Free Web NovelChapter 3: Mad Enough to Work
The deck didn’t answer him. James hadn’t expected it to. Ships rarely answered questions. Still, asking had seemed polite.
He stood beside the mainmast with his cutlass in hand and took stock of the lass.
That was the immediate problem.
A dead French sailor lay face down near the rail, one arm hooked over it as if he’d tried to climb somewhere safer and failed. Near the bow, a small fire still smoldered. A thin line of gray smoke rose into the air, stubbornly refusing to disappear into the wind. The rain didn’t help either.
Around him, men worked in small groups, dragging bodies aside and checking wounds. Nobody said much. They didn’t need to. The work itself said enough.
The French warship remained off the starboard side.
That bothered him.
Its gun ports still glowed. It wasn’t advancing. It wasn’t retreating. It was just there.
James was still trying to decide what waiting meant for a ship built for war when something appeared in front of him.
🏴 [BLOODY ROSE — STATUS]
Hull Condition : Compromised (Above Waterline)
Armament : 18 Broadside Cannons
Gunpowder Supply : 11 Casks
Crew : 51 / 80
Morale : Rallying
Loyalty : Reliable
You appear to have reached the part of the plan where there is no plan. Historically, this is where things become interesting.
"There’s a plan. A questionable one, perhaps, but still a plan." James snorted.
The random display he forced himself to not think much about gave numbers to the problem. Fifty-one men still fit for action. A damaged hull he hadn’t inspected personally. Cannons that wouldn’t matter much if the ship couldn’t maneuver.
None of it helped.
While he stared oddly at the air, someone was already walking toward him.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown skin and strong cheekbones. He looked like someone who had spent most of his life hauling heavy loads and winning arguments through sheer stubbornness. His coat hung open, stained with somebody else’s blood across one shoulder.
He moved with calm confidence, a man who believed surprises were problems for other people.
Even if the surprise happened to be his captain.
"Cudjoe, where d’ye want this line?!" someone shouted from near the hatch.
The sailor didn’t wait for an answer.
The name clicked into a place inside James’s mind.
He recognized the face before he understood why. The knowledge arrived first. The explanation lagged behind.
It felt exactly like what had happened with the latch.
Cudjoe stopped several feet away and studied him.
Thoroughly.
His face. His injuries. The blood.
"Well. Ye’re still ugly. Good. Was worried that head wound might’ve improved ye."
Cudjoe grunted. "Sloops are gone, both of ’em. We watched ’em sink, though that didn’t do much good."
He swept a hand around the Rose.
"Two holes above the waterline, lucky for us. The foremast rigging’s a mess, and it won’t take much weather before it becomes a bigger one."
His arms folded across his chest. "So tell me, Captain. The Frenchman is still sitting out there staring at us, and the lads want to know if you’ve got a plan."
James looked back at the frigate.
Bigger guns. More crew. Better ship. Tough fight.
"Can’t run" he said. "Not with the foremast damaged. He’s faster than us, and he knows it. Can’t fight him broadside to broadside either. He’s carrying nearly three times our guns and enough crew to use them."
"Everyone and their mothers knows that captain."
Cudjoe facepalmed with resignation.
"Aye, we’re too slow to flee and too small to fight. What then?"
James ignored the poor show of faith and continued staring at the warship.
"Which leaves us with..."
The thought hung there.
Cudjoe didn’t help.
"...going over there."
Cudjoe choked.
"Over there."
"Aye."
"The French frigate."
"That would be the one."
"The very frigate that just kicked our arse, boarded us, and near made themselves at home."
"Oi, but we kicked ’em back out before they could unpack."
Cudjoe rubbed his eyes in deep exasperation.
"I see."
Another pause.
"I do not like that I see."
James frowned.
"It makes sense."
"Does it?"
"They won’t expect it."
Cudjoe stared at him for several seconds. "Captain, they’re French, not blind. They can see us coming with grapples and a murderous boner."
Long enough that James wondered whether the man was checking for signs of head trauma.
"Aye, but hear me out."
The idea was starting to fit together.
Dangerous, certainly. That didn’t make it wrong.
James started to explain with wild hand gestures, "They just finished boarding us. They’re tending wounds, finding their mates, and trying to work out where everything went wrong."
He brought both hands theatrically toward the frigate.
"The last thing they’ll expect is us coming back."
"So your grand strategy is to return to the ship that nearly sank us and hope they’re too confused to notice?"
"Aye, but that’s why it works. They’ll be expecting us to run, fight, or surrender."
James let out a boisterous laugh, "We get aboard, make a proper mess of things, set fire to something they care about, then leave before they can figure out what devilry just happened. While they’re chasing flames, we slip away."
Cudjoe rubbed his face.
"And how long d’ye think that distraction lasts?"
James considered it.
"Few minutes, give or take"
"That’s all?"
"Long enough."
"Bloody long enough."
The words sounded no better the second time.
"Captain, every time I think I’ve found the bottom of your thinking, ye hand me a shovel."
James grinned.
Pain shot through his swollen jaw. The grin collapsed into a wince.
"Good thing it’s a big shovel."
Cudjoe deadpanned.
"Mad enough to work."
He shook his head and turned toward the crew.
Cudjoe had barely taken two steps when James raised his voice.
"Listen up!"
Heads turned across the deck.
"We’re going aboard her. Bring grapples. Bring blades. Bring anything that burns. We get on, make a mess, and get off before they know what’s happening."
He pointed toward the frigate.
"You’ve got one minute. Move."
For a moment nobody reacted.
Then the answer rolled across the deck.
"Aye, Captain!"
"About bloody time!"
One sailor was already dragging a coil of rope toward the rail.
Near the mainmast, another man hesitated.
"Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, but we just got done bein’ boarded. Now we’re boarding them?"
"Aye. Turnabout’s fair play."
The boy carrying the pike had already reached the rail. He was grinning so hard James suspected he might actually enjoy this.
"Can I go first?"
"No," James and Cudjoe said together.
Neither looked at him.
Cudjoe was already striding down the deck, shoving men into motion. freewebnoveℓ.com
"You heard the captain! Move before he changes his mind and comes up with something worse!"
The ship sprang to life.
Sailors hurried toward the equipment lockers, hauling out grapples. Others checked pistols, blades, and anything else that might survive another fight.
James walked to the rail.
Up close, the frigate looked even larger. Its black hull towered over the water. Light spilled from its ports.
Men moved across its deck, completely unaware of the problem heading toward them.
His jaw throbbed with every heartbeat.
The wound on the back of his head joined in.
Neither injury offered advice.
Behind him, the crew assembled at the rail. Grapples ready. Weapons drawn. Waiting for the order.
James looked at the frigate one last time.
The problem was obvious.
The solution was insane.
At the moment, it was also the only one he had.
"Right then."
He rested a hand on the rail.
"Let’s go say hello."
