Terribly, terribly sorry about the extrenely long wait since my last posting. I'm so awful--everyone's all interested and I do nothing. Well, here we are finally! Enjoy please R&R!

Stephen had awoken that morning to Jack's joyous laughter on deck—his boyish laugh as he only had when his ship sped across the sea, racing the dolphins. The doctor had hurried from his cabin to see what all the fuss was about, forgetting breakfast for the time being. His Sick Berth was empty, his supplies replenished, and as he climbed up to the quarterdeck, Stephen was embraced by the most peculiar beam of sunlight.

A blue known only to God was the sky—and cloud free as well. The sun was blinding, but not unpleasantly so as there was a strong wind that kept the heat from festering. The Surprise was racing along at eleven knots, her crew thrilled by the beauty of the day and the freedom of the water. And her captain? Stephen asked himself. At the top of the mainmast with Tom—a perch Stephen still avoided, despite Jack's daily chidings to "take in the view."

"I can see quite all there is to see from here, thank you very much Captain Aubrey."

"Ah, Doctor. It is the freedom of the soul up there that is worth the climb."

Stephen sighed happily. It had been a long while since the Surprise was so healthy in crew—in spirit. Even Killick abandoned his grumbling while he offered Stephen a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Bonden." The coxswain beamed a great smile at the physician.

"Top of the morning to you, Doctor. Couldn't be a finer one in months."

"What are your orders?"

"Wherever she roams today, sir. Wherever she roams. Them's the Captain's 'xact words!"

Sipping his coffee, Stephen turned from Bonden just in time to see Jack land back on the deck with a broad grin.

"Stephen! You finally join us. Such a fine day—true sailor's weather."

Before he could respond to his old friend, who Stephen was actually quite relieved to see so at ease, Tom Pullings came up behind with the Captain's coat and hat.

"Shall we beat to quarters, sir?" Jack shrugged on the uniform, chuckling as Stephen's head turned all around, looking for a reason to man the ship.

"Not today, Tom. Leave her at ease for our company." Tom saluted.

"You're expecting company, Jack?" The Captain led him to the larboard side of the humming ship, glass in hand.

"One of our own, it appears, the Turmoil. A fine ship—just above our class. But not very efficient. Her Captain takes more than his fair share of the grog..."

"And her doctor not much more useful than poor Higgins, I've heard." Jack snorted.

"Well then, she's well below our class isn't she?"

With the winds pulling her alone, the Surprise was nearing her Navy mate in a quarter of an hour. The crew clung to the larboard side, chanting out a shanty that all British ships would know: ...For we've received orders to sail for old England...

It was then that Captain Aubrey knew something was wrong. The Turmoil was well within ear shot, her deck covered in crewmen, and they were not singing back. In fact, no sound at all came from the other ship. Not even commands from the officers.

Jack walked swiftly to the bow, eyes examining the neighboring ship. Coming up right behind Tom Pullings, he whispered stealthily in his ear:

"Tom, I want you to take your gun crew below and man the larboard battery. Do not call out to them—talk to them a few at a time." Confusion in the young man's eyes, but he trusted Jack Aubrey far too much to delay his orders. Both of them worked the railing, quietly ordering the men below.

The Turmoil was now beside the Surprise, showing off her slightly longer figure. Silence on that deck ended as a rope flopped onto the wood; the British colors had been struck. Jack's eyes narrowed in instant anger and widened again in instant panic as the French flag took its place.

"BONAPARTE!" echoed in the gun fire. Jack hadn't had the moment to order the remaining men on deck to fall flat. It was full two minutes that could have been two decades before the Surprise fired back.

Captain Aubrey ran the deck, shouting orders to Bonden, pushing Stephen's head, which had poked out of the lower decks, back down. Jack couldn't feel himself breathing his head spun so. It occurred to him suddenly and violently that he would never lose more men than he would this day. The deck already looked a graveyard.

Using her momentum from the strong winds of the morning, the Turmoil swung hard to the left, attempting to bash Aubrey's ship. She was close enough now to board and board the Frenchman did—in furious droves.

Again the Surprise floundered, unprepared. Jack unsheathed his sword and marched into them, suddenly thinking of the British crew that was dead or locked up. Rage swelled in him, spilt over, so that the heaviness of a bullet in his arm did not register.

The larboard battery fired miscellaneously. Jack knew they were out of ammunition already, dragging as much as they could from the starboard guns. This battle would have to be won on deck.

"Stand fast now, lads. Take 'em as they come. Don't go to them!"

Before long, the ruthless crew had returned the losses on the French. The Royal Marines had nearly a dozen French officers pinned between the Surprise's railings and their bayonets. The Turmoil had long since stopped firing, munitions exhausted from another recent skirmish—one they obviously lost.

Jack had been in the middle of the French swarms since it began, swinging his blade in a circle for nearly an hour, continually striking someone. Fatigue was claiming his muscles and his battered body that he struggled to ignore. In a moment of relative calm, when he was not being charged with a battle cry, Aubrey held his sword at his side and turned to look over the Surprise.

There was a cackle— a cocky and menacing laugh—that preceded the thump on the back of Jack's head and the descent into blackness.