Eleven

After a rough night's sail, the Hercules had had the misfortune to be grounded on a sandbar, but the Cornwall reached Buff Bay at dawn in much calmer waters. The Dauntless was already at anchor, having had a shorter distance to travel. Gillette felt true panic then; he had been told that the raiders would land in the wee hours, setting themselves up for a dawn assault. But the latecomers could hardly miss seeing the King's Navy gathered for attack, and would certainly not venture within range of their guns.

His agonized confusion only increased when a rowboat bearing three sailors and Sarah Norrington approached and requested to board. This was turning into the worst day of his life. "Good God, Miss Norrington, what on earth were you doing aboard the Dauntless?" he shouted at her as she was helped onto the deck. Seeing the scornful look she gave him, he controlled himself as one of the sailors handed him written orders.

He scanned them quickly, then nodded to the sailor. "Convey to the Commodore that I understand, and shall of course follow his orders to the letter." He gave Sarah a grim smile. "We're ordered home, Miss Norrington. Your brother is very worried for your safety. Not that our prey is likely to show up now." She stared at him coldly.

His lip curled in frustration, then he began shouting orders. "Weigh anchor and set the mainsails! Put on all possible speed due west, Mr. Smith." Sailors echoed the orders and scurried to obey, as the rowboat began its journey back to the Dauntless.

The Cornwall had no sooner gotten underway than a shout came from the lookout. "Captain – Spanish barque sighted! Thirty guns at least, and a second ship sails to her starboard!"

Gillette bared his teeth. "Hold our course, Mr. Smith."

Sarah's gaze had turned openly hostile. "The Dauntless is outgunned, Captain, surely even you can see that. If there's a battle they will need your help."

Gillette turned on her; she saw the wild look in his eyes, but she didn't care. "Miss Norrington, you will go below this instant, or I will have you taken below like a barrel of grog, is that clear?"

She grimaced right back at him. "I think you and I should have a bit of a chat in your cabin," she hissed, then lowered her voice. "… Traitor!"

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Jack Sparrow had the helm as the Pearl approached Buff Bay. He and Caitlyn had declared an unspoken truce; he did not confine her below, and she had ceased haranguing him about his course of action. Jack smirked just a little, seeing her sitting on a coil of rope and peering over the railing. She'd tied a bandanna around her strawberry curls, and with her bare feet and men's trousers could have been one of the pirate lasses of old.

Gibbs was the only disgruntled one, muttering on principle once or twice a day against having women on board. He stood now, spyglass to starboard, scanning for their target. "No sign of 'em yet, Captain!" They were near enough to shore where his glass could pick out individual huts scattered on the beaches, and the odd surf-fisherman. Then a whiff of something reached his nose, just as a faint boom sounded.

The entire crew registered that sound. Cannon fire. As they came around the promontory east of the bay, the battle hove into view. Caitlyn stared in dismay as the firing increased, and large puffs of smoke drifted across the water's surface. She turned to Jack, and was stunned to see him smiling.

"Well, Miss O'Shea, it seems you were partly right; your brother cares not a bloody damn if you live or die. He's sent two ships instead of one; must be thinking to blast us out of the water."

"I wouldn't put it past him at all, Captain." She sounded resigned.

Jack's smile grew positively wicked. "Ah, and what have we here? My old friend Norrington, it seems; at least it's his ship. Wonder how he got into the middle of this?" He gave her a wink. "Usually he sticks to pirate hunting. He doesn't care much for the likes of us."

Caitlyn sensed the tension coursing through the entire crew. "What now, Captain Sparrow? Chuck me overboard, I suppose, and then head for the high seas."

Jack gave her a sidelong look. "That's what I promised, isn't it? But I don't have to do anything I don't want to. What say we give your jackal of a brother a bit of a show for his money?" She was puzzled for only a moment.

"Mr. Gibbs! Order the guns readied. Put on all possible sail. Everyone to stations. I'm in the mood to blast the bejesus out of yon Spanish ships!"

Gibbs positively brightened at the thought of venturing into mortal peril; it beat dealing with Jack's bad mood for the last few days. They had little time before they came into firing range, and the crew spent every moment of it loading cannon and pistols, and tucking boarding axes and cutlasses into their belts.

Caitlyn felt like the calm eye of this storm of activity. But within her coursed a new fire, a new energy; her heart thrummed steadily as she realized that finally, everything was about to change.

"Captain Sparrow, I want to help. What can I do?" She raced to catch up with Jack as he stalked the deck.

Jack hesitated for only a moment. "Right. Can't say I'm surprised. See those swivel guns along the rail? Take your position at one of them and watch what the man next to you does. Then blast away." His smile was echoed by her own.

Twelve

Gillette yanked Sarah into his cabin and slammed the door, his face pale. "Miss Norrington, out of respect for your brother I will let you have your say for exactly one minute."

"That's all it will take, Captain. I know exactly what you've been doing. You've gotten yourself in debt, and then taken money to lie to my brother about the movements of his enemies. If you don't turn this ship around and join the battle, I will personally make sure you can never hold up your head again on British soil." Her eyes narrowed and her fists were clenched tightly.

"No one will believe you!"

"Oh, I think they will. And you can't take that chance, can you? Why not go ahead and fight? Perhaps that will prevent a court-martial, at any rate." Her skin was flushed with anger.

