A.N. - Well, what can I say in my defence? For the umpteenth time I left this story hanging in creative limbo, with an injured Diego, and the poor captain half-eaten by sharks… But I know what to blame: real life sucks!

When I posted the last chapter, I decided not to post anything else until the story was actually finished. So, when I wrote chapter 113 a few months ago, I didn't post it (yes, I refrained myself, and I'm kind of proud of it), thinking I would wait until the story was complete, so I didn't leave it hanging ever again. But, as I still haven't finished it, and now I'm busy writing another story in Spanish about the TV series "Los Hombres de Paco", and it's Christmas, and I'm working tonight, and MJF had reviewed, and the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn had aligned, I decided to post it now. Just because.

Thanks for your support during the 7 years it's taking me to write this monster. Thanks for all those reviews, favourites, and the rest. I hope you liked it. And, Merry X-mas, everyone!

Chapter 113 – Female drive

After Almeida finished treating Diego, Victoria took his hand gently, even though he was still unconscious, oblivious to her loving touch and words.

"You made it, mi amor, as I knew you would. You saved us!"

Once again, her injured husband looked rather pale, breathing erratically thanks to the new stabbing wound in his chest, but he had pulled through. Against all odds, after his last heroic deed, Zorro was alive and back to her in one piece, albeit with a few more scars added to his already substantial collection.

"Oh, Diego… How many more times you'll get wounded before you can rest in peace?"

She disliked scars. However, looking at the blood-stained dressing covering Diego's thigh, unsightly scars in his leg were way much better than no leg at all.

After he finished with Diego, not missing a beat, Almeida sorted out the surgical tools he needed to amputate the captain's mangled limb as quickly as possible, while he remained unconscious. Unwilling to witness the gruesome procedure, Victoria carried on stroking Diego's hand, ignoring the butchery that went on behind her, on a table at her back, until Almeida used the saw to cut through the bone. The grinding sound made her flinch with apprehension, bringing tears to her eyes one more time, because that could easily have been Diego's leg instead, if it wasn't for the captain's bravery.

"Hold him down!" Almeida cried when his patient suddenly woke up, screaming mad, trying to get away from that excruciating pain.

Terrance, the only one left to help him, tried hard, but he wasn't strong enough to restrain the captain on his own. Victoria promptly left Diego's side to help, as did Marta Hidalgo, who was also at the cockpit, tending for her husband.

"Calm down, Captain, please!" Marta said, reaching for his flailing arms.

When Victoria pressed down on his chest, hurting his broken ribs, the agitated, confused man stopped struggling, finally remembering what had happened to him, and what was the source of that unbearable, throbbing pain in his leg.

"Hold on, Sir! We are half-way there!" Almeida said, wiping the sweat off his brow with his right arm while still holding the saw.

Ulloa looked at that blood-dripping blade and gave up, going limp on that narrow table, stoically accepting his fate. Marta and Victoria let go of him, and then, he mumbled something nobody understood.

"What?" Almeida asked, leaning closer to his face.

"Stick," Ulloa repeated, almost at the same volume, lacking strength to talk louder.

"Right! I'll get one, Sir. Hold on," Almeida said, rushing to find a suitable piece.

"I'm so sorry," Victoria said, stroking the captain's shoulder lightly before she stepped back. "I'll be eternally grateful to you for saving my husband."

Ulloa could only nod lightly before the contramaestre rammed a stick inside his mouth. Soon, as the Andalusian pinned his leg and continued sewing the bone, he held onto the sides of the table and clenched his teeth on that piece of wood in desperation, suffocating a holler.

ZZZ

At the upper deck, Doña Margarita looked at the desolation around her. The damaged Santa Eulalia was in tatters, annihilated by all those cannonballs. Pieces of the torn sails, slashed ropes, and all sort of shattered wooden parts of the rigging dangled lose all over the place, and only a couple of sails could still catch some wind more of less efficiently.

The unmanned ship sailed adrift in the vast ocean, gently pitching over the waves while carrying piles of unattended, dead men. It was a disturbing mix of passengers, crew, and pirates. Corpses that should be dealt with at some point, by someone —but hopefully, not herself.

