“Maurizio,” said Eleyna, feeling her lunch of pickled cod rising in her stomach, “perhaps you should stop that. We need to maintain the element of suprise.”
“Suprise?” Maurizio slurred. “None of that to be ‘ad. It’s broad daylight, they’ve seen the Ancilla an hour off, seen us launched too. Might as well give ‘em a taste of what they’re in for, strike fear in their hearts. Furthermore, Actin’ Cap’n, it’s well known that singin’ raises the spirits.” Maurizio held his jug up, toasting to Eleyna. “Raises? Spirits? Get it?” He launched into song again.
“Here,” said Yelol, handing his duties at the tiller off to a hapless pirate, “let me try.” Yelol took the pistol from Eleyna’s belt, cocked it, and put it directly to Maurizio’s head. “Look here, seaman. The Acting Lieutenant will have no more of your disorderly jabber. Row, and put your knees into it, else I put some lead in you. Clear?”
Maurizio swallowed, smiled at Yelol, and resumed his rowing. Yelol grunted and handed the pistol back to Eleyna butt-fist. “You must speak to them in a language they understand, begging your pardon Lieutenant.”
Eleyna tried to nod coolly, to retain a modicum of authority, but it was difficult to keep it up against the rising tide of bile in her throat. She watched as they drew closer to the merchant ship, stroke by agonizingly slow stroke. She gripped the handle of the pistol, drew herself taller. “Row, row, you slack-wits,” she called. “The faster we arrive, the bigger the prize share for each man. Do I make myself clear?”
The men gave a very half-hearted cheer, but the pace of their rowing increased nonetheless.
Once they came within 300 yards of the target Eleyna called a halt, signaling the same to the three cutters flanking the launch to their sides. Their spyglasses, still under the Ancilla‘s curse, showed only empty sea, but Yelol’s keen eyes could pick out two 12 pounders the merchantman’s crew was loading through their gun ports.
“Row twenty strokes closer,” ordered Eleyna. “They need to think we’re coming right at them.” She pointed at the pirates rowing on the first two benches. “You men, prepare the carronades with grapeshot, ready to fire on my mark.” Her nausea had departed. She felt stern, commanding, and frightened nearly out of her head. She saw the first puff of smoke, indicating the enemy ship’s first potshot at the boarding team, and imagined a ball of hot lead making right for her, wanting nothing so much as to rip her fragile body into shreds.
“Gun crews, prepare to fire! Take aim on the quarterdeck and the stern galleys.” To her starboard and larboard, the other crews were hopefully issuing the same orders. The pirates were a rowdy bunch and hard to control, it was true, but with the scent of plunder on the wind and visions of doubloons dancing in their heads, they suddenly became trained professionals, steely eyed killers. At least, that was what she was counting on.
“Fire!” The carronades sang their deadly tune, spewing fist-sized lumps of shot into the enemy ship’s hull. With any luck, some of those would penetrate its weaker points, near the gun ports or along the decks, and kick loose swarms of splinters into the unprotected flesh of the enemy crew. If their fire was true, then by the time they boarded there wouldn’t be a man left could raise a cutlass.
Glancing starboard, Eleyna saw that her fears were coming true. The furthest cutter, not content to sit and wait for another broadside, was surging forward, its rowers in a spasm of greed and bloodlust.
“Idiots,” muttered Eleyna. “If the Captain hadn’t offered his moronic bounty for enemy scalps, they would have held position. But no, he can’t resist the grand gesture. ‘Two gold pieces for a scalp!’ he says. Pah!”
“You have to admire the enthusiasm, though,” said Yelol, indicating the charging cutter. “To think, there are times when you have to coerce the first boarders at gunpoint.” Just as he said that another two cannon blasts from the merchantman caught the offending boat low and along the waterline, sending three or four pirates flying into the warm, tropical waters. The few of the cutter’s crew not too shell-shocked by the blast began bailing right away, but it was clear that the boat was lost. “Ah well,” said Yelol. “Wasn’t Piss-Bucket Arden on that boat?”
“We can only hope,” said Eleyna. “Signal for cutter number 3 to assist the crew of 2, and take on as many as they can hold.” Behind her the pirate who comprised her signal corp whistled a series of seven notes on his pennywhistle, out of tune. “I think the Captain just gave me the men he wanted rid of,” she told Yelol. “This crew is worthless.”
“That may not be far from the truth.”
They loaded and fired again, and this time Eleyna thought she could hear screams of pain from the merchantman’s deck. After a long wait, the ship’s cannons spoke back, but without any of the luck that had guided their previous effort.
“One more volley, men, and we can take them! Man the oars, keep cutlasses ready.” More grapeshot flew, and powder-smoke from both sides was beginning to obscure the site of the battle. The rowers had the fear of death in them now. Their launch tore through the water at the pace of a marlin or a blue fin. Cutter 4 followed in formation, close and to larboard, while the overloaded cutter 3 was the rearguard.
“Men!” called Eleyna, who felt that now was the appropriate time for the motivational speech she had been preparing, “We stand now on the precipice of glory! Swords in hand, we can smell blood and powder in the wind. Golden riches await us, ours for the taking! For when we cleave our enemy’s…”
Before she could finish, a volley of musket fire from the merchantman sent three of her rowing crew tumbling to the floor and another clutching his bleeding arm and moaning terribly.
“More grapeshot! Get them in the guts. Small arms, distribute now. Fire anytime you see the yellows of their eyes!” She issued a flurry of commands, but it was too late for order, men were taking up whatever pistols and muskets they could find and firing near at random. Cutter 4 had passed their bow and was still gaining speed. Eleyna watched helplessly as it rammed the merchantman’s side at a full bore, resulting in yet more pirates being thrown into the choppy water. A few began to scale the merchantman’s side, but were immediately cast back by two crewmen with bayonets.
Eleyna huddled down in the aft of her launch, checking her pistols and readying her cutlass. “Could this get any worse?” she wondered aloud, though through the fire and screams no one heard her.
Feed
Zilch.