Fic, Dreadnought, Part 6 of 8, Ryan, 15
Nov. 2nd, 2020 02:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Dreadnought, Part 6 of 8
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Ryan, Claudia, Becker, Lester, Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 20,000, split into eight parts.
Summary : Waking up in the Permian under a pile of rock wasn’t a high point in Ryan’s life, nor was jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, but then help comes along from a very unexpected direction.
A/N : This fic was started four years ago for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial art fic challenge for this wonderful artwork by the very talented ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tli. Naturally, it grew into an utter monster all too quickly and when it became obvious I’d never finish it in time, I wrote The World After as a prequel.
“That door leads to the gun platforms on the west of the tower.”
“Then that’s where we start. We need to knock out their artillery or Commander Brown won’t stand a chance.”
Lorraine nodded. “Do you have a plan, Captain?”
“Kill as many of the gunners as we can, then start turning their weapons on this fortress.”
“Sounds good.” Without waiting for further discussion, she pulled open the door and stepped through it in the dark of the night.
The deep boom of one of the eight-inch howitzers reverberated through the air, echoing off the stone bastions and filling the air. Ryan winced. Claudia’s chances were no higher than theirs. This whole bloody mission was insane, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.
He drew one of his combat knives and followed her through the door. They were on a broad walkway around the tower’s outer defences. The wall was castellated like something out of the Middle Ages, sheltering the gun batteries and their crews, their artillery trained on the small flotilla of airships bravely drawing the enemy’s fire to give Becker and Lester time to escape. Ryan wanted to believe they all stood a chance, but for the life of him, he couldn’t work out how they were going to get out of this situation. If he’d been by himself, he would just have concentrated on doing as much damage as possible before they took him out. With Lorraine Wickes at his side, though, he needed to think more strategically. He wasn’t willing to throw her life away…
She moved forward, as silent as a hunting cat. She’d drawn a blade too, long and slender, with the steel painted black. An assassin’s blade, one that wouldn’t reflect light.
The nearest gun emplacement looked like one of the long-range mortars. The two-man crew was in the process of loading the tube and Ryan heard the instruction to fire as he stood in the shadows getting his bearings. Another one was close by. They’d need to take out both crews, and if they could do that, they stood a chance of starting to create the much-needed distraction.
The noise from the mortar split the air, a sharper crack than the boom of the howitzer but still loud enough to make Ryan wish he was wearing ear plugs. The crews looked to be wearing leather caps with flaps covering their ears, providing some protection but also dulling any reaction to their approach and giving Ryan and Lorraine a much-needed advantage.
Ryan gestured that he’d take the first pair. Lorraine nodded, moving swiftly along the wall, hugging the shadows cast by the gas lamps fixed to each gun emplacement, which enabled the gunners to work in the enveloping darkness. Ryan’s two targets had their backs to him. That wasn’t going to end well for them.
Grabbing the first man around the chest, Ryan jerked him backward, his knife hand coming up in one shift, merciless movement as he slit the man’s throat. The gunner died without sound, probably not even realising he was in danger until it was too late. Ryan lowered the man’s body to the ground and stepped over him, moving up behind the second man. At the last moment, the other gunner turned around, his shocked eyes opening wide.
Ryan closed on him in one stride, thrusting the bloodied knife into the gunner’s stomach, angled upwards so it slipped underneath his ribs and buried itself in his heart. Ryan clapped a hand over the man’s mouth, feeling his victim’s breath hot on his palm as the man died.
A quick glance to the side told Ryan that Lorraine had been equally deadly with the black blade. Both the men she’d targeted were dead, and she was casually wiping the darkened steel on one man’s jacket. Ryan nodded his appreciation of her deadly skills. She was a good person to have at his side in a tight spot.
She gave him a close-lipped smile. Looking at the two mortar batteries, she raised one well-marked eyebrow.
He shook his head. If they turned these guns back on the fortress, their position would soon be betrayed. For the moment, stealth – and six inches of cold steel – were their best weapons. That and the overwhelming element of surprise they commanded.
