A/N: No notes this time c: Please R&R!

"MISS JONES! I TOLD YOU EXPLICITLY TO STAY AWAY FROM THE CANNONS!" Captain Kirkland yelled. That loud noise that he had just heard…it was their doing.

Amelia Jones leaned back from her position at the stern porthole, where the large cannon currently poked out through the hull. Her face was slightly darkened with soot, but it didn't dim the excitement that brimmed in her bright eyes, hidden behind safety goggles. "Jack was helping me practice," she said cheerfully. She looked almost owl-like, with the oversized lenses and her fair hair sticking out in different directions like feathers.

"Mr. Kirkland," Arthur said, glaring at his cheerful Australian second mate. "Is this true?"

His cousin saluted him with a grin, his verdant eyes betraying no sign of guilt. "Aye, sir! She said she had some experience in the army, so I thought I'd let her show me what she knows. Of course, cannons work rather differently on airships than they do in the army, but—"

"She is not a part of this crew," Arthur bit out angrily, shooting her a look, which she pretended not to see. "And she is wasting ammo. And where is Mr. Honda? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on you!"

"Kiku has a job," the American said with a shrug. "He doesn't need to be looking after me. I'm twenty years old!"

"That is not for you to decide," he replied tartly, taking her by the arm and pulling her up from her position by the cannon. "You, come with me. Mr. Kirkland, please ready the cannons for boarding. Target practice is over."

"Aw, Artie," she complained as he led her away. "Come on, you've got to let me do something. I feel like I'm a burden here." She stuck out her lower lip petulantly, but he didn't see because he was too busy leading her away from the cannons. He dropped the sleeve of her bomber jacket and crossed over to the broad glass panes that created the windows of her favorite room on the ship, the radio room. It was small and a little cramped, but the view was spectacular. At the bottom of the ship, one could easily look out the window and straight down, without the view being obstructed by the rest of the Victoria. If Amelia leaned forward against the glass, she could almost pretend that she was standing on nothing. It was exhilarating, but also terrifying. She loved it.

Arthur Kirkland sighed deeply, something he did a lot around her, she noticed. "Captain," he corrected, looking very tired. "It's Captain Kirkland."

"Right," she agreed, walking over to where he stood, looking out the window thoughtfully. Despite his slight stature, he looked rather regal in his fitted navy blue waistcoat and high-waisted trousers. Not conventionally strong or intimidating, but those dark eyes showed a powerful mind, and there was something about him that drew her to him, a hunger for adventure that she knew all too well.

"Take this," he said suddenly, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small rosewood-handled Remington derringer. He held it out to her.

She accepted it, confused. "Um, thank you." She looked at him questioningly.

"We're tailing Carriedo's ship right now," he said seriously, "and I want you to be prepared in case you are threatened. That knife of yours won't be much use in a gun fight."

"I have a shotgun too—wait, you're going to let me board with you?" She asked excitedly, hopping a little. She couldn't help it, she hadn't seen any action in weeks! "You won't regret it! I—"

"No," he interrupted her, shaking his messy blond hair. She thought she almost saw him smile at her antics, but it was replaced by his customary scowl immediately. "No, you're going to stay on the ship. I wouldn't think of letting a lady accompany us. This is simply a precaution."

She inspected the pistol and then looked at him, tilting her head to the side. "You know, I'll find a way to get onto that ship," she said coyly. "I've done it before."

Gritting his teeth, he said evenly, "Miss Jones, may I remind you that as a passenger on this ship, you are under my command?" They were almost standing toe to toe now. She could see every detail on his face, from the very faint blond stubble on his chin to the slope of his sharp nose to those tragically thick eyebrows. They were kind of ridiculous, really, but they added character, she decided.

She grinned, rising to the challenge. "Is that so, Captain?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Yes," he said tersely. She didn't notice the dangerous glint in his eyes, or she might have stopped. But then, Amelia never knew when to stop pushing people.

"Or what?" She asked loftily, the words barely leaving her lips.

For a moment, she felt a brief pang of trepidation when she saw the resolve harden in his eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth, not so gently pushing her against the cold window. Her eyes widened in shock as she felt his hot hands at her waist, holding her firmly in place as he deepened the kiss before pulling away, panting slightly.

"I—I'm sorry," he said, his face darkening. "I shouldn't have done that." But her startled, open mouthed expression was so cute, he couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction. Well, he'd finally left her speechless for once! And really, he had wanted to do that since he first met her. And the way her face flushed and she couldn't look at him for a moment made it seem that he wasn't the only one who felt that way. It was bad enough that they were sharing sleeping quarters...he definitely couldn't think about that right now! "I have to go. We'll be nearing the ship soon," he said, slipping back into his role as captain. "You stay out of it, understand?"

