Disclaimer: still the same as chapter 1

Author's notes:

- I have no sailing experience whatsoever, so details from the gybe maneuver come from Wikipedia, the free on-line encyclopedia.

Chapter 4: Gybe ho!

The Flying Dutchman's First Mate was getting more and more nervous by the minute. He was close to the point of breaking every bone in his hands by wringing them too violently, and his blue eyes were throwing daggers towards the strange square-rigged brig that had appeared out of nowhere to ask for their help. Both ships were sailing side-by-side, under the morning sun.

Ever since Will had stepped foot on the brig, Bill Turner's bad feeling had increased but he still couldn't figure out why; nothing about the Benevolent was remarkable, and yet his uneasiness had tripled in volume. How he wished he could have come along with Will, to be sure everything would be all right! But of course it hadn't been possible: Bill had lost the ability to "transport" himself from one ship to another since he had regained his pure human form years ago, and it would have taken too much time to ready a longboat and propel it to the Benevolent. Besides, Will had asked him to stay aboard the Dutchman; Bill would rather face the Prince of Darkness than disrespect a demand from his Captain, who also happened to be the most precious person of his life. And who would have watched over the Dutchman if both the Turners left its board?

The Ship's Book of Rules was adamant about this point: if circumstances forced the Captain to leave his post, the First Mate was entitled to command the vessel until the return of the said senior officer. Will relied on him to keep the Flying Dutchman safe, the crew looked upon him for orders and directions: Bill had to remain behind… but he hated every second of this situation!

He had saw his William calmly talking to Peterson for a moment, and then the two men had gone under deck; Bill had rightly supposed the blond-haired Captain wanted to lead Will towards his dying boy, whose soul's cries had drawn his son's attention. Still, Peterson had a strange attitude: he acted as if he was absolutely sure of his child's demise, unlike any parent would do.

In his long life, the elder Turner had seen many men and women loosing their children to diseases or accidents – and Bill had truly felt sorry for these poor people, since he had never been the indifferent kind – but each time, the parents would desperately cling to the tiniest hope provided by faith or medicine, making them believe for a moment that their loved ones would pull through… until the worst happened. And even then, Bill had seen many times parents refusing to release their hold on the little bodies cradled in their arms; unable to face the unbearable truth, they would lash out at their entourage and yell at the top of their lungs that their children weren't dead, but "simply asleep". And who could blame grieving parents for becoming violent out of denial?

But Peterson seemed to take the imminent death of his son far too calmly… And Will's absence was getting longer.

Suddenly, a movement caught Bill's attention: tearing his eyes from the Benevolent's deck, he looked at its portside hull. Again, it was nothing different from another ship: the massive wooden structure, the attached shrouds, the water line drawing a dirty shadow on the planks, the port-holes, the…

That was it!!

Bill's heart slammed against his throat after he realized where his odd feeling came from: the Benevolent's port-holes were open… and human silhouettes were visible around the guns!

By experience, the elder Turner knew brigs could carry 10 to 18 guns; with its notorious speed and maneuverability, it could inflict terrible damages to enemy ships before anyone could even start to organize a defense, making this kind of ship very popular among pirates. The Flying Dutchman was sailing so closely to the Benevolent… it could be shot at point-blank range. And then Captain Peterson reappeared on his deck with a nasty smile on his face… and Will was nowhere in sight.

A horrible feeling of dread fell upon Bill Turner, who yelled at the helmsman: "GREENBEARD! GYBE MANEUVER! AT ONCE!"

"Aye, Mister Turner!" answered Greenbeard, "GYBE HO!"

A gybe was a technique bringing a vessel before the wind in order to change sides, or to allow it to sail a zigzagged course; the alternating angles would make it difficult for enemy's gunners to steady their aims, and in the meantime the Dutchman would quickly gain speed to escape from fire. It was a dangerous operation because the leeward side of the sails would suddenly become windward. The boom could violently sweep across the deck, injuring anyone standing in its path; it could also slam to the limit of its range and put excessive stress on the rigging; it could break, and even bring the masts down.

