"ARGGHHH!!" Pam's wordless, primal wail was lost in a wider cacophony. The bitter gunsmoke stench helped clear her head. With a twist and a heave, Pam began to extricate herself from between the seats, carefully keeping the pistol pointed away from her friends. Dore helped lift her as best she could with her free hand, she still held the torch, its light flickering crazily across the boat as it swayed and bounced with their frantic movements.
Pam saw that the second part of their ruse was in full effect. During the noisy show they had put on, Gerbald and the Swedes had launched the pinnace and had carefully circled around to the seaward side of the anchored junk. They had succeeded in boarding and were now locked in close combat with the Arab pirates.
There was a loud boom as Gerbald downed one charging pirate with one barrel of his pistol grip Snakecharmer shotgun while sticking his katzbalger shortsword deep into the gut of another. He moved around the deck with the practiced grace of a ballerina, dodging and killing with silent precision. Another boom from the next barrel and two more charging pirates fell, screaming and pawing at their shot-destroyed faces before dying. This is what Gerbald was trained for, how he had made his living from his youth to just a few years ago. War was his first calling and he was very damn good at it. I'll have to remember to thank Walt for giving him that crazy shotgun pistol, Pam mused as she watched him quickly reload it. The Snakecharmer soon fired again, killing one pirate and maiming another, which the katzbalger finished in a single, swift stroke.
Dore grabbed her shoulder and pointed, a pirate trying to flee the losing battle was halfway over the rail and poised to drop into their longboat. Pam shot him in the back, his falling body struck their bow with a sickening thunk before splashing limply into the water. Pam let out a long, low stream of curses under her breath.
Dore gripped her shoulder harder, bringing her face close behind Pam's ear. "It is good, Pam, you help our men! There, shoot that one!" Dore pointed at a pirate who was closing on the bosun, occupied with an opponent, his cutlass clashing and clanging against a blood-streaked scimitar. Pam stared for a moment at the wet, red blade in the enemy's hand. That's the blood of one of ours. She took aim carefully, supported by Dore's firm grip on her shoulders. Her finger squeezed. Now accustomed to the bang and flash, she didn't flinch afterward. She calmly watched the pirate she had shot through the neck drop limply to the deck. My shot went a little high but he's still dead as a door nail.
The bosun separated himself from his dueling partner with a mighty shove. The taller, thinner pirate skidded backward on the blood-drenched deck. The bosun glanced a question at Pam, with a barely perceptible nod she drew on the bosun's opponent as he regained his footing and shot him in the gut. Pam looked away from the messy results, her own gut suddenly sinking, as if meeting a sudden drop on a roller coaster. The deck went suddenly quiet but for the moans of the dead and dying. No pirates were left standing. Lojtnant Lundkvist looked down to see Pam still holding her smoking pistol. He saluted her. Pam's hands lost their strength and she laid the pistol down heavily on the seat in front of her as Dore eased her grip on her shoulders.
"It is all right now, Pam. It is over," Dore told her. "You did well, my friend. It was you who turned the battle's tide. You never even missed!"
Pam thought of each man she had shot and fought throwing up. She had barely eaten a thing all day so it wouldn't have helped much anyway. She looked to the deck where Gerbald had finished hurrying the enemy injured along on their journey to hell.
"Let us leave none alive," he said to Lojtnant Lundkvist and the bosun as calmly as if he were ordering a hamburger at the Freedom Arches. The Swedish marines took the lead in searching the ship, cautiously entering the captain's cabin and then the lower decks, pistols ready. While Dore went to the aid of injured Pers, Gerbald motioned for Pam to join him on the deck. Somehow she managed to climb the rope ladder with nerveless fingers until Gerbald dragged her over the red-lacquered rail. Dore clambered up onto the deck next. Standing unsteadily, Pam saw bodies in the flickering torch light and not all were dressed in bloodstained white. Gerbald looked at Pam proudly.
"Nice shooting, Tex! Four shots, no misses! You turned the battle in our favor!" he told his ashen faced friend, who just blinked at him, half in a state of shock. He saw where Pam was looking and his voice took on a solemn timbre. "Rask is injured very badly. We have lost Mard. Rask and Fritjof are sure to follow him. He is asking for you, Pam."
Pam felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Not the nice old fellow who loved that photo of "The Princess" so much!
"You are sure about Fritjof? Not making it, I mean?"
Gerbald nodded sadly. "I am sorry, Pam. He fought bravely. Please, follow me. Dore, see what you can do for our wounded."
"Pers has also been hurt, but not too badly. I shall tend to Rask first," Dore replied calmly, being used to aftermaths such as these.
Gerbald led Pam to where Fritjof lay, his head cradled by an exhausted bosun. He couldn't stay, as Dore called for his help with Rask. Fritjof's face was pale except for a line of blood trickling into his white beard. Someone had placed a cloth over his wounds, Pam could see that it was dark and soaking wet. Her gorge wanted to rise, but she forced it down.
"Fritjof, Frau Pam is here to see you," the bosun said softly into his ear. The old man's eyes opened, bloodshot and wild, darting about in search of her.
"I'm here, Fritjof," Pam told him, kneeling next to him and taking his hand. Although they were cold and bloodless, his long, thin fingers grasped hers with surprising strength.
"Frau Pam, thank you, thank you. I haven't much time now. I am no longer the fighter I was when I was young but I take two of these dogs to their graves with me."
"You are very brave, Fritjof. I am so proud of you. I know the princess will be, too," Pam told him, tears forming in the corner of her gunsmoke-stung eyes.
"The princess. Will you tell her? Will you tell her that I served her to my last?" His sentences were now punctuated with heaving gasps as his punctured lungs fought a losing battle for every breath.
"I will. I will tell her all about you, Fritjof! How brave you are and how you loved her and how you kept her photo. I will tell her of good Fritjof, loyal friend and fearless soldier!" Her voice caught and she fell silent, trying not to lose herself to weeping, not yet. Fritjof tried to say more but his gasps were coming more rapidly, stopping him from further speech. Pam took the damp cloth from the bosun and began to wipe his face, tears streaming now, mixing with the cool water and cooling blood. The touch of her hand seemed to calm him and he was able to speak again.
"Thank you, Frau Pam, thank you. I see the faces of my ancestors now. They have come for me in the ships of the old times. I see their sails, red and gold. Soon I shall join them." His grip on her hand tightened and his eyes were able to focus on her for a moment. "You were always kind to me. It is you who are the brave one, Frau Pam. All we men see it. I am glad to have you as my captain here at my end." Before she could answer Fritjof convulsed, a final ragged breath and then silence. His grip loosened and his hand fell limp to the deck. Pam let out a low wail, still wiping his forehead with the cloth. The bosun gently pushed her hand aside and closed the old sailor's eyes.