fall as he stepped out from behind the captain's wardrobe.

The marines from outside the door made a move towards Cutter with sabres drawn.

"Stop!" growled Lieutenant Cable.

"But, this man's a murderer," retorted the marine Corporal who had assumed command after seeing his dead seargant lying lifeless on the board's of oak in a now still pool of his own darkening blood.

"Do not assume you know the facts Corporal," shot Cable. "This man is not threatening now and I will need time to conduct an investigation.

"Mr. Campbell, would you kindly like to explain the situation, since you, obviously are the only one alive in a room with four dead men?" Cable not sure of what had transpired behind the doors had learned to fully investigate before jumping to conclusions. Especially, since this seemingly ordinary seaman had just killed four men in close quarters. With his future looking bright, Cable had no desire to risk his own life, when he did not perceive Campbell as an enemy.

A sly smile grew across Cutter's face. These men had no idea who he was or what he was doing here. He had bought himself a little time, by not opening the door for the lieutenant. However, it was clear that Cutter had been in the room with dead men and did not open the door. The picture to all standing in the room looked very convicting.

However, Cutter liked this young, ambitious First Lieutenant, who by far, was a promising naval officer with a bright career. It might be hard to win his trust, however, Cable could be a valuable ally.

"Mr. Cable, I surrender myself to you," said Cutter using the gentile manners that Cable, although far removed, would certainly be aware of.

"He can't surrender to you," bellowed the corporal, "he's a regular seaman. He's no gentleman, he's a trickster..."

"Corporal Marlow, please remove yourself from this room to the end of the hallway. Call Mr. Smith to come here and tell Mr. Watson to take the deck."

"Aye, aye sir..." mumbled Marlow as he slunk unconvincingly down the hall.

"The rest of you, please take the dead men to the surgeon's quarters and pass the word for the surgeon. Leave the Captain here."

As the bodies were drug out and the rest of the crew receeded down the hallway and out of earshot the smug Mr. Campbell took the Captain's pipe and lit it. This caused a small grin from Lieutenant Cable.

"Why the smile, Lieutenant?" quizzed Cutter.

"Because you have just made me a very wealthy man."

Bullet to the Downy

2008-01-24T13:04:00.000-08:00

"Bugger..," thought Cutter. Here was one of the many thorns in his flesh back to haunt him from the proverbial mortician's table. If there is truly an Englishman who deserves a painful death, then it is Captain Elijah Downy. If misery had a mate, it would be Downy.

"Swack!" Captain Downy's rattan cane tasted the harded cheek of Cutter. The blow stung just as it was designed to do. Nothing more than that. Cutter straightened his head as Captain Downy's wicked, joyous smile spread stretchingly thin across his boney face.

The warm taste of iron crept across Cutter's taste buds as he glared at Captain Downy. If it weren't for these two marines and their seargant standing with the stocks of their muskets ready Cutter would unceremoniously throw this pompous and incompetent excuse for a King's man out of the window into the frigid waters below.

"Mister Campbell, it is so good to see you...again....", Captain Downy let the final word roll off his tongue with wicked, smug satisfaction. Here was a man that he finally had within his grasp to destroy, and even better, he would be within his rights as a Captain in the King's Navy.

"I do belive you were caught in the midst of a seditious act...is it so?"

Cutter steeled his resolve, he would bait Downy into his game. Downy certainly thought he had Cutter in an inescapeable condition. His confidence bolstered by the beaten and tattered condition of one Mr. Calais Campbell of His Majesty's Britannic Home Service. What kind of French name was Calais. Calais, the ladies in New Port had swooned when this handsome creature had disembarked from his ship in the colonies. The merchants had welcomed him like a man who had saved them from certain doom. All manner of people in the city had looked at him like he might have been the King himself...or at least his prince.

"Bam..." the rattan cane struck again.
"Bam.." and again. "There will be no mercy for you Mr. Cutter. You are a filthy flea who needs to be crushed. You are a stench in my nostrils!" screamed Captain Downy.

With each blow Cutter seemingly began to swoon. He allowed his legs to buckle and his eyes to roll. He let out low growls and moans of pain. The pain was real enough, sharp, but tolerable. Almost there he thought. The marines began to slacken their grasp on him. Blood was running down both cheeks now. The squeemish seargant began look at the rafters.

Now, Cutter pulled his right arm free, moved it forward then in one motion slammed it into the groin of the marine on his right. The marine on his left dropped his musket to get a better hold Cutter. The musket exploded in the cramped and tight Captain's room, temporarily deafing all in the room. Captain Downy was trying to pull out his sword, but Cutter used his momentum to swing the remain marine into Captain Downy. Just as Downy was pulling out his sword, it lodged in the marine and stuck.

