Dread Privateer

Britannia. Britannia without end. 
It is the year 2566. Rome endures, preserved through the blood of one of her children: the Eternal Empire of Britannia Aeterna. The legacy of Albion now echoes among the stars, yet the Empire stands beset by enemies on every side.
Britannia seeks to reunite the lost tribes of man beneath a single banner. For others, there is glory, purpose, and faith. For you, there is money to be made. 
You are a privateer in the service of His Majesty’s Grand Navy, as part of the Corsican Crusade. You follow in the wake of the fleet’s grand battles and feed off the wreckage. Salvage dead ships. Board and seize those of the Fifth Stellar French Empire. Rescue important personnel, assassinate others, and above all, loot that can be sold for filthy lucre!
Bring people, and lose them
Hire operatives, kit them out, give them orders: follow, scout, hold, scavenge. They'll work the deck alongside you. Take cover, reload, drag each other off the floor. When one doesn't come back, you can cut their name into a bulkhead that you call a memorial. 
Every wound matters
Damage lands on a specific limb. A ruined arm spoils your aim, a ruined leg drops you mid-stride, and an open wound keeps bleeding until someone closes it. Bring the right kit or it’s one more name for the bulkhead.
Rounds don't come from nowhere
Weapons feed from magazines you press full yourself… or have a squadmate do the tedious work. Reloading is swapping a magazine, not summoning ammunition.
Take the writ, take the risk
Salvage, retrieval, cull, assassination, power restoration, assault, scuttle runs, etc across abandoned hulks, held garrisons and tenement blocks. Decide whether to brave another level or to extract with your loot and injured. 
Fights are about position
Cover stops bullets and can be shot apart. Smoke blinds both sides. A flash charge takes everyone's aim unless their eyes are covered… and a round that misses keeps going, into whatever's standing behind.

Permadeath is permadeath. Your operative dies and a squadmate picks up the run where they fell. Everything they were carrying stays on the deck for whoever's brave enough to go back for it.