Fic: Battles and Glory
This one is better than last. I hope. If it isn't, I shall slink away and hide in a hole for the rest of the year. I still feel kind of... reserved, for some reason. (Creative overload?)
TITLE: Battles and Glory
AUTHOR: Pearlsie
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Mouse's. I borrowed Jamie for Christmas. Everyone else (so far) is mine.
CHARACTERS: James Norrington, and a pack of OC's.
RATING: PG, I guess, for blood and minor goriness. (Is that a word?)
WARNINGS: Blood and goriness. Gorieness?? How would that be spelt?
SUMMARY: James' 12th Christmas... and first battle.
SERIES: That X-mas one that is rather nameless.
I had heard wood break before, when the foremast fell in a storm. But the sound of hot iron puncturing the hull was strange, foreign. The wood shattered, splinters flying everywhere, and the ball rolled along the gun deck. Everyone had frozen in action; we all just stood there and watched it thud from larboard to starboard. An odd hush fell upon us. Then, almost as one, the men roared wordlessly, and suddenly the slovenly teams that had tripped over gun ropes the day before were gone, replaced by a team of experts, furious at their ship being fired upon. I just stood there, staring at the glowing metal. It was the first time I'd ever seen an enemy shot.
It wasn't our fault - or their fault - that the other's had shot first. It was our captain, a stubborn man set in his ways. He believed that everything could be solved with a little diplomacy. I was now experiencing first-hand the outcome of that, when negotiating with trapped pirates.
A powder monkey shoved past me- the boy was younger than I, but far surer of himself. I'd been at sea scarcely two months, and the din was terrifying. As best as I can recall, that was the most frightening bit of it. There was noise, chaos, people running everywhere, and me just standing there, lost and helpless. But only until the starboard lieutenant spotted me.
"Mr Norrington, are you in position?" He bellowed. I knew I wasn't, and could only shake my head mutely, staring at the ball at my feet. "Well get there!" Was the command.
I looked sideways at the three guns under my charge. The men were all experienced sailors - lackadaisical, perhaps, but experienced. One of them glanced at me and the ball of shot and hollered for me to 'bring it 'ere'. Still dazed, I picked it up and carried it over. It felt just like any of our shot. I didn't even notice that I was taking orders from a man subordinate to me.
There wasn't much more time for me to wander about in a daze. The enemy fired again, and suddenly the order resounded from the quarterdeck, accompanied by the marine's drum.
"OPEN FIRE!"
My men didn't bother waiting for the order from me, personally. They knew what they were doing. I didn't. Then my awkward balance was upset as the ship rocked with the blast of a full broadside. I slammed into the lieutenant, who was passing. He scowled and righted me, with an irritated bark I couldn't translate. There was a funny rushing noise in my ears.
She - our ship - swung 'round, and I staggered. Larboard gave their broadside and I nearly went flying again. One of the gunners caught me. I don't know what the enemy had been doing, or truly how many there were (my sense of fore and aft was still out of balance then, let alone the positions ships in battle). But a deafening wall of sound shattered our hull.
It was like a nightmare. A boy was screaming, soundlessly, writhing against the wooden dagger that pinned him to the mast-base. Blood was gushing from a man's ears as he thrashed in mates' grips. Iron, wood, and some unidentifiables were floating through the air in a ghostly manner. My stomach was starting to heave.
And somehow, through it all, they were re-loading the guns. The lieutenant, stolid and unshaken, was still striding and bellowing. I felt like yelling at him, telling him it was pointless and stupid. But a third broadside rocked me off my feet. As my head made contact with the chilly, salted wood, sound and time re-asserted themselves.
I wished it hadn't. Before that day, I'd never heard a man scream in true agony. Before that day, I'd never seen a man's head explode when iron shot collided with it. Before that day, I had never watched a deck run red with blood. I was sick to my stomach, but couldn't puke, for fear. I didn't want anyone to know how I felt. How horrific I found it all. This was what I was supposed to do. The lieutenant - he didn't mind. I wasn't supposed to mind either. But I minded terribly.
We won the battle, but I never even thought of that. Men had died, four of them, and I'd seen all but one. And so many were injured. It was a surprise that more weren't, in my mind. The decks were stained, crimson and scarlet, fading to pink in the center of the ship, where the fewest had bled. The cold sea blew in through the gaping holes in the side, fighting the brave carpenter as he tried to patch them. Around me, all I could hear and see was the dying men, the awful screams. Yet through that filtered eerie sounds.
I was sitting on a gun, numb and shaking, white as snow. Around me, men were celebrating, their cheers of joy twisting in my ears. Men had died. And they danced. What sort of barbarians are we? I wondered that day. What sorts of barbarians do this?
