The Third Life: Son of Neptune
Well, seven Reviews, two of which weren't listed for Chapter 47, so technically five Reviews, weren't what I was hoping for when I posted that chapter, so let's aim for much higher with this one.
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC
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Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity.
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Jake returned to America in the bitter cold of the 1777 winter of February. He arrived in Boston, the place in which John Paul Jones was stationed, waiting for assignment as he was currently at odds with one Commodore Esek Hopkins in regards to career advancement. Apparently, Hopkins was hindering Jones' campaign plans, something that would anger any man.
Luckily for Jones, George Washington's mentor was here to give him something to do.
Jake entered the Boston fort, the Patriot soldiers there saluting him as he entered, meaning that during his absence word of him had spread through the army. At least, that's what he presumed. With the snow crunching under his boots, Jake made his way through the fort for the captain's barracks, and when he got close enough, he heard very vulgar arguing between men.
Not really even paying attention to what was said, Jake approached the two apprehensive guards who were privy to the shouting match and didn't at all look comfortable, gave them a respectful nod, and promptly blasted the wooden door clean off its hinges with a strike of his leg.
Old man strength is not to be underestimated.
The argument between the gentlemen inside instantly halted. Jake identified the potbellied man with the curly brown hair as the commodore, Esek Hopkins, and the young buck as John Jones.
"Captain Swallow?" Jones gasped, his eyes gaining a sparkle to them similar to the one Washington gained.
"Captain Swallow," Hopkins grumbled, clearly displeased with Jake's presence.
Activating Eagle Vision to first confirm what he needed, the pirate confirmed Jones' parentage, and opened with a smile. "Good evening, gentlemen! Now, I was just passing by the fort when I overheard your shouting from the street. Something about this Son of Neptune problem."
"Yes," the commodore said. "The captain here insists that she need be sunk post haste, but the reports I have her place her in the Southern waters around the Caribbean, far from this war, and far from any kind of threat to our efforts. His head is filled with delusions of grandeur, and dreams of glory, and he can't see the forest for the trees!"
Hopkins' voice rose through his tirade, eventually ending in a shout.
Jones looked ready to throttle the commodore, and Jake knew from experience that a demigod of Jones' caliber could very easily rip a mortal's head clean from their neck with just brute force, and so he stepped in before tempers could come to such a monstrous conclusion.
"Peace, gentlemen. Commodore, what is the date of the latest report on the Son of Neptune?"
"As of September 4, 1776, she's patrolling around Cuba."
"Oh, good."
"How is that good?" Jones demanded.
"It's good because that report is outdated, and that big bitch is currently making her way up the coast—should be passing by Florida by now if my math is good—to assist the coming British offensives, while also transporting additional munitions."
"And how have you come by this information?" Hopkins barked.
"I'm old, son," Jake's brows knit in a threatening manner. "I've spent many years making friends and building networks. The majority of that network revolves around the water ways. Beyond that, you really want to be the commodore history remembers as letting something as powerful and dangerous as the HMS Son of Neptune getting this far into the middle of the American Revolution? You want to take that chance?"
Esek Hopkins attempted to hold Jake's gaze, tried to look into those dark eyes and search for any kind of deceit or lie, but he couldn't hold that stare anymore than a puppy could against an angry lion.
Breaking the engagement, effectively cowed, the commodore grabbed a quill, dipped it in some ink, and grabbed some parchment for a letter. "I'll begin organizing a response fleet."
"Wrong," Jake said with authority. "Jones and I will be sailing immediately in the Alfred to meet the Son of Neptune. If we cut the bullshit and go now, we should meet her around North Carolina with a good wind."
Hopkins' eyes went from the iron-hard Jake to the smug John, and could only feel like he was being bullied. However, Jake Swallow was not a man to be crossed lightly, with the favor of the Commander in Chief as well as several members of Congress, not to mention his own ability…all those he had on him…
"Fine," the commodore said at last. "I'll make it known that Captain Jones and his crew have been dispatched for North Carolina in the Alfred to combat the HMS Son of Neptune before she could reach higher American waters. Don't die, gentlemen. Dismissed."
"Sir!" Jones saluted.
Jake just left.
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Jones' Alfred, a frigate boasting twenty 9-pound guns and ten 6-pound guns, and a compliment of 220 crewmen, was sailing out of Boston before the first light, the crew a little anxious due to the reputation of their target, and their captain eager for prestige and full of confidence.
