AFL Chapter 16: Fight For Love
Planchet: -retching- I hate air travel! -groaning-
Antoinette: Disgusting.
Porthos: We already knew that about him.
Aramis: In all fairness, you react the same way to the sea.
Antoinette: That's different. His head is already filled with enough air, than mine. He's... he's... an airhead.
Porthos: C'mon, even I wouldn't use that lucrative word. Too silly! Won't catch on.
Antoinette: Can I get a ruling on this?
Me: Of course.
Porthos: Favortism!
Me: I call it selective hearing.
Porthos: o.O
Me: On with the double chapters!
Constance: (tied up on Rochefort's airship) Radiolover1029 does not own the Three Musketeers but I wish she could get me a knife or dagger or something!
Me: SPOILER ALERT! You're supposed to be far, far away from here!
Constance:... My bad?
Me: -.- Continue!
Aramis stood at the wheel, carefully navigating back with Athos guiding with the map engraved in his memory. Porthos and Antoinette kept a weathered eye on the horizon, which D'Artagnan carried the spyglass to his eye.
Shots of cannon fire hit the left side.
Athos slammed the wheel hard. "Damn him!"
At the head was the ordinary decoration. A French priest skeleton equipped with a scythe and the throne with a crown at the top of the gray skull. What was different about this ensemble was not the daunting figurine it represented, but of two things.
The first was strapped across the ribcage of the skeleton in fear. Antoinette's mouth gaped and grasped at Porthos' arm at the sight of her near and dear friend breathing heavily along the ropes. Constatine had frozen tears she was unable to wipe as she struggled to remain upright and not slinking down her restraints.
The second was more disturbing. With a knee lunged at the stand, and eyes like a hawk preyed on the smaller sized ship. The French crusade fleet, purple masts and stiff from the sheer size. He smirked at the troupe parallel to him.
Rochefort curled in satisfication. "Ah, Gascon! So you've traded up when it comes to transport. But, once again, you're outmatched," he bragged, holding onto one of the lines. "You can thank Milady for that. She passed on Buckingham's plans a long time ago. As you can see, we made some improvements," His chuckles were met with rolled eyes. "Isn't she a beauty?" He mocked in comparison to the stolen, smaller in size fleet.
D'Artagnan yelled, "What do you want?"
"The diamonds," He said as if it were so obvious.
D'Artagnan narrowed, "Come and take them,"
"Gladly. You see, I can blast you out of the sky with total impunity. If you fire on me, on the other hand, you'll be killing Miss Oh-so-young-and-pretty," He gestured to a scared Constance bound to the front. Antoinette held onto the young man's shoulder from doing anything drastic. It wouldn't save Constance. "You have 60 seconds," He deadpanned.
Aramis huddled the group. "He'll shoot us down the moment he has the diamonds,"
Porthos scratched the side of his goatee. "We can't outrun them,"
"We're sitting ducks if we don't do something," Antoinette added.
D'Artagnan visibly already processed this in his mind. He wrung his wrists in fury. "And we can't fight them, damn it! We can't," A hand furled through his hair.
Athos sounded, "Oh, D'Artagnan,"
Coming to a simmer, the boy angrily paced a step before rebounding to Athos. "What?" he barked. "Do you think you have the monopoly on loss? What if she dies? The life of one woman or the future of France, what would you do if you were in my position?" He dared to ask Athos.
There was a hesitance from him. It took precious time to conjure up a first of many lessons he would teach this boy. Not of oath or duty. Hell, not even swordplay. What Athos had to offer had more substance than a few lukewarm sentiments in an unfavorable situation.
