Muchas gracias, CC!
Not much to say about this chapter, but.. eh, you'll see. Read on
Red Smoke
The large crew of pirates amassed on the edge of the port as the night fell heavy upon them, the stars hidden behind long, thin clouds. The moon shined off in the distant skies, it's aura of bliss emanating just over the roof of the forest that waited by them. They were collected behind the town walls, off to the side of a small archway that broke off from a large dirt square in the town, lined by stores and taverns, still lit well in to the darkness. They were cloaked in dark blues, greens, browns, and blacks, like a militia of natives, cloaked in war paint, waiting to go out on the hunt. Their breathing was collected and easy, the tension palpable in the air.
In the large circle of 30 pirates that huddled against the wall, Delmaria and Anne walked in to the middle looking around at their crew. Delmaria had traded the embroided, beautiful outfit for a getup of loose, dingy linen garments, as had Anne. At his side, the usually bright, golden cutlass was replaced, in fear that it would give him away even in the slightest ray of light. In its stead, was the decorated Naval cutlass of Captain Kinos Libertant, it's sharp blade hanging down from the gilded handle at the waist. The crew had nicknamed it "The Liberator," and it was soon to be freed from the confines of the grave, back to where it belonged - protecting freedom.
Anne took the large map that she had in her hand and laid it on to the ground, kneeling to it to point at it. "When the candles on the ships burn out, they'll start to make their move. We don't have too much time, so we need to get to the line here as quick as possible. We'll follow the small dirt road behind us to where that woodcutter lives in the clearing, and then we'll cut in to the forest. Everybody got the idea?"
They nodded in unison, gathering their things as they turned on to the dirt road that led from the archway, in to the dark jungle. As they went, Delmaria turned and watched them walk off, preparing to follow behind them. As the final crew mates walked by him, Anne came up next to him and stopped. She turned to him slightly, and said, "Do you have faith, Delmaria?"
Delmaria turned to her, staring at her. "With what I'm going to do, it's the Navy that should be praying tonight." He spun and followed vigorously behind the pirates.
1
The crew spanned out across the length of the end of the island, ground elevating slightly as, through the trees, the walls of the stone fort hid from them. The tip of Tortuga that they waited on was wide, but not wide enough so that they could not feel the waves crash below them. They were high above waters, a few dozen meters off the ground, and the ends of the wall of pirates were still a dozen meters from the cliff. They all crouched there, the easy night winds blowing a few sprays of mist at them. The stars and the moon shined easily overhead, as off to their right, far across their vision, was the other end of the crescent-shaped island.
Darkskull, who sat in the center of the pirates with Anne, pulled out a telescope that he kept in his back pocket, long, dark, and rusted when stretched out. He peered through the magnifier, past the few trees that blocked his vision, sideways from the direction the rest of them where looking, towards the fort. Way out in the bay, under darkness, 11 pirate ships lowered their lights, and began to make a silent assault towards the fortress. "They're on the move!" Delmaria whispered to the rest of them. "Alright mates, creep forward!"
Slowly, as though they were Mayan hunters, the buccaneers slinked forward still in their crouched, quietly unraveling their swords, daggers, and pistols. The grass and tree branches cracked lightly under their feet as they moved forward, shushing each other at every angle. They moved in unison with the small fleet of Brethren ships that slowly came in on a slant to get at the fort, it's stone top slowly peaking over the tops of the trees. Anne was right - the fort looked complete, aside from a few construction stands at it's face. He could make out the silhouettes of a few Navy sentinels patrolling at the grounds before the fort, just as the trees met it, as well as the shadows of a few guards walking on the stone walkway at the top. He hushed the crowd of pirates to a half. "Easy, easy - we'll wait for our friends in the bay."
As the rest of the group settled down, Delmaria quietly walked his way over, past the small group, closer to the cliff on the right. As he hit the end of the tree line, a few meters before he would be exposed on the edge, he knelt down, watching at the Brethren ships grew closer and closer. He hoped that they would be able to reach the fort before they were seen by the armada of Navy ships near the fort. At the waters beneath the fort inward to the bay were 9 small British ships, all of which were frigates that were roughly the size of a regular sloop. Their sails rocked undisturbed, up in rolls on the masts, the light creaking of their hulls in the waves the only noise. With each moment the pirate ships headed closer to them, just at an angle so that a soldier facing directly off the side of the ship would see only a dark Caribbean night. An impending doom approached either side, depending on who struck first. Should the pirates fail to strike first, Delmaria and his crew would be left outmanned and overpowered within the fort - not something they particularly hope. He prayed to the stars that they would hurry up and get to the action, and it did. Just not the way he planned.