"What do you know of the Son of Neptune, Captain Jones?" Jake asked.
"She's a British man-o-war captained by William Davis, sir."
"Mm, and what is it about Captain Davis that sets him apart from every other captain, but makes him quite similar to you?"
Jones' eyes flicked to Jake and then back to the dark water ahead. "You speak as if you know something many do not, captain."
"Cut the shit, boy. I know you're Poseidon's son. That's why I wanted you to accompany me on this voyage."
"I see. Well, in that case, Captain Davis is my Roman half-brother, a son of Neptune. He's got an ego the size of his ship, hence the name, hates losing, has no problem throwing his officers and crew overboard for whatever inconvenience they pose and feeding them to sharks, and he's less a swordsman and more a marksman.
"His powers are also different. My strengths lie primarily in the sea and her creatures, but his lie primarily in the earth and in droughts. Yes, Father is also the god of droughts. Don't ask me how the storm and sea god got saddled with also being the god of droughts, but it happened. Anyway, I can't do earthquakes or make a drought to save my life, but Davis can cause tremors powerful enough to level cities and cause a dry spell so great that men will die of thirst in hours. He struggles with weather-related things, as well as water manipulation, but I excel in that category."
"Good to know. How good are the terms with which you and your father are on?"
"Good enough. He helped me get my first station."
"Even better."
Jones eyed the old pirate. "What are you planning, Captain Swallow?"
"I don't think this ship has got enough to bring down the Son of Neptune, even with you as her captain. We're going to need something bigger, something with a lot more guns, a lot more bigger guns."
Captain John Paul Jones' eyes screwed up in thought as he tried to figure out what Jake was talking about in regards to getting a bigger, more powerful ship on the way down to North Carolina to combat the Son of Neptune, what his standing with his father had to with anything, and then it struck him like a bolt of lightning.
"I…I don't know if Father will do what you have in mind, Captain. That's a tall order."
"I'm a tall man. Besides," Jake turned to face Jones, his dark eyes alight with mania, "it'll be a wedding present."
"A what?"
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With Jones manipulating the currents, the Alfred reached North Carolinian waters just three days after leaving Boston.
"What now, Captain?" the son of Poseidon asked.
"The crew needs to be below decks until otherwise, for starters."
Jones ordered all the crew under the weather deck. "Now what?"
"Play along," Jake grinned. He pulled a pistol and pointed it at Jones' face, making the sailor gulp and ready himself for whatever was about to happen. "Poseidon, you unfaithful, scurvy-ridden wad of dogshit! Get your barnacle-encrusted ass up here for an audience, or I'm going to blow your boy's brains out all over this deck!"
The sky instantly darkened with storm clouds, the temperature dropped like a lead weight, the winds rose into an eerie whistle, and the waves began smacking the hull. A whirlpool started on the port side, and out of rose the massive, bare torso of a less-than-pleased god of the sea, trident in hand and glowing ominously.
"Captain Jake Swallow," Poseidon rumbled. "You've entertained me and mine in decades past, but your insolence today will not be forgiven. Prepare to die."
The sea god levelled his trident, and Jake's grin never faded.
"Oh, relax, m'lord. All just a ploy to get your attention."
"My attention for what?"
"Why, to inform you of the wedding!"
The weather stopped as Poseidon stared. "Whose wedding?"
"Yes, whose wedding?" Jones echoed.
"The one between me and John here!"
The demigod squawked like a seagull, and Jake shot him a look. 'Play along, I said.'
"U-Uh, a-aye." Jones cleared his throat. "Aye, Father. Jake has always been a hero of mine, and despite our age difference, we have decided to wed before he is gone and/or I am taken at sea. Finding a dress in his size in difficult."
"Unbelievably so," Jake nodded in agreement.
"You…want me to make a dress for your wedding?" Poseidon asked slowly, very, very confused as to what was playing out before him.
Last he checked, homosexuality was not an accepted practice in the civilized world anymore—not that he cared, mind you; he loved his son very much and was very happy that he had found love, but given the current sociopolitical climate of the 18th century, he couldn't help but feel that this arrangement was asking for trouble.
