The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,45

the smoke rode the shrieks of the wounded and dying, and the smell of blood. It seemed impossible that anyone could remain alive in the face of all the gunfire.

Not Nathan, please, not now.

The deck pitched as the ship carved another turn. The thud of the great guns gave way to the staccato crackle of small arms: muskets and pistols. The barrages were a pummeling assault, one lethal wave overlapping the next. The ship slowed, and then came the grind and scrape of wood against wood, like two gigantic tubs, the wood at Cate’s back reverberating with the collision. All sense of motion ended. The musket fire intensified. Deafened by the guns, she could barely make out what sounded almost like an infantry charge: the cries of men, the clash of swords, and sporadic pop of pistols.

And then, it was quiet.

It brought no sense of peace. If she had been scared before, she was terrified now. She wished she had paid more heed to the stories on the Constancy and knew more of what constituted victory at sea. On land, it was often a matter of which side took the fewer casualties or gained the most ground. Was it a simple matter of which ship was still afloat, which captain still stood, or were there other deciding factors?

Cate clutched the pistol and waited. Joints aching, hand cramping, time became interminable, marked off by her shuddering gasps from holding her breath while striving to listen. Smoke rendered the muggish air nigh unbreathable. She vibrated with the desire to go help with the wounded; Nathan’s final demands the only thing holding her back.

No, not “final demands.”

“Final” was a word which put him too near the grave. “Parting wish” sounded ever so much more bearable.

Having wished for the sight for so long, when the lantern appeared, she thought the glow through the gloom and smoke to be a dream. Unsure if it was friend or foe, she cowered against the bulkhead, clasping a hand to her mouth lest the rasp of her breathing reveal her location. There was nothing to be done for her heart; hammering so loudly, it was sure to give her away.

“Hoy! Missus?” came a voice through the dark. “Cap’n begs you leave.”

And then, the light disappeared.

Rising stiffly, Cate groped a return path, the fogged light through the grates and the cries of agony her beacon. Finding the steps at last, she came up to the gun deck into an ethereal world. The sun streamed through the ports in glaring shafts through whorls of grey smoke, the men moving like dark ghosts. From the swirling clouds came voices, thickened and muffled, orders colliding with pleas. She came upon a wounded man leaned against a gun carriage. As she knelt, she was touched on the arm.

“He's gone,” the pirate shouted, semi-deafened by gunfire. His smoke-blackened face pinched with grief as he looked down at his fallen mate.

Her ears still ringing, it took a moment to fully understand what he had said. Her first impulse was to argue, but then saw his meaning. The man sat clutching his abdomen and the shard of wood that had speared him, nearly the thickness of his arm. His life oozing between his fingers, he wore the shocked look of one knowing he was about to die and naught to be done about it. Another, sprawled nearby, had been taken by a more merciful means, half of his head cleanly swept away.

The drive to find Nathan strengthened. Seeing him safe would allow her the peace of mind to tend the rest. Wiping her eyes, now burning from the smoke, she climbed to the main deck, the dread of what she might find weighting every step.

The last rays of afternoon slanted on damage that was far worse. The breeze, which now barely stirred, failed to clear away the stench of death. Cate had seen the havoc wrought by a cannonball on an open battlefield. It was nothing compared to what 16 pounds of hurtled iron could do, smashing through everything—and everyone—in its path: shredded canvas, splintered wood, and snarled rope, the shattered bodies resembling half-butchered hogs. Hanging shoulder-high, the smoke shrouded anyone standing, giving them a ghastly headless appearance.

Her bare toes curled as she picked her way through the destruction, cautious of the treacherously slippery blood that streamed toward the scuppers, the surrounding sea taking on a brackish pink cast. She closed her ears to the gurgling coughs and death rattles that she passed. It was too