It was difficult to see in the early morning light, but whatever vessel was on the horizon was bearing straight for us.

“What do yer wee beady eyes see, McCloskey?” MacRae shouted up to the lookout in the crow’s nest.

“Lateen sails sergeant! No colors! And she’s a big girl she is!”

“Christ, we’re befucked,” MacRae said with a grimace, “We have nary the men to hold off a determined assault. If they board us we’d be better off falling on our own bayonets. But if I’m to die today, I’ll die fighting! Drummer! Beat to quarters!”

“Aye sir!”

The drummer was a mere boy that looked like he was about twelve, but his haggard features and sunken eyes made him look much older. He grit his teeth and began a long, sustained roll, which sent every man on deck rushing to their battle stations.

Some of the marines turned to run below to the gun deck, as they were accustomed to, but I drew my sword.

“If you run to gun deck, you die!”

My English must have been quite clear, because the men turned and ran back to fall in with me.

“Sir, I must fucking protest!” said MacRae, “I won’t have me marines stand idle while we are at action!”

“What did we say about saving lives, sergeant?” said Eirene, “If you want your men to live, it would behoove you to listen to the captain.”

“Remember, bratva,” I said to the men, foregoing translation, “When enemy come, look with eyes, see where they go! Choose man to kill! Radi vsego svyatogo, aim! Remember to aim!”

“Right then lads,” added Eirene, “Remember what the captain taught you! Take cover behind the gunwales, all of you! Keep your spacing – one fathom apart from the next man! Move! Private Appleton!”

“Y-yes sir?”

“Get up there on the fighting top! Cover the swivel gunner!”

“B-but…”

“Go to some place where you can’t run from the enemy!”

“Y-y-yes sir!”

As I saw the marines dash to their positions at Eirene’s orders, I could not help but be impressed. Her masterful command of the men made me proud to serve alongside her. Although she now referred to me as her superior, in my mind I saw us both as equals.

“What did you see, Sergeant MacRae?”

The question came from a young lad in a blue officer’s uniform, probably sixteen judging by his features. Just like the drummer, his salt-encrusted hair and reddish skin had aged him well over a decade.

“Ship with lateen sails, Lieutenant Riley, sir. Possibly a Mohammedan merchantman, possibly corsairs.”

“The drummer has sounded the beat to quarters, why are your men still here?”

“Orders from the new captain of marines, sir!” MacRae said, sneering at me.

“You!” said the boy as he pointed an accusing finger at me, “Order these men to get belowdecks to assist the gunners!”

I scoffed at him and turned to face my men, “Choose your targets! Remember faces! Put mushkets on gunwales for bitter shooting!”

“I will not be ignored!” he said as he grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me to face him.

I would have slapped him like the boy he was had Eirene not intervened.

“Sir,” she said, “We may either fight or argue, but not both. The choice is yours.”

Lieutenant Riley gritted his teeth, but seemed to accept Eirene’s logic. “Very well, but the captain shall hear of this if we survive!”

“What shall I hear of if we survive, lieutenant?”

Captain Barrett had emerged from his cabin up on the quarterdeck bearing his sword and pistol.

“Sir!” cried Riley, “the captain of marines insists on having his men stand-to on deck!”

“Utter nonsense! Naval doctrine dictates…”

“The captain of marines is quite aware of your doctrinal differences, sir,” said Eirene, “But you asked him if he had experience in battle, and he is fighting according to that experience!”

“Bah!” scoffed Barrett, “I have no time to deal with this. I shall court martial you both later – for now I must deal with the situation at hand. Mister Riley, what do you make of the ship?”

“Lateen sails, sir! She might be a merchant dhow, or…”

“What colors is she flying?”

Riley turned to MacRae, who simply shook his head.

“No colors, sir!”

“Damn it all to hell!” said Barrett as he descended down the quarterdeck’s stairs to meet us. “Ready the starboard battery and prepare to engage. We’ll blow that bugger to smithereens.”

“But sir,” said Riley, “It might be a fishing vessel or a merchantman – I respectfully recommend prudence.”

“Your recommendation shall be noted in the log, and I will review it after we destroy this vessel.”

“Should we not fire a warning shot?”

“Indeed, we shall – into its hull. I do not like to repeat myself, ready the starboard battery and prepare to engage.”

