The artillery roared and the water splashed.
A fierce chase is underway in the Cantabrian Sea, in the vast expanse of water to the west of the French kingdom of Ile de Jos.
On one side of the battle was the Brigantine-type gunboat, known for its high speed and stability and popular with pirates and smuggling merchants, and on the other side, the mainstay of anti-smuggling in the navies of the various colonies, the Galen-type fifth-class destroyer.
Cat and mouse, cheetah and antelope.
Regardless of how one describes the relationship, the destroyer with its eighteen-pound long-range guns, which presented an overwhelming advantage in both offense and defense, was always Brigantine's least favorite opponent.
The scene of a destroyer chasing a Brigantine across a vast ocean is also by no means rare.
But this chase is very different.
The Reindeer went straight ahead with her bow raised, and Brigantine, who should have fled, wandered after her like a dexterous mouse in a zigzag line, near and far, flinging out her nine-pound claws and teeth over and over again, and even though she could not even break her opponent's skin, she still chased after him, and called him a tiresome man.
"Fold!" Lorraine bellowed, the tiller wheel in her hand dripping straight to the bottom.
The slender hull of the Buttercup turned outward, pulling away with an exaggerated tilt. The sailors on deck desperately grabbed at anything they could, while the guns on the side seized the opportunity to fire successive blasts against the Reindeer.
The shells flew apart, and for a moment dozens of huge splashes churned up the calm of the sea.
Since the last fluke that ignited the Reindeer's transom sail, Yacharin had fired three guns, the best he had accomplished was blackening one of the Reindeer's hulls.
A nine-pound solid shell could barely smash wood shavings out of a battleship's hull in a close-fire state, while a six-pound loose shell would be basically no threat to that hard, tough wood core boarding, except to get dirty.
Not so with the Reindeer's outboard guns.
The eighteen-pounders could easily tear through the Buttercup's hull in a direct-fire situation, and even the twelve-pounders on the main deck could do a great deal of damage to the Buttercup.
It's like a praying mantis branching out its arms and an egg flying at a stubborn rock.
Lorraine made changes of direction moment by moment, both to tilt out the angle and send her shells onto the deck of the Reindeer, and to avoid the barrage so as not to suffer irreparable damage.
His maneuvering skills were beyond reproach, except that this fluttering walk was in no way friendly to the gunners, who were carrying the heavy load.
Acharin indignantly undid the securing locks on his waist, holding onto the railing all the way as he wobbled and moved to Lorraine's side.
"Captain! Titus! President! Boss! English boy!" He used all the words he could think of to describe Lorraine as a way of expressing his resentment and dissatisfaction, "What was the purpose of your rushing over here to get killed? To prove yourself bold and technically brilliant?"
Lorraine gritted her teeth and dialed back the rudder wheel, opening her mouth to curse out in Chinese: "Say something, fart quickly!"
"Eh?" Acharin froze, "No chanting spells at me!"
Lorraine stabilized the rudder and took a breath, "I'm asking you to fart ... yuck at me! I'm asking you to say what's on your mind directly, don't beat around the bush."
"I want distance, sixty to eighty meters. Want inclination, at least ten, maybe fifteen degrees. And stability, fifteen to twenty seconds of stability, no rocking!"
"Crazy?" Lorraine's eyes widened, "Do you have any idea what this cannon means?"
"I'm going to have the gun deck replace all loose rounds!"
Lorraine snapped, "And you're going to go hand in hand?"
"Five minutes at the most, and your big talk is about to expire!" Yacharin held the railing steady and spat at Lorraine, "The Cattail Flower is just ahead, the deck is full of debris, even if Ramos. Even if Mr. Piddick had your steering skills, the men on deck wouldn't survive two turns of the rudder!"
Lorraine pushed the tiller wheel to the bottom with one hand, "You win ... In three minutes you'll get it all!"