Cutter ducked just in time to avoid a haymaker from the seargent. Swingly widely the seargent was off-balance. Cutter grabbed him by the belt as he passed by and rammed his head into the solid oak column that supported the room, effectively snapping his neck and dropping his body limp to the ground.

Captain Downy successfully untangled himself from the gurgling marine. The haze of musket smoke hung in the room. Footsteps were pounding outside the doorway. Cutter could take a few on at a time, but not the whole ship, not yet. He leaped to bar the doorway, just as Captain Downy yelled and swung a wild saber swing at Cutter. He missed badly and the curved blade flung from his hand. Cutter barred the door and turned back to Captain Downy. Downy, like a snake, slithered behind his desk and began to fumble with the top drawer.

A pistol firing was the last thing Cutter heard. It was also the last thing Captain Downy would hear as the musket ball sunk deep into his forehead. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped back into his chair. Oddly, Cutter thought, he looked at peace.

Well, what do we have here...

2008-01-04T12:00:00.000-08:00

"Well, what do we have here..." smirked Captain Downy, the lines of wicked joy spreading across his face.

Captain had the desire that all captain's in the Royal Navy had...promotion. Born Elijah Daniel Downy, the third of three sons to the lesser earle of Williamshire, Captain Downy had little promise for prominence in the King's Court, unless he distinguished himself at sea.

His first assignment had been the captain of a little cutter that had been patroling the West Indies trades routes, when disaster struck.

For a time, Captain Downy had won the favor of the West Indian Fleet Admiral's confidence in halting pirating on his trade routes. If Captain Downy was excellent in ambition, he was pathetic in diligence. As often happens in hurricane season, a great squall blew in. Captain Downy was never one to ride a storm out and, therefore, carelessly he ran his cutter full-sail before the storm. He blamed his helmsman, he blamed his cutter, he blamed the a civilian envoy assigned to his ship, but the fault for crashing the King's cutter into the rocks of Point Yellow Feather, was placed as emphatically as the ephithets on his shoulders on Captain Elijah Daniel Downy.

Now, for the past 13 years he was the butt of many behind-the-back jokes among the fleet captains. It took five years of wrangling for his father to get his captaincy reinstated and another four years to find him a post. Finallly, after two years patroling the whaling lanes of the North Sea, miserable from constant cold and lack of sun-light, sweet revenge was within his grasp.

A Crack of Light Fades

2006-07-16T05:57:00.000-07:00

"You fool," thought Cutter as he lay shivering and shaking in the deep, rank compartment of the ship his ribs groaning in pain as he gasped each mouthful of repugnant air. He had been down here drinking tepid water, fending off the rats that were as big as Scottish Terriers, and trying to keep from being thrown around the space like a rag doll. Now, he had just blown his only legitimate chance of escape.

His marine guardsman who was narrow in the shoulders, long in the nose, and had ears that stood perpendicular from his head had just left his bowl of gruel and water sloshing about the floor. After being down in captivity for several weeks, Cutter had convinced his guard, Simon Noblitt, to smuggle him extra rations of bread and rum. He needed the rum to keep his wits and the bread helped him recover most of his strength. Cutter had to promise him a shilling a day for bringing down the extra food, but he had to be ready when the time came.

Cutter had begun to like his guardsman. Simon, the Royal Marine, had only been on board the ship since its last port of call, and consequently received the lowest of the low duties on board the ship. Simon was from one of the poor sections of London and had joined the Marines on his own volition to avoid the Naval press gangs that ravished the harbor fronts and poor sections of the city. It didn't take Cutter long to convince the Marine that he needed help.

However, if Cutter was going to escape his dark, dank prison then he was going to need more than Simon's help. He had just offered Simon the equivelant of a year's salary to help him escape, but to Cutter's horror, the Sargent of the Watch was waiting outside the door. For Cutter's efforts he received a musket thumping in the ribs and back. To make matters worse, the seargent, a bull of a man, had split his gruel over the floor and three large rats were devouring faster than Cutter could swing a feeble foot at them.

Simon had been promising, but now he'd have another guardsman and the seargant would make sure that this new marine would not be succeptable to the wiles of the vagabond of land and sea, Captain Cutter!

***********************************************

Constant Groaning

2006-03-02T16:13:00.000-08:00

The groaning and measured moaning was not coming from the pathetic, crumpled figure slumped in the corner. Instead, each creak, moan and groan was coming from the ship itself. Thick, wooden planks that ran laterally from wall to wall intersected with stout beams that stood vertically to hold each level of the ship up. With each wave, echoes stirred from deep within the ship. It was as if, the ship itself could feel his pain.