"Arthur," she began seriously, her blue eyes boring into his, "I'm not going to do that. I—"

The sound of a cannon going off startled them both, and Arthur tore his gaze away from her to look out the window. "What in the Queen's name—" He began, shocked. "Was that one of our cannons?" He wondered to himself. Surely not. Except for Amelia of course, no one would waste precious cannon fodder. And anyway, they weren't within firing range of the Santa Maria, so…

Where had that sound come from? Arthur felt his blood run cold. Someone had shot at them, then. That was the only possibility.

"Arthur, look!" Amelia cried, pointing at a huge shadow behind a cluster of thick, dark clouds. It was impossibly huge, too large to be a rain cloud or something else. Somehow, another ship had snuck up on them. It emerged from the clouds like a kraken from the sea, the largest airship Arthur had seen in his entire career—it was nearly three times the size of his precious Victoria, and armed to the teeth. He couldn't make out the markings on the side of the massive hull, they were in some strange language—Greek maybe, or Russian. "What the hell is that?"

He didn't even chastise her for not speaking like a lady. "I don't know, but this is very, very bad," he said, shaking his head as he tried to figure out who or what was possibly attacking them. Pirate airships simply did not come in that size—they were far too bulky and couldn't get away in a quick escape, a huge drawback in pirating. So what…then he saw it. The stern turned to face their ship, so that the boldly painted blue, red, and white tricolor of the Russian Federation became visible. So the rumors were true. The Russian Empire was on the move again, and not just on land. "Fuck!" He yelled. "They're heading directly for us!"

Grabbing her by the wrist, he ran up the cramped staircase to the second deck, nearly colliding with Alistair, who for once looked somber. "Captain," his brother said, "that cannon, we don't know where it came from, Mr. Honda is trying to figure it out—"

"It's some bloody military vessel from Russia," Arthur said, the blood pounding in his ears. "And it's heading directly for us! We need to reroute immediately! I don't care what you have to do! Avert our course! NOW!" He yelled.

"Aye," Alistair said, saluting smartly.

He crossed over quickly to the telephone that linked the control room to the gunnery, where his second mate was. "Jack, we're under attack. I want you to fire at that giant airship as soon as you have a clear shot," he ordered. "I'm going to assess the damage now. Did we sustain a hit?"

"Mr. Honda says no," the Australian replied. "But it did scrape the hull. I can't believe we didn't see them!"

"I know," he groaned. "I apologize, Jack, I should have seen it—"

"Not at all, Captain," his cousin said firmly. "I'll take out those damn Ruskies, don't you worry sir!"

"I'll go find Kiku," Amelia said helpfully. Arthur didn't acknowledge her but continued talking to his second mate, calmly but quickly giving orders. He was a good man to have in a fight, she realized as she ran to the radio room, where the slight Japanese man stood, a handful of maps spread out before him.

"Kiku," she began breathlessly, "what do we do?"

"You have a pistol?" He asked her abruptly, looking up sharply from his maps.

"Yes, Arthur gave me one—"

"Good," he said. "You're going to need it."

"We're under fire!" Antonio yelled into the radio bolted into the wall. "Vash, take us down! I don't care where! You need to get the ship on the ground, ahora!"

"Aye, Kapitän!" The Swiss man said smartly.

Antonio looked out the window where the large airship loomed ominously, but it didn't seem to be headed for them. Instead, it was headed for—holy Mary, that was Kirkland's Victoria! Where did she come from? "Ay, Dios mio," the Spaniard said grimly. "We're in the middle of a fire fight, and we aren't equipped at all." He turned to his second mate, Ludwig.

"Go let off some of the ballast," he said. "You're the strongest man here. I don't care what you have to get rid of. Wine, flour, ammo, everything goes. Even water."

Ludwig's eyes widened in shock. Nobody threw out fresh water. The situation was much worse than he realized. "Yes, sir," he said, not arguing. After all, his captain had been flying for years, and even if he was a bit absent minded sometimes, the German trusted him with his life. And Feli's, he thought with concern. Where were the Italian girls, anyway?

"Sir, I—" He began.

"What?" Antonio snapped, looking up from the revolver that he was polishing. "Didn't I tell you to get rid of the ballast?"

"Yes, sir, you did, I just wanted to make sure, the, ahm, Vargases—"

"They're in their quarters," Antonio said, his expression softening a fraction. "Don't you worry, Ludwig. Now go. We have to make up for lost time."

The younger man nodded and went off, reassured.

"I'll take you both on, bastards," the Spaniard muttered to himself, wiping down his favorite gun. "Nobody messes with my ship, dammit!"

He glanced out the window and saw that indeed, they were rising at a reasonable rate, but not nearly quickly enough. They were still on the same plane as the mysterious ship and Kirkland's Victoria, and that simply wouldn't do. He would not risk injuring his crew, or Lovina and her sister. His heart tightened unexpectedly. No, that would not happen, not while he was in charge.

