lucetilogs | Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die:

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Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die:

Who:

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What: Two Eighteenth-century Sailors and the Tractor That Didn't Love Them. And McCoy, covering his eyes.
When: Day 1 of the Draft; after this.
Where: A farm near the battlefield, and its surrounds.
Summary: Jack and Archie have decided to tend to matters of war, in spite of difficulties caused by shifting irregularities.
Rating: Jim Varney wearing John Goodman's trousers and Jed Clampett's hat.

The first thing Jack Sparrow noticed after being transported to the battlefield with the rest was what amounted to excruciating pain in his right arm.

His sword arm.

It dangled from his shoulder, badly broken and useless. And pink.

On his knees in a pile of dusty straw, Jack inspected the damage, and found it very bad indeed; he found he could not feel the fingers on his right hand at all. Clutching the useless limb to his chest, he looked about. "KENNEDY! BONES!" Where were they in this chaos?

...

And why was he COMPLETELY PINK?

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The Farmall was turning into quite the snaggletoothed contraption. Sparrow was aware, though, that the backfiring might have attracted attention. They probably didn't have a GREAT deal of time to make this work. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then stepped back to examine their handywork.

"Beastie's lookin' fine to me, Kennedy! Let's sail her! You're at the helm, savvy? Find that key thing, from before!"

Jack clambered on top of the tractor, kneeling on the hood. He would prefer to drive, of course, but it seemed more sensible for Archie to take on that role while his arm was laid up like this.

Archie was grinning like a maniac now, and he had no idea why. Leaping into the seat, he took a deep breath and eyed down all the levers and controls. This was probably the simplest thing in the world after a ship, he was sure. The key did something, so he tried that. The engine roared to life. Okay. This lever...no. NONONONONONO! He pushed that lever into its original position, one foot shooting out and accidentally hitting...something. He'd have to remember that later. All right.

"Give me a moment."

Edited 2011-02-27 03:43 (UTC)

"Kennedy, you're taking your sweet precious time and our enemies, from the sound of it, are just in the mood to find us presently."

The pirate looked down at his blue-colored friend, before patting the tractor and whispering, "Come on, lovely Beastie; there's a pet."

Kennedy kept on, pulling this, pushing that, and after trying enough things, the machine suddenly started forward.

"WHOA!"

"AH! KENNEDY, YOU MAGICAL MAN! FORWARD, BEASTIE! AND LET THEM TASTE THE DARK METAL WE'RE MADE OF!"

Of course, the tractor was only traveling at about two miles per hour and neither man had thought to actually open the shed doors that they were slowly trundling toward. Still, Sparrow had his sword out and was brandishing it as he stood tall and proud and a lovely shade of pink atop Beastie's rusting hood.

Edited 2011-02-27 03:55 (UTC)

"Jack?"

You see, Kennedy saw the closed doors looming ahead and was praying they were parchment-fragile. Of course, he wasn't the one perched on the hood.

"Jack!"

CRASH!

Edited 2011-02-27 03:58 (UTC)

Sparrow had the good sense to duck and cover as Beastie broke through the old rotting doors of the shed. Dust and bits of wood exploded outwards as the Farmall lurched through the opening and, puffing smoke and engine growling, rolled majestically onto the field of battle.

The pirate stood atop her heroically, long dark hair blowing back in the wind. When his shot was spent taking out at least two of their enemies, he drew out his sword and brandished it like a conquering king--like Hannibal crossing the alps aboard a warrior elephant.

They were surrounded by far more Third Party soldiers than they had at first suspected, although they had the advantage of surprise. And being utterly confusing.

Edited 2011-02-27 04:18 (UTC)

Somewhere in the throng of the soldiers was Leonard McCoy and -- not surprisingly -- he was not exactly happy and content with the situation at the present time.

So much for keeping Sparrow and Kennedy out of trouble, the Starfleet doctor thought bitterly as he faced the Third Party members and kept his phaser trained on them, his hand steady and expression grim with determination. Hell, McCoy hadn't even wanted to mollify their stupid idea, but when the pirate had told him how the last minute draftees may be affected by the shifting irregularities, it had left the doctor with no choice but to join them and ensure their safety.

Such was his concentration that he did not react to the sound of wood splintering somewhere around him and he shrugged it off as fellow draftees in the fray. Here he was on the battlefield, essentially alone and surrounded by Goddamn chickens clucking away angrily around his feet, when a stray bullet met its mark and felled the nearest Third Party member to him and another one was taken out in the same manner in quick succession. McCoy looked over and...

"... You've gotta be kidding me."

Kennedy grinned like the cat that ate the canary when he found the steering wheel far, far more responsive than he expected. He drew his sword and ran one soldier through as said winged anthropomorphous being merely stood with a perplexed expression on its face. Amidst the flurry of chickens and soldiers, he spied a familiar blue-winged friend and offered a wave, completely forgetful of the fact that, well, he was periwinkle. A chicken flapped wildly and jumped into his lap, adding to the impression that this was a parade float rather than an instrument of war.

"Sail ho! Jack, she's one of ours!"

Edited 2011-02-27 05:00 (UTC)

The pirate grinned mightily when he saw who it was.

"Oi! Bonesy! I'm pink! Archie, he's a delicate blossom-like shade of periwinkle!" Sparrow cut down another rogue angel who dared try to stop them. He protected his right arm as best he could while he fought perched atop the tractor.