In spite of Greenbeard's loud warning, the brusque movement made the Dutchman's crewmembers lost their balance, drawing screams of pain and surprise. The ship made a huge yaw and, at the same time, the Benevolent's guns opened fire. The cannonballs hit the Dutchman's stern, blowing holes into the Great Cabin and damaging the helm, but missing their original target which was the ghost ship's starboard side.

"Action stations!" thundered Bill Turner. "We're under attack! All hands on deck!"

The Dutchman's crew tried to pick themselves up, but some of the sailors had been injured during the gybe maneuver and were unable to help. Cries, wild questions, exclamations burst everywhere, adding to the confusion. Jimmy Legs, the bo'sun, tried to maintain discipline but the Dutchman's wild sailing was making his task difficult. Besides, there was the matter of the dangerous movements of the boom, threatening to knock people out of its way; that was scaring the men and preventing them to perform their duties.

Bill's quick thinking had protected the Flying Dutchman by preventing its starboard side to be gutted open by the Benevolent's projectiles, but they weren't saved yet. It would take the enemy five minutes to clean their portside guns, damp down sparks, ram powder, ball and wadding down the barrels before firing again; that would give enough time for Bill to continue the gybe maneuver until his ship would turn around and get ready to attack. But Peterson and his crew didn't seem too worried: the Benevolent gained quickly on the Dutchman, riding hard just behind the stern. Greenbeard at the wheel was trying hard to control the zigzagging course but each change of wind could make the vessel heel over. Crates and barrels were rolling all over the Dutchman's deck, threatening to injure the seamen in their wake.

Bill Turner's mind was reeling with questions: why would the Benevolent attack them? What Peterson wanted with them? Was it vengeance about Davy Jones' past evil deeds? Was it an act of piracy? But they weren't carrying any kind of gold or precious items in their hold! And for the love of God, where was Will?

"Mister Legs! Get ready to fire!" yelled Bill.

"We haven't fired our guns in five years, Mister Turner!" replied the bo'sun.

"I don't care!" snapped the First Mate. "Get the guns ready!"

"You don't understand, Sir! We used all of our gunpowder in the maelstrom battle and we haven't restocked any since. I've mentioned it once to young Captain Turner and he just told me we wouldn't need to use the cannons anymore!"

Bill blanched at Jimmy Legs' words: that was much true! The Dutchman was a peaceful soul-ferrying vessel once more, thanks to Will's influence, and this kind of mission didn't need defensive weapons. Keeping forty-six broadside six-pound guns ready would have looked completely out of place aboard a ship transporting souls!

The elder Turner thought he was going mad: when he had saw the Benevolent getting ready to open fire on them, his first reaction had been to protect the ship, thinking his son would join them immediately. But Will was nowhere to be seen, and they were under attack. What in the world was happening?

"Hard to port! Steal his wind! Deploy the canvas in full!" shouted Bill, a plan unfolding in his mind: they would gain enough speed to distance themselves from the enemy ship, and then go back and ram into the Benevolent; the men would board it, using ropes and grapnels, and in the melee Bill would kill anyone standing on his way and he would find his son!

The gybe maneuver ended and the crewmembers slowly regained their equilibrium. The Dutchman had the wind aft and Bill glanced at the direction of the stern: the Benevolent had fallen behind. Hope had barely the time to return to the First Mate's heart before a sudden gust of wind imbalanced the ship: weakened by the recent dangerous maneuver, the mizzenmast' riggings broke with a loud snap, increasing the boom's instability. For a horrible second, Bill thought their ship was going to capsize.

The Benevolent noticed the pursued ship's dismay and turned slowly on its starboard side… where its guns were ready. A loud explosion thundered and a hail of cannonballs cut through the ghost ship, destroying its helm, ratlines and the rigging. The shipmates cowered for protection from the falling sails and yard-arms, and crashing debris staved in the deck. Bill looked at the helm and saw that Greenbeard's body was lying on the quarterdeck: he had been hit by the volley and the Dutchman was completely out of control.

