Chapter 55: Discovered and Damned

Hunter sat, tense and worried and unrelenting, within his cabin behind the great oak desk, the surface of it entirely covered with complex diagrams, charts, plans that he had drawn up which were staked to happen in five days.

Five days, then they would take the island back. Vadima would not prolong it any more this time, he was certain – she had even helped him draw up the plans himself. He had nearly felt guilty for screaming at his very own mentor so many times out of frustration and desperation, out of the state of cluelessness that he was in as a leader expected to do so, so much, sometimes even beyond the span of human capacity.

Cure the sick. Or even revive the dead. His stomach churned every time whenever the wives, the husbands, the friends and the siblings of the recently passed would look up at him with wide, expectant eyes, for guidance, for leadership –

They were praying that he would work a miracle when his capabilities were nowhere near that. He suddenly also regretted sending that young golden-eyed man away from his door in such a fury. What he wouldn't give to have Zachary – Vadima's most recent prodigy – with him now. But he was stuck on the other side of this goddamned rock along with the rest of Benjamin Spinnaker's guild and there was nothing to be done about it.

Focus!

Hunter's eyes snapped back to the diagrams.

He couldn't do this, he couldn't afford to do this. Five days. He had five days and one chance and he was not allowed to miss it because they were all counting on him, every single living being here had thrust their lives into his hands.

Out of blind trust, Hunter scoffed. Out of pure, honest blind trust that he was not worthy of.

Not worthy of it, he reminded himself, and you never will be –

Because Dangler had depended on him, Dangler had wasted away in front of his eyes for years and he had done nothing, he had just watched because he was too much of a coward to act. And she, ultimately, had died because of it. For what must have been the five hundredth time, Hunter repeated his promise to himself.

I have failed her. I will not fail them as well.

Review it again.

And so he did – he leaned over the papers and mentally drove himself through what he was certain would be their victory over the Armada, over Prima Militus, their retake of the island.

They would come through here, and in this formation, with the seven lead gunner ships at the very fore-front –

And here (Hunter stabbed the map with the tip of his finger) was where Benjamin's ships would meet them, armed with catapulting charges and anything else his engineers had had the time to assemble.

And then –

"Sound the alarm! Sound the alarm!"

A cry came from outside of the cabin, followed by the fast, hurried rush of footfalls, and Hunter leaped up. It was the posted sentry, the watch – he'd seen something, and was rousing the fleet. Usually, this would have to be run by Hunter first, but if he had flown into such a panic then it must be - !

Hunter flung open the door to his cabin, finding that the survivors were pouring out onto the decks, all of them quiet and focused, weapons clutched, ready to fight to their deaths upon a moment's notice.

"Where's the threat?"

The scout skidded to a halt.

"Armada ship, sir, in the channel – it's spotted us. She'll be upon us in minutes!"

"Dear God," Hunter muttered, mostly to himself. He looked around on decks, where he was met with hundreds of eyes watching him back, all of them awaiting his orders. It was awfully ironic that he had none to give – he had no idea what to do, whatsoever.

There was no clean way out of this one, not this time. The last time that they had very nearly been discovered, Hunter had summoned every last witchdoctor to the decks and together, combining their strength and energy, they were able to create a temporary illusion that hid them from the view of the clockwork officers. Now, half of those witchdoctors were dead and they didn't have even the slightest bit of hope at repeating that event.

"Hands to quarters!" He bellowed, and without question, the numerous men and women scattered about the decks hurried off. With the latest head count, Hunter had assigned them in groups of five to seven to individual canons on the very outer edges of the giant floating mass that they had been surviving off of. The ships had been so tightly lashed together, boards running over the railings and connecting them everywichway, that they would not be able to maneuver to destroy the incoming Armada ship. They had just started taking apart the connections in preparation for the battle – Hunter had planned it so, because such a feat took days.

They would have to stand their ground and fire upon the clockworks from where they were. It made them sitting ducks and Hunter did not like it one bit, not in the slightest.

The pointed bow of the clockwork ship began to show at the very mouth of the channel opening before he even realized it, and it took all of his concentration for him to force himself to stay still on the deck, one hand on the railing, the other holding his spyglass to his eye. They had limited ammunition and an entire battle still to fight – there was no way for this to end well.

The attack would be rushed. Regardless of what happened now, they would be discovered – it was just a matter of when the possibility of death would come to their door. Today, or in a few more?

"Sir, coming up!"

