Chapter 64: Broadside at Point-Blank
The water between the two ships had almost vanished. The bay’s brackish chop slapped against both hulls in short, restless waves beneath a sun that pressed through air far thicker and wetter than anything out on the open sea.
With every heartbeat, Le Faucon filled more of James’s view. She was close enough now that he could make out the blue coats of her officers and the pale faces of gun crews crouched behind their cannons, waiting through the same tense silence he was.
Beyond her stern, La Vigilante still smoldered at her mooring. Thin black threads of smoke drifted from scorched rigging while a handful of sailors fought the last stubborn flames with buckets and curses that neither ship could hear across the water.
"Guns!"
James shouted before the range had truly closed. Instinct won out over patience. "Give it to them. All together. Now!"
Ten linstocks touched ten vents along the starboard battery in one hurried motion.
The Rose answered.
The broadside rolled down the line from bow to stern, each cannon firing a heartbeat after the last. Every blast lit the smoke left behind by the one before it until the entire starboard side disappeared behind a churning wall of gray-white powder smoke that reeked of sulfur and hot iron.
Le Faucon answered just as quickly.
Its round shots slammed into the Rose’s hull beneath the rail with the force of a giant striking a barrel.
Above James, something snapped.
Canvas and rope tore apart together as one of the mainyard braces whipped loose, lashing across the deck like an angry snake. Splinters as long as a man’s forearm burst from the gunwale where a cannonball punched straight through.
A sailor hauling back some cannon collapsed with a scream, clutching a forearm that turned dark with blood almost instantly.
"Fuck, me arm! Get it out! Get it out!"
Hobbs was on it. His medical bag hung open as he dropped beside the wounded sailor, ripped away the ruined sleeve, and exposed the wound.
"Hold still or I’ll be pullin’ splinters out yer hide ’til Christmas."
He packed the wound hard enough to draw another howl, then rose and hurried on before the man could decide whether to thank him or curse him.
A few paces away another sailor crumpled when a snapped length of rigging cracked across his shoulders. He looked more startled than hurt, swearing at the deck as though it had chosen to strike him personally.
The deck lurched beneath James’s boots with the same violence everyone else felt. For one long moment the roar of battle swallowed every clear thought.
Then his hands found the wheel again on their own. They steadied it before the rest of him caught up.
Part of the rail near the wheel had simply vanished. The spoke beneath James’s right hand still vibrated from something that had passed close enough for him to feel the wind of it.
He looked up.
The mast still stood exactly where it belonged.
The Rose steered exactly as it always had.
⚙ [PERK ACTIVATED] — The Rose’s Luck
Across the gap, Le Faucon had suffered far worse.
An entire section of her rail had been blasted away. One cannon lay overturned beside its shattered carriage while the crew who had served it lay scattered across the deck. One sailor hung folded backward over the wreckage, dark blood already spreading beneath him in the afternoon sun.
That was the difference heavier construction made. The Rose’s ten guns had answered Le Faucon’s eight, and her thicker hull had weathered punishment her lighter opponent could not.
Greasy Pete leaned over the rail for a better look, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.
"Aye, that’s what ye get for cuttin’ yer own cable in a hurry, ye impatient bastards."
The ships carried past one another on their own momentum, widening the distance between them.
As soon as the gap opened, Fort Louis found its courage again. White smoke burst along the palisade a heartbeat before the noise reached the Rose.
The cannonball splashed harmlessly wide.
Just like before.
This time no one laughed.
James spun the wheel, bringing the Rose through a broad turn as Le Faucon swung the opposite way. For a brief stretch the two ships faced one another again across the widening water before their courses carried them apart, and the fort’s guns fell silent rather than risk punching a hole through their own corvette.
"Wear ship!"
Cudjoe was already in motion, shoving sailors toward the braces and driving them with equal parts curses and determination.
"Round wi’ her, ye idle sons of whores! Put yer backs into it!"
Grey matched the turn without hesitation. The chart remained clenched in one fist as he jabbed the same line he had marked that morning.
He sputtered to James, "Same water as before. Only now ye’re comin’ at it backward. Don’t get greedy with the swing or we’ll finish what the Frenchies started."
"Aye, I bloody know that."
Ahead of them, Le Faucon struggled through her own turn. Parts of her canvas were scorched black, but enough sail still held the wind. Her remaining guns slowly came into view along a hull that now listed enough to expose a strip of copper at the waterline.
Along the Rose’s port side, fresh gun crews took over where the starboard battery had finished. Gun carriages rumbled forward and black muzzles slid into place one port after another until the ship bristled with cannon from stem to stern.
"Fire as she bears!"
The command came faster this time.
The range had opened.
The shot was less favorable.
Much of Le Faucon’s answering fire tore harmlessly through empty rigging or splashed into water that had done nothing to earn the punishment.
The Rose’s broadside found its mark.
Her cannons barked across the narrowing water and smashed into a hull already broken once.
⚙ [PERK ACTIVATED] — True Shot
James only smiled.
As the smoke drifted aside, he finally watched the French ship properly.
One entire battery had fallen silent.
Her rigging was tangled.
Her masts still stood.
Her hull leaned noticeably, but not enough to surrender the sea.
"Right then."
James’s grin widened. "A ship that can still sail is worth ten sunk on the bottom. We’ll take her intact before the day’s over."
Cudjoe needed no second order. "Grapples up! Blades an’ hooks! Every last one o’ ye! We’re goin’ across before she remembers she’s still got teeth!"
Men abandoned the guns in a rush.
Cutlasses flashed free from their scabbards.
Boarding hooks passed from hand to hand along the rail.
Kit was already bouncing on his feet, counting under his breath.
"Nine, if I’m first across! Been sittin’ on eight for far too bloody long. I’m due another."
Bert examined the sharpness of his cutlass for the third time with complete seriousness.
"I have counted my weapons twice, Captain. I believe a third inspection should settle the matter properly."
Nearby, the Hollis brothers had already begun arguing over who would board first.
"I’m first across," Ezra said. "I called it before ye."
"Ye called it after me, an’ ye know it."
"I do not know it, because it isn’t true."
"It’s true because I said it is. I’m the one who remembers things proper."
"Ye couldn’t remember yer own name if I didn’t tell ye every mornin’."
By the time they had argued themselves in circles, neither brother could remember who had started the dispute in the first place.
Part of the crew stayed behind to serve the Rose’s guns and keep watch on both the fort and the smoking wreck astern.
The rest gathered along the rail with steel already drawn, waiting for the last stretch of water to disappear.
Grappling hooks sailed across the gap.
Iron bit into shattered rail with sharp cracks that carried over the shouting.
One rope after another snapped tight.
The final distance between the two hulls vanished.
James’s grin had never left.
It remained there now.
"Right then."
Leaving the wheel in Cudjoe’s hands, he drew his cutlass, planted one boot on the rail, and looked toward the enemy deck.
"Let’s go take what’s ours."