Smith nodded, solemnly. He may be a selfish bastard, but he wasn’t completely devoid of human feelings. They were good people, and had treated him and his party kindly. He’d stolen something of immense value from them, but that didn’t mean he wanted to watch them all die.
Smith spotted one man who had dropped his weapon and concentrated on swimming had made it past the breakers. The man appeared to have gotten lucky and swam hard during a slight pause in the set of waves. He was now swimming easily toward them.
“Oswald!” Smith shouted as he pointed at the man.
“I see him.” Oswald shook his head in disbelief. “There had to be one, I suppose.”
The warrior swam quickly until he reached the side of the Emerald Star. Smith watched as the poor wretch stared up at the massive freeboard — the distance between the water and the deck — and suddenly realized there was nothing to climb. The warrior then quickly swam toward the front of the ship, where the bowsprit netting was tethered from the bowsprit to the hull just above the waterline.
Oswald drew his pistol and waited as the savage climbed onto the bowsprit. The instant the man’s foot touched the deck Oswald squeezed the trigger and the shot ball fired. It struck the boarder directly in the middle of his forehead. The ball lodged inside the man’s skull and never left again. The warrior’s eyes stared vacantly up at him and he fell backwards into the water, where he floated lifelessly.
Oswald turned to Smith. “Well. I stand corrected. One of them managed to reach my deck.”
Smith said, “More are on their way!”
“My God, so there are. They are persistent, I’ll give them that. But don’t worry. My men will take care of them.” Oswald grinned and then his eyes narrowed with curiosity. “But what in the world are they making?”
The human chain involved more than two hundred men and stretched from the shore to well past the breaking waves. The tallest and the strongest men gripped each other’s arms to form an intricate structure like ants forming a bridge. The line was roughly eight men wide and each man had a second person on their shoulders. Individually, the waves would have broken them, but together they appeared to be holding their position.
No other civilization in the world had achieved the same amount of human unity. They were working together as a single, defining object, without any consideration for the individual men, women and children who formed the bridge. Smith’s eyes darted to the deeper end of the bridge, where some of the men were sacrificing their lives to form a platform beneath the waves.
Oswald opened his mouth to speak. Paused and then said, “They’re killing themselves to build the foundations of the human bridge in the deep waters!”
Smith nodded without saying anything.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought my men were disciplined in battle, but this is a whole new level. Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“No,” Smith lied. How could he tell his brother he’d seen something exactly like this back at the pyramid where the entire civilization worked as one machine? And what’s worse, he knew exactly how they were achieving it.
Smith watched, mesmerized by the sight. It was a phenomenal achievement of engineering and bravery. But would it work? A moment later he witnessed the answer. Crawling on their knees, four at a time, the warriors who were still on the shore made their way along the top of the human bridge. Once they reached the end, past the breaking waves and into the deeper waters, they were able to swim toward the Emerald Star.
“My God,” Smith said, “they’re going to reach us!”
Oswald turned to his men. “Save your shots. Wait until they’re right below us and then shoot on my command. Make every musket ball count!”
There was a loud roar of, “Aye, aye, Captain!”
Smith watched as the first set of men swam toward the ship. He looked at his brother, “I’ll need a weapon.”
“Go down below. Marcus will find you one from the armory. Not that I think you’ll need it. We’ll be off this sandbar any minute now.”
Smith nodded, wishing he shared his brother’s confidence. He placed his leather satchel over his shoulders again. There was no way he would let the ancient relic out of his sight while on board a ship full of pirates. His brother’s men or not, they couldn’t be trusted with such a fortune in gold. He moved quickly toward the open hatchway to the aft.
He wished he felt more confident about his brother’s sentiment. The men and women who were attacking them might be little more than savages, but they were focused with religious fervor and would fight ruthlessly to the end. He definitely felt much less confident now than he had twenty minutes earlier, when he assumed they held the infinite advantage of musket shots against their attacker’s much larger force. He would feel a lot better once they were off the sandbar and sailing out to sea.
He climbed down the steps and into the ship’s hold. He hadn’t made it any further before Marcus, the ship’s armorer met him. The man was short, with broad shoulders. Multiple scars lined his bearded face like medals from previous conquests.
Marcus grinned and handed him a musket, with a bag of powder and shot. “I heard the Captain. You’ll be needing this, then?”
Smith nodded and took the weapon. “Thanks.”
“Make every shot count.” Marcus had the hardened face of a man who’d seen enough battles to realize that they were never won until they were over.
He simply nodded at the man. “I will.” He then returned to the deck, where the first wave of forty or so warriors approached the Emerald Star.
The men on deck were already aiming their muskets at the first wave of attackers. The ship rested on the sandbar, while the men silently prepared for battle. The weapons had been primed and loaded and there was no more for the men to check. Their muskets would either fire or not. Some kissed lucky charms, while others closed their eyes and made promises to their Gods. Smith could hear their heavy breathing, and feel their uncertainty and eagerness to fire.
“Wait for it men… wait until they’re just below us!” Oswald commanded.
A moment later, the first attacker’s hand touched the chain that supported the bowsprit. Oswald pointed his pistol and squeezed the trigger. The warrior fell back into the water. “That’s close enough — fire!”
A series of shots fired. The deck became blurred by powder smoke and the scent of burned sulfur and saltpeter wafted through the battlefield. The men worked in three groups of shooters. Group B loaded their weapons while group A fired, and group C prepared to take the next shot. That way the pirates of the Emerald Star were constantly capable of firing at their attackers.
Only group A and B fired before the first wave of attackers were killed. Smith studied the sea which quickly turned pink as blood intermingled with the saltwater in a multitude of deathly swirls. Silence filled the air, and for a moment he thought every single one of the attackers had been killed. Then he heard the ghastly scream.
Smith’s eyes shot toward the sound in the water. It came from just aft of the Emerald Star, where one man desperately tried to keep his head above the water. He’d been shot in both shoulders and was now struggling to stay afloat. His head would dip below the water and Smith assumed it would be all over, but then somehow he’d find the strength to kick his legs and reach the surface again. Drowning was the worst imaginable death to any sailor, and it made him feel sick just to watch. Yet no one was willing to put the poor wretch out of his misery.
Smith quickly examined his own weapon. It was an old flintlock musket. His Lazarino Cominazzo wheel-lock rifle would have been much more accurate. He gritted his teeth. From this distance it didn’t matter, it would be hard to miss with anything. He pulled the hammer back to the half-cock position and carefully set the flint. He poured the black powder charge into the measuring flask until it reached the firing mark, and then poured that into the muzzle. He carefully tapped the sides of the musket barrel to settle the powder.