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Conquest----------------
"Orders, my Lord?"
Beckett snapped out of his trance, the expression of confusion fading from his face. "Fire at will."
"Fire at will!" the lieutenant bellowed. The call was echoed down into the bowels of the ship and the deck shook as the mighty cannons exploded. The sides of the Black Pearl splintered under the force of three rows of cannons, the wood flying and crew scrambling. The Dutchman was equally wounded, heaving as encrusted embellishments shattered. Beckett smiled as the elegant figurehead of the Pearl cracked and split, plummeting into the sea like a corpse. The Endeavour herself shuddered under the opposing fire, pieces of wood flying through the air like bullets.
"Reload!" an officer roared over the din of battle. Beckett curved his hands over the railing and focused on the Dutchman's demise, the grand ship buckling under the unyielding assault of the cannon balls. He could see the barnacled crewmembers clambering over the debris; themast snapped like a twig and toppled forward, crushing the bow under its massive weight. The front of the ship crumpled under the dual onslaught of the mast and the cannons, the sea mercilessly pouring into the ruined ship.
The armada was plowing through the waves, white sails billowing and fluttering in the wind, arcing around the three ships battling and sailing on to the pirates' fleet. Beckett gazed out over the scene in triumph as the boom of cannons echoed through the air and smoke rose in billowing columns from ruined ships, the sea thick with wreckage and floundering pirates. The soldiers picked off the survivors with rifles, blood in the water like a halo around the bodies.
The Pearl was dead in the water; stern crushed, mast trailing like a broken wing. "Prepare to board," Beckett ordered. "Dispatch any survivors."
He watched as the soldiers swarmed over the Pearl's deck, cutting down the black flag and raising another – the East India Trading Company's emblem unfurling and snapping in the wind. The sight made his breath catch.
He turned; someone was being hauled aboard by two soldiers. He gestured to the pirate, eyebrow raised. "What is this?"
"I'm begging your pardon, sir," one of the soldiers said quickly. "I, erm… I didn't know what to do with a woman, sir, and I thought I'd best bring her to you. Put up quite a fight, she did."
Beckett inclined his head; the soldier grabbed the tangled mop of hair and pulled the pirate's head up.
"Ah, Elizabeth Swann," Beckett said, his expression amused. Her face was filthy and bloodied, but her eyes flashed fire.
"Don't expect me to beg for your mercy," she spat.
Beckett smiled. "Oh, there's no worry. I did not intend to offer it."
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The Endeavour sailed back to Port Royal triumphantly, to find that news of their grand victory had preceded them. "His Majesty's Endeavour: Scourge of Piracy" one scripted headline read. To be perfectly fair, Beckett found the commotion and praise gratifying in the extreme. But the real reward lay not in the congratulations, or the extravagant parties, but in the annihilation of the brash pirates, their fleet crushed under the power of his own mighty armada. The true victory was the news that a full shipping route was commencing from Singapore, the Company free to sail the Asian seas, exporting silks and spices to England.
But the ultimate triumph, the one that remained fixed in his head as if painted there, was the memory of the Company flag billowing magnificently above the scene of the victory, a sign of further conquests to come.