They slipped back to the shadows, this time with Ryan on point and Lorraine following behind. Ryan’s next target was the mid-range artillery weapon that Becker had described as a Hotchkiss quick fire six pounder. The weapon looked something akin to a World War Two anti-aircraft gun, mounted on a swivel platform that could be swung around as if on an oversized cake decorating stand. Not that Ryan had had much to do with cake decoration, but he’d once spent a week on obs with nothing more riveting that endless repeats of The Great British Bake Off for company.
The gun platform was cleverly weighted so that the operator’s body weight was enough to set the rig moving. The turntable gave theoretically 360-degree coverage and the six-pounder could fire both up and down. Ryan had once trained with the RAF and had been given a go on one of their anti-aircraft guns. He’d enjoyed the experience, but it hadn’t been enough to make him want to join the flyboys.
The Hotchkiss six-pounder necessitated a crew of three. One to act as gunner, one to load the shells and the third to act as gopher, taking the shells from the munition boxes and slotting them into the four revolving loading tubes. The contraption reminded him of a vastly over-sized Gatling gun in design.
Keeping the weapon in use was a harder ask for two people operating without back up but they’d just have to make the best of a bad job. The first thing they had to do was disrupt the enemy’s supply lines…
As the ground crew gopher turned to lift another shell from the long wooden box by the wall, Ryan stepped forward and hammered his left fist into the man’s jaw. His head snapped backwards but Ryan was ready to catch him as he fell. He buried his knife to the hilt in the man’s neck and let the limp body drop to the ground.
Lorraine moved past him and snaked an arm around the second man’s neck, jerking his head back and calmly slitting his throat.
The sudden bang as the Hotchkiss fired was almost enough to make Ryan jump even though he’d been expecting it.
A moment later, the shell did its deadly work, tearing into the canopy of one of the attacking airships.
Ryan watched in horror as the damaged canopy flapped in the air and the airship started to lose height.
The gunner gave a yell of triumph and turned to share the moment with his crew. Lorraine quickly jumped onto the moving platform and stabbed the knife into the man’s thigh. His cry of pain was overridden by the boom from another howitzer. Lorraine dragged the knife across the man’s leg, intending – and succeeding – to sever the femoral artery. She was displaying formidable skill in close quarter combat, making Ryan wonder how the hell she’d come by the training, but that was probably very much a case of don’t ask, don’t tell.
Launching himself at the gun platform, Ryan avoided the spray of blood from the man’s leg and slammed his knife home into the exposed throat. The man threw his hands up, desperately trying to claw the blade out, shredding his hand with classic defensive wounds, but Ryan doubted that any coroner was likely to examine these corpses with any degree of attention, if at all.
He grabbed the man’s arm and hauled him sideways off the revolving gun platform. The man was dead before he hit the stone. Ryan heaved his body over to the growing pile of dead men in the shadows then jumped onto the platform and started to scan the controls to see if he could make sense of them.
“Get another shell loaded,” he said to Lorraine. The Dreadnought was coming closer and the airship’s crew were in dire need of something to distract the artillery crews. By the time Lorraine had succeeded in manoeuvring two shells into the Hotchkiss, Ryan thought he’d managed to work out what he needed to do. “Stand back.”
He leaned to one side and felt the platform moved smoothly the opposite way. He leaned again, this time pulling back on the bar in front of him and watched as the enormous barrels lifted to the slate-dark sky. Ryan shifted position again until the barrels were pointing at the upper towers of the fortress. Drew back as far as he could, trying to form some impression of where a shell would land if he pressed the arming mechanism now. It was all going to be guesswork, the first time, at least, but he still had three other shells as a follow up.
He drew in a long breath and pulled the firing lever. The shell flew from the wide barrel as Ryan counted down the seconds in his head. On the count of four, masonry exploded high above them on the tower. Ryan quickly adjusted his position, sending another shell into the tower’s upper defences. He now had two shells left and needed to fire them quickly so they could move on before their position was pinpointed. His aim was to create the maximum destruction possible, but he also needed to silence those fucking Howitzers.
