Sir Bruce Wayne, illustrious trader and influential businessman, had always called Gotham home. After inheriting his late parents shipping company at a young age, Wayne grew to adulthood fond of life's pleasures as the seventeenth century drew to a close. A late night visit from a Magistrate named Gordon changed his life one midwinter's night. Gordon told Wayne of the suspicious circumstances of his parents' death, and implicated Sicilian business mogul Carmine Falcone.
Allied in secret with Gordon, Wayne funnelled a portion of his inheritance into commissioning a brig, and arming it to the teeth. Wayne pulled together a crew and set sail down the coast. The Dark Knight, as he christened the ship, became the scourge of smugglers, slave traders, and other illegitimate operations in the Caribbean.
The Dark Knight cut through the waves, the wind pushing her faster in pursuit of her quarry. The galleon ahead was limping; cannon fire had smashed the hull and brought down the mainmast. The captain, standing beside the helmsman, barked orders all around. In a flurry of splinters, shots from the Dark Knight's chasers raked across the quarterdeck, shredding the captain and officers. The wheel destroyed and the rudder free, the galleon took to its left side, cutting east towards the nearby cliff face.
From her own wheel, Barbara Gordon, a magistrate's daughter and respectable lady back home in Gotham, shouted her own orders to the sailors around her. She wore a loose white shirt, belted around her waist with a green scarf. The free ends of the scarf flicked in the wind, along with her long, red hair. She wore a nasty looking rapier and a pair of pistols at her belt, a vicious contrast to her soft, kindly face.
'Shorten up, lads! Portside gun crews ready to swab her stern!' She hauled down on the right side of the wheel, and the Knight pulled right.
Beside her, a tall man in a long black coat removed his tri-corner hat, and took a cutlass in hand. He dropped the hat to the deck, and weighted it down with his spyglass. He nodded to Barbara, his steely, blue eyes catching the sun, the slightest hint of a smile playing across his lips.
'Mister Grayson?' Bruce raised his sword high in the air.
After a second, the reply came from the black haired youth at the gunwales.
'Ready!'
He screamed 'fire' as he swept his cutlass down, pointing it at the galleon. His cry was drowned by the barking of the broadside. Shot tore the aft of the hull apart. There was an explosion, and the remaining masts came cracking down.
The Dark Knight circled around, ready to pick at the remains. Tide and momentum carried what was left of the galleon onto the rocks, beaching the behemoth under the cliff.
'Haul in, Barbara. Bring us close enough to board.'
'All hands, guns and grapples! Trim up!' Barbara heaved the wheel and slid the Dark Knight alongside the wrecked galleon with daring precision as sailors along the gunwales tossed hooks and lashed the ships together. Those left of the enemy crew rushed to try and hack the lines free and defend their deck.
Bruce took a running jump, clearing the railing and landing on the enemy's steeply angled deck. Sword in hand, he cut down a pair of sailors who tried him. At the far end of the ship, Richard Grayson, The Dark Knight's first mate, was making short work of his opposition with his own duel sabres. In the flurry of the melee, Bruce chanced a look over his shoulder to the Knight's helm. Barbara was holding her own, keeping crazier opponents from overrunning the smaller vessel with her powerful pistols.
Bruce found his target, through the swirling chaos, and moved to engage.
'Zucco!'
Antonio Zucco, an associate of Carmine Falcone, was a slave trader by day and a smuggler by night. He was the head of a small arm of Falcone's empire. He was scum, and he had to be stopped.
'Zucco!'
The man was small and balding. He wore an armour breastplate and a ridiculous cravat. A sabre in hand, he turned to see Bruce approach. He spat as the large man approached.
'I don't fear you!' he shouted through a thick Italian accent. 'Kill me, if you think you can!'
'I'm not going to kill you. Death is too good for your kind!' Bruce roared as steel clashed against steel.
He brought his blade down in a powerful, overhead strike. Zucco parried and lunged low, but Bruce was quick. The big man jab Zucco's face with his free fist as he parried. The punch was solid, and Zucco fell to the deck, knocked out cold. Seeing their captain fall, the remaining crew dropped their weapons and surrendered.
The enemy crew were bound, and Zucco secured in the hold. Bruce, flanked by Dick and Barbara, addressed the prisoners, hoping to keep in short before the impending storm hit.
'You've a choice before you, lads. You signed on with a pirate, and that's done you no good. But a man should have a chance to redeem himself. No man under my colours is forced. Sale with me, fight for justice. Or, serve only to our next port, where you be free to go.'
As was typical, every survivor agreed to the terms.
'Ever wonder what we'd do if they didn't want to join?' Barbara asked as Dick collected shot powder off a dead man.
Dick looked up and stole a glance at Bruce, who was standing by the wheel again, ordering the crew about. He brushed his long hair off his face and shot her a smile.
'Probably best hope it never comes up.'
'Hurry up, at any rate. He might leave us behind.' She looked genuinely worried until their feet were firmly planted on the Knight's deck, and the last line thrown off.
'Get to work, Grayson.' She said with a cheeky smile, climbing the stairs to the quarter deck 'If you're good, I might invite you to my cabin for dinner.'
She ducked under Bruce's disapproving glare and took her place at the wheel.
'Course, sir?'
'Havana, Barbara. We'll sell our take, and let off those that want free. Then head back to the Cove. We need to plan our next move carefully. Falcone will be gunning for us now.'
'Aye, boss. Havana, then on to Bat Cove.' She hid a smile.
He hated when she called it that.