At least they had left behind the horror of the pirate ship wreckage a while ago, and now they were all alone, with no land in sight. All she could see was dark, navy-blue water all around her, and the white crests of the nearest waves.

Soon, it would be her favourite time of the day: sunset. But, for the first time during that long journey at sea, she would not enjoy its beauty. Furthermore, shortly after that magnificent, colourful splendour in the horizon, all that oppressive blue that surrounded her would become black. Unwelcoming, intimidating darkness. And the desolation and helplessness she felt right then, would reach a new level.

Oh, Lord... What should we do now?

She walked to the bridge and held onto the wheel, unsure which way to turn it.

"Try northeast," Mary-Jo said from the middle deck. As she didn't have an injured husband to attend at the cockpit, she had left her little daughter with Katie, and had also come out to survey the situation. "That's where Spain is. We were heading that way before, remember?"

Doña Margarita nodded and looked at the compass. Right then, they were idly heading in an eastern direction, dragged by the prevailing wind. She tried to turn the wheel to the left, but the unresponsive, damaged rudder made it difficult, and very hard. Mary-Jo approached the bridge to help her, and between them, they turned the ship onto the desired direction.

"What about the sails? What should we do with them?" the older woman asked then, looking at the still functional ones, that now flapped a bit loose with the change of heading.

Mary-Jo shrugged her shoulders. No idea.

"We were about to trim them with the captain, but then we headed back to rescue Don Diego. We never got the full instructions on how to handle the sails, only to do some knots. Me, quite badly, by the way, because I couldn't get it right. Not even once."

Right then, they heard Ulloa's desperate screaming at the cockpit, a startling sound that made Doña Margarita cringe.

Madre de Dios… I really hope the captain makes it, for everyone's sake!

ZZZ

After sunset, when he finished treating all the injured men, Almeida got outside to get some fresh air, as he couldn't stand the stench of guts and blood in the cockpit for a further second. However, on deck, the dead bodies of his fallen comrades didn't make it any easier.

He stopped at the bow, at the spot the captain favoured to smoke his pipe. As Ulloa usually did, he rested his arms in the gunwale as well, looking at the ocean, letting the late evening, oceanic breeze hit his exhausted face.

It had been a very long, horrible day, and for some reason, he was the only man still standing. Before the battle, when he got promoted to doctor, he didn't want the responsibility the captain landed on him, but now he would also have to act as first officer. Or even captain, if God forbid, Ulloa didn't make it.

Captain? Me? Good Lord!

In the soft twilight before dusk, he looked at the boundless horizon. Soon, the night would fall, and he didn't have a clue on their exact location, or how to plot their position in a chart more or less accurately. As the boatswain, he didn't need navigational skills because he never handled the nautical charts and instruments, unlike the higher ranked officers.

Por el amor de Dios! I can't be in charge!

However, while the captain remained unconscious, that was exactly what he was: the man in charge. As Ulloa's second in command, he was responsible for taking the ship and the survivors to safety, somehow. A monumental task he didn't know how to accomplish.

He buried his face in his hands and snorted in desperation, shaking his head. While doing so, he didn't notice the two women approaching him from behind.

"Contramaestre…" Mary-Jo started, giving him a bit of time to compose himself before he turned to look at them. "Contramaestre, can you tell us how is the captain? Is he going to make it?"

"I think so. I had to amputate his leg, but he should recover from the surgery in a few days," he lied. Days? It will take weeks or even months before the captain is fully functional again, if ever! Using the wooden leg we don't have, by the way...

"That's great news, thank you," Doña Margarita said. After that, the three remained silent for a while, sharing similar, gloomy thoughts nobody wanted to speak out loud.

"Do you know where we are?" Mary-Jo asked then, dealing with the first, uncomfortable issue.

"No, unfortunately, I don't. Somewhere off the coast of Brasil."

"Should we go back there?" Doña Margarita said. "Would that be easier, and faster to find land? Because I steered the ship in the opposite direction, I'm afraid."

"No. I think we should make the most of this easterly wind, heading to the other side of the Atlantic, and hope for the best. Heading west now would be more difficult to handle the sails. Besides, the Portuguese…"

He didn't finish. The Portuguese would help the survivors, sure, but very likely keep the ship and all her valuable cargo for themselves as well. Ulloa would not like that. It would be like surrender his precious ship to the enemy instead of the pirates.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence followed.