Only later when I was crammed into my hammock amidships did I remember it was Christmas.
TITLE: Battles and Glory
AUTHOR: Pearlsie
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Mouse's. I borrowed Jamie for Christmas. Everyone else (so far) is mine.
CHARACTERS: James Norrington, and a pack of OC's.
RATING: PG, I guess, for blood and minor goriness. (Is that a word?)
WARNINGS: Blood and goriness. Gorieness?? How would that be spelt?
SUMMARY: James' 12th Christmas... and first battle.
SERIES: That X-mas one that is rather nameless.
I had heard wood break before, when the foremast fell in a storm. But the sound of hot iron puncturing the hull was strange, foreign. The wood shattered, splinters flying everywhere, and the ball rolled along the gun deck. Everyone had frozen in action; we all just stood there and watched it thud from larboard to starboard. An odd hush fell upon us. Then, almost as one, the men roared wordlessly, and suddenly the slovenly teams that had tripped over gun ropes the day before were gone, replaced by a team of experts, furious at their ship being fired upon. I just stood there, staring at the glowing metal. It was the first time I'd ever seen an enemy shot.
It wasn't our fault - or their fault - that the other's had shot first. It was our captain, a stubborn man set in his ways. He believed that everything could be solved with a little diplomacy. I was now experiencing first-hand the outcome of that, when negotiating with trapped pirates.
A powder monkey shoved past me- the boy was younger than I, but far surer of himself. I'd been at sea scarcely two months, and the din was terrifying. As best as I can recall, that was the most frightening bit of it. There was noise, chaos, people running everywhere, and me just standing there, lost and helpless. But only until the starboard lieutenant spotted me.
"Mr Norrington, are you in position?" He bellowed. I knew I wasn't, and could only shake my head mutely, staring at the ball at my feet. "Well get there!" Was the command.
I looked sideways at the three guns under my charge. The men were all experienced sailors - lackadaisical, perhaps, but experienced. One of them glanced at me and the ball of shot and hollered for me to 'bring it 'ere'. Still dazed, I picked it up and carried it over. It felt just like any of our shot. I didn't even notice that I was taking orders from a man subordinate to me.
There wasn't much more time for me to wander about in a daze. The enemy fired again, and suddenly the order resounded from the quarterdeck, accompanied by the marine's drum.
"OPEN FIRE!"
My men didn't bother waiting for the order from me, personally. They knew what they were doing. I didn't. Then my awkward balance was upset as the ship rocked with the blast of a full broadside. I slammed into the lieutenant, who was passing. He scowled and righted me, with an irritated bark I couldn't translate. There was a funny rushing noise in my ears.
She - our ship - swung 'round, and I staggered. Larboard gave their broadside and I nearly went flying again. One of the gunners caught me. I don't know what the enemy had been doing, or truly how many there were (my sense of fore and aft was still out of balance then, let alone the positions ships in battle). But a deafening wall of sound shattered our hull.
It was like a nightmare. A boy was screaming, soundlessly, writhing against the wooden dagger that pinned him to the mast-base. Blood was gushing from a man's ears as he thrashed in mates' grips. Iron, wood, and some unidentifiables were floating through the air in a ghostly manner. My stomach was starting to heave.
And somehow, through it all, they were re-loading the guns. The lieutenant, stolid and unshaken, was still striding and bellowing. I felt like yelling at him, telling him it was pointless and stupid. But a third broadside rocked me off my feet. As my head made contact with the chilly, salted wood, sound and time re-asserted themselves.
I wished it hadn't. Before that day, I'd never heard a man scream in true agony. Before that day, I'd never seen a man's head explode when iron shot collided with it. Before that day, I had never watched a deck run red with blood. I was sick to my stomach, but couldn't puke, for fear. I didn't want anyone to know how I felt. How horrific I found it all. This was what I was supposed to do. The lieutenant - he didn't mind. I wasn't supposed to mind either. But I minded terribly.
We won the battle, but I never even thought of that. Men had died, four of them, and I'd seen all but one. And so many were injured. It was a surprise that more weren't, in my mind. The decks were stained, crimson and scarlet, fading to pink in the center of the ship, where the fewest had bled. The cold sea blew in through the gaping holes in the side, fighting the brave carpenter as he tried to patch them. Around me, all I could hear and see was the dying men, the awful screams. Yet through that filtered eerie sounds.
I was sitting on a gun, numb and shaking, white as snow. Around me, men were celebrating, their cheers of joy twisting in my ears. Men had died. And they danced. What sort of barbarians are we? I wondered that day. What sorts of barbarians do this?
Only later when I was crammed into my hammock amidships did I remember it was Christmas.