He lowered the barrels and brought the artillery piece to bear on the gun emplacements further along the tower’s defences. He could hear screams now, some voices yelling orders, others crying for help. He fired, and second later was rewarded by a loud explosion. He looked down at Lorraine and saw her pump her fist in the air. Whatever the shell had hit had caused some serous damage. He took a split-second decision and fired the last shell on the same trajectory before jumping down to join Lorraine, who was now wearing one of the leather caps pulled down over her black curls. She’d also put on the least bloodstained of the leather jackets the artillery crews wore. The disguise wouldn’t stand much scrutiny, but it might at least help her pass a casual inspection.
They needed to shift position now before someone came to investigate where the hell the shells were coming from. Ryan jumped down and unslung the M4 from across his back, cradling it in his arms as he and Lorraine made their way around the perimeter of the tower.
A man ran towards them, his hair and clothing on fire. Ryan felt sorry for him but couldn’t spare a bullet. He sidestepped the burning man and pressed on towards the edge of the walkway. Around the corner he could see the Howitzer, squat and ugly, like an enormous and extremely threatening naval cannon. The cannon’s lower velocity coupled with high elevation made it exceptionally dangerous for the approaching airship as it was capable of firing projectiles high into the air to plunge down onto the large canopies, igniting the gas used to keep the ships in the air and knocking the attackers out of the sky. The defenders had already brought one down.
The shells Ryan had fired from the Hotchkiss appeared to have taken out two of a battery of three Howitzers and a lucky strike had hit a box of ammunition, blowing a large chunk out of the wall and killing or maiming many of the gunnery crews. As a soldier, Ryan took no pleasure in the death he was obliged to deal out, but nor did he allow the sight of a fallen enemy to distract him from his purpose. It was a simple fact of war that an injured enemy tied up more resources for your opponents than a dead one. With the gun crews doing their best to haul injured and dying comrades to safety, now was the best time to strike. The last thing the gun crews expected was an attach from inside their own fortress.
“Clear this section of wall!” Ryan yelled, putting the full force of command in his voice. “Get these men to safety!”
One of the gun crew turned to see where the new orders were coming from, but there was no sign of suspicion in the man’s eyes.
“Move!” Ryan bellowed in his best parade ground voice. “Clear this area now!”
The men moved to object his orders, hauling their injured comrades out of the rubble of the wall and half-dragging, half-carrying them to a door nearby.
“You!” Ryan called, pointing at Lorraine. “Help me load!”
Lorraine’s eyes widened in surprise, but she jumped to obey his order, lifting one shell out of an undamaged box with a wiry strength that belied her slender frame. Ryan moved quickly to help her, and together they were able to get the cast-iron shell into the Howitzer’s barrel. From what Ryan had seen, it would be filled with either gunpowder or some other incendiary material, and that was exactly what he needed to cause more confusion.
“Keep moving!” he yelled. “Men are dying, get them out of here!”
With everyone occupied, he gestured to Lorraine that he wanted the cannon turned so that its barrel was pointing into the air. This sort of weapon had been developed for use in siege warfare, and it was his intention to put it to back to work on its original purpose. The Howitzer was mounted on a wheeled gun carriage to enable it to be moved and it was a simple matter for Ryan and Lorraine to release the wheel brake and lift the rear of the carriage to turn the artillery piece. Cranking the barrel up to its maximum elevation, Ryan looked around for something to use to light the fuse. On the ground nearby was a tinder box dropped by one of the ground crew. Ryan grabbed it and struck a spark to light the fuse.
They probably had about four seconds to get clear. Ryan grabbed Lorraine’s arm and together they ran past the Howitzer into a dark, unmanned section of wall.
The thunderous roar of a 220-pound shell added to the chaos going on around them and a moment later the Howitzer was propelled backwards by the force of the recoil, knocking itself through the gap left in the outer wall by one of Ryan’s missile strikes. The sound of metal striking stone as it landed was music to Ryan’s ears. One less artillery piece capable of bringing down an airship.
They were starting to even the fight.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Ryan, Claudia, Becker, Lester, Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 20,000, split into eight parts.
Summary : Waking up in the Permian under a pile of rock wasn’t a high point in Ryan’s life, nor was jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, but then help comes along from a very unexpected direction.