"What should be do with them?" Mary Jo said, pointing at the nearest, dead men.

"We should say a prayer, and give them a dignified, burial at sea," Almeida said with a poker face.

Burial at sea. A euphemism for throw them overboard.

Unfortunately, there was no other way. But, after what they had witnessed by the pirate ship wreckage, nobody wanted a long-lasting mental picture of friends and loved ones devoured by sharks.

"I'll get my Bible," Doña Margarita said, heading for the hatch. It should still be where she dropped it when the pirates captured them: in the cargo hold, by their hideout.

Mary-Jo walked to a heap of dead bodies to say her final farewell to her husband. She had kept away from him since Victoria closed his eyes, because looking at him in that state was too painful for her.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Almeida said. "So sorry. For everything that happened here today."

"Me too, Contramaestre. Me too."

Ignoring the slit throat and the blood, she kneeled to kiss her husband's cold forehead. Then, she said her own, short prayer, and crossed herself before she got up quickly, with an odd glint in her eyes. Once again, Almeida could read hatred, and thirst for revenge.

"Help me, please," she said then, grabbing one of the pirates by the ankles. "Let's get started."

"Shouldn't we wait to say a prayer for them all… ahem… before we…?"

"These bastards are going straight to hell. They don't need our prayers." She started to drag that stiff towards the edge of the ship on her own. "It would be a waste of time. And we don't have any time to waste, do we?"

Almeida had to agree with her, so he grabbed that pirate under the armpits, and together they threw him overboard without a second thought.

ZZZ

After the clear out of pirates, Mary-Jo was exhausted with the effort, but strangely at peace, as if she had got rid of a heavy burden. At least, as she couldn't see any of those bastards anymore, she could start applying the "out of sight, out of mind" attitude to life.

Then, they had to attend their own fallen men. Helped by the rest of the women, she had to wrap the sailors in their bedding, either their canvas cots or their cabin sheets, the same as the passengers, including her husband. When all of them got wrapped in their funerary sheets, Doña Margarita said a prayer for their souls, and they all received their "burial at sea". It was a long, tiring, unpleasant task that took nearly all night to complete.

"Now, I know is too much to ask, but someone should always be awake and on watch, day and night, in case anything happens," Almeida said shortly before dawn.

"Like what?" Mary-Jo asked. "What else can happen to us now?"

"I better don't tempt faith giving you a detailed list, but… anything. Any sudden changes of the weather, for example, may require adjusting the sails, or make us change direction. I'll take the first turn while you rest, but someone has to relieve me in four hours."

"I'll do it," Doña Margarita said.

"Tomorrow, we'll organize a rota with everyone's duties. As soon as the injured men get better, we'll included them. Everybody has to give their best if we are going to make it."

"We'll do whatever is necessary, Contramaestre", Victoria said. "But now, if you don't mind, I want to check on my husband again."

ZZZ

The next day, Victoria didn't want to leave Diego's side. She really didn't. But she had to. Somebody had to help the contramaestre to repair and handle the ship, if they wanted to survive, and Diego could take days to wake up. So, reluctantly, after the first night taking care of him, she left him in Marta's hands, under her care, and got outside.

One of the first things she had to learn, was climbing to the mast to adjust the sails, and help Almeida in repairing bits and pieces of the broken parts, so they could little by little make the ship more functional. At first, the height really scared her, but soon she got used to it, the same as Mary-Jo and Terrance.

With so many things to do on deck, and so many sick people to take care of, she also took on the role of cooking. By the end of the day, she was exhausted. Diego had not made any progress, but they moved him from the cockpit to their cabin so she could look after him during the second night.

"Diego, please, you have to make it," she said as she changed his dressings. "You have to wake up, because we need you. I need you. And I love you."

She kissed him and lay down with him in that narrow berth, so tired she fell asleep almost immediately.

ZZZ

Diego woke up four days later, feeling lousy. He looked around him, recognizing his cabin. He had no idea how he had got there, but he was glad they had somehow managed to rescue him from the shark-filled waters.

