'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

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August 5, 1864, off the coast of Alabama

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Rear Admiral David Glasgow Farragut (formerly Jack Sparrow) stood on the quarterdeck of the Union flagship USS Hartford, peering through a spyglass as his vessel approached the mouth of Mobile Bay. The other vessels under his command- fourteen more masted ships, four ironclads and several gunboats- were in formation behind him, watching for word on how to proceed. Every Union man knew that the greatest danger here was what they couldn't see.

Mobile was the last large Confederate port still open on the Gulf of Mexico; a vital access point for the South's blockade runners. Knowing how vital it was to maintain this supply line, the rebs had mined the Bay entrance with torpedoes; barrels packed with explosive powder, tethered just below the water's surface. Almost impossible to detect, until a ship ran into one and got a sizable portion of her hull blown off.

Farragut's lips quirked. He couldn't deny a certain admiration for the blighter who'd thought up that devilishly cunning device, even if said blighter was making his life difficult. Very probably a pirate, or at least a direct descendant- perhaps related to one of his own former colleagues.

Which was likely true of those cheeky blockade runners, too. Jack appreciated their audacity, and might have been tempted to join their number if he didn't so abhor the cause they supported. Nobody had any right to regard another human as property.

To his left, his First Officer frowned with concern as he regarded the sandbar-dotted coastline. Farragut assured him, "I drew the maps of this area myself, Mr. Joucett."

"I've every confidence in your ability to navigate it, sir," the First replied, tugging at the collar of his blue wool jacket. Like his shorter darker commander, Joucett would have preferred to do without the uniform. He was a merchant seaman who'd volunteered for service because he believed in the strength of Union. If States were permitted to secede, what was to stop this nation from breaking into pieces too small to defend their sovereignty? And once some foreign power began to take advantage, what would prevent it's seizing everything? That wasn't what his grandfather had died for at Yorktown.

Farragut bestowed a fond half-smile on his subordinate; a rock-steady, loyal bloke who could be trusted to obey even daft-sounding orders. Very much like old Bootstrap Bill. 'Even resembled him a bit, with that dark-brown queue and squared jaw.

Joucett had been one of his top choices when Farragut hand-picked the crew of the Hartford- such being the privilege of the First Senior Officer of the United States Navy. By now, his men had fought enough campaigns with him to be accustomed to their commander's eccentricities (usually attributed to his obvious half-Spanish ancestry), and trusting of his combat judgment. All to the good, since he'd undoubtedly be asking much of them before this day's business was concluded.

"Think we can win this one, Admiral?"

"We have no choice, Mr. Joucett. Our Commander-in-Chief has made it clear; he needs us to win a decisive victory to boost his popularity an' assure his reelection." Farragut shook his head. "Politicians!"

But he said it with less than his usual contempt. He'd conducted several strategy sessions with Mr. Lincoln, and found him far more tolerable- even likable- than most in his profession. Perhaps that rail-splitter's humble origins gave him a grounded outlook; the man was entirely clear on the fact that wars involved killing. And, he could tell the kind of jokes Sparrow appreciated. Even more important; this President had resisted all demands for David Farragut's ouster, after that disastrous failed gamble at Port Hudson.

As though reading his mind, Joucett commented, "Abe did stand by you when not many others did."

"True enough. 'Tis helpful to know he trusts my expertise enough to tolerate my occasional meanders from the manual." / As he should. I did assume my first command at age twelve, in this life as well as my previous one. / "This is as good a day as any to make my repayment to Father Abraham." With narrowed eyes, Farragut added, "At least we can be sure the ground troops are where they're supposed to be, this time."

/ Though I might have succeeded even without 'em, if that bloody flotilla had maneuvered the way I instructed. Perdition's flames take such overcautious underlings- ask 'em to follow any strategy they've not tried before, an' they start quiverin' like landlubbers in a gale! I'd call 'em 'faint-hearted wenches', but that'd be an insult to the wenches. /

After all, Jack had known at least three females who'd possessed greater boldness than any Captain currently in his fleet. Were he able to now, Jack would gladly trade any one of the former for a whole brace of the latter. But since none of those gallant ladies were available, he'd have to make do with what he had. And for that, he needed to get a proper view of the Bay.

"Mr. Joucett, take the wheel."

The tall First Mate stepped to relieve the helmsman. "Yessir."

Rear Admiral Farragut descended to the deck, found a speaking trumpet and rope to tuck under his uniform belt, and grabbed hold of a ratline. A nearby deck hand muttered, "Crazy Spaniard."

"Half-Spaniard!" his commander barked, just to make the rotter jump. Every dip into the Fountain granted a different bonus gift; his most-recent one was acute hearing.

Farragut climbed steadily up to topgallant height, where he used the rope to lash himself to the swaying mast. Bracing himself against the wind, he plunged one hand deep into a seldom-used coat pocket, extracting an octagonal object. This device had become more temperamental over the years. Perhaps it's magical component was impermanent, or the physical parts were wearing out. So he made a point to use it only in situations of acute need.

Which this certainly was. Everything depended on his finding a safe route into the Bay, avoiding both shoals and human-devised traps. Flipping the compass open, he concentrated. "I know what I want..."

The needle spun about, trembled, and steadied- pointing as firmly as he'd ever seen. Farragut yelled down to his crew. "Seven degrees to port, Mr. Joucett! Full canvas, you dogs!"

As the crew scrambled to obey, Farragut yanked the calling trumpet from his belt and shouted orders to the closest following ship- the USS Brooklyn- to pass down the line. Until they were clear of the shoal area, every vessel was to trace the Hartford's exact course.

The flotilla started lining up to follow, but the thrice-cursed fool in charge of the Tecumseh either didn't hear properly or didn't respond in time. That ironclad veered from the line, and went up in a mighty explosion. Farragut swore angrily as he watched the stricken vessel founder. He'd never had complete faith in those unsightly metal ships.

To his even greater ire, certain of his fleet appeared cowed by that spectacle; he saw sails being lowered. The Rear Admiral snatched up his calling trumpet and shouted to the Brooklyn's captain.

"What's The Trouble?!"

Captain Drayton shouted back through his own trumpet. "Torpedoes, Sir!"

"Damn the torpedoes!" bellowed Jack. / By the Powers! If this lot is too craven to follow orders, I'll finish this campaign all by my onesies! /

"Four bells! Captain Drayton, go ahead! Joucett- Full Speed!"

"Aye-Aye!" Stalwart Mr. Joucett steered the ship as ordered, bells pealing, colors flapping noisily. The Hartford fearlessly charged past the sandbars and straight towards the bay entrance, seemingly invincible.

Farragut glanced back. To his considerable gratification, the Hartford's example had apparently emboldened the others. Every remaining ship was following in her wake, obediently keeping the same course.

Jack turned his attention to fore, his glare shifting between the two hulking batteries flanking the bay entrance. Fort Morgan, coming up on the starboard side, and Fort Gaines, much further to port. Between the two, Admiral Buchanan's squadron also awaited, guns at the ready below bright Confederate flags.

But the Admiral knew none of them would be any match for his forces. The Union captains were brave enough in familiar engagements... a bit hesitant about rushing into invisible perils, but they'd soon be past those. Once they'd cleared treacherous minefield, his subordinates would acquit themselves well.

Victory would be theirs- he was certain of it! Farragut's smile stretched from ear to ear, dark eyes aglow, feeling the same savage exhalation he'd known in the Battle of the Maelstrom.

"This'll earn me a place in the history books, fer bloody sure!"

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FINIS