Eirene and I looked at each other and then looked at Barrett. Here, I thought, was a man who was just as bullheaded as he was arrogant. We were guaranteed a fight now, no matter if the vessel was friend or foe.

The vessel drifted closer to us as the Peregrine presented its starboard side. Cries to “run out the guns!” were repeated to the gunners belowdecks, and I looked below to see two dozen ports open up on the side of the ship to reveal the Peregrine’s great guns, all of which were facing the approaching vessel.

Strangely, despite the threat, the lateen-sailed ship made no effort to alter course, and I began to think that Captain Barrett’s actions were warranted. A loud boom from the distant ship and a cannonball sailing through the air above us confirmed the captain’s suspicions.

“Bloody pirates!” yelled Barrett, “Fire a full broadside!”

Barret’s command was repeated by the crew, and a roar of cannon fire erupted from the ship’s starboard battery. Although some of the balls impacted with the enemy’s bow, most of the Peregrine’s broadside flew harmlessly into the water. I could see now that the enemy captain had chosen to engage us head-on to present a smaller target to our guns. The clever pirate had also installed guns on his bow, so that he could attack us without having to expose his broadside.

“Should we attempt to evade, sir?” said Riley, who was frantically loading his sidearm.

“No,” replied Barrett with a cocky grin. “We shall stand and fight, as the king’s men. Let them close in and board us. I want to be close enough to strike their bowsprit with my sword.”

I had to stifle my laughter at Barrett’s idiotic bravado. It would not be up to him alone to win this battle, even though he was acting like it. If anything, it was now in the hands of my marines, and I was glad that they were yet fresh, and not tired from hauling rounds down in the gundecks below.

“Remember lads,” said Eirene. “Pistol range is too close – fire when you judge their forms to be the size of your largest finger. Take cover when you load, and always use your lugs to aim.”

A second broadside from the Peregrine made the vessel tremble beneath our feet, but had the same results as the first – minor damage to the enemy’s bow and a few holes in her sails. We would not be able to fire a third volley. The enemy was now close enough that I could make out the figurehead – which was not a figurehead at all but a large bore cannon aimed directly at us.

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A plume of fire and smoke erupted from the enemy’s bow gun, sending two whirling balls chained together into our mizzen mast. The chain shot tore through the shrouds and wooden beam, sending splinters flying all around deck like hundreds of wooden bullets in all directions. Sailors around me screamed in pain as they were hit by bits of shrapnel. We watched helplessly as the mast began to bend with a loud, crackling groan. If they were to board us, we could not hope to escape now.

“Sergeant MacRae,” I said in Russian, “It would please me greatly if you would pick up a musket and join the men.”

“Sir, with due respect, I prefer me sword.”

I nodded, “Fair enough, as do I.”

The lateen-sailed xebec was now close enough to see figures on its deck climbing onto its ratlines. From half a mile away, I could see they were armed with muskets, bows, and swords. I could even hear their heathen war cries rise up over the roaring of the ocean beneath us.

“Men, they’ll be in the rigging!” said Eirene, “Aim high, and aim true!”

“Gentlemen!” yelled Captain Barrett with an eager tone, “Stand by to repel boarders! A prize to the man who fells the enemy captain, but a fine to the man who takes that kill away from me!”

I heard the twang of a bow, then I recoiled in shock as an arrow strike Barrett in the arm.

“Sir!” cried Riley, “Your arm!”

“It’s barely a scratch!” said Barret through gritted teeth. He lopped off the shaft with his sword and yelled to the other ship, “Is that all you cowards have got? Will you now fling things at us like angry women!? Sergeant MacRae, return fire.”

“Aye, sir, with pleasure.” Before I could countermand his order, MacRae bellowed, “Royal Marines! Fire at will!”

The men, so used to hearing that command, stood up from cover and laid down a fusillade of rounds on the enemy – not a single shot was aimed, and the enemy seemed to be laughing at us.

Another arrow flew at us, hitting the mast behind me, followed by another, then one more. Soon, a hail of arrows from the enemy vessel was raining down on us, and I had to take cover behind a barrel while Eirene followed behind me. A marine in front of me was struck in the chest.

“Men!” I shouted, “Change position!”

The marines, confused about whose orders to follow, crouched behind the gunwales again and, covered by the gunwales’ wooden walls, moved to another place on the starboard beam.

“Belay that order!” yelled Barret, “Marines, come back!” The disorienting countermand made one man raise his head above the gunwales. He was rewarded with an arrow to the head. The other marines, not knowing what to do, began to ran back to their previous position.