Cutter could hardly keep his mind focused on the most urgent task of the moment: staying awake. He had heard of sailors who were beaten with the Captain's Cane who slipped into unconsciousness and never awoke again. The penalty for not waking up at sea was an early exit into the hereafter. However, they had not gone easy on him. The boatswain had struck in 20 times with all his might. Some sailors said they simply went numb after about five or six strokes, but not Cutter. He had felt each blow penetrate past the flayed flesh, under the gaping muscles and tendons, through his bruised bones, and into his very soul.

The rocking of the ship did nothing to pacify the purple and blue bruises that covered most his entire back and legs. Cutter tried to keep his legs drawn up into his chest and stay in the fetal position as much as possible to keep from rolling around the small compartment he was being held in like a child's ball.

A giant rat scurried across the floor over to Cutter's feet. Cutter feebly kicked a swolen foot at the rat. It moved away, but only a small distance away. "At least, I have some company," thought Cutter.

He had lost count of the days. He had no idea how long he had been fading in and out of unconsciousness. By his drowsy reckoning he had been down here after the beating for about three weeks. There was no real light, just varying degrees of darkness. Sometimes, he would awaken to find several dog-sized rats sniffing at his feet and once he had even had to swat one off his head.

"Constance..." he moaned in cadence with the ship's creeking. He felt as if his voice was being lost among the ship. He tried to remember the delicate lines of her face. Wisps of her auburn colored hair would fall lazily in her face. Scarlet threads of satin composed her lips. Her emerald eyes could hold any man captive with a slight blink or bat. She stood poised radiating grace and elegance, but with a confident stride that caused all lookers to become gawkers. She was his dream and he needed her more now than ever.

Then he remembered with a jolt of the ship, that she was gone...

(all work is original and copyright to AFVann 2006)

Back to the Brig

2006-01-31T19:37:00.000-08:00

"Don't cross that line," roared a great ox of a man. He was stripped to the waste. Clearly, he was powerful, however, few muscles showed. His fists were cleanched and hung ready at his side. Sweat glistened from his torso and his hair was pulled back and tied at his shoulders.

"Knock 'im straight t'Saint Petah's gate, Mickey!" hollared Little Jimmy Snipe. Snipe was a scavenger. He'd never fight his own battle, prefering instead to let others do his dirty work and then pick up the scraps afterward. He was small in frame and bone, but uncanny in all manner of thievery, guile and blackmail. He had a nasty scar that ran from his chin across his lips and over to his ear. It made him appear has if he had a wicked grin on his face. In the dark shadows of the ships third deck, he looked to Cutter more rat than man. He used his sneers and jeers to control most of the crew that quartered down here.

"Listen here, you little turd of a man. If your mother hadn't died when she birthed you, she, certainly would have shortly after she saw you.." snorted Cutter looking past his opponent at a smaller bow-legged man standing back a few feet.

Just then, with surprising speed, the great ox of a man known as Bellingsworth, lashed out a haymaker right at Cutter's head. He ducked quickly and countered with a smashing punch to Bellingsworth's windpipe. There was a sickening crunch as Cutter's iron-hard fist connected with his opponent's esophogaus. Bellingsworth was caught completely unaware. Instantly, he doubled over and began a vicious gurgling and coughing as he fumbled on the ground.

As Cutter stood over his fallen foe, he almost felt bad for the man. He was one of those souls in life that are born with more brawn than brain. However, it was time to end the sick, cruel games that Snipe had imposed upon the lives of all those who ate and slept down here. It was time to begin righting the long list of wrongs that were weighing his future down.

"Eh, Cutter, you's a cheat'n. You's can't punch 'im in des throat. Faces and fronts only!" snarled Snipe. Snipe stealthy reached down under his shirt were he kept his fish gutter concealed. If that blasted Cutter made a move any closer he'd get more than he bargained for.

Mickey Bellingsworth had been Little Jimmy's insurance policy. Mickey was solid as an old oak tree, but unfortunately so was his head. He'd just been another beast hauling on the anchor cable and pumping the bilges until Jimmy had rescued him. Ever since, Mickey had made all of Snipe's dreams of controlling the below deck trade a reality. Sure, the middies, boatswain, and coaxswain tried to keep the Captain's law. Sure, that law extended above deck and maybe into the first and second deck, but below that Snipe had become master. He was master of all the men, rats, and maggots that moved down here.

The realization of all of Snipe's dealings were about to be undone, by this upstart of a deckhand who had the audacity to speak like an office, made Snipe's blood boil. He began to shake he was so angry. It had only been several weeks, but already this cocky sud-scrubber was bucking his authority. The captain may be the law and lord above deck, but down here in the dark belly of the 52-gunner, Jimmy Snipe ruled.

