Author's Note: This one was written mostly at night, which might explain the style. I struggle horribly with battles, mainly because I have no idea what it would be like. So this is my attempt.

Translations for the French will be at the bottom of the page. Pointe-a-Pitre is the largest coastal town of Grand-Terre, the largest island of the French settlement Guadeloupe in the Caribbean. Yeah, I'm a Caribbean nerd. Shut up.

Disclaimer: Here mousie… it's just you and me now. C'mere you filthy, mangy… no, no! I didn' mean it, I didn'!

Soundtrack: Bulletproof Cupid- Placebo. Instrumental.

Chapter Three: Bulletproof

Noise. Noise everywhere, around him, closing in, close, close, too close, too loud, blocking all, nothing else, no sights to remember, no feeling, no emotion, just noise, endless litanies of sound, clashes of metal, bangs- both distant punctuations and nearby explosions, momentarily drowning all else, and screams, screams surround him, from men, women, pirates…

"DUCK!" He does so. Duck, spin, sword at the ready, attacker has no chance. He falls, then another, and another, each falling and clearing the way for new assaults. It goes on, on, minutes, hours, days… or is it seconds? He doesn't know. Doesn't care. Survive. Parry, repost, parry, find the weakness… another man falls, his blue uniform drenched in blood. Doesn't care, no time to look. Parry, step backwards, bad move… shit! But it's all right, the man collapses at the hilt of another sword.

"Come on!" Another yell, permeating the cacophony of sound. Stick together, must stick together… confusion all around- doesn't matter, the soldiers are close, that's all he needs to know. This one is inept, swinging wildly, erratically… get in under his guard. Move on! Move on!

A rush of air too close to Ragetti makes him spin, his cutlass ready in his hand. The young man behind him realises too late that his plan has failed and he falls. This wasn' s'posed ter happen, Ragetti thinks. They wasn' s'posed ter know we was comin'. The pirates had met a ready and waiting French navy of Pointe-a-Pitre, rather than the surprise attack they had been ready to launch on the unsuspecting town.

"'ow about this fer a surprise attack?" Pintel yells over his shoulder as Ragetti twists to counter an assailant from his left. "Didn' 'alf surprise me!"

Ragetti grins but can't answer. His opponent is dispatched quickly and he and Pintel stand back-to-back, ready for any more oncoming attacks. They don't have long to wait, they are set-upon quickly, five men for the two pirates. One, two fall before Ragetti, survival first on his mind. A violent gunshot behind him makes his heart freeze for a moment and causes the man before him to stop in his tracks. Now! His guard's down! The man's hesitation cost him. Ragetti whirls around, hoping the gunshot had not been for Pintel, but his friend's pistol is in his hand, his sword in the other, blood streaming down his face, a gruesome wound over his left eyebrow. He grins wildly, eyes flashing, blood staining his greying beard. Demonic, Ragetti thinks wryly.

A lull in the fighting. Someone shoulders roughly past him, a wild flash of dreadlocks and scars. "Back ter the ship!" Koehler yells roughly, Twigg on his heels, a grubby sack slung over his shoulder. "Get movin'!" They disappear into the mass of bodies, lost in the movement.

"Pirates!" They turn together. A flash of a sword, a glint of brown eyes. "Votre temps est par-dessus!" The young man raises his blade, hatred twisting his face. Before Ragetti can move, Pintel has levelled his pistol, contempt written all over his features.

"Ne pas être si condamner impudent, mon garcon." A bang, the boy crumples, a hole smoking in his skull. "Idiot." There is a yell, and Ragetti sees a man with a musket aimed directly at them. He grabs Pintel's sleeve and pulls him aside. They sprint into the crowd, ducking and dodging; Pintel lags slightly, and stumbles. The wound to his head is bleeding freely, and there's nothing Ragetti can do but hope they'll make it. He keeps a firm hold of Pintel's arm, making sure they're not separated. Everything is chaos: pirates are surging back to the boats, overcome by the French navy, but the fight is not over.

Ragetti sees the dock ahead, sees the sea, amazingly calm under the moon-ridden sky, the Pearl anchored a way off, many small rowboats on course for her. Standing atop one of the tall posts used for mooring boats at the dock, stands Jack Sparrow. He looms over the crowd, smile flashing, looking for all the world like a thespian at the close of his greatest play. Ragetti stops dead, staring at his captain over the heads of the crowd, and Pintel stumbles to a halt beside him. Jack's reckless position appears to have stunned most of the crowd, which is probably why he has yet to be shot down. Jack raises his right hand and there, clasped in his bejewelled fingers, is a grenade.

"Au revoir, mates!" Jack pulls back his arm and throws the grenade in a wide arc; in the ensuing panic he leaps from his lofty podium, miraculously avoiding all shots aimed at him, and darts away. There is a stampede near the front of the crowd to safety, but Ragetti feels transfixed by the slowly tumbling device. It lands with a soft thud not far from them when realisation hits him like a brick.