"Don Diego, you're back with us!" Marta Hidalgo said when she came into his berth to check on him. "It was time."

Diego tried to talk, but his throat was so dry he could only make a raspy sound. Marta offered him a glass of water, helping him up a bit. He drank it all in one go.

"What happened? How did I get here?"

"The captain rescued you. We are so glad you made it, and so grateful to you, because you saved us all. You are a true hero, as your wife said!"

"Where's Victoria? Is she all right?"

"Yes, she is out there, with the other young women. Keeping busy."

"Can you help me out, please? I could do with some fresh air."

"Certainly. Can you walk?"

She helped him out of bed to try his first, tentative steps. He felt dizzy, and his injured leg hurt like hell, but little by little, he made his way to the upper deck, leaning on her. When he stepped out through the hatchway, the blaring sun hit his pupils hard, and he had to block the bright rays with his hand, blinking.

After a moment to adjust, he could not believe his eyes. All around him, he could see women working as deckhands and sailors. Some were up, at the rigging, trimming the sails with Almeida. A couple were on their knees, scrubbing the deck boards clean of bloodstains, while others were mending the sails, sewing pieces of canvas together.

"Don Diego!" Doña Margarita, now the official helmswoman, saluted from the bridge when she spotted him. "Welcome back!"

"Diego!" Victoria cried from the shrouds when she heard her friend calling him. In no time at all, as if she had been sailing for years, she made her way down to the upper deck, running to greet him. "Oh, my God, you are finally awake!"

They embraced tightly, holding each other for a while despite the sling supporting his right arm, until she grabbed his head with both hands to kiss him senseless.

The women cheered, clapping joyfully.

"Way to go, Victoria!" Mary-Jo cried, so glad her friend hadn't joined the list of widows.

"Look at you!" Diego said when she finally let go of him. She had a suntan, although more of the red kind rather than a healthy, golden bronze. All that outdoor working under the blaring sun had burnt her fair skin, but it didn't matter, because she looked gorgeous. As beautiful as ever, if no more. "A regular sailor!"

"A woman's work is never done!" she replied, shrugging her shoulders with a radiant smile. "How are you? You look so tired… Are you all right?"

"I'm not tired, my dear: I'm exhausted. Walking up those narrow steps wasted all my energy already," he said, leaning on her shoulder for support.

"Come to sit down over there. I know you love those chairs," she said, guiding him to a group of folding, canvas chairs. Other injured men sat in those, in that outdoor infirmary, all tended by Terrance and Katie. "There is someone who will be delighted to see you. He fished you out of the water."

She grabbed one of the chairs and helped him to another one a little bit away from the others, facing the bow, at the forecastle.

ZZZ

Despite his condition, Ulloa tried to be as useful as possible, guiding Almeida, and supervising the ongoing, repair works, staying most of the time on deck. However, that afternoon he had trouble keeping his eyes open. He kept dozing off in his canvas chair, thanks to the gentle rocking of the ship, and also thanks to the generous cup of brandy Terrance had provided, obviously not used to measure appropriate alcohol portions. But, whatever the reason for his drowsiness, he couldn't complain, because the throbbing pain in his leg stump had prevented him from any sleep for the last two days, and his broken ribs didn't help him to settle either.

The women's enthusiastic clapping and cheering woke him up. He wondered what they were up to, but as he was so sleepy, he couldn't bother to look back to find out, and carried on snoozing.

"Captain?"

Even in that hazy, sleepy state, Ulloa recognized that husky voice. The voice of the bravest man he had ever met.

"De la Vega," he said with his eyes still closed. His neutral, drowsy voice didn't show the joy he felt right then, when he slowly opened his eyes to find that man sitting beside him. "Good to have you back in the land of the living."

"It's good to be back," Diego said while Victoria covered him with a light blanket. "Thanks to you, for what I heard."

"I'll bring you something to eat," Victoria said. "Anything for you, Captain?"

"No, I'm good, thank you."

The two men remained silent for a while after she left. Ulloa was the first one to talk.

"Blimey, De la Vega, you look like hammered shit!"

Diego couldn't help but laughing. He certainly didn't feel or look good, but Ulloa wasn't the picture of health either. After the punishment the captain got from the pirates, with all those punches, his face still showed a multishade of purple, specially around his broken nose and swollen eyes.