With the promise, Yacharin rolled and rushed into the gun deck, "Scatter rounds, scatter rounds all over the side! Boys, aim for their gun doors, just the gun doors and nothing else!"
The Buttercup abandoned the fold!
Downwind, the Buttercup with full sails was nearly fifty percent faster than the Reindeer, which had lost its only stern longitudinal sail, and once it gave up the fold, its speed accelerated abruptly.
The black-smoking bow tore through the wind and waves, closing in and overtaking them as far as the eye could see, as well as exposing its entire side to the Reindeer's guns.
The Reindeer opened fire in rapid succession, and in the fluctuating winds and waves, only one shot hit the transom with a boom that smashed Kron's workroom, biting a huge gaping hole in the transom and scattering stubble.
But the Buttercup still achieves transcendence.
The battered transom overtopped the bow, and across the sea, Lorraine, standing at the helm, looked away from Velen at the bow.
Lorraine sneered and raised her middle finger.
"Lower the cross sail! Fold!"
The sail handler ripped the halyard off the foremast with one hand.
The great cross-sails came crashing down, and the Buttercup lost speed precipitously, folding her entire hull to the right hand side as she did so.
Huge near twenty degree sideways tilt!
The Buttercup's draft line was fully exposed in front of the Reindeer's gun doors, and sailors who couldn't immobilize themselves in time screamed and tumbled, while Hina on the lookout clutched her sling and pursed her lips as she stared dead at the sky.
The long-awaited gunners grabbed the first fire.
A barrage of loose bullets struck from the five gun doors on the side, crackling against the Reindeer's hull.
Streams of starbursts drilled into the wide-open gun doors, and vague screams came from the Reindeer's gun decks as at least seven of the heavy guns went dead on the spot.
But the destroyer had sixteen guns on its side.
The gun deck was mostly mute, and the twelve-pounders on the main deck opened fire next.
Boom boom boom!
At least three shots hit the Buttercup's hull, solid shells smashing deep craters in the planking, and one even hit straight on, smashing large holes in the hull with a bang and shattering the fresh water stored in the watertight compartments.
Smoke filled the air and the ship shook loudly!
After the huge quake, the ship leveled out, and Yacharin finally waited for his chance.
He put down his torch and lit his hair rope, and with all his strength he shouted, "Give me a son, Miss Lennie!"
On the main deck, the four six-pounders were fired almost at the same time, and a flood of loose shot rose high over the Reindeer's towering sides, sending a storm of blood across the deck!
Perfect shot!
On the Reindeer, wailing washed over the ship, and Lorraine saw Velen's iron face.
Verlaine fumed.
Lorraine laughed insanely, her erect middle finger recycling and making a slow, strangling gesture at her own high throat.
He delivered a French phrase with the shape of his mouth, "Quel...bordel."
Look at this mess ...
Hina's shout duly carried across the ship, her slightly sandy voice full of joy.
"The Cattail Flower is heading south with full sail! They've escaped!"
They ... escaped!
Lorraine locked the rudder wheel on the right full rudder with a click and leaped down to the deck declaring aloud, "Put out the fire! Repair the ship! I want to hear loud singing! Gentlemen, sing!"
[When Great Britain, by the grace of God, first rose from the azure sea]
[Rise, rise, rise!]
[Rising from the azure sea!]
[This is the love of God, the favor of the earth and the favor of the people.]
[Blessed angels sing in unison]
Rule, Britannia! Rule this sea!
[Warriors of Britannia, Never Slave! ...
The unbridled song floated over the sea, and the singer grew farther and farther away.
The Reindeer was spattered with blood, and the lookout at the head shuddered as he informed, "Governor, the English have run away, one to the west and one to the south ..."
All that remained in Velen's mind was Lorraine's teasing mouth.
Look at this mess ...
"You're the one who wants to die ..." he murmured, gently wiping away the first mate's blood that had splattered on his face, "You won't get away with this, Lorraine . Arnason. Drake. The sky is the limit, I swear ...."
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