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Reaper
was at that moment passing to windward of where
Drakkar
lay in wait. Anthony felt a queasy sensation in his stomach. He felt almost naked watching as
Reaper
passed. A lookout called down in a voice just loud enough to he heard: “She got a vice admiral’s flag flying, sir.”

“Damned cheekish if you ask me,” Buck declared, looking through a ship’s glass. Anthony took his own glass and peered. Sure enough, a vice admiral’s flag flew at the foremast.

“Bloody ass,” Peckham chimed in. “It’s no small wonder ‘e ain’t flying an admiral of the fleet’s flag.”

“Impertinent, he may be,” Anthony said. “But he’d already partially succeeded in his goal for flying that rag.”

Buck and Peckham gave Anthony a questioning look. “He’s already got your British blood boiling. You’re stirred up and angry.”

“Angry men rush in where wise ones would tread softly, gentlemen. We are outmanned and outgunned. To see this day through we must keep our wits about us.”

Turning back toward
Reaper
, Anthony couldn’t
help but admire her. Foe she may be, but she presented a proud sight. Proud and deadly. Anthony could still envision her swift attack on
Rascal
. He would never
forget Merle Pitts’ words, “I wanted you to be proud.”
Reaper
remained close-hauled on her present tack.

“She taking in her main course, sir,” Peckham said. “Looks like top gallant’s already brailed up.”

“Think they’ve already sighted
Scythe,
sir?” Buck asked.

“If not, they’re blind or drunk,” Anthony replied. Anthony had not misjudged his timing, but how long would it be before that son-o-Satan realized something was amiss? Anchored as she was,
Scythe
was a sitting duck. Anthony could only imagine what a state of nerves Pope and
Scythe
’s crew must be under. Most would remember what happened to
Rascal
.

“Cast off our disguise if you will Mr. Buck, and prepare to get underway. I don’t want to be late for this engagement.”

“Aye, sir. Mr. McMorgan, if you’d be so kind as to get these laggards busy I’d appreciate it. It’s time to show that snail eating sodomite that
Drakkar’
s a warship and not a fucking jungle!”

McMorgan smiled to himself as he got the men busy with the help of some of his mates. Mr. Buck was getting his dander up.

Anthony found himself pacing the quarterdeck. Buck didn’t need him interfering with getting the ship underway.

Pope, on board the
Scythe,
was to let loose a broadside into the
Reaper
at the most opportune time. But when exactly was that? He was confident Pope would judge it right. He had commanded a brig before becoming First Lieutenant in a first rate flag ship. He had the experience, but that didn’t curtail Anthony’s anxiety.

If they fired too soon
Reaper
would stand
off and let loose her own devastating broadside that would end the
show before it began. If they waited too late then they’d be overrun before
Drakkar
and the schooners could assist.

The big question right now was the brig. How was she armed and how many men did she have on board? Were there any prisoners on board that could be freed and help in the fight? Anthony gazed about him. Mr. Davy stood by the main mast laying a hand to discarding
Drakkar’
s camouflage. He still looked youthful, but different than the snit that had faced Witzenfeld with such tenacity. Seasoned. That was the difference. He was now a seasoned veteran who had seen more action than some sitting behind a desk at Whitehall. Would he still look youthful tomorrow? Would he even he alive tomorrow? Anthony couldn’t help but feel the burden as he placed young Davy and all the others in his flotilla in harm’s way. Duty! Damme if that wasn’t a fine word at White Hall. But most of these men could care less than a fiddler’s fart about duty. It was their mates and the ship, and to hell with the rest of it.

“We’re ready to get underway, sir. The anchors hove short.”

“Very well, Mr. Buck. Proceed, but do it quietly. I feel the trap is already set, but let us not tip our hand till Pope has had his say.”

“Aye, sir,” Buck replied, grinning at Anthony’s word. “Pope will let his cannons do his talking, and by gawd I hope he kills that Frenchman with his first words.”

Anthony could feel
Drakkar
come alive
and make headway. Picking up a breeze, her sails filled and grew taut.

“Mr. Peckham!”

“Aye, sir!”

“Lay us alongside that French bastard yonder, and let’s hope
Scythe
has left a piece of dessert for our troubles.”

“Aye, sir. Dessert we’ll have if I’m any judge.”

***

“Deck there. Looks like
Reaper’s
dropping her anchor, sir.” No sooner had the lookout hailed down when the sound of thunder filled the air.
Scythe
had let loose her broadside. Each cannon was loaded with grape on top of ball.

“Cut it close he did,” Peckham remarked.

“Well ‘hit, don’t matter much now iffen ‘e sees us do it cap’n, the sods bound to know sumthin’s amiss.”

“Well, Bart,” Anthony said. “Where did you come from? I’d begun to wonder if you’d taken leg bail.’“

“Leg bail, why no sirree. Iffen I was to do that, who’d see to getting my betters outta the trouble they’s always getting into?”

Bart was right. However, rushing down under full sail only a blind man would miss
Drakkar
with her dragon figurehead looking defiant and warning all.

Pope had let loose another broadside. Mr. Davy had climbed up on the bulwark for a better view.

“Caught him flat-footed, sir. That damned pirate ain’t even fired a musket in return yet.”

“Taken to cussin a wee bit, have we, young sir?” Bart asked Davy.

“Er—sorry sir. I was just caught up in the excitement.”

“Apology accepted, Mr. Davy,” Anthony replied, trying to hide his smile.

“Deck there!” hailed the masthead lookout. The brig is tacking and opening her gun ports, sir.”
Scythe’s
broadside had created so much smoke the brig’s actions were obscured from
Drakkar’s
quarterdeck.

