The urgan of Prince-Captain Rashad is still at Gateway Island for "repairs", and will likely be that way for some time yet. There were several other attacks on urgans reported on the perimeter of the areas patrolled by the Kampfzengruppe/Emirate Alliance, as Siren attacks have been on the rise.

Today, radio contact was lost with Outpost Number Five, an urgan "refueling" stop. This is not terribly uncommon, given how badly Kampfzengruppe technology fares with so much water around it, and the freakish storms that frequently brew above the ocean, but all the same, an armed escort has been sent with a technician to visit the outpost and deal with the problem.

Several seaskippers make their way across the waves, a much faster way of travel than spending the whole time going underwater. (Plus, it saves the riders the unpleasant necessity of wearing breathers for the whole trip.) Arkold has been given leadership over this particular expedition – While he has no rank as a Legionnaire conscript, and he has no formal training as an officer of any sort, his heroics in the last battle with the Sirens has earned him some measure of respect.

Whitehead, Hammerhand, Kris and Mooncoil follow Arkold across the waves in a loose "V" formation, protecting a sixth seaskipper that bears a human technician, Frau Berlin.

Ahead, a dark shape breaks up the endless expanse of water … a lone island, which should mark the location of Outpost Five.

The Jupani leader of the escort team lifts sits up in his seat as the silhouette appears in the distance. He snorts once in annoyance, knowing he soon must actually give out an order. The respect he has been shown has been nice of course, but he is none too pleased that this has also given him the burden of command. "Ehh, this is it, 'ey Mooncoil?" he calls out to the white sea serpent.

Mooncoil's carp-like whiskers wiggle, and he nods, answering in a deep, burbling voice. "Yes, should be. Most is underwater, like Gateway Island."

"Is there a surface access hatch we can use?" inquires the Jupani. He reaches up and rubs his face a little in an attempt to stir himself out of the after-effects of his special "hobby", in which he had indulged hours earlier before he was saddled with this mission.

Mooncoil shakes his head. "No," is all he says by way of reply. Far ahead, around the island can be vaguely made out some small moving shapes. Boats, perhaps. There is no sign of any urgan being refueled … but none should have been scheduled to refuel here anyway, so that's hardly out of the ordinary.

Arkold nods his head to the brief response and moves his hand from his face to wave Hammerhand off. "Hammerhand, we're gunna go scout them ships some. I don't remember hearin' this place scheduled for any arrives. The rest of you, hold here!" Order given, the Jupani increases speed on his seaskipper and moves it to break off from the others.

Whitehead has a bit of trouble, as always, bringing his craft to a smooth stop, but stays in his seat. Hammerhand joins Arkold as they break off from the group and continue forward, leaving the other seaskippers behind. As Arkold gets closer, it looks like the moving objects can't be any larger than seaskippers … and they aren't kicking up the sort of spray that seaskippers would.

"Slow 'er down some, we don't wanna be givin' ourselves away. Keep the spray to a minimum. Any trouble and high tail it outta here to the others," barks Arkold to the Rhian. As per his own command he reduces speed to lower the spray his vehicle creates, in an attempt at stealth. "Kin yah make any of 'em out?"

The Rhian slows to a near stop, and digs around in his sealed containers, pulling out a spy-scope. He wipes it off, then unfolds it, bringing it up to his eye. "Oh, by the Seven Sisters and Dagh too. Sirens and their pets."

A cough, and the wolf leans forward to squint at the distant figures. "Ahh, Vhai. Just what I need, more death dealin' little mistresses to be ruinin' my wonderful life," he grumbles. Slowly he raises his hand and waves the Rhian back to join the group. If he doesn't notice that, the fact that the Jupani is turning his craft around and heading that way is an even bigger indication of his plan.

The Rhian looks as if he's about to say more, but hastily puts away his scope and seals the case, then guns his craft to catch up with Arkold. In short order, Arkold is back with the rest of the group.

"All right, here's the skinny. We got an island surrounded by Sirens and their happy-to-eat-us pets. It's all probably taken over inside, too, eh?" The leader of the team looks around at his men and rests his eyes on the engineer first. "Yer the Kampfzengruppe rep', what 'er we gunna be doin' here?" He then glances at Hammerhand. "Got somethin' to say?"