Athos narrowed his eyes. "I've made a lot of sacrifices, a lot of hard choices. For honor, for King, for country. You wanna know what I've learned, boy? Hard choices and sacrifices do not keep you warm at night," He shortly glanced at Aramis and Antoinette standing side by side, admiring Athos' courage. Porthos to the other side. Even Planchet. They were a family and Athos would be damned to hell's pit if we allowed any one of them to end up dead today. "Life is too damn short and too damn long to go through without someone at your side. Don't end up like me. Choose the woman. Fight for love, D'Artagnan. France will take care of itself,"
D'Artagnan's eyes lit up with newfound curiosity. From before he just imagined the Great Musketeer to be a fake or something that a parent would tell a child a bedtime story. Now, there was something else underneath the grouchy layer of Athos. It was a sense of pride and fulfillment. Something so honorable that all suggestions of this man previously were thought elsewise.
Rochefort ticked. "Time's up,"
D'Artagnan swallowed. "An exchange. I go aboard your ship with the diamonds, the girl comes aboard ours. Once I know she's safe, I give them to you,"
"Fine. But I want to see the diamonds first," he bargained sharply.
Antoinette grabbed Porthos's shirt. "Load up the guns," She didn't leave her eyes off the ship as if it were a trick. "Just in case,"
Porthos motioned for the serf to follow him down the way. "Planchet,"
"Deploy the gangway!" Jussac ordered.
The helmsman relayed, "Deploy the gangway!"
Both gangways were connected. D'Artagnan was handed the diamonds by Aramis. He clutched at them. It was the bargaining chip to secure Constance. He was taking a big risk. However any foolhardy tricks on their part would subdue them and the diamonds plummeting to the earth. The cabin door opened. A shaky Constance in teal skirts braced herself as she gazed with the trial to cross. She survived thus, and all she needed was to make it once more.
At the same time they manuevered step by step until they approached one another by the halfway point. His eyes gazed at her and finally he released the breath he didn't know he was holding. He continued with Constance hesitantly looking back. Once both had traded, D'Artagnan held the pristine jewels in their faces.
"Satisfied?"
"You never learn," Rochefort back-handed him to the floor. "Fire!" The door slammed and the gangway removed. Constance shouted her pleas as Antoinette braced them down when the cannons shot at them.
"Hard, right. Fire!" Athos regained the wheel. Antoinette stumbled to the ground when the cannons hit. Profused smoke erupted from down below.
Antoinette calls by the downstairs, "Return fire!" Fire was lit and bombarded onto the other French airship. A percussion of cannons and their aftershock tilted everyone off their center of balance. Constance found some solitude inside trying to help as much as she could. If only there was a moment to breathe instead of the steady coursing of blood pumping as loudly as the cannon fire.
"Finish them off!"
Athos cursed, "Damn!" He allowed another cannonball to hit the side. "We can't outrun them and we can't outgun them," He pushed and pulled the wheel but wished for speed not direction.
Aramis said, "We could try asking them to surrender, but somehow I don't think it would work,"
Antoinette struggled to prevent Constance to go out to the madness but she pleaded her constitution won't be damaged from a few guns and shells. Constance, the spitting image of her own mother, advised, "We hide. In there,"
Where she pointed was the thunderous mess of grayed clouds. The speed of sound enveloped the storm. The center held flashes of lightning within it's crevices. Athos began plotting. Hiding within the storm, with a small ship could give them the advantage.
Antoinette voiced her concerns. "I'm worried about the lightening. If this thing tanks, we all fall down,"
Athos shook his head as he changed the course. "Then we avoid getting hit," he said stonily. The last of the firings and minute rounds were outdistanced when they laid in the pursuit. Being the pursued gave the advantage to think two steps ahead while the pursant were calculating exactly what their prey is doing. The beauty of the human mind or any independent creature is the absence of being a closed book.
The mind is braced with steel and firm concrete to keep secrets and information privy to the few in the know. Antoinette tackled the lines, knotting them to the best of her ability. All Rochefort could order is to open up the winds for depth and continue firing, which would be pointless with distance.