“Christ crucified!” I muttered in Russian to Eirene. “Barrett will be the death of us all!”

“Well,” she said with a smile, “battle is chaotic.”

“What?”

“Trust me.”

An explosion rang out from the enemy xebec as another round of chain shot flew towards our mast. Barrett let out a roar of pain and dropped his sword, clutching his right thigh before falling into Lieutenant Riley’s arms. In Eirene’s hand was a smoking pistol.

“Get the captain to safety!” she yelled to Riley, “We’ll repel the boarders!”

“Damn it all!” was all the younger lieutenant could say as he dragged the screaming, wounded Barrett back to the quarterdeck.

“Your ship now, sir,” Eirene said to me with a wink. I could have kissed her I was so proud.

“Sergeant MacRae!” I yelled in English, “Re-loud! Choose enemy and fire at my orders!”

MacRae uttered a loud sigh before shouting, “Royal Marines! Make ready, mark your targets and fire on the captain’s orders!”

I waited for the constant “thunk” of arrows hitting the deck to slow down. I knew they would only pause to draw their swords, and that’s when they would be close enough to kill without missing. The rain of arrows became a drizzle, then a trickle.

“Kompaniya! Pogon!”

“Company, fire!”

The men rose as one from behind the gunwales and let loose a sporadic volley of gunfire that caught the enemy by surprise. Several bodies fell dead into the water, but they were too close now to fire a second fusillade.

“One bullet carry one death!” I said, “Bayonet carry one hundred! Put bayonets!”

“FIX! BAYONETS!” yelled MacRae.

I expected the xebec to alter its bearing and present a broadside to us, but there was no way they would be able to do that at this range.

“They will ram us! Rasporka dlya vozdeystviya!”

“Brace for impact, lads!” MacRae translated.

I grabbed a rope just before the pirates hit us. The Peregrine buckled with the impact as barrels, weapons, and crewmen were thrown to the larboard side like toys. Eirene herself was thrown into the air and hit the deck with a loud thud. However, she took the blow like a soldier and got back on her feet, ready for more. The enemy xebec continued to push into us, wood scraping on wood as she stayed on course till we were broadside to broadside.

Then they came. The first of the bastards sprinted off of the xebec’s gunwale and leapt onto our deck with a loud heathen war cry. Sergeant MacRae was quick to dispatch him with his sword, but then we heard the footsteps of dozens more thundering across the enemy deck.

The turban-headed, barefooted Turks began hurling themselves onto our ship. Dressed in their bright robes and baggy trousers and wielding swords and maces, they looked very different from the Tatars, but they would do.

I charged forward at the first man I saw with a thunderous roar – the Turk barely knew I was upon him when I slashed his neck open and his blood spilled onto my face. The warm, metallic, liquid sent me into a frenzy.

A man with a sword yelled foreign gibberish from behind me. I parried his attack and riposted into his face, cutting through his cheeks and jaw. He dropped his weapon in shock and fell to the deck, screaming in pain.

Before I could end him, I felt a sharp pain in my thigh. A heathen with a mace had struck at my legs, and now I was face down onto the ship’s deck. My grip loosened and my shashka clattered away.

The bastard tried to grab my hair, but only ripped a fistful of wig off of my head. Enraged, I rolled over and, with one hand on his turban and the other on his jaw, pulled his head to mine and sunk my teeth into his big Turkish nose.

The heathen let out a panicked scream and dropped his weapon as I ripped his snout clean off of his face. Blood splattered into my eyes, and the burning sensation only fueled my rage.

A fist slammed into my jaw, making me spit out the bloody chunk of nose-flesh. A second blow would not land. A marine grabbed the Turk off of me and ran him through with a bayonet before kicking him off.

“Are you all right sir?” it was Private Howarth, the marine from the brawl belowdecks.

“Da,” I replied, unable to gather my English. In Russian, I asked him how the fight was faring, to which he could only stare at me in confusion before inadvertently answering me, “We have them on the run, sir! For God and Saint George!”

As Private Howarth rushed back to the fight, I picked up my shashka and sought the nearest Turk I could find. The blood in my eyes obscured my vision, and it was hard to tell friend from foe. A shout rang out from behind me, and I turned to parry, but the Turk fell dead at my feet from a musket shot to the back.