Hammerhand says, "I saw maybe five, maybe six Sirens, and several clusters of large squirmy creatures. I didn't see any of the 'sharks' or their other fun pets."

The human asks, "Were they green?"

Hammerhand nods. "Bright green."

"Bright green … ," repeats Arkold as he scratches his head some. "That's bad ehh?"

The human says, "They are planktoids – creatures enlarged by the Abyssinians to feed the urgans. The urgans are capable of feeding themselves on plankton as they ply the waters, but urgan captains typically push them beyond normal limits. These creatures are bred to be exceptionally high in nutrients, to nourish urgans more efficiently."

Hammerhand frowns. "So what are the Sirens doing with them, then?"

Leaning forward in his seta again the wolf tries to peer at the bright green "planktoids". "Maybe they're havin' a free meal at the Kampfzengruppe's expense," he suggests.

The woman nods. "Perhaps. We know little of the Sirens. Most of what we now know, we learned after the battle you survived – We acquired a number of specimens thanks to your efforts. We now know, for instance, that Sirens, unlike Abyssinians, are truly amphibious. This, no doubt, contributes to how hard it is to track down their lairs."

Alas, there's not much that Arkold can make out with only the aid of the naked eye, at this distance.

"Glad I could be addin' to yer little zoo, too. Yah learn anythin' else I should know about?" asks Arkold. His laziness in not using a spy scope shows to not be worth the effort since he can't see anything, so he grabs for his spy scope and tries that.

Miss Berlin adds, "For what it is worth, all of those attacking the urgan were female. We found no sign that they might be hermaphroditic or asexual. Their culture must be such that only the females go into battle. If you should encounter a male, by all means, please bring us back a specimen."

After adjusting his spy scope some Arkold gives the human a thumbs up. "Yah, sure. I'll be gettin' yer fishy boyfriend whenever I 'kin find 'im, and I'm sure he'll come along peacefully," gruffs the Jupani, sarcasm dripping off his words like water off the seaskipper. "So what're we gunna do about them? Want us to make some fishsticks?"

One of the other legionnaires, the mouse, looks through his own spy-scope nervously. "It's either that or go for reinforcements… I don't know if there are any urgans in this area, but somehow I doubt that we could get anyone back here in time to help the people inside. Assuming it's not already too late."

"Fine." With a bit of shifting, the wolf reaches for his spine pistol and draws it from its holster. "We're gunna go in. Arm yerselves. Whitehead, you hang towards the back and protect Engineer … uh … what's-her-face," he orders.

Miss Berlin's face is hidden by a mask, but she crosses her arms, and says, "Berlin."

"Rrrright, Berlin. Gotcha. Better pull out a spine gun 'er two, 'cause yer hide may be on the line," says the wolf before he lifts his hand and looks around to the others. "Kill 'em before they kin blink, don't give 'em a chance to react. Y'all ready?"

After one last glance at the distant scene of the sirens, Kris trades his spy-scope for spine gun. "How do you plan to tackle this? It looks like we're pretty badly outnumbered even by just the ones we can see."

Whitehead says, "Heh, if'n they're eatin' the plankeywhazzits, maybe we can catch 'em while they're too busy eatin'!"

"We'll thin them out with a surprise attack. They can't catch up with us in our 'skippers, so outpace em and take shots when yah can. Don't let 'em get near yah, or yah may as well put that spine gun to yer head. Oh yah, and if yer really in trouble, beach the 'skipper and make em fight you on land. They're slow when they have to crawl after yah," replies Arkold.

Hammerhand nods solemnly, remembering his own experience.

Kris shifts his hand on the throttle reflexively. "All right," he says slowly. "Mooncoil, where're the entrances to the outpost?"

After picking his target and waiting for the others to get ready, the Jupani glances around to check how everyone is getting prepared. "Ya'll ready? Longer we stay 'ere, better chance they're gunna see us."

"All underwater," Mooncoil burbles. "Three openings for boarding up to three urgans … and another hatch just under the surface. All four have airlocks.

Whitehead hmms. "Maybe one of us should go back to carry a message to base? You know, just in case something goes wrong?"

"That's a good point, Whitehead. Perhaps Frau Berlin should go back – I believe you're a noncombatant?" Kris asks. "Are the Sirens near those entrances, now, Mooncoil? Can you tell?"