Aramis commented, "He's persistent, I'll give him that," Lightning crackled close. All on board cringed as it was audibly too close for comfort. Aramis muttered to Antoinette's frightful eyes, "Stay close,"
They ducked down to the drawing room, as Athos continued to aimlessly move on. "We need a plan. And quick,"
In her own realm, Antoinette looked curiosly for answers from the inanimate lines of a map. Drawings would do her no good without knowing where in this foggy mess were they. How could they find there way or even know where there enemy stalked without a plan. The storm was extensive but not foregoing.
Antoinette mentally pulled at her hair from nerves. The blood rushed to her head as she searched for a way. Porthos began to reload with Planchet. Aramis stood next to her drawing blank expressions with her.
She wanted to cry from her incoherent mind. She wished she could freeze time, take a breath and look for a way without the impressment of time dawning on her.
Surprising herself, she grasped the edges of the table to pray. She knew it to be futile. God doesn't answer to those who don't worship daily. Was it her fault she had preoccupations? Yes, it was. Another reprise was sung to God again. No plans. Not even a light. Nothing. She groaned. Her elbows lurched onto the table in frustration. She heard the footsteps of a frantic lady-in-waiting. She mentally rolled her eyes as Constance was flustered and pinched with coldness on her cheeks.
"Antoinette! Remember Lady Miriam de Fontaine?"
She wiped her hand across her stretched forehead. A little headache was coming about. "The old hag who bet against me in croquet?"
Athos grumbled. "Ladies, we have reserved time!"
Constance started to drag along her idea as she began to rapidly explain. "She bragged that she would win because her croquet ball was bigger and thus would go farther. But it cracked against the metal post because it was too hollow,"
Antoinette furrowed her eyebrows. Wondering how that could remotely compare to the danger they are facing now?
Porthos questioned, "What good does that do?" He left to pre-ignite some grenades.
Then the light she had not found, was experienced through Constance. She began to replay the scenario in her head. She stepped out in the open on deck against others protest. She began to inspect the equipment. She remembered the smug grin. The line, the shot. The crack when it hit against the post. It all formulated in her brain. Constance unhinged the obstacle and showed her the way.
She turned about. "Porthos, reload all the cannons down below. Athos, stack the mini-guns and set their course eighty degrees up. I'll take the helm," she ordered as she undid her work on the knotted lines. They would need all the altitude they would receive. Athos gazed at her. He nodded nonetheless. He had trust in her.
Antoinette looked behind the ship to see no resemblance of the ship that once tailed them.
"And what about me, Captain?" his husky voice called.
She eyed him. Out of habit, she begun to braid her hair. She watched him watching her. When she finally pulled the last of it in, she handed him a gun.
"How's your aim?"
He gripped the handed gun, overlapping her own. He leaned down to barely skim his lips above hers. "On target.
Breathlessly, she responded, "Don't miss,"
"And you?" he teased. She pulled back with hooded eyes.
"We'll see," She smirked as he followed to their positions on the outer rim of the railings.
"Round two," Athos commanded. He sneered at the unsuspecting Rochefort and Jussac. He fired the mini cannons directly at their crews heads with intentions to end the torturous repartee. It would end.
Aramis intiated the spinning wheel to spew out bullets and other ammunition. He learned from Antoinette where to hit with best accuracy. The crew watched and waited for their miserable lives to end. They all scattered as the heavens rained fire. Their screams like nails on chalkboards, seem to work just as well as the rounds they produced.
Their teamwork coincide to the plan. Constance and Antoinette took their personal guns to shoot (or in Constance's case attempt to) down on any stranglers. Their precision matched with deadly target range. The altitude allowed the scales to tip in their favor. Cannons were tried to be adjusted but with much difficulty than Porthos' strong arms to point them down at them.
In the midst of their reign... There was an over-anticipated cry of joy from the Chinese Dragon Cannon who was manned by none other than Planchet.
"WOOOHOHOOHOOOO!"
"Who the hell gave Planchet permission to touch that?!" Antoinette shrieked in horror.