It was almost midday by the time Lesley had reached the ship, his brown hair and long

black coat billowed with the light breeze that greeted him as he stepped onto the sandy shores with his tall leather boots. A sleek, black schooner stood before him. The Stiletto, as she was called, was about one hundred meters long from bow to stern with a four-meter bowsprit and no figurehead. She had only two decks as well as two masts but she stood a tall thirty meters from her base. Stilettos black bow glistened in the sun as Lesley gave her a last look before marching up the gangplank to meet the first officer. Stiletto creaked and groaned as Lesley boarded her, as if greeting the able bodied seaman. Shes ready, Captain. Commander Chevalier, said approaching Lesley. An Englishman with a French father, Commander Jean (or John) Chevalier was a brilliant military officer who rose through the naval ranks in his prime; within the regiments he was considered a prodigy. A well-kept man, dressed in a French officers uniform, long brown hair tied together by a matching blue ribbon. Excellent Commander, said Lesley with a smile. He watched as the last of the provisions was hauled onto Stilettos deck before the deckhands began to bring it below deck. Wed be nowhere without your help. Was your trip ashore productive, Captain? asked the commander, his proper military stature completely apparent as he stood with his hands behind his back, spine almost completely straight. Its good to see youre loosening up Commander, Lesley clasped him on the shoulder, before turning about and strutting below deck to his cabin. Inside the cabin, Lesley replaced his hat upon his head and fastened his belt upon his waist before returning to the deck. From the aft deck, Lesley called out over the ship, All hands make ready to sail! Haul out the cutter and mainsails! As soon as the words left his mouth, fifteen men scrambled around the deck and climbed amongst the yardarms and furled the long sails. Raise colours and haul anchor! Lesley continued, his orders repeated by the Commander. Within minutes, Stiletto was moving through the winding fjord towards open sea. Her magnificent body weaved in and out of the complex fjord, gracefully as if effortless. The calm blue water licked at her hull as she cut through it, barely pitching at all in the water, smoothly caressing her sides as she passed by. Had she been a larger vessel, such movements would have been impossible and she would have smashed on the rocks before ever reaching the deep inland ports. Lesley opened up a pocket watch from his coat pocket. A pattern of ivy leaves surrounding a small ruby was embedded into the covering. Thirty minutes had passed, since the wind had fully filled the sails and Stiletto had only just come into view of the open Atlantic. The next three days passed by quickly. Stiletto had good wind and was on a run, making for Santiago. Given Marques by the Governor of Port Royale, Stiletto and her able-bodied crew were all privateers of the British Royal navy running along the hottest line of the Spanish Main, stealing gold in the name of King George and to increase funding for Great Britains war with France and Spain. Meaningless to

Stilettos simple sailors, but ex-militants like the Commander could still make a living, keeping themselves in a place of honour and on the right side of the law. They would even get to see some action from time to time as they progressed through the starting and stopping of the wars. The biggest benefit was that Stilettos crew would still have work throughout the awkward political situations. As the days progressed, Stilettos crew spent most of their time keeping their beloved vessel in check; the cabins cleaned, the rigging sturdy and taught throughout the journey. When they werent working, the crewmen would drink and sing sea shanties, while Stiletto carved through the water like a hot knife through soft butter. Fifty degrees North Latitude Lesley muttered to himself. He shot Polaris again and scribbled a few notes on a parchment hed rested on the eight-pounder in front of him. Steady course, Mr. Chevalier. Lesley lowered his sextant. Sir! Replied the Commander, before saluting, Vessel off the port bow! Spanish Galleon sir! Lesley gave a wide grin. Our first catch of the day. Briskly, the Captain moved to the bow and produced a spyglass. The galleon ahead was heavy and low in the water. Fresh pay dirt. He then turned to his beloved Stiletto and returned to his quarters. Carefully he loaded himself down with five small flintlock pistols two daggers and his trusty blade, a small sword, a long straight, but thin blade, which he favoured over others due to its versatility. Last, Captain picked up a four-pronged grappling hook before marching out onto the deck. Take us in steady Mr. Chevalier, and have Mr. Mason prep the crew and powder the guns. Captain Lesley said, almost muttering. Well come up on their starboard quarter and loose two port broadsides before throwing our hooks and boarding them. The Commander walked up to the helmsman on the aft deck and whispered the orders into his ear, then proceeded below decks to speak to Bjorn Mason, the quartermaster. Stiletto closed in quickly and smoothly. The Commander had already hoisted flags of neutrality, but the captain and the rest of Stilettos men were hidden or below deck. Stiletto creaked by the other ship. The crew of the Galleon looked over the sides curiously, seeing no one on the ship passing by them. The helm, the crows nest, the rigging, no one was on Stiletto as she creaked by gently. But just as Stiletto passed by the mid-section of the Galleon the Captain shouted, Open fire! Ten eight-pound cannons open fired on the rather confused Spanish Galleon. Huge gaping holes appeared in the Galleons sides as planks and splinters flew everywhere, impaling unsuspecting Spanish gunners and other able bodied seamen. Bjorn Mason, the quartermaster shouted an order to load the guns, as the gunners began to reload the cannons with their eight-pound cast iron balls. Fire! Lesley called out again, waving his small sword in the air. Another round of eight-pound cannonballs tore through the Galleons hull, ripping through the decks and smashing cannons, men and all manner of splintered wooden objects. Weve got them!