He heard the muffled boom of a cannon outside his window. Someone had returned fire, but it wasn't their ship—two of their five cannons on the port side were malfunctioning, and the other three had very limited ammunition. Heracles wouldn't fire unless he had a guaranteed shot, and given how huge the enemy airship was, one small cannon ball wouldn't do much damage, anyway. It was either the Victoria or—he pocketed his pistol and went to the large bay windows and peered out at the giant airship that loomed slightly above them. Who are you? He wondered, his dark eyebrows furrowing in quiet fury. He heard another violent crash and saw, to his shock, that the new ship had just fired a possibly fatal shot at Kirkland's ship, plowing right into the heart of the Victoria. He didn't like the Englishman, but he winced, knowing how he would feel if that had been his darling ship getting torn apart like that. Predictably, the Englishman followed up with a volley of shots that only peppered the hull of the monstrosity, barely impacting it at all. The size difference alone made it suicidal for Kirkland to try to take on his opponent. At least they weren't firing at the Santa Maria right now—no sooner had he thought that than his eyes landed on a deceptively small cannon situated on the port side of the other ship, precisely on level with the giant helium-filled balloon that held up his own ship. He saw smoke start to leak from its black snout and thought, No! but it was too late. It fired directly into the gas-filled bag and he could hear a mighty hiss as the precious gas began to leak out.

They were going to crash. They were just over the coast of France now. If they landed in the water, they might not be close enough to make it to shore. Forcing himself not to panic, he ran to the top deck, where Mathias was climbing the steel ladder attached to the balloon, with a frantic Tino yelling at him below. The top deck was buffeted by powerful winds, but the high guard rails that framed the top deck prevented the men from being blown off. Still, the massive balloon that hovered over them began to move with the wind as it shrank in size.

"Mathias, get down from there! You can't patch it!" Tino cried desperately, his strangely violet eyes huge with worry. The Danish man paid him no mind as he climbed up the ladder, trying to reach the hole. It was only a few feet in diameter, but it was enough. Already, Antonio could feel the ship sinking rapidly—his ears kept popping and unpopping, and it was freezing up here.

"Mathias Kǿhler, get off of there!" Their captain belted. "There's nothing you can do! We're going to have to make an emergency landing!"

"I can fix it, 'Tonio! I'm almost close enough!" He replied, yelling to be heard above the winds. He made it to the last step of the ladder, clinging to it. He was well above the level of the guard rails by now, but he was also close enough to reach the balloon. Almost. The gash was just out of reach, just close enough to tease him. The blond reached out a long arm to try to grab a bit of the torn fabric, but a change in wind forced him to retract and cling to the ladder. He began to shake with cold, and a little bit of fright. He hadn't realized just how far he was from the Santa Maria. Antonio and Tino looked very tiny from where he stood. He forced himself to take a deep breath as he reached out for the torn fabric again, but just then, the ship shifted suddenly, and he felt his left foot slip, and he came crashing down.

"Fuck!" Arthur Kirkland yelled again, as a cannon ball came sailing through the air. It tore through the heart of the ship, probably taking out some of the walls in the crews' quarters. "I'm sorry, love," he said to the ship.

"Fuck!" Alistair shouted, his Scottish accent becoming even thicker. "Fuck these Russian bastards! I'll make them wish they had never been born! Mess with my ship, will you?"

"She's not your bloody ship!" Arthur yelled. "What are you doing? Give over!" He shoved his brother away from the helm, but it did not move, despite him pouring all of his strength into turning the spokes of the wheel. "The hell? Alistair, it's stuck!"

"That's what I was trying to tell you, laddie!" The Scot exclaimed. "They've messed with the rudder! We've lost power steering!"

Arthur growled something darkly, and went to the radio to get Jack. "Jack! What are you doing in there? Take out their cannons!"

"I'm doing my best," Jack said defensively. "They have thirty-six cannons on this side, for Christ's sake!"

"Fine, fine, just keep it up—" Suddenly, the firing on their ship stopped, and Arthur couldn't figure out why, until he saw—they had acquired a new target. The Santa Maria, Carriedo's ship. "Mother of God, can this get any worse?" He muttered to himself. To his shock, he saw a cannon ball go sailing through the air and rip through the balloon of the Spaniard's ship, fatally wounding it. "They're going down," he realized. Was his enemy really going to die like that, in front of his eyes? Crash into the ocean and be out of his life just like that?

It certainly seemed like it. The beautiful airship began to sink at an alarming rate, but it hadn't caught fire—they must have filled her with helium instead of hydrogen. It certainly explained why she was flying so much higher than the other two ships; helium was much lighter, but also much more expensive, to pump into the balloon. But then, he thought seethingly, pirates weren't really lacking in the financial department. Still, he didn't want to see his old adversary go like that. And he himself sure as hell wasn't going to lose to these new Russian villains.

