Three Swords' Revenge

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ooc - I thought that thread title had a bit more pizzazz that "Pirates Return Cont'd".


Leftenant Cornwallis was torn. On one hand he was quite proud of how the crew of Devastation was dealing with the unexpected influx of shaken, scared party-goers and the equally unexpected cruise. As senior officer on board he was ostensibly in charge - at least of the Navy men, anyway - and they were responding to his commands (truthfully, his relay of Abbot's commands, he admitted to himself) quite well, although without the usual snap and vigor they'd show for Captain Grayling or Admiral Longsbatten.

But that left the question open... where were Captain Grayling and Admiral Longsbatten, or any of the other officer, senior or junior? Cornwallis hadn't been the only Navy representative at the governor's ball; what had happened to the others? He vaguely recalled seeing a gold-trimmed uniform fall in the chaotic battle at the mansion, but that still left about half a dozen men unaccounted for.

"Bring her starboard a few degrees," he ordered the helmsman. "We don't want them thinking we're following them, not just yet." He watched the result for a few minutes, then called for more sail. Just because they didn't want to be seen as following Pale Horse and Infante as they made their steady way towards the third ship didn't mean that they didn't want to make fast progress at doing so.

He also called for the gun-crews, at least those members who were sober enough to stand, to make ready. Captain Grayling never liked to be kept waiting when he called for the first volley, and Corwallis had no reason to suspect that Abbot would be any different.

 

The bell rang Alistair from his flashback sequences. He looked up, alarmed.
"They've probably noticed the bodies. Or you missing." he said quietly. "We should get ready. Get your sword prepared."

 

"Dammit!" Andrew grabbed his stolen sword from off the floor, and crouched behind a crate. Quietly, he wondered if the crew would think about searching down here, and realised they probably would.
"If they find out we're here, we wont be able to fight them off for long."
Andrew checked the pistol once more, muttered a quick, quiet prayer, and waited.

 

Brutus smashed open another door somewhere below decks. He liked smashing wooden things: doors, chairs, tables and the like, almost as much as smashing people. Wood almost always had that nice audible "crack" that you got when you got a great bone break in a person, but it lacked the spraying blood and screaming that enlivened up cutting up people. Oh, well, you couldn't expect it to have everything. At least wood didn't try to hit you back.

He and the two mates following him made their way into a hold filled with crates. "Yeah Baby!" Brutus howled, more wood to smash, plus, there might be good treasure to find. His mates looked at him oddly. "You twos look over that way," he told them pointing with an axe, "I'll look this way."

They headed off, one with a pistol and a cutlass, the other with a cutlass and a torch, and started half-heartedly looking in and around the crates. Brutus went the other direction, whole-heartedly smashing the crates to pieces.

 

Alexa nodded at the Captain's words, then swept up Daniel's body and carried it belowdecks, placing it on a bunk, then she hurried back to the main deck, drawing out a pistol from among her skirts as she ran.

She had to fight. She had to get her mind off of everything that happened.

 

Alistair lit another cigar and put it into his mouth, promptly discarding the last one that was in the exact same place a moment ago and stomping on it.

Crashing sounds came from nearby. It was not a particularly friendly type of crushing sound.

"Well. Right, boy. I don't want to die." Alistair looked around, and began opening crates at random to see if there was anything he could use. Unfortunatly, there were lots of clothes and rope, random books, candles, and so such, but nothing he had really hoped for - explosives, for instance. Alistair settled for making a small barricade-maze with the boxes that would be difficult to jump over especially in the dimly lit room, and sat down at the end of it, settling the musket a box and lighting yet another cigar.

"I do hope some reinforcements come soon, otherwise, we're quite dead." he said as calmly as possible, exhaling a cloud of smoke, and leaning back against a box.

He couldn't die here, of course. He had a personal vendetta to continue. If all else fails, he would...

What would he do? What could he do?

For one thing, he would blame everything on the kid. Poor guy, but that's the way it has to be. He's a pirate, after all.

Catherine...

Memories flooded back to him again. He shook his head, shaked them off, and realized too late that some tears has managed to sneak onto his face. He spun and wiped them off in a quick stroke turned back to the boy.
"You. Can you shoot a gun with any skill?"

 

"What do I look like? Of course I can!"
Andrew picked up the pistol, and sat beside Alistair. Now that he really paid attention to the man, he didn't look so good. Something just wasn't right with him.
"Whatever the hell is with your head, you'd better shake it off soon, they'll come looking for us." it was at this point that Andrew realised the situation was pretty much hopeless. They were on an occupied ship, stuck in a cargo hold. Gently, he drew the cutlass from his belt, and ran his finger down the flat of the blade. They were cornered, and this could be their last stand.