Berlin frowns. "I do not know if I would be qualified to make the trip by mys – " Before she can finish this thought, Whitehead volunteers, "I can guide her back!"

Mooncoil burbles, "Let me check … " His upper body sloughs off of the seaskipper, and his head goes underwater. A few bubbles rise to the surface.

The Jupani drops his head to lean against his hand. "We're wastin' time. If we gotta escape, we're gunna run into those. Also we gotta deal with 'em sometime anyway," he says, sounding somewhat annoyed.

The sea serpent's head pops back up. "New entrance in the jelly-dome. Planktoids are escaping. Sirens are congregated there."

"Hey, yah think they're gunna capture these things? Maybe they use em as a food source. If they do, we kin wait around and follow 'em back to their homes," mentions Arkold.

Kris flinches as Mooncoil hits the water, then frowns in confusion at Arkold. "I just thought it might be helpful to have some idea what we're doing, other than making an unknown number of Sirens try to kill us." He subsides as Arkold questions Mooncoil.

Mooncoil shrugs. "I know not the ways of Sirens, except that they kill us."

"About how many could you see down there, Mooncoil?" Kris asks.

Mooncoil ponders, then says, "No more than ten. I saw none of their 'pets'."

The mouse looks marginally reassured. "I guess that's as good as we'll get. Ready when you are."

Hammerhand looks to Arkold.

Whitehead chitters, "All right … me and Miss Berlin will head back, and you drive off the Sirens, right?"

Arkold shifts in his seat some and perks his ears. "Yah done debatin'? Good! Right, Ms. uhh, Merlin, yer headin' back. Whitehead yah may as well get outta here with 'er. See she gets back or you'll be dealin' with me. The rest of you, forward, we're goin' to take out the ones on the surface first," he says.

Whitehead brightens at getting out of combat so easily, and almost spills himself from his seaskipper in his eagerness to turn it about and gun away from the battle. "Righty-ho!" he chitters.

Miss Berlin gives Arkold a glance, then nods and pursues the rat.

The Skeek's ears flatten against his head at Arkold's order. "Right then. Four against sixteen. Noooo problem," he mutters as he readies his spine gun in one hand and uses the other to point his seaskipper towards the visible clump of sirens.

Mooncoil burbles, "Time to die!"

With a wave of his hand Arkold directs the remaining Legionaries forward. "Let's pay 'em back! Spread out and approach stealthily. Aim, and fire. Once they react, break off and draw them after you. If yah see one followin' one of us, shoot it! Go!" He drops his foot on the accelerator and begins his craft forward.

Kris fans out to on the right side of Arkold, keeping his skipper's speed low in accordance with the stealth plan, although he does not look entirely convinced that a skipper at any speed faster than "stopped" can be stealthy. He lays his spine gun awkwardly across the bow of his craft, aiming for the siren nearest to him, but not firing until he's well within range.

The sirens disappear underneath the waves before anyone is close enough to get off a shot at them. So much for "stealth". The green wriggling planktoids, however, seem to be quite oblivious to the approach of the craft.

"Ah well! Fan out, battle speed!" calls out Arkold. He guns his craft forward at an angle to the left of where they submerged.

With a mild curse as the sirens vanish, Kris glances towards Arkold and turns his skipper hard left, arcing well away from where the sirens were last seen.

The seaskippers shoot off to the left and right. So far, no sign of the Sirens.

Hammerhand joins Arkold to the left, while Mooncoil jogs off to the right.

The mouse keeps glancing at the water below his craft as it shoots forward over the waves, moving at a fast clip in accordance with Arkold's last instructions. "What now?" he shouts, though without much hope of either being heard or hearing an answer.

"If they're smart, they're gettin' help. Got any ideas there, Hammerhand? I'm runnin' out," barks Arkold. He keeps his eyes peeled and glances to the water every so often to search for the Sirens.

Hammerhand says, "I didn't see any of their 'pets', other than the green squirmies. We should have them outgunned … and I don't think they can drag us from our seaskippers while we're going this fast. But we can't see what they're doing."

Still searching the water the Jupani nods slightly. "Yah, guess we just wait and see," he says. In frustration, he fires a spine into the water.

Kris pulls his skipper in closer to the other two legionnaires, trying to catch their conversation. "We could try beaching on the island, and hope to lure some of them out of the water," he suggests without much optimism. "If we submerge the skippers, they'll be too slow to outrun the Sirens," he adds as an afterthought.

