with them serving the Empire and to do that they had to be honourable and open. In a way Faerus agreed but, with a nod to the need for surprise, he’d waited until the very last minute, pushing all his actions into one frantic moment.
As the green and blue flag whipped in the breeze, a cloth was discarded into the sea and the Golden Dawn was no more. The pirate ship that had been Faerus’ home for decades had gone, to be replaced instantaneously by the Imperial ship of the line Retribution, which was already bursting into life with impressive speed and efficiency. Even as the oarsmen began to heave on the oars and the ship started to turn sharply to port, the artillerists had their weapons loaded and trained to the rear.
Shouts of alarm went up from the ship they were turning toward as the crew saw the sudden movement of Faerus’ vessel, turning sharply sideways while remaining in the line, and they noted with horror the great iron ram and spike listing ponderously toward their hull. Their captain leapt to action trying to get his vessel mobile as fast as possible and move out of the way of this sudden menace.
Behind and to starboard as they turned, the captain and crew of the other vessel were already in a panic, trying to deal with the massive damage caused by the Imperial fire catapults. The forward section of the main deck was ablaze and flames were leaping up the foresail and racing along the rigging as men tried desperately to cut the ropes and contain the fire. It would be out soon, Faerus noted, as men were already hurling water and sand across the flames, but the damage had crippled them long enough to give Faerus the edge.
As the Retribution turned, the artillerists finished lining up and levelling their weapons and released in unison. With a deafening crash, the already beleaguered and flaming vessel found itself the sudden target of a second ball of oily fire that burst at the base of the stairs to the command deck, filling the corridor inside with flames and cutting off the officers from their men, while two canister shots ripped through timber, sails, rigging and crew. In among the carnage, an officer trying to rally the crew in desperation was picked up bodily by one of the long iron bolts and pinned to the burning timbers where he burst into flame before the life could pass from his eyes.
Faerus turned his face from the doomed ship. Horrible and dangerous as that was, that had never been the gamble. This was the gamble: there simply was not enough room for Faerus’ ship to fit lengthwise between the two enemy vessels and they had to keep moving away from the burning ship before the flames engulfed the whole vessel and she became a hazard to the Retribution.
That all meant that the only way Faerus could get safely to a position where he could manoeuvre and involve himself further in the action was to go through the outermost vessel. As he watched, the prow of the Retribution closed on the side of the enemy ship’s hull. Their captain had been quick to get his oars out and into the water and even now the enemy ship was starting to move ponderously forward. He’d never get out of the way in time, of course, but that wasn’t what was worrying Faerus. Ramming someone at slow speed and at a three quarter angle was not a recipe for success.
“Artillery? Phase two!” shouted the second in command and Faerus nodded tensely. Without speed and a direct frontal blow, the ram and spike would probably just jam and lodge there, locking the two ships in a deadly embrace while the fire behind them drifted ever closer. The only hope was to break up enough of the ships’ structure before the ram hit so that half its job was already done.
Behind him, the artillerists, their weapons already reloaded, were swivelling their machines of war on the small castle amidships, and taking aim at their next target: the hull of the ship directly ahead of the Retribution’s prow.
Faerus held his breath as the two ships closed with an unstoppable force. The Retribution continued to pick up speed as the oarsmen strained and heaved like they had never done before.
The first two shots of heavy iron ammunition punched into the enemy ship in tightly-aimed locations, one just below the waterline, ahead of their ram, the other smashing into the rail and shearing the main deck as it smashed through the timbers, ripping up boards. Squinting at the need to be perfectly accurate, the artillerists released the third and fourth shot only a moment later. Both of these hit in the areas previously devastated by the initial shots, entering the main structure of the ship and ripping apart beams and bulkheads.
New cries of dismay went up among the crew of the enemy ship and the captain rushed to the rail of his command deck to survey the damage, waving his arms and shouting to his juniors, but there was no hope. His orders went unheard as the faster-thinking members of his crew ran to either stern or prow, whichever was closer, and threw themselves into the water, far from the site of the impending breech.
Faerus shut his eyes as the shadow cast by his ram slowly made its way up the side of the enemy ship, marking every inch as they closed. This was it… they were either going through, or down…
At the far end of the fleet, another tale was unfolding, though this was far from a happy one. The barrel- chested and fork-bearded Orin, captain of the newly named Revenge, surveyed the damage and sighed, scratching his chin. He would have liked at least once to have stood on the deck as it entered port a legitimate naval vessel. He was no longer a young man and had long ago begun to tire of the attitudes of his peers. When Faerus and Samir had tentatively approached him with the plan, it had been a dream come true.
But then all dreams faded.
As soon as the first shot was fired, the ships on either side of Orin had leapt into action. The Imperial fleet had taken its toll on a number of vessels between here and the centre of the line, but the ones flanking Orin had been sharp enough to launch an immediate assault on him, even before he’d had a chance to strike the new colours.
By the time his artillerists had launched their first shot, the prow had already been hit by a ball of oily fire and leapt into a flickering blaze. He’d had the oars run out to try and begin pulling back from the line, but the solid and canister shot from both sides had been aimed at the banks of oars and he’d lost half the rowing capability only moments after the oars touched water. As he’d watched in horror, trying to decide how best to deal with the growing nightmare, the second and third fireballs had hit, one amidships at the mast, effectively ending the use of his artillery, while the other burst through the side of the ship, below the command deck, ravaging the cabins within.
Orin ground his teeth in anger as he felt the boards beneath his feet beginning to warm with the fierce heat of the flaming cabins below.
He’d had plans, for certain, but they’d relied on him having at least a second to breathe before the fight began. But the shrewd bastards to either side of him had clearly been planning on taking him out regardless of the day’s actions. Their artillery must have all been loaded and trained on him from the start for things to have happened so damn quick.
He sighed again. There was no other option.
“Leave that!”
The crew amidships looked up in surprise at their captain where they worked tirelessly with buckets of water, trying to douse the ever expanding flower of billowing flames.
“The Revenge is done for, but we’ll not go down alone, eh lads?”
There was a somewhat half-hearted cheer. He couldn’t really blame them, of course. Many of them would now be wondering why they ever decided to turn against their colleagues. Still, Revenge was both the name of the ship and the order of the day… he’d see those bastards to either side whipped through three hells for what they’d done to him this morning.
“Grapple lines… every available hand on both rails!”
The men stood for a moment in confusion, but then realisation dawned on them and they ran to get the ropes and grapples. The Revenge would burn for a while yet before she began to sink. The other ships were so busy concentrating on taking him down that they hadn’t given thought to pulling out of the range of danger themselves.
With enough strength on the grapples, the Revenge would pull its assailants relentlessly in until they all three became one great flaming mass. But he would have to make sure that did for them too…
Scouring the deck, he spotted the dejected face of the second in command of artillery and beckoned to him.
“We’ll make use of your stuff yet, Khaim. Drop that grapple and get three men with you down to the armoury. Remove the protective coverings on all your firepots and get them charged and up on deck. As soon as we’re within reach of these bastards, we’re going to turn this ship into the biggest explosive you’ve ever seen!”
