Commander Vladmir Ivanovich looked across the choppy seas, wondering at what point on the horizon the blasted pirates had disappeared. The sea was never quite his mistress. She bestowed favors as she saw fit but never consistently and not always when he needed them most and he was acutely aware of that in this moment. The pirate vessel had dipped behind a small fog bank and had remained in sight for a time but was now completely gone. He feared the craft would slip around his massive ship and take him by surprise. On the other hand, he knew that once that lot was in his custody, he'd be free to return to Russia once more.
"Ship! A Ship!" the cry came from the crow's nest, making the commander's grip tighten on the naval issued telescope he had been fingering at his belt. Vladmir brought the scope to his eye and scanned the horizon where the ensign pointed. There it was! These brigands were in for quite the day if The Imperial Navy had anything to say.
"They'll try to board us." Came the clipped tone of Captain Marie Amos. Laurie Hawthorne nodded solemnly, pounding closed fist to his chest before returning to the deck. Amos set down her pipe, sheathed a dagger in its scabbard on her brown leather belt and followed her First Mate's lead.
Once her face hit the salty air, she took a deep, invigorating breath before pulling a heavy object from its spot at her hip. The eyeglass may not have been made of gold or thin like the navy sanctioned instruments, but it had served her faithfully over the years. More importantly, it held the inscription "To the sea - RMA".
The glass pointed to the fog, piercing the veil that would cloud the naked eye. The outline of a ship became apparent, one that had been gaining on them for the last two days.
"Well men," she bawled. Heads shot up to listen, but no one paused in their tasks. The flag of war continued its climb up the mast and extra supplies were relocated down in the belly of the ship. "It's a good day to die."
Black flags and white skulls: likely English pirates. Vladmir cursed, lowered his spyglass, and looked to his first mate, stating coldly, "I expected us to have a little more of a chance to surprise them. This is no longer the case, as they have clearly spotted us. Their captain is damned from his deviltry or blessed like an angel, and I don't know which. How did they see us?"
Miroslav, the mate, shrugged.
"English have been at this longer than you, Commander. You know crew is young. Look at Alexander: he is no man; just boy stolen from St. Petersburg docks. He can barely run gunpowder for gunners! This voyage is for ensigns on live-fire. Certain you want to attack?" he asked in his distinctly uneducated style. Though new to this particular crew, Miroslav had been manning ships while most of the men aboard had still been getting their bottoms paddled by their Headmasters. Uneducated perhaps, but invaluable, nonetheless.
"This
is
live-fire, Miroslav. Until they see how cowardly pirates are when confronted, our men will always be like Sacha: weak, timid powder-monkeys." Valdimir paused for the mate to acknowledge what he had said, but he was met with an unblinking obsidian stare. "I say we move to board and attack the Russian way: bayonets until they surrender. They could easily outgun us, but we will take their fancy English ship for ourselves and bring their captain to trial." Vladmir shouted over the howl of the sea, "
Full sail. Move to board.
"
Some captains prefer to let their crew do their dirty work. Command from on high and watch those under their charge die like pigs at the slaughter.
Those captains are cowards.
Marie tucked her hair behind a bandana, unwilling to give her enemies the chance to grab her by the hair or, worse yet, see that she was a woman. Her white undershirt could have been worn by any farm boy tending his father's fields. For her, it kept the sun's heat at bay and obscured her chest. And no one would be looking for a woman in men's britches.
Her men stood armed to the teeth. Richard with his sword. Laurie sheathing tiny daggers in his sleeves and boots. Catherine and her sword. Her gaze fell on Pierre, the small boy they'd picked up in France. He'd been trying to steal the coin purse from her belt when she caught him by the wrist. To his credit, he did not squeal or cry, only regarded her with a cool acceptance that his life was in her hands. She'd given him a loaf of bread and offered him passage on her ship. A dirty face with bright blue eyes and blonde hair (when it was clean) regarded her for a moment, then two. He had barely left her side since.
Seeing him now, she pulled him aside.
"My cabin. Now. Don't open the door for anyone. I have the key." With a nod, he scampered off.
Deep breath. One. Two. Three.
The enemy ship emerged from the fog.
Marines affixed bayonets to their guns as other crewmen manned gangplanks and light cannon. As was practice, the crew would open with light shot across the enemy deck, hoping to injure as many as possible before the boarding action. Planks would lower and the marines would dart across, using their muskets as spears.
Vladmir shrugged his oppressive coat from his broad shoulders. Pale skin nearly matched the clean shirt underneath.
