Free Web NovelChapter 37: The Devil’s Ram
The Rose carried no ram on her bow, no iron-shod prow built by men who had expected this kind of work the way the old war galleys had.
What she did carry was a sharp cutwater that split the sea cleanly ahead of her, a bowsprit thrusting forward at its upward angle, and behind them hundreds of tons of oak, tar, rope, and momentum moving faster than she had all night.
San Diego was a sloop. Slim where the Rose was broad. Light where the Rose was heavy. Built to dart in close, strike hard, and slip away again. frёeωebɳovel.com
She had never been built to take the full weight of a brigantine crashing into her side at speed.
The Rose’s size alone would have been enough. Her weight made it worse. The stubborn mass driving behind that cutwater would do the rest.
San Diego was about to learn exactly how much.
The distance that had been thirty yards shrank to ten.
Then there was no distance at all.
The Rose’s cutwater slammed into San Diego amidships.
The crack rolled across the water as the deck lurched beneath every man aboard. It sounded like the largest tree in the world snapping in half. Splintering timber and screaming iron merged into a single violent roar that echoed into the darkness and lingered long after the collision itself.
San Diego’s hull burst open where the Rose struck her. Planks drove inward, then vanished entirely as the brigantine’s bow punched through the breach like a boot through a rotten door.
The sloop’s deck heeled sharply, hard enough to throw men off their feet. Some slid toward the rail and disappeared into the black water. Others hit the deck and fought to rise.
James watched from only a few feet away across a churn of shattered wood and foaming sea, lit by the last burning matches on San Diego’s deck. The wound widened as the Rose kept driving forward, shoving the smaller vessel sideways through the water like a larger man forcing his way through a crowded doorway.
The Rose paid for the blow as well.
The bowsprit took the worst of it.
The entire rig groaned under the strain, the sound racing back through every rope attached to it. Even over the crash of impact, James heard it.
The forward deck jolted unlike anything else that night. Not a roll. Not a shudder. A single brutal stop that sent every unbraced man sprawling.
The shock traveled through the wheel and into James’s arms. He felt the Rose pour all her speed into that one violent meeting of hulls. Beneath his boots, the timbers groaned from bow to stern like an old veteran protesting one more impossible task.
"Christ on the cross!"
The shout came from somewhere near the foredeck, caught between terror and triumph.
"We hit her! We actually bloody hit her!"
"Get off me, ye great fat bastard, I cannae breathe under all of ye!"
"Madre de-"
That cry came from San Diego, thin and frightened across the water.
"Hold fast! Hold fast! Dinnae let go the line!"
The Rose continued forward, grinding through the wreckage she had made.
The breach in San Diego’s side tore wider under the pressure. The sloop began listing heavily to starboard, and seawater rushed into her open hull faster than any bucket could hope to remove it.
A line of clean lettering appeared before James’s eyes.
The only steady thing in the chaos.
⚙ [PERK ACTIVATED] — The Rose’s Luck
It has been four days.
You have already found a use for the perk intended for impossible situations.
Before you become proud of yourself, please note that a significant portion of this success can be attributed to the ship not exploding on impact due its effects.
You are welcome.
"Much obliged."
James snorted. "And a significant portion can be attributed to me bein’ mad enough to try it."
He glanced at the shattered sloop.
"Good work, though. We’d make a fine team if ye were less insufferable."
Then he wrenched the wheel over.
"Helm hard a-starboard! Clear her hull before we hang up on the wreckage!"
The Rose answered more slowly than she had at any point during the fight. Damage around the bow made her sluggish.
Still, she answered.
With a long, ugly shriek of timber scraping timber, she tore herself free from San Diego’s broken side, and the distance between the ships opened once more.
Cudjoe was already at the rail, watching the sloop settle deeper into the sea. By now she listed so badly that the guns on one side were half submerged.
"She’s nae sinkin’ outright," he said. "But she’ll nae be troublin’ anybody else tonight either. Crippled and proud of it, by the look of her crew."
"Starboard battery’s not ready, Captain!"
Farrow’s voice carried up from below, edged with frustration. "We’ve no had time to swab and reload since the rake. Give us a little and we’ll have somethin’ worth firin’!"
"I felt that hit clean through both me boots and me teeth."
Mackerel Jim stood near the mainmast, cradling his already bloodied arm and somehow still managing a grin.
"Survived worse off a runaway cart in Havana. This was nothin’ compared to that."
"Nobody asked."
Silas hauled himself upright against the rail.
"Ye asked. Ye just didn’t remember askin’. And it was you that told me to brace, then ye went and fell on me anyway."
"I did not fall on ye. Ye fell on yerself and dragged me down wi’ ye!"
James left the crew to sort themselves out.
Around him, the Rose’s bow groaned and creaked, scarred by the collision but still holding together. Her speed bled away into the dark sea now that the impact had spent it.
The immediate danger had passed.
The larger battle had not.
"Bring her round," he called, turning the wheel again, more carefully this time. "Let’s find out what’s left of this fight and where the bloody Revenge has got herself to."
"Cap’n!"
Kit’s voice came down from somewhere high in the rigging, a place he absolutely had no business being.
"The sloop! She’s come round on our stern! Guns out! She’s right on us!"
James felt his stomach drop a heartbeat before his mind caught up.
"Stern."
Cudjoe was already turning. "She gets a clean shot down the whole length of her, Captain. Thin timber back there, big windows, nowhere for a shot tae stop once it’s inside."
"Aye, I know what a stern rake does, Cudjoe."
James tightened his grip on the wheel and peered through the smoke.
San Felipe emerged from it, swinging into position. Her gunports stood open. Burning matches glowed along her rail.
"Farrow! Tell me those guns are ready!"
"They’re not ready, Captain!"
The answer came back immediately.
"Give us time!"
The words hit like a slammed door.
The Rose did not have time to give.