The green wriggling creatures continue to disperse, escaping in random directions.

"Or maybe, we could use those planktoids to our advantage. They seem interested in 'em for some reason. Fan out and see if yah can't hook a morning line to them, then drag em towards the beach. My guess is, they'll come back for them. If not at least we got em back. Oh, and check for Sirens hiding under them," says Arkold. He then veers his seaskipper off towards the nearest planktoid, checking the water as he goes.

With a quick nod of agreement, Kris veers in the opposite direction towards a different planktoid.

The wiggling planktoids are nowhere near so fast as the seaskippers, and they are easily gained upon. They don't seem to be bright enough to take a dive to avoid the craft, either.

Before he readies the mooring line stored on the craft to drag the wiggling green creatures, Arkold searches the water underneath it.

Arkold catches no sign of any Sirens hiding underneath the planktoids.

The mouse retrieves a mini-harpoon gun, intended for fishing, from the side of his craft, and, after a glance at the water around his planktoid, fires the device at it.

Seeing that the planktoids are free of any danger hidden beneath the wolf reaches behind him and yanks out the harpoon gun stored behind the seat. He checks the line attached to the spear, then fires it towards what looks like the more sturdy part of the creature so as to land a good hold.

Two planktoids get speared, and wriggle around a bit, but, really don't cause that much of a fuss. They're easily dragged along by the powerful seaskipper motors.

Hammerhand does likewise, and snares a third planktoid. Mooncoil, perhaps being just a bit cocky, just spears one, without using a gun.

After wrapping the gun's line about the back of his seat a few times to secure it, Kris loops towards the island with it in tow, cutting a wide berth around the area where the sirens were last sighted. Now and again, he glances back to ensure that his catch is still hooked.

"Right, now that we got 'em, pull 'em on to the beach where they won't move. Once we're up there, I want everyone to disembark except Mooncoil there. Mooncoil, you'll he using that size of yers to pilot as many seaskippers as yah can out into the water while the rest of us hide on the beach. The idea is they'll think we're leavin', come onto the beach to fetch the green things, and we'll have them right where we want em," explains Arkold as he drags his catch towards the beach. "Everyone got that?"

Hammerhand's' harpoon rips out of the planktoid, and the squirmy creature wriggles free. The horse grumbles and tries to retrieve his escaped catch. Another shot, and he has it. The seaskippers make it to the beach, and the squirming planktoids are dragged ashore. "Got it," whinnies Hammerhand belatedly.

Dragging his own catch onto the sand, Kris nods to the wolf's directive.

Mooncoil, meanwhile, tries to fit himself across multiple seaskippers.

Now on shore, Arkold searches for a decent place to hide, preferably behind a good stone or two. As he does so, he draws his gatling pistol and switches that to his right hand, leaving the spine pistol for the left. "Those on shore, hide yerselves. If they see us before they're a ways on shore, we're gunna have problems," he tells the others.

The mouse leaves his planktoid, still harpooned, lodged between a couple of rocks a half-dozen yards from the shoreline. He brings the mini-harpoon gun with him, rope still connected to it, as he searches for cover.

There are plenty of rocks jumbled about … and ample place for a mouse to hide. For the others, it might be a bit more difficult, but at least Mooncoil isn't trying to hide here. He rumbles off, precariously straddled across two seaskippers, and towing the other two behind him on lines.

Hammerhand furrows his brow. "Now … is Mooncoil supposed to come back for us?"

"He's a smart snake, he'll figure it out, else we're stranded," says Arkold. He turns a wide grin over towards the Rhian as he kneels down behind one of the larger stones he could find. "They'll come for us in that case, eh, eventually. This base is worth somethin' to them."

"Er… even if he doesn't come think to come back for us, Hammerhand, someone'll be down here to rescue us eventually… assuming the Sirens don't get us," the mouse murmurs, scurrying in between some rocks and peeking out from a pair.

The planktoids inland flop around a bit, though they seem to be getting more languid.

The water stirs a bit … and a feline head peeks up over the water, seaweed-like hair spreading out to float on the surface.

The mouse doesn't stir, hoping she'll come further inland, and with more of her companions.

The planktoids stop squirming, lying still on the beach.