 

Davies poked around the boxes and crates with his cutlass, holding the cocked pistol at the ready. Smith's torch threw strange shadows as he searched on the other side of the hold. "Who the hell loaded this ship?" Davies moaned. "They made it impossible to get through. No wonder it was so easy to take, the crew are all idiots!" He sheathed his cutlass and started to move some of the boxes blocking his path. Then in the dim light he saw two crouched figures. "I found 'em!" he yelled. He quickly raised his pistol and fired, then tried to draw his cutlass before they charged him.

 

Before Alistair could finish his sentence, the bullet whizzed through the room and he threw himself down, spitting the cigar out, knowing it would only let the enemies see him. Immediately he cocked the musket slightly and returned fire, and ducked behind a barrel as he began reloading. Looking at the boy, he paused in his motion for a while and fished out a few more pistols from his jacket, placing it on the floor, and nudged them towards Andrew.

Speedily he finished his reloading and quickly got up for another shot at the incoming figure who had kicked some boxes out of the way.

 

Davies got his cutlass drawn just as a bullet tugged at his sleeve. "Brutus! Smith! They're over here!" he yelled. He charged in at the two with his cutlass ready for a swing, hoping they didn't have more guns than he did.

 

Abbot drew his swords as the Matilda came closer. He could hear the shouts from the other ship, drowning out the battle cries of the naval sailors. He stared across at the bridge of the other ship. He was close enough to look into the grey eyes of leBihan, the moon shone off of his new steel breastplate, and he could swear the man was smiling. "Keep that grin on your face. I want to see it fade when I run you through." Three Swords said to himself. He stepped back, looking over the orderly battle line the sailors had made on the main deck. Years of practice battling in the carribean against all kinds of enemy had drilled them into an expert fighting machine.

"Pale h-" He had to stop himself, "Matilda! Load weapons!"

 

Andrew was dreaming in his own little world, the gentle swaying of the boat calming him gently. Suddenly, this peacefulness was shattered by a yell, and a gunshot. Snapping upright, he looked up to see a man duck behind a crate as Alistair fired off a shot from his musket, and crouched down to reload. Without thinking, Andrew grabbed the pistol out of his belt, and threw himself at the floor. 3 pistols slid across the floor to him, and he caught a faint smile from Alistair as he scooped them up.

He hastily loaded two of the new pistols, then fired one over the top of the crate, in what he hoped was the general direction of an enemy.
Switching the pistol to his left hand, he grabbed the cutlass with his right, just in time to parry a blow from a charging pirate. Their swords clashed together, and sparks jumped. The unknown attacker tipped a barrel over, but Andrew sidestepped. Suddenly, he spotted the chance he needed, and put a swift kick into the mans knee. He stumbled, just long enough for Andrew to fire the pistol straight into his chest.

 

As Alistair fired off another shot, the ship moved and knock him off balance. The shot missed, but it managed to hit a barrel, which proved to contain flour. The ship swayed again, sending flour flying all over the room and blinding everyone near the doors. Alistair was fortunatly at the back of the room, and could still see vague shapes if he squinted.

"Andrew!" he shouted, as he fixed a bayonet onto his gun, and took a few calculated steps forward, in a ready-to-stab position. "Run back here!"

(OOC: I would like to note that I don't intend to stab Andrew, I would let him run past me and then stab the others.)

 

As Davies fell, the room exploded into white. For a moment, Andrew thought he was dead. Only the shout of Alistair brought him back to his senses. Without thinking, he turned and ran to the voice, stumbling over a crate as he went. Suddenly, Alistair appeared in view, and Andrew almost went crashing into the tip of his bayonet. He skidded to a halt behind Alistair and quickly began to load all 4 pistols.

 

Smith ran towards the commotion. He stopped when he saw Davies fall. He threw the torch at the figures behind Davies. When it fell on the ground, it went out, suddenly putting the hold in almost complete darkness. Smith charged forward, wildly swinging his cutlass back and forth, hoping to hit something.

The sound of boxes being smashed from the other end of the hold was ominously discontinued.

 

"Fire one!"

Cornwallis' voice rang out across the deck. The first volley would belong to the Matilda - and likely even the second, since he'd held back some of the guns. At the drop of his sword - he'd never be heard over the din - the next hail of iron fell on leBihan's ship. There was a satisfying crunch of wood and several Handers were permanently interrupted from their task of loading cannons. While some pirates worked feverishly to ready the remaining guns, others resorted to small-arms fire. The Matilda's advantage of surprise was gone; all Cornwallis had to rely on now was the superior training of the Navy men, the greater armor of his own ship, and whatever craftiness Abbot could muster.