A/N : This fic was started four years ago for the
primeval_denial art fic challenge for this wonderful artwork by the very talented tli. Naturally, it grew into an utter monster all too quickly and when it became obvious I’d never finish it in time, I wrote The World After as a prequel.“That door leads to the gun platforms on the west of the tower.”
“Then that’s where we start. We need to knock out their artillery or Commander Brown won’t stand a chance.”
Lorraine nodded. “Do you have a plan, Captain?”
“Kill as many of the gunners as we can, then start turning their weapons on this fortress.”
“Sounds good.” Without waiting for further discussion, she pulled open the door and stepped through it in the dark of the night.
The deep boom of one of the eight-inch howitzers reverberated through the air, echoing off the stone bastions and filling the air. Ryan winced. Claudia’s chances were no higher than theirs. This whole bloody mission was insane, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.
He drew one of his combat knives and followed her through the door. They were on a broad walkway around the tower’s outer defences. The wall was castellated like something out of the Middle Ages, sheltering the gun batteries and their crews, their artillery trained on the small flotilla of airships bravely drawing the enemy’s fire to give Becker and Lester time to escape. Ryan wanted to believe they all stood a chance, but for the life of him, he couldn’t work out how they were going to get out of this situation. If he’d been by himself, he would just have concentrated on doing as much damage as possible before they took him out. With Lorraine Wickes at his side, though, he needed to think more strategically. He wasn’t willing to throw her life away…
She moved forward, as silent as a hunting cat. She’d drawn a blade too, long and slender, with the steel painted black. An assassin’s blade, one that wouldn’t reflect light.
The nearest gun emplacement looked like one of the long-range mortars. The two-man crew was in the process of loading the tube and Ryan heard the instruction to fire as he stood in the shadows getting his bearings. Another one was close by. They’d need to take out both crews, and if they could do that, they stood a chance of starting to create the much-needed distraction.
The noise from the mortar split the air, a sharper crack than the boom of the howitzer but still loud enough to make Ryan wish he was wearing ear plugs. The crews looked to be wearing leather caps with flaps covering their ears, providing some protection but also dulling any reaction to their approach and giving Ryan and Lorraine a much-needed advantage.
Ryan gestured that he’d take the first pair. Lorraine nodded, moving swiftly along the wall, hugging the shadows cast by the gas lamps fixed to each gun emplacement, which enabled the gunners to work in the enveloping darkness. Ryan’s two targets had their backs to him. That wasn’t going to end well for them.
Grabbing the first man around the chest, Ryan jerked him backward, his knife hand coming up in one shift, merciless movement as he slit the man’s throat. The gunner died without sound, probably not even realising he was in danger until it was too late. Ryan lowered the man’s body to the ground and stepped over him, moving up behind the second man. At the last moment, the other gunner turned around, his shocked eyes opening wide.
Ryan closed on him in one stride, thrusting the bloodied knife into the gunner’s stomach, angled upwards so it slipped underneath his ribs and buried itself in his heart. Ryan clapped a hand over the man’s mouth, feeling his victim’s breath hot on his palm as the man died.
A quick glance to the side told Ryan that Lorraine had been equally deadly with the black blade. Both the men she’d targeted were dead, and she was casually wiping the darkened steel on one man’s jacket. Ryan nodded his appreciation of her deadly skills. She was a good person to have at his side in a tight spot.
She gave him a close-lipped smile. Looking at the two mortar batteries, she raised one well-marked eyebrow.
He shook his head. If they turned these guns back on the fortress, their position would soon be betrayed. For the moment, stealth – and six inches of cold steel – were their best weapons. That and the overwhelming element of surprise they commanded.
They slipped back to the shadows, this time with Ryan on point and Lorraine following behind. Ryan’s next target was the mid-range artillery weapon that Becker had described as a Hotchkiss quick fire six pounder. The weapon looked something akin to a World War Two anti-aircraft gun, mounted on a swivel platform that could be swung around as if on an oversized cake decorating stand. Not that Ryan had had much to do with cake decoration, but he’d once spent a week on obs with nothing more riveting that endless repeats of The Great British Bake Off for company.
