Waves parted and surf churned as the pirate ship Forsaken cruised magnificently across the blue Caribbean waters. In her wake followed three more vessels: the schooner Mary, brig Renegade, and man o' war Champion, all sailing in a horizontal line of battle. Overhead, the sky was slowly gaining light. Only the morning star remained shining overhead. The sun rested behind the four ships and had yet to rise, which suited their situation perfectly. On the western horizon, just barely within view, lay the Virgin Islands, along with an entire Royal Navy squadron. If the British crews looked east, at the approaching pirates, they would end up with the sun impeding their vision.
Thomas stood on the Forsaken's quarterdeck by the helm, heavily armed with four pistols and two sabers. A black tricorner hat adorned his head, while an equally dark overcoat hung about his shoulders, covering his old naval uniform. He held a spyglass up to his right eye, seeking out the enemy. Thomas imagined that Bancroft would have taken a fair number of ships with him on this expedition. Still, no ships sailed on the horizon. An hour passed before he sighted the enemy.
And there they were. Nine ships. Two men of war, four frigates, two brigs, a schooner, and a sloop. All were vessels of the British Royal Navy. A formidable force; one that could easily outmatch the pirate ships. As the Forsaken drew closer, Thomas could see that not all of the British ships had their sails set. The men of war, along with the frigates, sat anchored with all sails stowed. Around the anchored vessels the two brigs, schooner, and sloop sailed in a patrol pattern, ready to pounce on any vessels that threatened the capital ships. The northern shore of Norman Island stood less than two nautical miles south of the British squadron.
This should be interesting, Thomas thought. He was outnumbered and outmatched by the enemy. Engaging this force guaranteed a rough battle. Men were bound to die today; of that he was certain. No prayer stood any chance of protecting them.
The British schooner patrolling west of the fleet steered a northerly course, away from the advancing pirates. Thirty minutes passed, then she suddenly tacked to starboard, now on course to intercept the pirate ships. In ten minutes she would be within cannon range of the Forsaken. What then? Would the schooner open fire? If that happened, the entire English fleet would get put on alert. The men of war and frigates would weigh anchor, then ready for battle. The pirates would swiftly get overwhelmed by superior British firepower. And what if the schooner held fire and instead closed to hailing distance? It wouldn't take her British crew long to realize they were about to hail pirates. Neither scenario suited Thomas, but he supposed the latter was preferable.
Twenty minutes later, the British schooner closed to hailing distance with the Forsaken. A lone naval officer stood on her bow, speaking trumpet in hand.
"Unknown vessels," he shouted through the trumpet. "This is-"
The officer never finished his sentence. A volley of cannon fire interrupted him. A dozen rounds smashed into the schooner's bow, blowing about pieces of timber and line. The officer was knocked clear from the schooner's bow and tumbled overboard. His body disappeared beneath the hull.
Thomas filled with rage. "Who the hell fired that volley?!" he shouted.
"The Renegade, sir!" someone called back.
Thomas ran to the stern, his blue eyes fixed on the Renegade. The brig, he saw instantly, had turned to starboard, bringing her port broadside to bear on the British schooner. Smoke hung in the air around the brig's gunports. She was now steering back to port, rejoining the line of battle. Her colors - a black banner displaying a crossed sword and pistol - flew from her mainmast.
"God Dammit, Renard," Thomas muttered. The French captain's mistake had cost them the element of surprise, possibly even the battle. If Renard didn't die in battle then Thomas just might kill the man himself.
"Beat to quarters!" Thomas commanded as he returned to the quarterdeck. "Run up the colors!"
The Forsaken's crew sprang to life upon hearing their captain's orders. Immediately gun crews commenced loading and running out the cannons. The mortar was uncovered and readied. John Cromwell raced to the stern and ran up the black flag, which caught the wind and fluttered in the breeze. The skeletal pirate on the banner announced doom to the enemy. The ship and all her company were now in battle. And in battle, Thomas' word was absolute.
Behind the frigate, the remaining two pirate ships also readied for combat. Cromwell noticed the Mary's flag (which displayed a skull holding a knife in its mouth) run up her mainmast. The schooner's crew had already loaded and run out their guns. At the rear of the line, the Champion had her black flag of a wolf's head flying from her stern. Her cannons were steadily being run out their gunports. The guns were great in number but fewer in manpower, slowing the rate at which they could be readied. The Champion's broadside was no less devastating despite that.
