James found her far into the distance.

A sloop driving hard through black water. The hiss of her wake rising into something closer to a snarl. Timbers groaning as she carved through a turn far too tight for any captain who expected to keep his masts standing.

Then she burst clear of the smoke, and James understood exactly why the motion had carried so much intent behind it.

The Revenge was pulling alongside the starboard sloop so close a man could have crossed the distance without getting his boots wet.

Close enough that James could see lit matches burning on both decks.

Close enough to pick out the pale, frozen faces of Spaniards who had clearly prepared for anything except a sloop charging in at point-blank range.

"Cudjoe."

James didn’t look away.

"Tell me ye’re seein’ this too. I’d rather not be the only madman left standin’ tonight."

"Aye, I see it."

Cudjoe’s voice had gone strangely flat, between horror and admiration.

"The man’s got a death wish, and he’s bloody generous about sharin’ it."

The mortar fired.

At that distance it hardly needed an arc.

The shell rose just high enough to clear the sloop rail before gravity claimed it again. James watched it hang against the last scraps of sky, a dark shadow floating for an instant, then drop straight through her deck as if collecting an old debt.

The noise that followed came from deep inside the ship.

Then light exploded through her hull.

For half a heartbeat her ribs glowed orange from within. Smoke and fire surged upward through the hatchways, thick enough to swallow the mainmast whole.

Men were already going over the rail.

Some jumped.

Some simply fell.

All of them choosing black water over whatever nightmare had just exploded beneath their feet.

The Revenge’s broadside struck a heartbeat later and finished what the mortar had begun.

Solid shot smashed through timber that had no business remaining upright after being torn apart from the inside. The sloop lurched heavily in the swell, listing as her crew abandoned positions they no longer had any reason to defend.

James felt his grin fade for a moment.

Watching that many men go over a rail into dark water carried its own weight.

Then something steadier inside him pushed the feeling aside, and the grin returned.

She was out of the fight as surely as if she had gone beneath the waves, and that was the closest thing to mercy either side offered this evening.

"Christ."

James finally released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

"Remind me never to let that man near a powder magazine again."

"Remind yerself."

Cudjoe flashed a pale grin through the darkness.

"I’m nae gettin’ close enough tae remind anybody of anythin’."

James grinned back and turned his attention forward.

The gap left by the two sloops the Rose fought opened wide enough to sail a brigantine through, and neither crippled ship looked capable of stopping them.

"Bring her round," he called.

He eased the wheel. The Rose answered at once, heeling into the turn and slipping past both damaged sloops.

They passed close enough that James could still see the orange glow of fire burning through one of the sloops stern. A cluster of her crew stood motionless at the rail, watching the Rose slide by.

They looked like men who had already decided their part in the battle was finished.

"Two more broadsides in her and we’d not need to be polite about it either!"

Farrow’s voice carried up from the gun deck. The crews were already moving toward the next loaded battery. The satisfaction in his tone was as clear as a polished mirror.

James kept one hand on the wheel and tried to hold the entire battle in his head at the same time.

He couldn’t.

Five ships. One down. Two of them his responsibility. Two of them trying to kill him.

All of it hidden inside smoke thick enough to chew, while darkness came fast enough to swallow every hull on the water.

⚔ [BATTLE OVERVIEW]

ALLIED — PIRATE FLOTILLA

Bloody Rose — Engaged, Damaged

Revenge — Engaged, Combat Ready

ENEMY — SPANISH GUARDA COSTA

San Felipe — Vanguard, Crippled

Santa Isabel — Vanguard, Crippled

La Esperanza — Flank, Sinking

La Trinidad — Flank, Combat Ready

San Diego — Rear Guard, Combat Ready

This is not generosity. It is an automatic response to a request for data, generated whether or not you survive long enough to read it. Please do not mistake the one for the other.

"Charmin’ as ever."

James scanned the report once and dismissed it.

"That’s better than squintin’, at least."

The situation came together quickly, and none of it looked good.

La Trinidad and San Diego had both broken away from the merchant ships entirely. The three treasure vessels now sat fat, slow, and undefended in open water.

Neither approaching sloop appeared interested in fighting a proper gunnery duel.

A captain who couldn’t win at range only had one card left to play.

Close the distance.

Sweep the deck.

Put boarding parties over the rail onto whatever remained standing afterward.

The merchants were no longer important.

Stopping the Rose was.

"They’re comin’ in from two sides."

Cudjoe watched both ships through the smoke.

"Port and astern. Nae even tryin’ tae line up a proper broadside. They’re tryin’ tae box us in."

"Aye, I noticed."

James bellowed toward the gun deck.

"Farrow! Give ’em somethin’ to think about!"

"Fire as she bears!"

The command rolled down the line.

The starboard battery answered as one.

Through drifting smoke, James watched the shot strike La Trinidad’s foremast dead center.

The mast leaned.

Hung there for one impossible second.

Then collapsed sideways into the sea.

Rigging, canvas, and sailors went down with it in a tangled mass of snapping lines and screaming men. One sailor surfaced fighting free of sailcloth that had trapped him beneath it.

Some never surfaced at all.

La Trinidad kept coming.

Damaged didn’t mean crippled.

And a captain that close to his target didn’t need a healthy ship.

He only needed enough ship to reach boarding distance.

"Grapeshot!"

Farrow’s voice cut through the noise. "Hear that? Both of ’em are loadin’ for men, not timber!"

The words sat cold in James’s chest.

"Clear the open deck!"

James’s voice cracked across the Rose, every trace of humor gone.

"Anybody not workin’ a gun gets below or gets down, now! MOVE!"

"Ye heard the captain!"

Cudjoe was already dragging one sailor bodily toward a hatch while shoving another behind the thick base of the mainmast.

"Get behind anythin’ that’ll stop a ball, and dinnae be choosy about which side of it!"

Men scattered at once.

Some dropped flat where they stood.

Others crowded behind capstans, coils of cable, and any stretch of timber the deck still offered.

As darkness closed in around them, James watched both enemy sloops run out their guns.

The black mouths of the cannons lined either side of the Rose.

Close enough now that he could see the crouched gun crews behind them. Matches glowed in the dark as they waited for the order.

Two ships’ lengths away.

Then less.

There was nothing left to do.

James held the wheel.

And waited for the distance to disappear.