As the pirate ships got within firing range of the sleeping ships, beginning to turn to their broadsides, a row of quick explosions rocked the side of the fort. Delmaria snapped his head to attention, turning up to the top of the fort. The tips of the barrels of five large, iron cannons stuck out over the side of the fort, unloading a round of cannonballs down at the pirate ships. They all hit the foremost one with rocking power and accuracy, splitting a mast and plunging a hole in to the hull. The Navy ships soon began to unwind their sails, hurrying to attention, as the Brethren threw their rudders to aim a broadside. Yet the explosions didn't stop.
Delmaria turned around to the scene of two firey explosions ripping in to the forest, throwing the pirates in to trees, and across the area they sat at. Judging by where they had landed, Darkskull could already tell the lead had killed at least three pirates, and more than likely injured double that. There were two cannons that they had not seen that were sitting at the top of the fort, all the while the eight Navy sergeants that had previously patrolled the base of the fort were rushing towards the disheveled group. The British had known of the plans the whole time.
As two huge pockets of fire blared previously where the lines of pirates were, Delmaria rushed in at a slant to intercept the attackers. He brandished his cutlass as he crossed paths with a brutal looking Navy grunt, rushing inward with a grueling bayonet in his grasp. The intimidating, roaring face was crushed as Delmaria jumped in front of him and cut him in the leg with the Liberator. Yet instead of feeling the sword jolt as the man jumped in pain, the sword continued to cut through the muscle and tissue, and digging a cut in to the femur. Darkskull pulled the sword out intensively as the man screamed in pain, not because he was battle ready, but because was scared. He wondered to himself how a blade could be so powerful.
As he dazzled at the blade, he could feel a sense of a rush behind him. He whirled around just in time to see one of the pirates dive forward and run through a soldier in the stomach, who was running up behind Delmaria. He spurted out a gasp of blood from his mouth, before slinking in a sad cry to the ground. Delmaria nodded to the rugged pirate who stood before him, but there was something out this pirate this intrigued him. He hadn't noticed him before - not during the meeting, not when he met up with Anne on the dock, not from anywhere. He was old, with a long, grey beard. But before he could make out any other details of this mysterious figure, he listened to the loud sound of hissing. He watched upward, as more artillery fell from an arch in the sky towards him.
Delmaria sprinted forward, his hands shielding the top of his head, as the large shell crashed in to the ground behind with a significant rumble. He could hear behind him the clanking of swords and bayonets, shouts and battle cries, the two forces meeting in to the shadows of the dark forest, as the firefight out in the waters began to erupt with a flurry of cannon fire. Delmaria took a dramatic dive towards the wall of the fort, hitting before it and pushing his back against it, in a sitting position. The wall was of the usual grey, hard brick, and ran up about twenty meters high. He gasped for breath as he took a moment to relax himself.
He faced back out in to the jungle, where, by the side of the flames, he could make out the dance that went on between the pirates and the soldiers. The original eight British patrollers had been backed up by a group of others that filed out of the fort, making the battle even between the opposing sides. He pushed his back up on the stone wall further, and tilted his hat back to clear his vision. He was able to catch a glimpse just in time, as Anne slid next to him.
She laid on the ground to his left, panting heavily, but grinning with an exhilarated smile. She had a small gasp on her forearm, but she didn't seem to notice it. "'Ello Delmaria, glad to see you made it through!"
"Gah, just barely." he exasperated. "Everything is going completely wrong, and we can't do a damn thing about it!"
Bonny pulled herself up and sat next to Delmaria along the front of the wall, watching with him the battle in the forest. "Well, any ideas on our next move? Retreat or go forward is your own choice, mate."
Delmaria put his head back on the fort, looking up to the stars just past the covering of the tree tops. He got lost in them, blankly gazing as each of them tinkled in an intangible, but relevant code and sequence. Maybe they were talking to each other, Delmaria thought. If Earth could speak, what would it say? Would it talk about the war, the fighting, the tyranny, and injustice? Would it talk about the daily death and destruction? What was it's tone of voice, it's mood? How would it feel?
Darkskull looked away from the sky, to Anne. But instead of making contact with the female pirate, his attention was caught beyond her, past the tree line, over the cliff. One of the tops of the masts of a British ship nearly scraped the land as the vessel was jammed in to the rocks by a blockade of pirate ships. Around it where a cluster of other ships, like a tumor off the land. A ship city, and the masts were the skyscrapers, each trying to tower over the other. Darkskull couldn't tell whether his idea was a flash of brilliance, or incredibly stupid.