The gun platform was cleverly weighted so that the operator’s body weight was enough to set the rig moving. The turntable gave theoretically 360-degree coverage and the six-pounder could fire both up and down. Ryan had once trained with the RAF and had been given a go on one of their anti-aircraft guns. He’d enjoyed the experience, but it hadn’t been enough to make him want to join the flyboys.
The Hotchkiss six-pounder necessitated a crew of three. One to act as gunner, one to load the shells and the third to act as gopher, taking the shells from the munition boxes and slotting them into the four revolving loading tubes. The contraption reminded him of a vastly over-sized Gatling gun in design.
Keeping the weapon in use was a harder ask for two people operating without back up but they’d just have to make the best of a bad job. The first thing they had to do was disrupt the enemy’s supply lines…
As the ground crew gopher turned to lift another shell from the long wooden box by the wall, Ryan stepped forward and hammered his left fist into the man’s jaw. His head snapped backwards but Ryan was ready to catch him as he fell. He buried his knife to the hilt in the man’s neck and let the limp body drop to the ground.
Lorraine moved past him and snaked an arm around the second man’s neck, jerking his head back and calmly slitting his throat.
The sudden bang as the Hotchkiss fired was almost enough to make Ryan jump even though he’d been expecting it.
A moment later, the shell did its deadly work, tearing into the canopy of one of the attacking airships.
Ryan watched in horror as the damaged canopy flapped in the air and the airship started to lose height.
The gunner gave a yell of triumph and turned to share the moment with his crew. Lorraine quickly jumped onto the moving platform and stabbed the knife into the man’s thigh. His cry of pain was overridden by the boom from another howitzer. Lorraine dragged the knife across the man’s leg, intending – and succeeding – to sever the femoral artery. She was displaying formidable skill in close quarter combat, making Ryan wonder how the hell she’d come by the training, but that was probably very much a case of don’t ask, don’t tell.
Launching himself at the gun platform, Ryan avoided the spray of blood from the man’s leg and slammed his knife home into the exposed throat. The man threw his hands up, desperately trying to claw the blade out, shredding his hand with classic defensive wounds, but Ryan doubted that any coroner was likely to examine these corpses with any degree of attention, if at all.
He grabbed the man’s arm and hauled him sideways off the revolving gun platform. The man was dead before he hit the stone. Ryan heaved his body over to the growing pile of dead men in the shadows then jumped onto the platform and started to scan the controls to see if he could make sense of them.
“Get another shell loaded,” he said to Lorraine. The Dreadnought was coming closer and the airship’s crew were in dire need of something to distract the artillery crews. By the time Lorraine had succeeded in manoeuvring two shells into the Hotchkiss, Ryan thought he’d managed to work out what he needed to do. “Stand back.”
He leaned to one side and felt the platform moved smoothly the opposite way. He leaned again, this time pulling back on the bar in front of him and watched as the enormous barrels lifted to the slate-dark sky. Ryan shifted position again until the barrels were pointing at the upper towers of the fortress. Drew back as far as he could, trying to form some impression of where a shell would land if he pressed the arming mechanism now. It was all going to be guesswork, the first time, at least, but he still had three other shells as a follow up.
He drew in a long breath and pulled the firing lever. The shell flew from the wide barrel as Ryan counted down the seconds in his head. On the count of four, masonry exploded high above them on the tower. Ryan quickly adjusted his position, sending another shell into the tower’s upper defences. He now had two shells left and needed to fire them quickly so they could move on before their position was pinpointed. His aim was to create the maximum destruction possible, but he also needed to silence those fucking Howitzers.
He lowered the barrels and brought the artillery piece to bear on the gun emplacements further along the tower’s defences. He could hear screams now, some voices yelling orders, others crying for help. He fired, and second later was rewarded by a loud explosion. He looked down at Lorraine and saw her pump her fist in the air. Whatever the shell had hit had caused some serous damage. He took a split-second decision and fired the last shell on the same trajectory before jumping down to join Lorraine, who was now wearing one of the leather caps pulled down over her black curls. She’d also put on the least bloodstained of the leather jackets the artillery crews wore. The disguise wouldn’t stand much scrutiny, but it might at least help her pass a casual inspection.