One sound did rise over the blasts of gunpowder and splintering timbers. Cornwallis looked up when he heard the piercing cries of the battle-pipes. Surely with the crew so short-handed McSwain hadn't... no, there he was, part of the well-drilled team manning the third aft gun. So who was playing that song, with its rhythm to keep the men moving like clockwork: loading and firing, loading and firing, loading and firing... A glimpse of green in the crow's nest told him that Matty had refused to stay below, as he'd told her.

But that was all the thought he could spare for her as a spar, nipped by a lucky strike from a renegade gun, crashed to the deck and broke the man unlucky enough to be beneath it. At least it wasn't aflame, Cornwallis thought, motioning another crewman to see to silencing the screams of the fallen. Flames... if the wind was right...

"Mister James, raise the angle of the first gun! Load the embers, and some tinder, and aim for the sails!" It was a desperate measure, but certainly worth a try.

The shot flared spectacularly as it arced through the night sky. At first the heavy canvas resisted and many sparks fell to the deck to be stamped out by hasty fett, but then one spot caught, and another, and another. Cornwallis ordered the helmsman to increase distance from the pirate vessel as the blaze grew, but not outside of the range of the biggest guns.

In the light from the burning sail and lines, another mystery was solved. As leBihan raged at his crew to put the fire out, the man next to him turned to see who had ordered the strike. It was Captain Grayling.

 

"Good shot, Leftenant Cornwallis!" Three Swords shouted, as he watched the sails burn with a wry grin. Three Swords had the navy men lined up in an orderly battle line, and as the cannon's reloaded, they traded fire with Red Hands. "Front rank. Fire!" Three Swords shouted in the monotonous battle drill he had ordered so many times. "Second rank. Fire!" A second cloud of stinking smoke filled the air as the shot's flew between ships.

Three Swords saw several of the Red Hands, and several of his own, fall to the hail of bullets. Abbot fired his own pistol at the other ship. He could not tell if he had hit anything. He was surprised he could even see his own hand through the smoke.

He had learnt a long time ago that you see very little of a battle. You hear it, you smell it, but you rarely see it. "Reload." He shouted.

 

It was very hard to play the war pipes when you couldn't catch your breath, and between the tight bodice of her gown and the smoke from leBihan's sail - too bad, but it looked like his crew was going to put out the blaze before too much more damage was done - fresh air was scant to be had. It was a drawback of climbing to the crow's nest, even if it did keep her free from the direct combat. Matty turned away from battle to see if that would help.

What she saw took away what little breath she still had. Another ship was trying to join the fray, coming up from the rear at an angle that could have been read as a tack. But from her overhead vantage, Matty could see the set of the sails and the bustle of activity on her deck. This was no ordinary cruise, this boat was trying to reach LeBihan as well. She doubted its intentions towards the Matilda were friendly.

"Look aft, to port!" she cried to those below. "Another vessel would join!"

Someone must have heard, because several gun-crews jumped into action. It was the side of the Matilda facing away from leBihan, so they were glad of being able to contribute to the night's mayhem. The Infante couldn't stand under the hail of cannon-fire, and was quickly reduced to shattered boards clinging to a skeleton. Some of the sailors plucked survivors from the water, but there were many who remained floating in the brine.

 

Someone from the darkness ran at Alistair, and, certain that it wasn't Andrew, he fired a shot randomly.

It was too dark here. He couldn't see anything. Silently he crept back to the end of the room. His foot kicked something, and he got an idea. Quietly he put his musket down, on a sack, and he grabbed the something and threw it across the room. It made a small sound, followed by hurried footsteps towards that direction.

Smiling, he drew his blunderbuss and fired a shot over there before diving away and lighting a match, looking around quickly.

 

Brutus felt warm blood splatter on his chest, then somebody fell against him.

"Brutus, is that you?" Smith gasped. "Help me, I'm shot through my chest."

"Oh, allright," Brutus grumbled, taking Smith's head in his hands and giving it a quick and violent jerk to the side. "There you go, poor blighter, a nice quick death as opposed to suffering for however long you were gonna last."

Brutus let the body drop to the floor and picked up his battle axes. Hmmn, that sound was obviously a distraction, probably from over there, about ten or twelve yards. Three or four large leaps. That should probably do the trick.

He suddenly charged in the suspected direction, blindly swinging his axes in the dark. He stumbled over several boxes, but had been expecting that, so he managed to not fall down as he barged through them. Then just about where he expected to, one of his axes connected with something that could only be human. Judging by the sound of the bones cracking and the grunt, Brutus guessed that he had broken someones shoulderblade. Not as good as a clean decapitation, but good enough. Unfortunately, the person's body was thrown back into the complete darkness, and Brutus had no idea where to strike to finish him off. He couldn't be far though, Brutus thought as he started bringing both axes down in mighty swings on the floor, smashing up boxes and crates, but no flesh in the first few swings.