The pirate staggered to his feet and began an all-out ran parallel to the fort, passed Anne, past the trees. He could hear her shouts as he ran from her, but he blocked them out. He focused all on building his momentum, widening his stride, and counting his steps. A simple step out of balance would throw him off his target, spiraling in to the rocky, lethal waters below. Now was the time when he wished he had chosen to exercise on the deck of the ship, instead of reading ancient odysseys and Iliad’s. His heart began to race, and all of his senses, one by one, sharpened until they were cut off. He had become a whole being, and it would take one leap to decide if it would live or die.
As his right boot hit the wet grass that began to steeply curve in to the cliff, Delmaria pushed off, sending him hurtling through the air as he left the ground behind. He whipped his arms and his legs forward, giving him an extra push. Yet as he flew, the ship he aimed for began to spin about quickly, the once sticking-out mast turning away from him. He reached his arms out in unison, and they slammed hard against the wood mast, slipping to his hands so he was left hanging a deadly height above the deck. The sails of the ship blew away from him with the wind, bringing the ship forward, heading alongside the fort. His arms throbbed in pain as the blood rushed through, cringing as he fought against the will to let go. He kicked his legs back and forth, rocking him with enough energy to give him a strong grip on the horizontal beam. Slowly, he wrapped his forearm, then his elbow, and then finally his entire arm around it, managing to sit himself on top, and then, finally, stand. He was up.
He extended out his two arms like a bird to balance himself, as he wobbled with the sporadic rocking and crashing of the ship below. He side-stepped himself over to the little top of the mast right below the crow’s nest, and kept his right arm tight around it, as he looked out in the direction of the bow of the frigate. The mass of Pirate and Royal ships were nearly side-by-side, leaving every broadside and cannon shot to a complete chance of hitting. The battle only remained now to who was quickest, so he prayed the buccaneers didn't stock up on the fine delicacies of Tortuga before they went out. He turned his attention to a much taller Galleon next to them, the first beam on the main mast being nearly as tall as the one he stood on. Above that one was another, which brushed roughly against a ship of equal height, directly next to the fort. He had planned his escape route.
He spun around the pole, leaving a brief moment in the air, and then landing him on the opposite side. Before the ship had a chance to turn away, or he had a chance to let his suppressed fear of heights return, Delmaria ran out on to the beam, like a ninja at the top of a stone wall, and bounded off the end, flipping through the air and hitting against the beam of the other ship flat on his chest, wrapping his limbs around it to lock his position. The wind was knocked right out of him on impact, and his black bandana slipped off the top of his head, fluttering down to the deck like a handkerchief. The fabric touched the head of a Navy soldier, who looked surprised as he picked the thing off his head. He puzzled at it, and looked up, to where Delmaria was. He pointed and yelled, drawing the attention of the sailors around him. They screamed to grab the bayonets, meaning that it's was Delmaria's time to move.
Delmaria scurried to his feet on the beam and ran to the mast, nearly being thrown off halfway as the ship rammed in to a Brethren schooner in front of them. He gathered himself, and continued, grabbing on to the pole and grabbing on to the ladder on its front, swinging to it, and beginning a hurried ascent up the mast, towards the crow’s nest. As he ran up it, he heard the commands of the Officers below him, followed by the ringing of the bullets through the air. Nearly all of them blazed through the sails at his side, except for one, which nicked his heavy leather boot. He felt the shot, but the boot was took thick for it to even come close to the skin. He continued forward, paying no mind as the men below him reloaded their guns.
As he reached the crow’s nest, he grabbed the collar of a British sailor who was leaning over the side and tossed him back over his shoulder, sending him startled to the deck below. Darkskull scurried in to the crow’s nest and hit the floor, just as another flurry of bullets shot through the side of it. He scampered back, and peeked his vision just over the back of the basket-like seat, to where the helm was. A gruff, grizzly looking man manned the wheel, barking orders of spit and blood at his poor, poor crew mates. Delmaria slowly reached for his pistol, and creaked it over the siding, tilting it downward. He shot the old, decrepit thing, sending a lead bullet down at the captain. Instead of making a deadly shot, the wind pushed it in to his side. He toppled on to his side, catching his arm in the wheel and spinning it wildly. The ship turned with a dull yet decisive motion, turning it away from the ship near the fort, and leaving facing the side. This caused for the crew below to shoot a broadside that both pointed the side of the Navy ship upward, and the towering Pirate ship downward, leaving open another opportunity.