Behind the stone, Arkold waits. Being a bit too obvious to look out, he waits to peek when he hears the sound of the planktoid being dragged. That wide grin doesn't leave his face as he waits and he idly checks his strange gatling pistol over to make sure he's got it right.

There's a splash, as the Siren dives down, smacking the water with her tail as she submerges once more.

With the hand carrying the spine gun, Arkold directs his fellows to be still and wait.

Time passes. The planktoids start to stink.

Kris watches the nearest planktoid with growing nervousness. "Great," he thinks, "Just our luck that they'd die so fast the Sirens won't even bother with them."

The water bubbles. Something's coming up.

Just as the Jupani opens his mouth to undoubtedly curse, the sound of water moving keeps him silent. His grin which had faded noticeably at the stench widens again and he glances over to watch Kris.

A black head sporting goggles and a breather pops out of the water. It looks like a rodent, just very wet.

The mouse's attention is drawn and held by the bubbling water, and his fingers clasp the hilt of his spine gun restlessly. He draws a bead on the head as it emerges, then frowns in confusion. He glances towards Arkold, then back to the breather-wearing rodent.

The rat throws up its hands at the sight of the spine-gun trained on it, and squeaks something muffled by the breather on its face.

Seeing the confused look, Arkold shifts around to looks over the rock, his own gatling pistol trained on … a rat. "What in the … Who in Dagh's name are you? Come forward! Take off the breather," he calls out to the rat.

Kris pulls up his spine gun, and gestures impatiently with it, beckoning the individual to advance onto the beach.

The rat sloshes up to the beach, wearing flipper-shoes and a wetsuit. He pries the breather off his face, then sputters, "Legionnaire Tarky Turnkey, assigned to Outpost Five, sir!" He snaps off a clumsy salute, and his tail twitches.

Kris holds his peace for the moment, glancing to Arkold to see what the wolf wants to ask first.

"Sir, heh, I'm a regular officer," says Arkold with a laugh. "All right, c'mere away from the water and tell me what happened. Kris, don't get lazy with the cover, just in case."

Hammerhand continues to scan the water. Mooncoil is out of sight.

"Eh," says the rat, slapping forward across the beach, keeping wide of the planktoids. "The mermies came and tore into the planktoid corral. We went out to try to stop them, but they ripped up Cork and Hummer real bad. Hummer's dead, but Cork might pull through. We just holed up inside the base, and they were having a party out there, until you guys showed up. Then they all split. But all the planktoids are gone now."

With a nod, the mouse lowers his gun towards the water again, eyes scanning back and forth over the wave-broken surface, while his ears remain perked to listen to Turnkey's story.

The Jupani holsters the spine gun and scratches his head. "Well, huh. Guess we, uhh, rescued yah then. Um, could'a handled that a bit better but … no one is going to complain ehh? Anyone?" He glances around at those gathered, tapping his trigger finger along the side of his large pistol.

Hammerhand whinnies, "I'm not complaining!"

"The jelly dome is dead, too," the rat says, sighing. "Guess we aren't gonna do much good for any urgans anytime soon."

As the rat's words sink in, Kris drops his own weapon to his side. "That's a lot of planktoids, isn't it? I suppose they must've been here to sabotage the place."

The rat ponders this, then nods. "Guess so."

Seeing no one has decided to complain, Arkold drops himself down and leans back against the rock, using his free hand to brace his head. "Welp, that's a big shame. Guess we're not goin' to be comin' out this way for awhile in the urgan. Ain't that a shame, everyone?"

Hammerhand nods in agreement. "Big crying shame."

The rat brightens. "They didn't do anything to the main base, though. So it's not a total loss!"

Arkold gives Hammerhand a knowing grin before turning back to the wet rat. "Hey, go back down and get us some breathers. Take yer time though, I'm enjoying the beach," he tells him.

"Sure!" says the rat. He slaps his squirmy starfish-like breather on his own muzzle, then slaps back toward the waterline.

Kris clambers out from between the rocks to settle onto the beach, holstering his gun. "Weird," he mutters, gazing out across the open waves without really seeing them.

With a bit of adjustment, Arkold settles in against the rock and lounges, looking for all the world pleased despite the scenario. "Ah, yah, I deserve a vacation. I haven't had one since … uhh, heh … never. Can't say much for the smell though," he rumbles.