He stumbled a bit as he felt the Victoria shift and move forward slowly—she was going directly underneath the Russian airship now, so they couldn't attack them—unless of course, they had cannons lining the hull underneath the massive ship, which he doubted. It also left the lower car of the Russian ship, which was largely unprotected, vulnerable to their cannons. To his satisfaction, he heard the boom of the cannons, and saw several of their shots shatter the glass of what must have been their control car. Smoke poured out, and the firing stopped momentarily.

"Good man, Jack!" Arthur cried aloud.

"Let me try it again," Alistair said roughly, taking back the helm. With a grunt, he threw his whole body weight against it, the giant muscles in his pale forearms straining, and it finally gave, reluctantly. "The rudder's badly damaged," he informed his captain, who groaned. "But I can manage it. We'll have to land, though."

"Fine, fine," Arthur said dismissively. "Just get us out of here." To his relief, he saw that the Russian ship had given up on them, finally, and appeared to be gaining altitude so as to avoid the other two ships. "That's right, you'd better leave, you bloody cowards! You think you can just mess with one of Her Majesty's ships! I'll find you, you son of a bitch!" He yelled, pounding on the glass of window as he watched the ship vanish into the clouds almost as quickly as it had appeared, still smoking slightly. "I will find you, you hear? You haven't heard the last of Arthur Kirkland!"

"Calm down, laddie," Alistair said, laying a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Why don't ye go check on the ship now, hm?"

"Right," he agreed, his green eyes sparking dangerously. So help those pirates if one of his crew had been hurt. No, he wouldn't even think about it. He went to the radio and tapped into the speaker system throughout the ship. "Everyone, report to the galley immediately. We're going to be landing in Marseilles soon."

Soon, his small crew had gathered in the cramped but tidy galley, looking more than a little shell shocked as they gathered around the dinner table.

"Good, everyone is here," Arthur said, sighing with relief, sinking into a chair at the head of the table. "Mr. Honda. What is the condition of the ship?"

"We sustained blows to the radio room, the second deck meeting room, several of the crew cabins, lost two cannons, and the rudder has been badly damaged," he said quickly, reeling off the injuries without a trace of panic. "If we land within the next few hours, however, we should be alright. Nothing is beyond repair, although it won't be cheap."

"That's better than that poor Spanish bastard," Arthur said, shaking his head ruefully. "Mr. Kirkland. How many hits did you land on that enemy ship?"

"I think we may have taken out as many as six of their portholes where the cannons were, and we destroyed the control car," the Australian answered with a triumphant grin and a thumbs up. "They hurt us pretty badly, but we managed to piss them off!"

"Good," he said, nodding curtly. He ran his eyes over his crew. Kiku was as stalwart as ever, though he looked a bit shaken. Alistair had been serious before, but now that his beloved helm was working again, the Scot was back to his smart aleck self. Jack looked a bit insane, with his brown hair flying every which way, and his face covered in soot from the cannons, but his eccentric cousin looked no worse for wear than the rest. Amelia was shaking a bit with adrenaline, but she too looked fine. She had clearly been with Jack, even though he had explicitly told her not to be around the guns, because she was wearing the safety goggles on her head, leaving little white circles around those owl eyes of hers in her otherwise black face. She gave him a big grin, making him quickly look away. Toris, their quiet, cheerful cook, was the only one to look really disturbed. In fact, he looked almost paralyzed with fear, nearly white under the black gunpowder from the cannons.

"Mr. Laurinaitis?" The Brit asked, eyeing the Lithuanian man with concern. "Are you alright? Did you get injured while you were in the gunnery?"

"No, sir," he said quietly. "It's just…that ship. I've seen it before."

"You have? Who the hell are they?"

"It's General Braginski," he said, his thin face drawn tight with anxiety. "The Russian Federation is on the move again."

So I mentioned in Ch. 1 something about the Russian Empire/Federation starting to invade neighboring countries in eastern Europe. It seems it's only getting worse. What are you up to Ivan, hmm?

Oh, and just a refresher on some ship anatomy (at least for naval ships): the hull is the bottom portion of the ship, the keel is the line that runs along the bottom portion of a ship, the rudder is what steers it (controlled by the helm), portholes are windows, and airships aren't typically armed with cannons...actually, not ever, that I've seen, so I modified it...I had them put cannons through the openings in the portholes (windows).

And yeah, if the Santa Maria had had a hydrogen balloon like most airships, it would have exploded, because hydrogen is highly flammable. But helium isn't, thank goodness!

The two crews will finally meet up in the next chapter! I hope switching between POVS wasn't too confusing.

Spanish

Ahora - now

Ay, Dios mio - oh my God

German

Kapitaen - captain