“Just aim down the lug, right sir?” Private Debenham said with a chuckle as he proceeded to reload his musket.

I nodded in thanks and looked around for more foemen to kill. Instead, I saw Turks diving into the water and running back to their ship. A loud cheer rang out from Sergeant MacRae,

“We’ve won the day! The goat fuckers are on the run! Huzzah!”

I turned to see Eirene pulling her sword out of a man. Whatever blood stains she had must have blended with her red jacket, and she did not look injured, I thanked God for that. However, she was breathing heavily and her eyes were fixated on the body of the Turk she had just dispatched. I rushed to her.

“Are you all right?” I said.

She glanced at me and recoiled in shock. It must have been the blood on my face.

“My God,” she said, “I… killed people.”

I did not remember it being this hard for me when I killed my first Tatar.

“You had no choice, Eirene, they would have killed you too.”

“I… these were someone’s sons… I took human lives, Rodya!”

I looked around me. Bodies in British uniforms and colorful Turkish garments were all stained with the crimson blood of battle. Some still writhed about, clinging to the last threads of life, and some of the enemy wounded who could no longer walk were being thrown into the water by our likewise injured sailors and marines.

“We all took lives today, Eirene. It had to be done.”

Her sword clattered onto the deck as she embraced me, and she began to quietly cry.

“You cannot let the marines see you like this,” I whispered to her. “They will think you are weak.”

She must have realized I was correct, because she let go immediately.

“You are right, of course, sir,” she said in between sniffles. “We must proceed to give a report to our commanding officer.”

With tears still in her eyes, she picked up her sword and stepped over the dead man to look for Captain Barrett.

I surveyed the deck of the ship once again. Blood ran through the grooves of the planks under my feet, and the number of arrows in the deck boards made it difficult to walk. One unfortunate sailor even had his arm pinned against the mast with an arrow, and had died before he could free himself. However, I found peace knowing that we had achieved victory.

“Lord Krym!”

Barret’s voice boomed from atop the quarterdeck. He was seething with anger as he hobbled down the stairs with the aid of crutches. Eirene and Lieutenant Riley were following close behind him.

“Yes sir?”

“Doctor Le Duff informed me that I was shot in my backside,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “and I know it was you.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” interrupted Eirene, “But…”

“Lieutenant Morse, you will let your captain speak. Do not interrupt me again. Lord Krym, the penalty for striking a superior officer is death.”

Eirene’s face grew white, realizing what she had done. I tried to maintain a calm demeanor, as if I did not understand him, but within, my heart felt as if it was about to burst out of my chest.

“Explain yourself, traitor.”

Eirene tried once again to speak, but Lieutenant Riley elbowed her in the rib and shook his head at her in warning.

“Osechka,” was all I could say.

“What?”

“He said the weapon misfired, sir,” said Eirene, “but in truth, it was…”

“A misfire? Do you think I am some imbecile? I know you wanted to take command of my men away from me! I should have you shot right now!”

“Captain Barrett, sir!” Mister Ferguson, the ship’s master, came waddling down from the quarterdeck, breathing heavily. “While you have, sir, every right to end this man for shooting you in the back, I would beg you to keep in mind that he wears the seal of the Czarina of Russia, and that he is expected to return to them at a certain time.”

“Mister Ferguson, your concerns are noted, however it would be easier to say that he was simply swallowed up by the sea. These accidents happen.”

“Sir, you would have to silence your new Russian cook’s mate as well to prevent him testifying to the truth. That would be the death of an innocent man, and I cannot abide by that.”

Barrett pondered on Ferguson’s words for a moment, then simply said, “Go on.”

“I suggest sir, to at least gain something from this debacle, that we relay your account of the incident to the Russian chargé d'affaires in Spain, explaining that he has caused great injury to you, and ask for a modest sum for the travel expenses and safe return of their precious envoy,” he said, rubbing his fingers together.

A smile crept up Barrett’s face, “A ransom, oh yes. Devilishly clever, Mister Ferguson.”

“We should do the same for him,” Ferguson said, pointing to a tall, stoic Turk wearing a lavish black robe and red turban. His hands were bound and two marines had their muskets pointed at him, but his demeanor was placid, almost bored. “The Ottomans would no doubt pay a large sum for the return of one of their princes.”

I could see the glint of greed in Barrett’s eyes as he gave the order to throw me in the brig, and I did not know then that my fateful meeting with the Turk would change my life forever.