One of the British men of war fired a rocket. Thomas felt his muscles tense as he realized that the rocket signaled a general alarm. All throughout the British fleet drums sounded and men scrambled across decks as all six of the anchored vessels beat to quarters. Now the enemy was on full alert. Thankfully, so were the pirates.
The two brigs patrolling around the anchored ships steered southwesterly courses, preparing to intercept the pirate ships. Their starboard broadsides would soon be within range of the Forsaken. Captain Gaiani of the Mary recognized this threat, and likewise ordered his crew to set full sail. The schooner cruised past the Forsaken's starboard side, her bow aiming straight at the nearest brig.
"What's he doing?" Thomas thought aloud.
As she neared the hostile brigs, the Mary banked hard to starboard, firing a broadside as she turned. The brigs returned fire, but caused limited damage to the small, swift vessel. The reason for Aldo's maneuver then became clear to Thomas. He wasn't trying to sink the brigs, but merely distract them. It was time to return the favor.
"Mortar!" Thomas commanded, "Target those brigs!"
The mortar crew on the bow rushed to carry out this order. Powder tumbled down the ponderous weapon's barrel, followed by a spherical shell. With their weapon loaded, the gunners then adjusted the mortar's angle, primed the fuse, and fired. The mortar belched smoke and let out a roar as it discharged. An explosion appeared over the brig nearest to the Mary. Shrapnel and fire rained down on the hapless vessel, setting alight her sails and killing many of her crew. A triumphant cheer rose up from the Mary's crew as the British vessel died.
"Target destroyed, sir," John informed Thomas.
"Very well," was the Captain's response.
The mortar fired again, this time aiming for the second brig. At first, the brig appeared undamaged. Had the shot missed? The brig then suddenly burst outward amidships, rocked by an internal explosion. Two cannons were blown free of their carriages, killing five nearby sailors. A second blast followed the first as a powder magazine caught fire. The mortar shell had detonated inside the ship's hull! What were the chances of that? A damn lucky shot if Thomas ever saw one. The pirate captain watched with glee as the stricken brig fractured and sank.
The British sloop, which had previously refrained from engaging the enemy, sailed in from the north and fired her two bow chasers at the Forsaken. A lone cannonball struck the frigate's port bow, leaving behind a melon-sized hole. Thomas ordered a broadside fired at the little ship. The port gun battery roared in reply once the command departed Thomas' lips. The frigate lurched noticeably to starboard as the twenty guns recoiled, thrown back by their discharges. Minimal damage was inflicted on the sloop, but she changed course to the east, fleeing to the safety of the British fleet. The sloop fired a broadside at the Forsaken as she steered away, missing widely.
I'll deal with you later, Thomas thought.
His train of thought derailed when another volley of cannon fire rang out. One of the British frigates had weighed anchor and made sail, and now she maneuvered to join the battle. Her port side, obscured by smoke, faced the Forsaken, but none of her shots impacted the pirate ship. Had she missed? Not at all. The Champion had altered course to port, and now her starboard side faced the British ships. Thomas noticed fractured timbers and fallen rigging about the man o' war's main deck. The British frigate had aimed her guns at the Champion, not the Forsaken or Renegade. The Champion then steered back to starboard and fired her bow chasers at the frigate.
The pirates' line of battle now rapidly approached the anchored men of war. One faced northward, and the other ship had her bow aimed to the southwest. The crew of the further man of war (the one facing north) still struggled with the ship's rigging, but likely spared enough sailors to man about half of her broadside cannons. The other ship appeared free of her anchor but had only three sails unfurled: scarcely enough to make headway. A crew trying to get their vessel sailing was not a crew ready for combat. Thomas knew this, and sensed an opportunity.
"John!" Thomas called out to the Quartermaster. "See that man o' war ahead?" He pointed at the man of war facing southwest.
"What about her?" John asked when he joined his Captain on the quarterdeck.
"She's too close to the wind for sailing. We can rake across her bow, then bank hard to port and board her."
"And what of her broadside? If your plan fails, she'll blow us to smithereens!"
John's point was valid. That man o' war, despite her inability to maneuver, still carried a tremendous amount of firepower. One or two broadsides from her could easily render the Forsaken immobile. Then again, if the pirates closed the distance fast enough, the Brits wouldn't get a chance to open fire. At least Thomas hoped so.
"It's a risk we'll have to take, John. Signal the fleet to engage freely."
"Aye aye."
