Thomas' head broke through the briny ocean water's surface. He instinctively inhaled deeply upon reaching the atmosphere. The sea around Thomas was littered with debris, all of if from both the English man of war and his own ship. The young pirate's mind instantly returned to the battle. Where was the Forsaken? Thomas spun his body around, struggling to keep his head above the water. His hat was gone. A painful bump had taken its place. Thomas theorized that he'd struck a heavy timber after his fall, knocking him out for several seconds. A costly loss of time, he knew. Events moved much faster in battle than outside of it.
Thomas quickly surveyed the situation, regaining his bearings in the process. The British man of war that he'd tried to board still rode ahead of him, her stern facing his floating carcass. She was damaged, but still making way. Between the swells and the vessel's speed, Thomas stood no chance of reaching the hostile warship. The same held true for the Forsaken, still behind him, but now coming about to starboard, ready to unleash another volley. Sure, Cromwell could order a boat lowered to retrieve him... if only the man of war wasn't in the way. Thomas, much to his own disappoint, was shipwrecked. He had never before felt so lonely.
Three miserable minutes passed before luck returned to Thomas. Or rather, until Thomas spotted luck. The little Mary, having broken from the main engagement, witnessed the Forsaken's duel with the British man of war. The stranded pirate spotted her to the south, over his left shoulder. Her bow, pointing west, was now turning north, her crew intent on rejoining the battle. All of the schooner's sails were raised, her flag still flying, and her guns firing. Frustrated and desperate, Thomas rapidly waved his arms overhead, hoping he'd get spotted by the Mary's crew.
The Mary approached him steadily, keeping Thomas to her starboard bow. A net flew out from amidships as she neared him, which Thomas caught. The pirate captain clung tightly to the hempen fishing tool as skilled hands hauled him aboard.
"Enjoying yourself, Thomas?" asked a familiar voice.
As the rescued pirate struggled to his feet, he spotted the cheerful, spray-soaked face of Aldo Gaiani, grinning at him from the quarterdeck.
"Indeed," was Thomas' sarcastic reply as he joined Aldo astern. "It's one hell of a time."
Thomas went aft to the quarterdeck, removed his cloak and draped it across a rail. He then returned his focus to the battle. The Mary, despite some minor damage to her rigging and a torn jib topsail, was still in fighting condition. Off to starboard, the pirate ships Champion and Renegade were engaged in close combat with the British frigates and men of war. The Champion, Thomas noticed, had lost her mainmast. Behind her a burning frigate was slowly sinking, dragged down by the weight of her own cannons. The Forsaken was sailing north, seeking to assist the pirate ships. No doubt Mr. Cromwell had taken command in the Captain's absence. Thomas had his doubts, but still believed that the battle could be won. Perhaps he could improve the pirates' chances by eliminating the British fleet commander. Such an act would force the hostile ships to take independent, uncoordinated action. But which ship housed the British Admiral?
Then he noticed it. An Admiral's colors, flying over the stern of the man o' war Thomas had attempted to board. Her name, Resolute, was clearly visible. If Bancroft truly was present, he would be aboard that ship. But how to get aboard? Bringing the Mary close alongside the much larger ship risked the little schooner's destruction. The Resolute's heavy cannons would obliterate her if she entered the British gunners' sights. That limited their options to a stern approach. Only two of the man of war's one hundred guns were directed aft. And if they maneuvered their broadside to bear on the incoming schooner, then the Mary could counter by steering in the opposite direction.
"Helmsman, steer for that man o' war's stern," Thomas directed, pointing at the Resolute. "If she tries to come about, steer to the side opposite her turn. Don't let her come broadside to us."
"Thomas, what are you doing?" a surprised Aldo asked.
"I need to get aboard that ship," Thomas replied. "A boarding party from my ship went over without permission. They'll need our help if they're to have any chance of surviving."
"This ship, against that beast? It'll be suicide."
"For me, not you. Admiral Bancroft is aboard that man o' war. I need to get on board and capture him. You and your crew can chose not to follow me."
Aldo, not seeing a method to dissuade Thomas, resigned himself to his friend's wishes. All he could do now was hope that his own ship and crew didn't suffer to greatly from the Irishman's suicidal plan of attack.
"Helmsman, obey Captain McNally's commands."
"Aye aye," said the helmsman. The schooner then swung about, aiming her bowsprit at the man of war's broad, decorated stern.
Moments after the Mary arrived on her new heading, a stern chaser belched smoke from the Resolute's transom. The shot went wild and cruised harmlessly past the quarterdeck. A splash erupted twenty yards astern of the schooner. Another shot rang out from the man of war, sending a ball hurtling into the Mary's head rig. The jib stay snapped from the impact.
They're correcting their fire, Thomas silently observed.
The Resolute's rudder swung to starboard, sending the ponderous vessel into a turn. Aboard the Mary, the helmsman gently turned his wheel to port, following Thomas' order. The helmsman began to steady up on a new heading, which Aldo noticed.
"Continue your turn," the Italian ordered.
The helmsman obeyed.
"Standby to fire!" Aldo bellowed to the gun crews. "Aim low!"