By the time the ship had hit the arch of its tilt upward, Delmaria was running up the slanted top beam, aiming for a record setting jump. Yet as he neared the end, lifting off his foremost foot for the jump, the worst of all possibilities happened. He wasn't shot by a cannonball, or sprained his leg, or even got a Charlie-horse, no. He slipped.
His body flipped and twisted through the air as he bounded off the side of the ship, in the general direction of the black-sailed pirate ship. He found himself winding face down, staring at the churning and whirling waves below, in the small gaps in between the ships. He saw smoke, blood, wood, and tarnish all twirl below him, as one of his boots slipped off, falling and knocking a man in the head, unconscious. His body left him turning away from the battle, and towards pirate ship, watching the sails rocket towards him at astonishing speed. His body slammed in to the crescent of the top sail, in between the second and third beams, bouncing him off slightly, and then riding it downward like it was a slide. Delmaria was flustered, unsure of what to do or how to do it, as he looked down to where he was heading - the end of the sail neared, which would send him like a missile over the ship, and slamming him in to helm. He wasn't left to instinct or skill anymore; he was in God's hands now. Luckily, God was a good catcher.
Delmaria felt himself stop short, his body tugging forward as the rest of it stopped. He opened his eyes, to see him hanging down over the beam, his arms and head dangling down. He looked up, and saw what hat saved him. His legs were draped over the beam, like as if he were a monkey. He tied his feet together and tensed his muscle, pulling himself up to sit on the beam. He grabbed the sails with his hands to pull himself up and held on to them as he guided his way towards the mast. He looked up, to study the situation. The top beam was brushing against the top of the fort, where a few Navy soldiers began to scurry on to it to get in the fight. Delmaria run to the mast quickly, grasping the ladder and beginning to bind upward. One of the Navy soldiers was waiting there for Delmaria, and as he brought down his foot to kick the pirate in the head, Darkskull drove up a large, shining throwing knife, stabbing the soldier right through the foot, and sending him tipping over the mast. Delmaria pulled himself upward, as another of them flipped his pistol over his shoulder in a commanding swing. Delmaria leaned back dangerously to dodge a blow, and in the only defense mechanism he could think of, stood up and back-hand slapped the man, his jeweled ring leaving an imprint on his face. The soldier cursed, before losing his balance, splitting his legs over the banister, landing in the worst possible position, and painfully sliding off.
Delmaria rushed along the beam, outreaching his arm and pushing away the finally person that stood between him and the fort. He bounded off of it enthusiastically, over the edge of the fort, and landed on the stone with a thud. On his knees, shaking, he bended over as though he were praying and kissed the floor in relief.
2
Delmaria hit the first aggressor with a kick to the chest, knocking him back on to one of the iron cannons. He winched in pain as Delmaria ran up to grab him by his shaggy, greasy hair, and whiplash him from the cannon, over the edge of the fort, down in to the center of the fort.
Delmaria spun around and punched one of the soldiers that were kneeling at the cannon next to him, trying to load in a shot before Delmaria noticed him. The man that was holding the ram to the cannon, on the other side, popped up and brought the heavy iron ram over his head. Delmaria jumped back as he slammed it down on to the cannon, and picked it back up, resting it on his shoulder, preparing for another swing. Before he could lift the heavy weight off of him to attack, Darkskull delivered a massive uppercut to the man's stomach, bending him forward and dropping the ram out of his grasp, on to his foot.
As he fell and screamed in pain, Delmaria picked up the ram with his right hand, and began slamming it in to the cannon at the right of where he landed, shifting back and forth along the shaft. Little by little, he caused dents in them barrel, making it unable for anything to pass through it. As he did this, the cannoneers from the three cannons beyond the one he was beating rushed over to stop him, but each time he smacked at them with the ram, sending them away. As he slammed the last guard in the head, Delmaria threw the ram out over the ledge of the fort, and ran over to the edge of the walkway, looking down in to the fort. Below him, next to the staircase to his left, was a large pile of crates and barrels, dark in color and placed carefully in position - gunpowder, undoubtedly.
Delmaria ran over to the cannon and gripped it at its back, pulling out his cutlass and skimming the blade over the cannon, towards him. The sparks from the scraping bounced towards the small piece of rope that poked out of it, to ignite the cannon. As soon as the sound of hissing became clear, Delmaria put away his sword and walked to the end of the barrel. With all his might, he grabbed the narrow end of the barrel and rocked the cannon backward, the heavy steel wheels at its base slowly rolling with him. As it gained momentum, he gave it a final push, and began running wildly down the walkway. He could hear the rusty metal hinges cradle back, slamming the cannon over the ledge, downward.