Gillette thought with a pang that he would probably never see her smile again. The thought hurt more than it should have. "Miss Norrington … Sarah. There isn't a damn thing I could have done about this whole mess, once I'd lost all my money gambling. You know how irrational your brother is about that sort of thing; he'd have had me cashiered."

"It's not irrational. Our father lost all the family's money gambling, and then drank himself to death. It nearly ruined James' career," she added heatedly, "and it certainly destroyed my mother's health."

He licked his lips. "Be that as it may, I've been ordered by your brother to return you to Port Royal. If I disobey that order, he'll probably kill me with his bare hands. Which," he let out a huff of exhaustion, "might be a vast relief."

Desperate times, Sarah thought. "Relief or not, I am telling you for the last time, you will order the ship to join battle," and to his astonishment she drew a pistol from beneath her shawl and pointed it directly at his head. "Because you have absolutely nothing to lose."

Gillette felt a wave of serenity wash over him. "I see. Well then, let's get to it." He flung the cabin door open and bowed, then strode onto the deck.

Sarah hurried behind him, pistol hidden once again, as he shouted orders. "Mr. Smith, come about immediately! We will engage the enemy at once. Mr. Talbot, make ready the guns. We'll flank the smaller ship and draw her fire."

The Cornwall groaned with the strain as the helmsman turned the wheel hard to starboard. Sarah nearly lost her balance, and struggled to steady her hand on the pistol without letting the crew know what she held. If they knew, they would disarm her, and then who would help James?

Gillette seemed to read her thought. "Rest assured, Miss Norrington, that I shall keep my word. Save your shot for the enemy. Your brother will need every ounce of help he can get." His words and tone were firm and calm, and Sarah felt the muscles in her arm suddenly melt from the strain. She hastily tucked the pistol into her waistband, and shook her hands to loosen them.

"Captain, there's another ship! It's firing on the enemy!" The lookout's voice sounded confused.

Gillette glanced to the helmsman, then laughed; he couldn't help it. "The more the merrier, eh Smithy? Well then, men – for God and country!" They sailed into the wind, and into the fires of hell.

---------------------------------------------------

The Magdalena was caught in a vise between the Dauntless and the Pearl, and Juan Gallardo was livid. If he survived this ambush, he would be going for the head of the bastard who'd sent him into it. A second broadside from the Dauntless destroyed his foresail and its rigging.

He gave command of the Magdalena to his first mate, then took one of the dangling ropes and swung over the prow and onto the quarterdeck of the 12-gun Toro. She was less pressed, having just come about to receive the approaching Cornwall. Gallardo landed lightly on the deck and immediately took the helm, angling the Toro for a broadside against her attacker. "We will grapple and board the instant she comes within range!"

Jack Sparrow stood atop his own forecastle deck, shouting commands as the Pearl's guns pounded the Magdalena. A hot battle in quarters this close was a tricky thing, and they had to mind that their cannon did not overshoot the enemy and hit the Dauntless on the far side. The three ships were ranged side by side, so close that ramps might almost have been laid from one to the other.

Caitlyn O'Shea had a natural talent for blowing things up, it seemed. Her swivel gun first shattered the door of the aft cabin, then a second round blew through helm and helmsman alike. She paled at that, but reloaded swiftly. She was firing partridge shot, and it was having a devastating effect, scattering into deadly shrapnel that tore apart whatever it struck.

The overanxious crew of the Toro let their broadside off a minute too soon, all but one shot falling short of its target. The Cornwall passed before her prow and blasted off the forestaysails, but the mast and hull remained untouched. Toro followed her and drew alongside, her crew screaming insults as they let off a broadside to starboard. This shook the Cornwall to her keel, part of the main deck itself being shot through, and three men dead where they stood.

It was impossible, Sarah thought; this brilliant, sunny day couldn't be marred by the smell of gunpowder and burning and blood. She stood at the rail as the battle raged around her, pistol clasped in her hand, but she hadn't been able to fire; her fingers seemed riveted in place.

The Toro's crew used their momentary advantage, and flung grappling hooks over the Cornwall's railing, pulling the two ships together by main strength till they were able to board. Gillette raced to Sarah's side, hat gone and blood streaming from his head. "Miss Norrington, we must get you to shore!" She looked over his shoulder; a man was climbing over the rail. She raised her pistol, and fired just past Gillette's ear. The Spaniard yelled, and fell into the water between the ships.

Gillette didn't even blink, simply grabbed her and hauled her to the far side, where a sailor waited in a rowboat to take Sarah off the ship. Shakily she climbed in, as the enemy began swarming the deck. A man with an axe in one hand and pistol in the other rushed at them.

Gillette turned and stood guarding her, a bellow of rage issuing from his throat. "Get her to safety!" The attacker fired point blank. Gillette fell backwards into the boat, and it rappelled far too quickly to the water's surface, landing with a jar that rattled their teeth.

Sarah sucked in a breath and glared at the stunned sailor. "Row, man, or we'll all die yet!" He shook himself and grasped the oars. Sarah tugged Gillette's arm till he was settled, grimacing at the blood beginning to soak through his jacket; he was unconscious. "Oh God, so stupid…" she whispered. Then she grasped the second set of oars, and they pulled for shore.