They needed to shift position now before someone came to investigate where the hell the shells were coming from. Ryan jumped down and unslung the M4 from across his back, cradling it in his arms as he and Lorraine made their way around the perimeter of the tower.
A man ran towards them, his hair and clothing on fire. Ryan felt sorry for him but couldn’t spare a bullet. He sidestepped the burning man and pressed on towards the edge of the walkway. Around the corner he could see the Howitzer, squat and ugly, like an enormous and extremely threatening naval cannon. The cannon’s lower velocity coupled with high elevation made it exceptionally dangerous for the approaching airship as it was capable of firing projectiles high into the air to plunge down onto the large canopies, igniting the gas used to keep the ships in the air and knocking the attackers out of the sky. The defenders had already brought one down.
The shells Ryan had fired from the Hotchkiss appeared to have taken out two of a battery of three Howitzers and a lucky strike had hit a box of ammunition, blowing a large chunk out of the wall and killing or maiming many of the gunnery crews. As a soldier, Ryan took no pleasure in the death he was obliged to deal out, but nor did he allow the sight of a fallen enemy to distract him from his purpose. It was a simple fact of war that an injured enemy tied up more resources for your opponents than a dead one. With the gun crews doing their best to haul injured and dying comrades to safety, now was the best time to strike. The last thing the gun crews expected was an attach from inside their own fortress.
“Clear this section of wall!” Ryan yelled, putting the full force of command in his voice. “Get these men to safety!”
One of the gun crew turned to see where the new orders were coming from, but there was no sign of suspicion in the man’s eyes.
“Move!” Ryan bellowed in his best parade ground voice. “Clear this area now!”
The men moved to object his orders, hauling their injured comrades out of the rubble of the wall and half-dragging, half-carrying them to a door nearby.
“You!” Ryan called, pointing at Lorraine. “Help me load!”
Lorraine’s eyes widened in surprise, but she jumped to obey his order, lifting one shell out of an undamaged box with a wiry strength that belied her slender frame. Ryan moved quickly to help her, and together they were able to get the cast-iron shell into the Howitzer’s barrel. From what Ryan had seen, it would be filled with either gunpowder or some other incendiary material, and that was exactly what he needed to cause more confusion.
“Keep moving!” he yelled. “Men are dying, get them out of here!”
With everyone occupied, he gestured to Lorraine that he wanted the cannon turned so that its barrel was pointing into the air. This sort of weapon had been developed for use in siege warfare, and it was his intention to put it to back to work on its original purpose. The Howitzer was mounted on a wheeled gun carriage to enable it to be moved and it was a simple matter for Ryan and Lorraine to release the wheel brake and lift the rear of the carriage to turn the artillery piece. Cranking the barrel up to its maximum elevation, Ryan looked around for something to use to light the fuse. On the ground nearby was a tinder box dropped by one of the ground crew. Ryan grabbed it and struck a spark to light the fuse.
They probably had about four seconds to get clear. Ryan grabbed Lorraine’s arm and together they ran past the Howitzer into a dark, unmanned section of wall.
The thunderous roar of a 220-pound shell added to the chaos going on around them and a moment later the Howitzer was propelled backwards by the force of the recoil, knocking itself through the gap left in the outer wall by one of Ryan’s missile strikes. The sound of metal striking stone as it landed was music to Ryan’s ears. One less artillery piece capable of bringing down an airship.
They were starting to even the fight.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2020-11-02 04:10 pm (UTC)But Ryan and Lorraine are a BAMF team!
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Date: 2020-11-02 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2020-11-02 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-11-02 08:01 pm (UTC)I shivered when you mentioned Lorraine's "assassin blade". And my opinion of her competence (already high) immediately jumped up another notch. And then her combat abilities really put the cap on it. Brilliant use of her character.
I ended up having to go back and reread this immediately, because I was reading it so fast the first time, pulled along by the action.
Fantastic.
no subject
Date: 2020-11-02 08:03 pm (UTC)Lorraine and Ryan were a lot of fun together.
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