"Cutter, " began Snipe in his thick, accented brogue, "you's a man who follows d'rules. I've seen that about you's. And de's rules, below the decks here, clearly says only fists n' fronts. You's cheat'n." Snipe looked around at the thirty or so grubby faces that circled the makeshift fightring. Most would side with Snipe, even though they all knew he had cheated them on a daily basis. But, he held their money, and most of them would have bet on Bellingsworth. Cutter winning this fight would be bad for the few sixpence that most of them had.

"Lads, 'e's, 'it 'im in the windpipe! 'E, didn't fight fair!" cried Snipe, begining to sway the assembly in his favor. "Belows de's decks, de's rules is, you's gots to fights fair..."

"You said... he said...everyone said, 'fists and fronts,' and I hit him in the front---the front of his throat." replied Cutter with a calm that masked his growing fear of having to battle the restless crowd.

"Dem rules is de's rules!" cried Snipe appealling to the crowd. He could see the nods of approval among the lads in the front of the ring. Meanwhile, Bellingsworth had managed to get to his knees and was crouched over holding his throat still gurgling and coughing. Clearly, he would be of no use for quite a while. "Cutter, you's cheated n' we's got rules for cheaters!"

"Wait!" boomed Cutter with an air of authority in his voice that momentarily held the mob at bay. It was money these men were afraid of loosing. He was a newcomer and he had just upset the balance of power. And like the herd of sheep that they were, uneducated and illiterate, money was an equalizing element that Snipe was not counting on.

"I'll uphold my claim on the winnings and every man can have their money returned to them..."Cutter paused, as he suddenly had piqued the interest of the crew, "but.."He decided to bait the crew along a little further.

"But, what?" replied Sandy Jenks, a top roap man as agile as a backstreet alley cat.

"But, I have to fight again," responded Cutter with a deceitful glumness.

"He's make'n new rules. I's say's no!" screamed Snipe sensing a shift toward Cutter amongst the men. He stamped his foot. "Any man, who's disobeys me order will forfeit 'is rum for a week."

"I say let him fight again," Sandy retorted. The general murmers of approval errupted into shouts of acceptance. "Fight again!" shouted the crew seizing upon an opportunity to recover their lost wages.

"Lad's we got a problem," called out Keller Masterson the crew's carpenter who had an eye for detail and a nose for deceit, "who's Cutter gonna fight?" That question had not dawned upon the crew. Each man quickly determined it would not be in his best interest to fight this six-foot, blond haired, lightining quick newcomer with an air of authority in his presence.

"I'll fight any man you choose," said Cutter begining to enjoy the banter. Clearly, with Bellingsworth down, this band of men were not nearly as intimidated by Snipe's ravings. Perhaps, with the right leader this group could make something...

But, Cutter had other irons in the fire.

No one among the crew, despite their growing courage, had the candor to fight Cutter or demand their money returned from Snipe.

"Alright, back to you's bunks, game's over, Cutter's cheated..." puffed Snipe.

"I'll fight you," boomed Cutter seizing upon his opportunity before the crew slunk back to their hammocks pointing a long, accusatory finger at Snipe.

"Yeah," piped in Sandy, "Snipey, you fight him." The crew shouted their agreement as Cutter began to edge closer to Snipe.

"Back off!" yelled Snipe, "I ain't fight'n.." and with surprising speed Snipe whipped out his knife and brandished the blade at Cutter.

Cutter barely had time to move, but it was too late. The knife carved red line across his forearm. Had he been any slower and the knife would have gutted him. He twisted out of the way and squared off against Snipe. Snipe had one fighting skill, and as fate would have it, it was knife fighting. In this close, cramped space with men pushing in from all sides and Cutter having to duck his six-foot frame down constantly, this little man with a knife could be trouble.

Again, Snipe lunged at Cutter. Cutter used the palm of his hand to slap the blade of the knife away. Unfortunately, since he was moving backward, he couldn't get enough force to knock the blade out of Snipe's hand. Snipe whirled around for another lunge. This time Cutter was ready and fell to his back. With tremendous force, he aimed a kick right at Snipe's knee.

Too late, Snipe had committed himself to his lunge and was over extended, when Cutter fell down. Then, crack! Cutter's kick connected with Snipe's left knee causing him to drop the knife and keel over onto the floor. Quickly, Snipe tried to roll over and regain his knife, but Cutter was closer.

Cutter, saw the knife go skidding and he scrambled for it. With his arm still bleeding, his hand was sticky grabbing the knife. The knife was ackward in his bloody hand, but he had to finish Snipe. He jumped on the immobolized Snipe and held the knife to his throat.