"And we've a cunning war machine now! Ride on, Beastie! Ride on for glory!"

Did they just… what? Did they really expect him to be impressed with this display of idiotic bravado? He blinked at the periwinkle coloured lieutenant waving at him from behind the wheel of that primitive rust bucket (a tractor, some people would call it, but not McCoy) and he rolled his eyes at the flailing bubble-gum pink pirate standing on top of it.

"Shifting incompatibility, huh?" McCoy hummed flatly and one of the chickens squawked and stared up at the doctor as he adjusted his grip on the phaser and fired at another angel advancing on the two men and their ridiculous mode of transportation. It went down without so much of a whimper as the barrel of his weapon rolled from blue to red as he switched the settings. "Who knew they'd lose even more control of their cognitive faculties?"

"Come aboard, Doctor!" The chicken in Archie's lap had scrabbled up to perch on the top of the steering wheel, swaying as the lieutenant moved it from side to side. The war machine was essentially useless, since in spite of being armed better than either sailor she only crept along. The soldiers were able to walk out of danger at a fairly leisurely pace. None of this eclipsed the fact that Archie Kennedy, fourth lieutenant of the Renown, was on a machine from roughly 150 years in the future after having figured out how to work it with no help at all and was now manipulating it with a degree of success. All in less than five minutes. That was pretty cool.

"LIEUTENANT! HARD TO STARBOARD!" The pirate aimed, of course, to get them both chugging toward McCoy so they could lend him some aid in this battle. Jack would've said additional dramatic things at that moment except another chicken had fluttered up to perch on his hat.

"BUGGER. CHICKEN."

Edited 2011-02-27 17:34 (UTC)

"I'm not getting on that damn thing!"

"Hard to starboard!" Kennedy confirmed as he veered to the right, aiming for the doctor. "Captain! She's refusing to haul down her colors! We may have to take her by force! ACKPHBBT!" That was the chicken on the steering wheel flapping its wings for balance and beating inconsiderately against his face.

Edited 2011-02-27 18:14 (UTC)

Sparrow simply allowed the chicken to stay. It wasn't doing harm at the moment and, with his arm in Kennedy's sling, there wasn't a lot he could do to bat it away.

"Right, right, just don't run him into the ground, boy! There's--"

At that moment, one of the Third Party soldiers managed to take them by surprise, clambering up to battle the pirate hand-to-hand on the hood. It was beginning to look like a near thing as the enemy struck at the pirate's broken arm. Jack fell to the hood in agony, only just clinging on to the tractor as he managed somehow to strike up and in, twisting his sword into the other fighter's gut. The winged figure dropped from the machine and was soon an obstacle to be rolled over as they veered toward McCoy.

As Jack Sparrow ran that soldier through, McCoy had also lifted his phaser and managed to fire off a short that caught the soldier right between the wings and he watched as he tumbled off the tractor and was soon run over by the overly-chipper lieutenant behind the wheel.

"Get that thing away from me," He shouted at the two of them as it veered towards him and he backed away. "This isn't a game!"

Kennedy pulled up beside the doctor with a gigantic grin. "Captain Sparrow, will you do the honors of capturing our wayward brother?" A soldier slung an arm around the lieutenant's neck and dragged him off the tractor, slitting this throat and leaving him to bleed out on the grass! Or would have, if Archie hadn't seen him coming and fought one-handed for a few seconds before flinging the chicken in his enemy's face and running him through while he was spitting feathers. The chicken survived the encounter, fortunately, although it landed awkwardly on the ground with its wings splayed. It tucked its feet under itself, delicately folded its wings, and clucked disapprovingly at the madman who threw it.

"Argh, McCoy! Arm's broken, mate."

Jack hugged the sling to himself as he sat atop Beastie. He glanced back at Archie, apparently not caring at all that the other man had just narrowly escaped death by virtue of a chicken. "Damn it, Kennedy! You want me to have to tell our Jilly you died this day? Stop hurling hens, boy! McCoy, get aboard, blast it!"

Stubbornly, he refused to move from the spot. "I'm not getting on that damn thing, Sparrow! Get off before you break something else -- both of you."

Archie laughed aloud and came about to larboard, circling the doctor slowly. Then, he blinked, noticing faint trickles of smoke leaking out of the seams of the hood. He opened his mouth to say something when...

He slumped against the wheel, unconscious. The tractor headed straight toward the doctor.

"Kennedy? KENNEDY?"

Jack winced in pain and nearly lost his balance as the tractor lurched forward at a MUCH faster speed than it had been going.

As he clambered across the hood toward the unresponsive lieutenant, a strange sound gurgled out from Beastie's great rusting gullet: it was as though thousands of tiny magic moss dwarves had made a picnic of nuts and berries and fairy cakes within the mysterious clockwork under the hood, before having a disagreement about which among them was the bravest and most handsome dwarf, which naturally led them to start trying to kill each other with hammers and set each other on fire. Screeching, clanging sounds.

"AWAKE, KENNEDY! THE DWARVES ARE ANGRY!" Jack lay across the length of the hood so he could reach down to shake the sailor by the shoulder. He could feel heat coming up from beneath the metal casing. "Oh, Bugger..."

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/loses at sleeping, apparently; also, loses the html

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1/?

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DONE!

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