“Does that answer your questions about the brig, Mr. Buck?”

“Aye, it does, sir. I bet the frog thinks he’s outta deep shat now but he’s in error, I’m thinking.”

The wind had cleared most of the smoke, and the brig was visible again. “She’s shakin out her topsails,” Peckham said. “Looks like she intends to cross
Scythe’s
stern and lay a broadside up her arse end.”

Anthony could only clench and unclench his fists. The lookout called down again, “
Shark
and
Rascal’s
beating down on the brig, sir.”

“Damme, if I don’t feel like climbing up there with him. He’s got the best view,” Anthony said.

“Careful now, sir,” Bart replied. “Yew ain’t as used to them heights as yew used to be. Better to let the yonkers like Mr. Davy do the skylarkin’.”

“Damn you, Bart,” Anthony replied. “You go too far at times.”

“Mr. Buck!”

“Aye, sir!”

“I’d be obliged if after we’re finished with this frog you’d be kind enough to explain proper etiquette to Bart before you keelhaul him. Then find me a suitable cox’n—one that will mind his betters and his manners.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll take care of it directly.” Buck had been with Anthony long enough to know the banter between him and the cox’n was to keep the men’s mind on them and off the impending battle. It would do no good for the men to get a case of nerves at this point in the game.

The lookout was calling down again, “The brig done gave
Scythe
an arse full sir, but
Shark
has fired and took down the brig’s top gallant.”

“Maybe that will slow them down some,” Buck said.

Smoke again had obscured all vision of the fighting ships. When the wind had finally cleared the smoke it did little to help Anthony’s apprehension.
Reaper
had cut her cable and drifted into
Scythe.
Anthony couldn’t help but wonder who had hemmed who in.
Scythe
was certainly in a hellish way. Thunder again filled the air as the brig and
Reaper
fired their cannons into
Scythe.

“Mr. Buck!”

“Aye, sir.”

“I know we’re at extreme range, but I want a broadside poured into that ship. Have Williams lay each gun himself if need be and fire at will. I want our presence felt now! I’ll not see Pope sacrificed like Pitts without firing a shot.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll tend to it directly.”

Drakkar’s
heavy cannons filled the air with a deafening thunder. Williams must have been waiting, anticipating Anthony’s order. “That’ll waken the frog eating son-o-bitches,” Williams remarked to his gun crews. “Let ‘em chew on them balls awhile.”

Drakkar’s
weight rained down on the pirates. Not every ball struck, but those that did left a path of destruction not unlike a hurricane—ripping through sail, severing riggings and cordage, tearing chunks out of the mast, ripping up planking, and creating great gashes in the bulwark as the balls plowed into the deck. The pirates had not met a foe of
Drakkar’s
mettle that could reek so much havoc with a single broadside.

“Another if you please, Mr. Williams. That was music to my ears.”

“Aye, sir. On its way,” the big gunner replied. “Come on lads. Let’s give ‘em another taste with ‘is Lordship’s blessings. And iffen they’s still not satisfied, we’ll give ‘em an encore.”

Anthony turned to Buck, “After the next broadside shorten all sail.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Mr. Peckham. Be so kind as to lay us alongside there if you please,” Anthony said, using his sword as a pointer.

“Aye, sir. Alongside she’ll be.”

Even though every jack tar was expecting it, men jumped as another of
Drakkar’s
broadsides were loosened. Double shotted and filled with grape for extra measure. The heavy loads caused
Drakkar
to shudder as she spit forth her authority. The distance was much closer now and
Drakkar’s
path of destruction was obvious.

Anthony called for Lieutenant Dunn. “Here, sir!” Dunn reported, his uniform bright and shiny as if he were about to go on parade.

“I’d be obliged if you’d get your sharpshooters stationed where they’d do the most good. I want you to direct their fire toward anyone manning a gun, then any apparent officer, then any target of choice.”

“Aye, sir,” Dunn responded. We’ll make their life hell on earth before they reach Hades.”

“Mr. McMorgan!”

“Aye,” the boson hurried over.

“Rig your nets. I don’t expect boarders cause I intend to board
Reaper.
But we’d better be prepared anyway. Anthony then took time to look about him.

After
Drakhar’s
broadsides, the
Reaper
did look grim all right, but he could see a few cannon barrels poking out of gunports.

“Mr. Buck!” Anthony shouted “Everyone down!”

Reaper
let loose
the few guns she had left serviceable. The guns fired unevenly, yet many of the balls found their marks. Men were down everywhere. A gun captain was thrashing violently as blood spurted from an open
artery where his leg bad been. Part of the wheel was shot away. A master’s mate had a huge splinter sticking through his neck and blood gurgled as he coughed. Another seaman ran screaming, his hand holding a face that was now a bloody mask. More thuds were felt as some of
Reaper’s
balls were hitting between wind and water. Still Williams and Lieutenant Markham had
Drakkar’s
gunners working feverishly.

“Stop your vents! Sponge out! That’s it men. Now load! Now be patient and wait for the officers command to fire, me lads! On the up roll. Fire!” The gun crews were tiring, but their work here was almost done.

“Lieutenant Markham! One more broadside, then you and Mr. Williams split the men into two different boarding parties. You take your men aft, and Williams take his forward. Arm them and await my signal.”

“Aye, sir. One more for luck, then we’ll divide up.”

“All right lads,” Williams called. “You heard ‘is Lordship. One more dose then we’ll run through ‘em.”

The crews were yelling and cursing, but ready.
Drakkar’s
next broadside was loosened at point blank range. Williams took time to peer through a gun port and admire the handiwork of his beauties. A goodly portion of
Reaper’s
side was destroyed. Not one of her guns was left intact on the larboard side.