John relayed the Captain's orders and the needed signal flags were hoisted. Within seconds both the Renegade and Champion acknowledged the message by hoisting the same flags, then hauling them down. Both ships then broke from the line of battle. The Champion sailed in the direction of the anchored frigates, while the Renegade pursued the frigate already sailing. Aboard the Forsaken, Thomas continued barking out commands.
"Port guns load double shot!" He roared. "Shoot on my signal!"
The gun crews along the frigate's port side each hauled back their cannons and loaded an additional shot. The one extra shot would decrease the gun's range but double its damage output, making it deadly at close range. And firing directly at the enemy ship's bow (her weakest point) would further cripple the man of war.
Thomas ordered a sharp turn to starboard as the gun crews hauled their weapons back into position. As the Forsaken closed in on the enemy, the man of war began a slow turn to port. Her gunports were all opened, the cannons run out and ready to fire. On her main deck Thomas clearly saw the red uniforms of marines with muskets shouldered. If that ship fired a broadside at the pirates, it would be all over.
"Midship rudder!" Thomas barked.
The helmsman centered the rudder, causing the frigate to steady up on a new course; one that brought her to a southeasterly heading. Off to port the man of war continued her sluggish turn, but to no avail. The Forsaken was already free and clear of her broadside and about to cross her wide bow. The most her crew could do now was brace for an imminent attack. Minutes turned to hours as the Forsaken came within a dozen yards of the British warship. Finally the moment for action arrived.
"FIRE!" roared Thomas.
All the frigate's twenty port broadside cannons thundered in reply, their double shots whistling through the crisp air. The sheer force of the volley caused the Forsaken to list to starboard before quickly righting herself. Dozens of cannonballs smashed into the British man of war's hull, splintering timbers and killing sailors. Deadly wooden debris flew out in all directions. One gunport received a direct hit from double shot. The cannon behind it was knocked off its mount and crashed to the deck, useless. The gun's crew lay injured and dying around the crippled weapon. Pathetic cries of wounded men echoed within the ship's crowded gun deck.
"Hard to port!" Thomas shouted over the noise. "Boarding party standby!"
The helmsman heaved the frigate's wheel as far over as he could. Immediately the rudder bit into the sea and swung the ship to port. But the turn wasn't fast enough.
The man of war's massive bow struck the Forsaken amidships, causing the frigate's entire hull to jar. Her hull groaned as the man of war began shoving her aside. Many pirates were knocked off their feet by the collision, including Thomas. Two men, their grips thrown loose, fell from the rigging and into the sea. A single cannon rolled across the deck, no longer secured properly.
"Recover that cannon!" Thomas barked as he scrambled back to his feet. "Helmsman, keep that rudder hard over. We'll pivot around this bucket!"
And indeed they did. The man of war turned to starboard seconds later, causing the Forsaken to pivot around her enemy's bow. A dreadful piercing noise, like metal against slate, sounded out as the two ships slid up against one another. Seconds later, the Forsaken was free of her enemy once again.
"Sir!" cried John. "The boarding party went over. I couldn't stop them."
Thomas grunted with annoyance. Now he had men fighting aboard a hostile ship without any chance of support. If he left those pirates behind, the British ship's crew would cut them all down. The boarding party's actions, brave yet foolish, had left Thomas with no other choice. He needed to join them.
"John, take command," Thomas ordered his quartermaster. "When the ship is past the man o' war, come around to starboard and fire a volley."
"Aye aye, sir. But where are you going?"
The Forsaken's stern was passing the man of war's figurehead, their hulls no more than three meters apart. Soon the two ships would pass one another, and any chance of aiding the boarding parties would vanish.
Thomas adjusted his hat and jacket. Madness shone in his youthful eyes. "I'm crossing over," he declared.
Without another word, the pirate captain raced to the port side rail and took a leap of faith.
For a brief moment, Thomas appeared suspended in the air, as if time had frozen around him. His gaze lay fixed on the hull ahead, searching for something to grab hold of. Ahead of and below Thomas jutted the barrel of a twenty-four pound cannon. Then, in that fleeting instant, the man of war fired a terrific broadside. The gun before Thomas roared as its muzzle belched smoke and fire. Miraculously the shot missed him. The concussion of the cannon fire, combined with the noise, momentarily disoriented Thomas. The pirate felt his boots land on the gun's barrel, but his hands failed to gain a purchase on the hull. A yelp of surprise escaped Thomas' mouth as his body struck the gunport, then tumbled sideways.
The young captain found himself staring up at the water's surface seconds afterwards. Darkness took him.