"Pint! Move!" He flings himself towards Pintel, whose dazed expression has taken in nothing. He collides hard with his friend, effectively knocking him aside, and then a force of strength he has never known before lifts him off his feet; he does not know how far he's falling, or for how long. He seems to be floating rather than falling, drifting numbly through darkness, accompanied by the sound of rushing air and vague knowledge of pain. Then he hits the ground hard. Agony blazes through his head, his body, wiping out all thought, all memory, all other feeling, and then nothing.

"Rags! Rags, wake up! Wake up!" A voice that sounds vaguely like Pintel's drifts in and out of Ragetti's mind, sometimes loud, sometimes soft. "C'mon, you damn fool, wake up! Rags!"

Pain so intense he doesn't think he will ever recover. Stop, stop, stop, let it stop… A hand shakes his shoulder, a fresh surge of anguish crashes through him, rending him…

With a jolt and a cry he wakes up. The darkness is soothing, the silence eerie. His heart is beating wildly, his breath short and shallow.

"Jesus, Rags, what was that?" Pintel's voice sounds worried. Ragetti turns his head and sees his friend beside him; he has obviously just been shaken awake. Pintel's eyes are not unfocused but sharp and clear, and the scar that stretches taut over his eyebrow has faded with time. Just a dream.

"Had a-a n-n-n-nightmare…" he mumbles, sitting up and pushing his hair off his forehead. His face is damp with sweat and his limbs shake; it has been a long time since he'd last had such a bad night.

"I'd never've guessed. Yeh had too much ter drink, is all. Yeh alrigh'?"

"Y-yeah. D-d-didn' mean ter- ter wake yeh up, P-P-Pint…" his voice keeps sticking in his throat, his shaking lips struggle to form words. His breath is still too shallow. Pintel takes hold of his shoulders and studies him carefully.

"It's no matter, mate. C'mon, calm down, awrigh'? It weren' real, yeh fool," his words are harsh, but his voice is calm. "Take deep breaths, yeah?" Ragetti nods dumbly. Pintel sighs, and turns away, muttering to himself. A few minutes later he has settled in his own hammock and seems to fall asleep.

Ragetti remains sitting up, his forehead in his hands, concentrating on taking deep breaths. The remnants of the nightmare still cling to the edges of his memory; he tries to push it away, tries not to dwell on it. It's amazing how vivid that particular nightmare always is, and how factual. Everything from the cocky French lad to Sparrow's grenade.

That grenade… Ragetti rubs unconsciously at his wooden eye, wincing as a splinter cuts into the socket. Damn Sparrow. Pintel has never forgiven Jack Sparrow, and Ragetti doubts that he ever will. He himself isn't sure whether to blame the captain: it had been his fault, certainly, but he hadn't done it to hurt Ragetti personally. Sparrow had been desperate: Guadeloupe was notoriously difficult to attack due to the immensity of the French navy and their swift brigs. In fact, if it had not been for the Pearl's legendary turn of speed, Ragetti doubted that they would have made it at all.

He had been unconscious for three days after the attack; he had never been told how close he had come to death, but he had not needed to be told. When he had finally woken up Pintel had completely abandoned all his usual reserve and had hugged him tightly, until he realised that he was hurting the younger man. Ragetti had been traumatised by the loss of his eye: frightened, confused and upset. It had been another few days after he'd woken up before he had enough strength to go up on deck, and even longer before he was any actual use. He had been in a constant state of pain, flinching at anything, even more nervous that usual due to his limited vision. He had lost all sense of perception, which served only to make him more frightened and jumpy.

Pintel had displayed unusual patience whilst Ragetti came to terms with his loss. He went out of his way to help his friend, standing up for him in the face of the cruelty of other's, and making sure that Ragetti was never out of his sight.

Still sitting up, the thin man glances around the forecastle quarters; most men were staying on land for the night, though Bootstrap Bill has returned. He is fast asleep, unaware of his two companions. Pintel lies on his side, his arms curled around his head; his guard is always let down in sleep, making him seem much gentler. Ragetti watches him for a moment, still rubbing his eye thoughtfully. The two hundred pieces of eight compensation that Ragetti had received had not been enough to buy a glass eye, but the wooden eye had been a gift from Pintel. "Until we find ye somethin' proper," he had said. How long that will take Ragetti doesn't know, but he knows he'll get a more comfortable eye eventually.

Slowly he lies down again, pulling the thin blanket around himself, curling his legs up under him for warmth, and eventually falls into a more forgetful sleep.

I thought this might be too early to bring in Ragetti's eye, but I had subconsciously plotted how he'd lose it, so I had to write it. It's a tough thing to be sure, but I wanted to tie in a grudge against Jack, which Pintel certainly seems to harbour.

Sorry if the battle seemed ridiculous. As I said, I've no experience in battle so I've just got my own imagination to go on. Hope it didn't seem too ridiculous.

Translations:

"Votre temps est par-dessus!"- "Your time is over!"

"Ne pas être si condamner impudent, mon garcon."- "Don't be so damn cocky, boy."

One last thing: Pintel and Ragetti confirmed for Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. Huzzah!