Delmaria could feel the ripping, the blast, and the heat as his body stumbled at the corner of the fort, the sheer force of the explosion crumbling its body under the shock. The cannon's blocked shot caused for an inner boom within the cannon, blowing off its back. Coupled with the significant stack of gunpowder containers that it rammed in to head first, the result was a fiery shockwave that mushroomed up and across the fort, blazes and spits of flames jumping across the entire building. Delmaria crawled to the ledge, where he watched the soldiers that were near the blast lay, unconscious or dead, as their bodies burned. The smoke that rose was not as black, as it illusion to be red, whisping and cackling as it flew away from its devilish work. The fire was born of a devil, but he carried the flag of freedom.
As Delmaria crawled up to his feet, looking over what he had done, he made out a bright, shining red object from across the square fort, over by the large archway leading out in to the forest. In between the gaps of smoke in the air, he could make out what shimmered was a skimpy, light vest, over a loose yellow ruffled shirt. It was a clump of a body, but even with its back to him, Delmaria knew exactly who it was, from all the joyous and painful experiences. He drew his sword.
Delmaria sprinted down the walkway perpendicular to where the cannons was, knocking away a dazed Navy soldier as he stumbled towards him. Where the path he was on came to the next at the corner, a staircase ran along the next one, downward, leading right near the entrance. Delmaria turned at the dime down the stairs, hurriedly, his body tensing in anger with each step he took. He bounded off the last step, and began towards the body, just off from the gateway outside. It slowly slinked back, looking up to face him, its hair falling down to her face.
Delmaria stormed up to her, widening his stance, raising his blade above his head like he were about to sweep a broadsword. "You damn wench, stop moving!" he barked at her. His eyes were glaring, his face not clenched, but over washed in anger.
Leanne began screaming, crying, and crab walking backward to try and escape. Delmaria walked forward and lifted his knee, slamming his foot down on to O'Malley's, stopping her in place, and causing a loud snap in her ankle. Her face gasped in pain, as she let out spaced out, grunts of agony. Delmaria watched her, tilting his head. Something inside of him whispered,
Let her scream, let her suffer, let her scream, let her suffer. Delmaria's face started to grin in enjoyment, the happiness inside him growing as the old, crackled voice began louder and louder, beating like a drum.
Delmaria pushed up the blade over his head higher, preparing to strike down. Leanne let out a scream of fear, throwing her hands over her head and starting to tear. Delmaria knew there was no turning back now.
Darkskull swooped down the blade, making a clean, bloody cut across the neck, cutting the Pirate Queen's head off clean. Her body untensed as it rolled back, away. The earth became quiet, as he stood there, gripping his handle tighter and tighter. He began to laugh uproariously, deeper, louder, and heavier than he ever had before. He felt the trickles of blood run down his hands, dripping to the ground. He knew what he had become.
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"Delmaria, STOP!" the voice yelled behind him, awaking him from his dream. He felt the womanly hand grip the arm that held the blade over his head. His eyes looked around - he was in the fort, still. The fire raged at the other side, the soldiers still gripped in disarray, as the pirates sweeped in to cover ground, tearing the fort apart stone by stone. And at his feet, still laid Leanne - her hands over her head, her body shaking, her eyes watering. The sight of her made him angry again, but as he tugged his arm to attack, Anne held him back. He started to grunt, struggling against her.
When he knew he could go nowhere, he dropped the blade at his side. He bent over, and yelled at Leanne, "YOU DESERVE TO DIE! YOU KILLED MY SON!"
Leanne froze, her head, twitching in fear, looking up to him. Beneath all her fear was confusion. "N-no, I didn't.. It was y-"
"YES YOU DID! DON'T LIE!" he screamed, his body starting to break down on him. His muscles untensed, as his face tightened, crunching. He could feel all of his organs quiet, as he hunched over, on to his knees on the ground. "Yes, you did.. murderer, LIAR! Yes... no....me... Delpadros..." he whimpered, his body and breathing calming, as the three pirates began to relax. The pirate captain gripped his hands at his hair, as he started to cry.
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We can consider that the climax (or, one of them) to the current conflict in the story
The next few chapters might be a little slow, definately not as big as this one. But, trust me, they'll be just as good in their own way. Thanks mates! Be sure to review!