Bill jumped on the quarterdeck and grabbed the wheel. The sight of Greenbeard's mangled corpse was horrible but it wasn't the time to mourn the death of his comrade.

"Mister Legs! Secure those sails!" yelled the First Mate.

But as soon as he gave this order, the enemy fired again and this time, it hit the Dutchman's hull, tearing open a hole: a terrible tremor shook the ship from top to bottom. The violence of the impact made Bill lost his grip on the wheel and he fell backwards on the wooden planks. He had the time to think: "Oh God, we're sinking… Will!" just before a yard-arm fell down on him.

The world went black.

The guns' clouds of smoke slowly dispelled themselves in the air and the blond-haired commander of the fake Benevolent snorted derisively at the sight of the Flying Dutchman. Just like its Captain, it didn't look impressive anymore! Its sails were torn into shreds, the rigging was in ruins and the ship was slowly but steadily sinking. The deck was littered with bodies and the crew hadn't even had the time to fire their guns. Jones' former ship was supposed to have supernatural powers like going underwater, sailing directly against the wind without loosing speed, outrun any vessel and able to sail through a hurricane without damages. Talk about an overrated reputation! Two volleys from the Conqueror had been enough to vanquish it!

"Mister Long!" barked the Captain.

"Yes, Master?" answered the bald Chinaman.

"Our work here is done. Tell the helmsman we're heading west!"

Long's black eyes widened in surprise at those words.

"Pardon me, Master, but it is wise? Maybe we should wait until the Flying Dutchman is totally submerged; just to make sure that it is defeated…"

"My name is not Red Hand Pete for nothing, Mister Long! I have destroyed more ships in my pirate career than you have eaten bowls of rice, and I'm telling you the Dutchman is a goner. I won't waste another minute of my time watching it disappear beneath the surface, or risk the safety of my ship by getting caught in the whirlpool of that sinking bucket. We have better things to do, and one of them is to make Captain Turner talk. That is your task, Mister Long, so get your equipment ready: you will interrogate him within the hour!"

But the Asian didn't seem convinced by Red Hand Pete's affirmations. In fact, he was still darting nervous glances at the Flying Dutchman, as if he expected the ghost ship to recover from the battle and attack them any minute.

"Master, I still think that we should…"

"Are you questioning my authority, Long?" barked the Captain, towering the Chinaman with a dangerous gleam in his aquamarine-colored eyes.

"No, Master!" exclaimed Long. "I would never-!"

"Then do as you are told; I won't repeat it!" said Red Hand Pete in a peremptory tone, and some of his sailors snickered loudly.

Shiao Long clamped his mouth shut, bowed deeply and then he turned heels to head downstairs, to his cabin where the necessary "questioning items" were stocked. He was glad he had been able to hide his resentment behind the impassibility of his face, but deep down he was furious by Red Hand Pete's open disrespect towards him, especially in public.

Unlike the Conqueror's crewmembers, Long wasn't a mindless imbecile saturated with rum and unable to do anything else but obey orders. He had ruthless ambition and since his ungrateful family had denied him his rightful claims for a high position in their organization, he hadn't hesitated to ally himself with dangerous men to reach his goals. For that, he had to play the role of a discreet and efficient servant to Red Hand Pete but even if he called the pirate captain "Master", it wasn't a mark of deference but simply a way to allay suspicion.

"Red Hand Pete isn't your master", reasoned Long inwardly. "He's just a mean to an end. After you have reached your goal, you will make him pay dearly for his sarcasms and his insults. He's pitiful, come to think of it: he is actually convinced that I am working for him. That's the other way around!"

But the captain's hostile attitude had offended Long nonetheless, and he needed an outlet for his anger. Then, he remembered the young commander of the Flying Dutchman, currently incapacitated and suffering greatly inside a soil-filled crate, which was secured within the Conqueror's hold. Ah, yes, Captain Turner… The living proof that immortality didn't mean invulnerability…

A cruel smile spread on Long's lips: he had worked as a torturer in China, years ago, and it had been one of his most enjoyable jobs. Nothing brought him more pleasure and satisfaction than playing an active part in the slow destruction of a man!

TBC…