"I ought to finish you right now," growled a panting Cutter. "You're done down here, you understand me." Cutter let the knife press into Snipe's throat under his Adam's apple, the blade not quite biting the flesh. "You've got the years, you're going to go to Midshipman Boyle and request a crew reassignment. And if you ever breathe another word to me or any of these other men down here, I'll pluck your eyes out one at a time..."

BANG! Shouted a pistol in the confined area causing everyone to freeze in alarm.

"By order of Captain Downy, you are all to stand right where you are!" yelled Midshipman Boyle, his voice cracking. "Seargent, arrest those to men. And wait, is that a knife! By the Almighty! Marines give that man holding the knife a good drubbing. The rest of you back to your beds."

Cutter bit his lip as the marines smashed their rifle butts into his stomach. As the marines lifted him to his feet and bound his arms behind his back, Midshipmen Bolye addressed him, "Mr. Cutter, I'll have you know, accroding to the Articles of War signed by the King himself, any of the Kings sailors assulting another sailor with a weapon of any kind will certainly face the Captain's cane!"

Cutter hung his head as the marines dragged him up the narrow stairs. He was not looking forward to going back...back to the brig.

(all stories are original material and copyright to AF Vann 2006)

A Chapter

2006-01-29T19:33:00.000-08:00

Dark, cold waves crashed over his head. He struggled to swim to the surface. Great gulps of icy cold water forced themselves into his mouth. Yellow fingered streaks of lightning filled the sky overhead. Ferocious booms and claps of thunder roared across the surf.

He was a strong swimmer but the cold water began to take its toll on his body. There was a slight tingling sensation at first, but now it was getting stronger and stronger. Something banged into his head. With power-fading strokes he pulled himself above the water once more.

Just a few feet away bobbing and plunging with the waves was a lifeboat. If he could just reach it, he would be okay. The tingling sensation was growing stronger. His strokes in the water were getting weaker and weaker. As he treaded water, he tried to voice a cry. His feeble voice was lost among the violence of the storm. He had to make the boat. His head to began to pound. His lungs were nearing the point of exhaustion.

"Swim lad, swim!" came a command across the water. The strong clear voice brought strength back into his kicks and pulls. As he neared the raft, hope sprang forth. He would be alright. A flash of lightning illuminated the features of the figure yelling for him in the boat.

"Captain!" he cried. At just that moment the wave carrying the boat swelled up. He was between the wave carrying the boat and the next one. He lost sight of the boat. He began to despair. Then, strong hands grabbed his wet shirt and jerked him out of the water and into the boat.

As he was rolling in the bottom of the boat. Angry mouthfuls of bile, vomit and saltwater expelled themselves from his mouth. He was cold. He could tell that he was shaking uncontrolably. Someone was wrapping a blanket around him. And then he passed out.

Sometime later...

"Well, is he going to make it?" demanded a stiff voice.

"I deem he has had a rough go at it. He drank a lot of salt water and spent a fair amount of time in the water. In a couple of more days full blood circulation should return and he will regain much of the color and strength he lost and ..." replied a kindly voice in a matter of fact tone.

"Doctor, I do not have time to sit here and wait on a boy to regain his color!" was yelled in reply.

"Captian,... if he was only suffering from the effects of mild hypothermia I would not be as concerned, but ....it is this other mark that has me somewhat concerned," responded the doctor.

"What other mark?" demanded the Captain somewhat alarmed. He had not noticed any other mark on the boy as he had pulled him from the water. He had not noticed any mark when the boy had his wet clothes stripped off and wrapped in dry blankets. And for three days while the boy lay in the doctor's bed, he had not noticed any mark. The Captain prided himself on seeing everything. For him to have missed something this important was troubling indeed.

The doctor gently rolled the boy over. He carefully pulled the shoulder length hair up and out of the way. As he pulled the hair up a large and nasty looking gash was visible.

"I can't begin to image how much blood he lost, Captain. If it were just his time in the water, he'd be okay. But this is a vicious cut. He's taken the fever. He shakes. He moans. We don't know how long he was in the water...and we don't know if he took the blow before or after he got in the water. I do doubt that he will recover, however..."

"Enough, man! It is bad enough that I have just discovered that this boy may never recover, without you examining every possibility about where and when this...this attack could have happened. There are only four people that knew the extent of his mission: one is lying there with his brains bashed in, you and me have been here the entire time, that only leaves..."

"Cutter..." whispered the doctor.

Welcome to this Blog

2006-01-15T05:38:00.000-08:00

I'm now a blogger