The scout tugged on his sleeve and Hunter had only realized then that he had drifted off into his limitless cloud of worry, damn that worry, damn it! Hunter looked again through his spyglass, and there were the officers, in red and black and brocade, troops lined up at the railings, perfect and monotonous and deadly. He was suddenly thankful for his quick thinking – to hide the wounded and the most gravely ill in the very center of this mass of ships. He ducked behind the railing himself, and now, he was sure, they looked to be nothing but a lifeless flotsam.

Any breathing being had been ushered safely below decks. This could have been a current point, where wreckage accumulated, for all that was known – if the Armada had not thought to look here first, it surely meant that this location was superbly concealed, and therefore relatively unfamiliar to Valencian charts.

The clanking of the turbine sails, the rhythmical clacking of gears grew louder and louder as the ship approached them, and Hunter listened hard, keeping himself well below the railing-line so that there was no way he could be seen unless the clockworks actually came onto the ship themselves.

They were looking for signs of life – to see if this was a trap, or if it was indeed some enormous pile of wreckage and nothing more. They were close enough that Hunter could hear their officers, up on their main deck, speaking.

"Nothing yet, sir."

"Noted," the Captain said, and then raised his voice so that it boomed over the entirety of the cove, even though he still somehow remained miraculously dignified, collected.

"Any living creatures here," he said, "are now prisoners of the Armada. Come up on decks unarmed and with your hands upon your heads."

No! Hunter wanted to scream back, but instead he could only whisper it through the beams of the deck to the young boy that was standing on his toes to hear him so that he could relay the message as quietly and efficiently as possible. They would not be swayed. They would not move.

The clockworks, as far as they knew, were addressing a limp pile of wood.

The ship was now pulled alongside of the outermost ship of the fleet and Hunter held his breath – any longer now and the officer would come on board, and they would all be dead.

"Fire!" He yelled, and then ran and dove below decks, dragging the scout boy along with him as they toppled down the stairs and collapsed in a heap on the lower deck as the entire ship suddenly shook when all of its starboard side guns were fired at once. There was a dreadful splintering sound as the Armada ship took the full force of the hit, having been caught entirely unprepared. It was not like humans to hide and let themselves come so close to death while retaining a cool head at the same time.

They had not expected this, and now Hunter had the advantage.

"Reload!" He called, darting over to one of the open gun ports and peering through to inspect the damage done. His instructions to the gunning teams were to aim at the Armada ship's canons – if their own destructive power was diminished then they would not be able to attack while the fleet's ships barreled it into submission.

As of now, the Armada ship was still being bombarded – the surrounding ships, not having Hunter directly with them to give the order to fire, had looked towards the centermost ship for their cue, and some of them with ammunition left were still launching shell after shell into the framework of the ship.

It was an enormous broadside, several ships long and with deadly force. The Armada ship was hopelessly outnumbered.

He gave the command to fire again when his own gunners had reloaded, and with another broadside, he watched as the mast of the Armada ship toppled, as her hull was smashed further and further in – the ship was trying to save itself, it had turned and was heading back towards the mouth of the channel when a charge struck the ship's magazine and the entire thing went up in a massive explosion, the result of thousands of kegs of powder combusting all at once.

Hunter felt his heart stop as the great wooden mass shook from the force of the blast, even though it was a considerable distance away from them. Whatever was left of the wooden structure, of the metal plating, was consumed by that great mouth of fire. The flames shot up high, a fiery beacon that stretched out and over the sides of the cove, the rocks that had shielded them from Prima until now.

They were no longer hidden.

Those at the guns gave a triumphant cheer as what remained of the wreckage of the Armada ship sank down into the depths of the skyways, from where nothing ever reemerged or was heard from again, but Hunter was quick to silence them.

"Enough," he snapped, "Enough!"

They obeyed.

"We've given away our location. We're alive now, but that explosion," he gestured wildly in the direction of Skull Island, "can be seen all the way from where they are – "

Now the panic started, but Hunter continued, merely raising his voice above it all and desperately trying to rein in his own panic before it became infectious.

"There's no other way," he said, heavily, "we've got to attack tomorrow."

A heavy silence fell over the gun deck, and by the ladder that led up, he caught a glimpse of Madame Vadima, looking at him with a wary gaze. He turned to the scout that had been with him on deck earlier and gave orders to have a message sent to Benjamin informing the guild of the change in plans – it was mechanical, this militaristic sense of leadership, and it had

"There's no other option," he said, never once taking his eyes off of her, but she did not raise any objections – he wouldn't have taken any objections. As of now, they could either wait here and remain easy prey, allowing the Armada to corner them in the cove that they had sought refuge in, or they could meet Prima's forces halfway. If they were to die, they would die fighting for what was rightfully theirs. The decision had been made.


I hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review!

- Severina