"No, no, Father. See, my bride-to-be terribly misses his long sunken ship, and desires to sail upon her one more time with his old crew. I promised I'd do what I can, but unfortunately raising ships and hydro-necromancy aren't things I can pull off. Yet."
"Ah, I see," Poseidon nodded. "Yes, very well. As a wedding gift to my son, I shall raise the Running Frenchman along with the crew that were upon her at her sinking for twenty-four hours."
The sea god dipped his trident under the waves, and barely a second later, Jake's heart lurched into his chest when she came roaring out of the water, looking no different than she did before her untimely sinking.
A big, muscular galleon with a seaweed-green hull and sails, enough cannons to outfit a small fleet, a gleaming hunk of steel at her prow, ready to smash apart any vessel that got in her way, and at her stern, in golden letters, was her name:
Running Frenchman.
At her rails were dozens of men and women from all walks of life, the only thing marking them as not of the living was the pale green glimmer about them.
Jake was honestly ready to cry for the first time in sixty years.
Poseidon this big, happy fatherly smile. "Enjoy son, and son-in-law!"
The sea god sank beneath the waves, leaving John to stare in awe at the legendary galleon. "The Running Frenchman," he breathed. "She's beautiful."
Then, like a dog detecting a squirrel, Jones' head snapped forward, whereupon the horizon a British man-o-war had appeared.
"Captain Swa-"
He didn't get to finish before old man Jake was running full tilt for the rail. He planted his foot on the rail midstride and launched himself through the air, sailing the twenty-foot distance between the Alfred and the Running Frenchman like an eagle. He landed on the deck, tucking into a roll, and popped up to his feet at the wheel.
"Jake!"
"Mr. Biggs! You look funny."
"You look old."
"Go fuck yourself."
"I'm dead. Can't do that anymore."
"Well, find a way." Jake turned towards his ghostly crew. "Feet to quarters! All hands to battle stations! Load mortars and chase cannons! Prepare the heavy shot! Full sail! Full sail!"
The crew sprang into action, the sails unfurling and catching the wind, the ship lurching forward into battle once again. This motivated Jones to get his own crew in gear, and moments later he and his ship were also sailing off to fight. Jones didn't know how the Mist was affecting his crewmates, because none of them said anything about the green galleon sailing ahead of them, nearly three times the size of the Alfred.
Jones' heart was doing a tap dance in his chest, feeling exactly like an excited child. Honestly though, how could he not? Captain Jake Swallow, his idol and hero, was sailing on the Running Frenchman, the biggest, baddest ship of the West Indies, comparable to El Impoluto, La Dama Negra, HMS Prince, and the twin ships HMS Fearless and Royal Sovereign.
It was a dream come true for Jones
It was like getting an actual Hogwarts letter in the mail.
It was like a satyr showing up to take you to Camp Half-Blood.
It was like finding a wardrobe to Narnia.
It was like finding a working lightsaber.
It was like Gandalf knocking on your door with news of an adventure.
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Jake, for his part, wasn't just over the moon. He was over the entire solar system and beyond.
He was…he was on her again. His crew was back. Mr. Biggs was right next to him yet again. They were all heading for one final, glorious battle as a ship and a crew, up against a most worthy opponent: a son of Neptune.
Jake had to wonder if Poseidon had actually bought that whole act, or if he had just used it as an excuse for more "entertainment." Jake wasn't really bothered by the notion of being a show for the gods. He wasn't a part of their lives, and they not in his. He gave them no worship and no prayer and no offerings or sacrifices, and they didn't hinder or help him.
They were just invisible spectators, no different than the angels or the demons.
Jake and Mr. Biggs didn't make any small talk on their way to battle; they didn't need to. They had nothing to ask of the other, and were both far more invested in sailing as friends once again.
John Paul Jones was bringing up the rear, and the demigod knew what to do. He and Jake had discussed the plan many times during the voyage, making amendments, discussing possibilities and variables, weighing pros and cons, etc., so Jake wasn't worried about the younger captain in the slightest.
Nor was he worried about the other younger captain, the son of Neptune over there, William.
"Mortars!" Jake hollered.
The six batteries went off two at a time, peppering the Son of Neptune with shrapnel and fire, tearing through her sails and ropes.
"Chase cannons!"
The six front-mounted guns fired simultaneously, the cannonballs ripping through the air and striking true at the enemy ship's prow, damaging the bowsprit and blasting through the wooden railing, one poor soul having their head blasted apart in a spray of blood and bone fragments.
