Gunfire rattled loud, punctuated by screams of the townsfolk and the booming retort of cannon-fire. The wedding party panicked.
Jack froze, the smell of cordite thick in the air as the party degenerated into terror and people started panicking and running around like headless chickens. He saw Norrington reach out and grab a uniformed officer, shaking him hard to jolt him out of his panic and yelling orders swallowed up by the noise of the fray. He did it again with another uniformed man and Governor Swann caught his eye and managed to raise his voice over the crowd.
'Ladies and the elderly will be served tea and sweetmeats in the ballroom'
'Men! Attention!' Norrington's rough voice followed hard on its heels, the coarse volume of a battlefield shout. 'Follow my lieutenants and head to the barracks. We fight!'
Norrington shoved his way through the now purposefully moving crowd to Sparrow's side. 'They're going to die, I can only think of one group of pirates dangerous enough to chance a raid such as this..' He admitted frankly. 'You know as well as I there're at least three pirate ships out there and we're on a skeleton crew thanks to this wedding. I've reinforcements - marines - but they're five miles hence away on an exercise but they'll never get the order in time and we've no way to outflank them.'
'We'll ride there. Where're these soldiers of yorn?' Sparrow asked.
Norrington grinned back at him, a mad, feverish intensity shining in his eyes. 'Half a mile from the Black Pearl's mooring.'
Jack couldn't help but laugh. 'Yer learnin' lad, never trust a pirate! Now, where're these stables?' The Commodore led the way through to the stables with an easy familiarity with his surroundings and they galloped the whole distance, ducking down low over the necks of the horses to avoid low-hanging branches and praying that the narrow paths wouldn't have a pothole in them to break the horses' legs.
'What's going on? Commodore?' The group commander's shock only increased when he saw just who had galloped into their camp as if the very hounds of Hell were giving chase.
'Pirate… attack… on the … fort itself!' Norrington managed to gasp out. 'Head on to the ship you were monitoring…. The captain has agreed to join the battle.' He stayed mounted, letting the blowing, sweating gelding trot on, hoping it held up a little longer as he didn't think his legs would.
'Ana-Maria, Gibbs, my treasures! If we take these here lobster backs and join in with a bit o' the fightin' we're getting rid of Gariol an' his crew, stealin' a portion of their shinies and Norrington here won't kill us fer sittin' here with our thumbs up our arses.' Jack spread his be-ringed hands and smiled at them charmingly.
It was the last point rather than he first two that was the most compelling and the crew grudgingly jumped into action, making ready to weigh anchor as soon as the marines arrived.
'Fastest ship on the seven seas!' Sparrow yelled to Norrington as their respective men readied for battle. He flung a madcap chortle into the wind and looked to Norrington as they set sail, praying that they would be on time. Pearl didn't seem to mind having a naval captain on board, sails straining in the wind as she surged forth as if powered by the two men's desperate need to get to Port Royal.
'What's the plan, Jack If you get us killed I'll make damn' sure you regret it.' Ana-Marie growled at him menacingly as she idly examined her Moorish scimitar.
'Disable their boats with cannon fire and then swarm onto the docks and catch the pirates between us and the fort's defending forces.' The answer came from behind her. Norrington and the marines were organising themselves, but the tall man had still found time to discuss their plan of action with Jack. Ana-Marie narrowed her eyes at him menacingly, but stalked off to her own business.
Jack was nearly vibrating with tension when they rounded the headland into the harbour. Gariol was scum and there were few who'd mourn the lying, raping, torturing, murdering villain. Jack might have been mighty partial to the shinies, a dishonest, thieving, rum-swilling pirate, but he'd never taken a lass (or lad, come to think) against their will or killed a man without good reason. At his mark cannon-fire roared.
Despair welled up in Groves' heart at the sound of fresh cannon-fire. Those wretched pirates couldn't have reinforcements, could they? A rough hand settled on his shoulder momentarily. 'Steady, lad.' Thomason yelled over the sound of conflict, dispatching another pirate with his master's Turner blade with surety and took another step toward the docks. The young officer spared a moment of admiration for the aged man-servant, whose wooden leg didn't seem to hinder him in the slightest, then he too pressed on.
Jack watched the marines swarm ashore, led by the Commodore. It was the most lively he'd seen the man all day. He'd pay the price later though, Jack knew from his observation of the white plague's effects before, but for now the tall man commanded his diminished force, leading their charge like a primal god of war.
Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from touching the pistol concealed in the folds of her wedding dress, the cool steel offering little comfort as the sounds of battle reached even into the ball-room. She turned at a disturbance behind her to greet her father, who looked ill at ease with a sword at his belt and a pistol ready in his right hand. He took her hand with his free one and leant in close to kiss her on the cheek. His hand was clammy in hers and Elizabeth felt his hand tremble in hers. He smiled weakly, then fixed her with a deathly serious look. 'Be gay and continue with the festivities for me please, my love. If… if the worst happens then may God be your guide.'
As he turned away to command the men of his staff (a few stable lads and footmen and Burrows the elderly butler) Elizabeth's resolve firmed and she took up her father's mantle as the host. She turned back to the party with a smile and gently urged Lady Featherstoneshaugh to delight them with her renowned skill at the harpsichord. The maids circulated with more drinks, pistols stuffed awkwardly into their apron pockets. The music played on in absurd contrast to the sounds of battle.
Gillette frowned, the timbre of the sound of battle had changed; a fresh roar had risen up, but the pirates did not seem to be overwhelming them! Mr Turner punched the pirate threatening to overwhlem Gillette with his greater strength and the young Lieutenant nodded his gratitude and continued fighting grimly on. The pirates were losing their fervour and it was Mr Turner who realised why. 'It's the Commodore!'
Gillette squinted down the street and saw it too, a cluster of marines in their bright red uniform tunics led by a man in naval blue with his commander's distinctive posture. He roared with martial fervour, wild hope and passionate loyalty, throwing himself back into the fray until the invaders began dropping their weapons and begging for mercy.