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!”
In which the line breaks
As the Redemption, formerly the Dark Empress, backed out of the chaotic line of vessels, making for somewhere with enough room to turn, Ghassan and Samir stood at the rail with Saja and Culin, trying to make sense of what was happening. Almost every ship in the line was now moving, though with an unplanned, chaotic and desperate edge to the action.
The left flank of the line was one of the main areas of trouble, though Samir had felt sure that Faerus could handle whatever the morning threw at him. The ships to either side of him were in trouble, one thoroughly ablaze and already starting to lean badly, the other…
Samir laughed as he watched his friend’s ship in the distance hit the enemy vessel amidships, tearing through the hull as though it were parchment and passing through, cutting the pirate ship in half in the process. How he’d managed that without more damage to his own ship, Samir couldn’t fathom, but he’d certainly be asking him if they got out of this well.