"Look who's talking!"

The two self-amused, grown-up men chuckled like silly teenage boys for a while, carried away by the sheer joy of being alive.

"I must admit, when you said you were Zorro and suggested to attack the pirates, I thought you had lost your mind entirely. But you were right, and your bold plan worked. The only reason why we are here talking, is because of you, Zorro. Thank you."

"No, the only reason why we are here talking, is because you came back for me. By the way, didn't you agree to take my wife to safety, no matter what? Why did you break that promise? Why did you return?"

"I'm sure you already know how insistent and persuasive that fiery little thing can be. After that damn ship blew up in pieces, she made me sail back to rescue you. She was convinced you'd be alive, and she wouldn't have it any other way."

"Yes, that's her. She always has her way."

They chuckled again briefly until Victoria returned with a tray. The two men stopped laughing in her presence, but they sniggered one more time when she fed Diego porridge with a spoon, as he had his right arm in the sling.

"What?" she said, self-conscious. "What are you laughing at?"

"Thank you very much, querida, but I think I'll manage myself," Diego said, taking the spoon with his left hand. "I'm not a cripple."

He didn't catch the odd expression in Ulloa's face when he said that word, but Victoria did, feeling awkward.

"Are you sure? Because I still have to finish with those sails, and then replace a lose stay, and cock dinner for everybody, and…"

"You are amazing," Diego interrupted, impressed by her long list. "You seem to be in charge of everything!"

"No, that would be the contramaestre Almeida. I do what I can to help. As you always do… Zorro." She kissed him again, and then left them on their own again, returning to her many duties.

"You are so lucky to have her," Ulloa said as Diego carried on eating.

"I know," Diego said between mouthfuls. His last meal was that plate of ham he had shared with the captain before the battle, and he was starving.

"Un cabrón con mucha suerte. Because you blew that ship up somehow, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. But I managed to get out before the explosion, and climb onto a door, which is the last thing I remember."

"Yes, we found you unconscious, floating adrift on that door."

"I thought the sharks would devour me, but I guess they had plenty of other targets."

"Yes, they did," Ulloa said, somehow cryptically, averting his eyes to look at the front.

"Victoria said you fished me out of the water. How did you do that? With a dingy?"

"No, they all got damaged in the battle. Almeida had to improvise a canoe with one of the wooden planks the bastards used to board us."

"You paddled over a board in those shark infested waters only to get me? You deserve a commendation, or something. What did you…?"

Diego stopped mid-sentence when he realized that, under the captain's blanket, he could only make the shape of one leg. Then, he remembered clearly Ulloa's breakdown, and how apprehensive he was about losing a limb.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." He could kick himself, because he should have realized that, unless Ulloa was severely injured, he would not be resting in that chair while everybody looked so busy.

Ulloa looked at his missing leg, and then looked at Diego in the eye.

"Well, you are alive, so it was worthy."

Diego didn't know what to say, totally out of words, so the captain carried on.

"And now, thanks to that blooming shark, the next time I'll have no problem looking piratey." Ulloa chuckled bitterly then, humouring himself again.

"I'm so sorry. If you hadn't... I mean, then you wouldn't… You know…" Diego babbled, not finding the appropriate words. "Damn, I should have let you walk around that mast, and never mess with your good luck rituals!"

"Don't fret, De la Vega, it's not your fault. Since the moment we couldn't set sail on time at San Pedro, when that young boy lost his leg, I knew something bad would happen. This trip was jinxed from the beginning. And… it hasn't finished yet."

Ulloa looked back at the ocean while Diego looked at him in dismay.

Good lord! What else could happen now?

ZZZZZ

A.N. – I'm sorry for the totally incorrect way I used the prevailing winds here. At that latitude, instead of blowing them to the North-east, the damaged ship would be pushed back to America, but if I do that, they will get in more trouble and never, ever, reach Spain. (Not for at least another 50 chapters or so, haha). So, allow me to make this up, please, as they do in the show all the time. After all, if Diego can get to France in 2 weeks for holidays, the prevailing wind can blow in the opposite direction in my story. Why not? Ha!