Looking to starboard, Thomas noticed that the Resolute's stern was directly abeam of the schooner.
"FIRE!"
Six cannons roared as the gunpowder within ignited. The Mary rolled slightly to port as the guns fired. Immediately the pirate gun crews set about reloading their weapons after shooting. One of the windows to the Resolute's after cabins had been smashed into shards. A hole was visible beneath the windows on the port stern. No further damage was visible on the man of war, much to Thomas' disappointment. Had the shots missed? Quite possibly. Naval artillery wasn't the most accurate of weapons. Furthermore, the Mary's artillery compliment was meager compared to that of her much larger enemy.
The helmsman turned the wheel hard to starboard, then steadied up again once the bowsprit was aimed straight at the man of war's stern. For all her sail area, the hulking flagship was rapidly being overtaken by the schooner. In a matter of minutes the Mary would be within boarding distance of the Resolute. Thomas was aware that getting aboard the enemy vessel would not be a small accomplishment. Once the schooner came within musket range, British sailors and marines would rain bullets and grenades onto the schooner's deck. To minimize casualties aboard the Mary, Thomas needed to leap from the schooner to the man of war, then have the schooner steer away. All of this sounded simple in theory. But in practice? Well, Thomas knew that he would soon find out.
Another shot rang out from the hostile stern chasers. The gun's report was followed by a tremendous cracking noise from aloft on the schooner's foremast. Thomas looked up and saw - to his horror - that the fore topmast had fractured clean in two and now teetered dangerously.
"It's coming down!" someone shouted.
The topmast fell to port, taking the fore topsail down with it. It descended slowly at first, then hurtled down as it met the deck. Several pirates dove out of the fractured spar's way. Fortunately no man was injured, but the loss of the topsail reduced the schooner's speed by a full knot. But even with her speed reduced the Mary continued to rapidly overtake her foe.
The Mary at last came within hailing distance of the Resolute's stern. Just as Thomas predicted, red-coated marines appeared on her quarterdeck, and opened fire on the exposed pirate crew. A pirate collapsed screaming with a musket ball in his leg. Some of the Mary's crew attempted to return fire with whatever flintlocks were at hand, be it musket, pistol, or blunderbuss. Sadly, not a single marine fell or retreated. They simply continued to reload, aim, and fire, with every man in line maintaining his discipline. The marines would devastate the schooner's crew if she stayed in range. Thomas knew that the time to act had arrived.
"Aldo," Thomas said to his friend, "keep the ship close until I'm aboard, then get away with all speed."
Aldo nodded silently. A look of concern showed on his youthful face.
"Right. Here I go. Wish me luck, mate."
Thomas sprinted forward to the foremast and began climbing the starboard shrouds. Musket balls whistled past him as the marines continued firing. A cannon discharged on deck. Thomas didn't bother looking down. What happened aboard the Mary no longer concerned him. All that mattered now was finding the Admiral, and killing him. Or taking him hostage. Thomas had no way to predict what scenario would unfold once he boarded the Resolute. He could only pray that it ended in his favor.
The pirate captain halted his ascent at the crosstrees, where the mast and topmast met. The shattered stump of the fore topmast protruded upwards. The lower cross spar was still in place, much to his relief. Below, the Mary was turning to starboard, hoping to avoid colliding with the man of war. Knowing that his opportunity was slipping away, Thomas scurried like a monkey along the cross spar, stopping only when the Resolute's quarterdeck stood below him. The Irishman paused briefly at the spar's end. He looked downward... and saw a dozen muskets aimed straight at his torso.
"Fire!" someone barked.
At this word, Thomas stood up and jumped.
A dozen muskets fired together. All missed. Thomas struck the deck hard, with the force driving him to one knee. He landed behind the marines. Adrenaline filled the young pirate as he drew his cutlasses and turned to face his enemy. Thomas knocked a musket aside and slashed its owner across the face, then stabbed a man in the chest. A marine swung his musket like a club, howling with rage. The pirate skillfully dodged the musket and then cut open the howling marine's throat. He fell silent, staggered, then collapsed. A bayoneted musket hurtled at Thomas' chest, which he dodged, causing the marine holding the weapon to stumble past him.
A hammer struck Thomas from behind on his left knee. It was the butt of a musket, held by a marine Private. Knocked off balance, Thomas found himself on the deck, his eyes filled with angry marines. His head struck wood, sending pain coursing through his skull. The Irishman tried to rise, to swing his cutlasses, only to find himself pinned down beneath his enemies. His weapons were gone. A bayonet's sharpened point pressed against his throat.
So this is how it ends, Thomas thought as he struggled.
"Hold!" Someone shouted in a London accent.
The marines froze. The bayonet withdrew from Thomas' neck. Entering his field of vision was a sailor clad in an officer's uniform. Medals adorned his breast, reflecting the sun along with his jacket's brass buttons. The officer stood imposingly over the defeated pirate. Their eyes met. Thomas recognized the man's face instantly. It was a spitting image of the portrait from the Cat Island estate.
Admiral Damion Bancroft.