Jake yanked on the wheel, turning the Running Frenchman's bow to port, all the gun ports on her starboard side open, all of the cannons aimed. The galleon rolled up and a wave just right and ended up with a brief window of elevation over the Son of Neptune, out of range for her guns, and too close for mortars. Jake barked the command.
"Fuego!"
The massive compliment of cannons let loose in a symphony of death. Having loaded the heavy shot, the balls wouldn't have gone as far, their weight bringing them down faster, but with them being on the crest of this wave, with a downward angle on the man-o-war, it was moot. The hail of iron struck true, shredding the decks, blasting apart the mainmast, tearing through men and wood alike without mercy or compromise.
The Son of Neptune took a full broadside from a galleon boasting thirty-two guns just on one side, twelve of those being 36-pound carronades, the other twenty being humungous 64-pound monsters. She was barely afloat after that barrage, her hull riddled with egregiously big holes, that were letting gallons of seawater come flooding in.
Had it not been for Jones back there using his powers to hinder his Roman half-brother, the battle would've been greatly different. As it was, the Alfred came swooping in to deliver one last barrage of cannonfire, this one striking the powder stores and making the mighty Son of Neptune, a ship that would forever go unrecorded despite her impressive strength and accomplishments, exploded in a grand display of fire and wood.
But the battle wasn't over yet. Well, it was, but there was this annoying last-ditch effort by a certain son of Neptune. Turns out it was really hard to kill a child of the sea in their own territory.
"SWALLOW!"
The angry British accent split the airwaves, and the captain in question looked up to see someone sailing at him from above, sword brandished and eyes bloodshot with rage and madness.
Jake didn't fault the man for being angry and just a little unhinged; if his beloved ship and crew had been shredded by another ship, he'd be besides himself with emotion as well. As it stood, however, he wasn't in the mood for dying today.
Captain Davis came flying in, and Jake didn't have to say a word. Mr. Biggs brandished his magician's staff and conjured an invisible shield. The son of Neptune smacked into it like a fly, his steel sword snapping like a stick, and his neck breaking like glass. Then, just to be sure, Jake blasted the younger man with pistols, and also ordered the swivels to do their thing, completely ripping the captain apart.
Jake was making sure that William over there was too damaged for the seawater to heal him, but then a better idea struck him, and he gestured to his first mate, who raised his staff again.
"Ha-di."
The explosion spell really made sure the water wasn't going to be healing Captain Davis.
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It was totally and completely anticlimactic, but Jake did not care in the slightest. Poseidon had given him 24 hours with his ship, and it had taken less than ten to sink the Son of Neptune.
"Oh, we're back in business, baby," Jake grinned.
The ghost crew cheered. They were pirates after all, and there was plenty of raiding material in these dangerous waters. That was how Jake and his crew spent those precious next 24 hours, sinking every British vessel they found. Jones had left just a little after the Son of Neptune sank, out of respect.
It was just like old times for Jake. It was the happiest he had been in years, sailing with his crew once more, back on his beloved ship. The cannons rang just as loud as he remembered, the mortars thundered beautifully, the swivels trumpeted clearly, and the crew moved in perfect synch, just as good as when they were alive.
No, not every crewmember had died that day after Kingston, but a lot of them did, all because of Jake's folly. This right here? He didn't consider it the redemption he was looking for, but more like closure for his ship and crew.
What a closure it was, too.
Eventually, those 24 hours were up, and the Running Frenchman went back to the depths. Before that happened, Mr. Biggs clasped Jake's arm.
"You've made me proud, my friend. I look forward to seeing you again."
"And I you."
Jake was left on the North Carolinian shore, watching with a salute as the Running Frenchman disappeared under the waves once more. After she was gone, the old pirate leaned to and fro, side to side, his back popping.
"Alrighty then," he muttered, "Back up North we go…"
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Since the starting of this chapter, we got four more Reviews, but ouch. Are we bored with the Third Life, or was the last chapter that unnoteworthy?
Anyway, I hope that was a nice surprise this chapter with the Running Frenchman coming back. Next chapter will either be the last one for this arc, or the penultimate one. Bottom line is that we're coming to an end with Jake's story and will soon be picking back up with the Sea of Monsters and all its wonderful glory.
Fav, Follow, and Review!