Quartermaster Mason pointed his own long sword across the Galleons deck and ordered. Clear those decks, men! Four small swivel guns mounted on Stilettos deck fired grape shots across the deck of the Galleon, splintering bone and hurling men backwards over the side, or to the deck floor, dead. As the black-powdered smoke cleared, Captain Rowland threw his own fourpronged grappling hook over the edge, giving a loud cry. His crew, not needing to be told twice to hurl their own hooks across the shrinking gap between Stiletto and the Galleon, before going crazy and letting loose on what remained of the Galleons crew. If anything Lesley learned about his privateer-ing during his last four years until the flag, it was that there is no misunderstanding between pirates and raiding. Captain Rowland, Lieutenant Chevalier and Mr. Mason, looked on over the port side as the rest of Stilettos crew were let completely off the leash, jumping and swinging over to the Galleon, wildly swinging their swords around and putting bullets barbarically into various parts of the Galleon and its crew, now completely in a panic and fearful for their lives. After what felt like hours, but was merely minutes, the madness began to calm down. Lesley took his turn and swung over to the Galleon and made his way below deck to the Captains quarters. The interior of the Galleon, named San Casilda was incredibly intricate. Her walls were lined with golden trim and besides the carnage wreaked by Stilettos neanderthal crew; the ship had a strong presence of class. Captain Rowland, upon realizing this would not have been surprised if hed raided a Royal Galleon, but it didnt particularly matter. Lesley reached into his pocket and clutched the rolled up parchment within his coat, his letter of Marque, his license to kill. The Captain shook the thought from his mind. He wrenched open a drawer to the Captains desk and rummaged around it for documents. Exactly whered he expected to find them, Captain Rowland pulled out the papers documenting the San Casildas cargo and destination. What Lesley did not expect to find was a letter with the seal of the Governor of San Domingo. Lesleys Spanish was not very good, but he managed to interpret a request for troops. The captain assumed it was to stage an attack on a British colony, perhaps even Port Royale. Currently, England did not have the forces to fend off such an attack due to their war on the home front with the French. Captain Rowland muttered a small prayer of thanks to whatever Deity might be listening and granted him this boon, before returning to the deck. Order had replaced the chaos, and the looting was under way. Upon reappearing above deck, Mr. Mason informed the Captain of a very good catch. San Casilda was indeed laid low with gold, no doubt a tribute to Santiagos Governor in his request for extra troops. This would keep the men happy, a full thirty percent to Stiletto and her crew of each plundered ship and free reign over any munitions or supplies that might cross them. With a larger payroll, the crew was paid more and would have more to live off of when they ended their life of organized crime. Rounded and tied to the mainmast, a small group of nine Spaniards were wounded and captured, some of the crew, eyeing them rather eagerly, craving more blood and

awaiting the Captains orders. Some were wounded; others were lucky enough to be in one piece. Do we sink them sir? asked one of the crew. Captain said nothing, but looked over the motley bunch before him. An apparent officers uniform caught Lesleys attention. He wasnt fancy enough to be a captain, perhaps a first officer or a boson. Lesley stood before him and looked him over. The officer had a wound in his left shoulder and it looked like a splinter was caught in his right leg. He was shouting obscenities in Spanish to Lesley. He knelt down and put his hand on the officers shoulder. Lesley didnt say a word, and the officer began to cry. Not a monster, but a soldier, Lesley called to his trusted surgeon, Dr. Barker. Patch this man up and release their crew. Captain said lowly, Give them two weeks of provisions. That should see them to Santiago. Captain Rowland then took the oil lamp hanging from the mainmast and broke it on the deck in front of the men. Firstly, I am a human being. Said the Captain to the officer, with no knowledge of whether he was understood or not, Secondly, I am a soldier. The Captain threw the Spanish dispatch into the flames, before snuffing out the fire. He turned to the Commander, Finish loading up the gold. Well make for Port Royale and end this voyage. But Captain, replied Chevalier, Were not due to make port for another six months. Lesley flared at the Commander, I said we are ending this voyage! Ive been captaining this vessel for four years and I want to see land! The Commander was taken aback at the Captains sudden change of attitude, usually aloof and collected. The Captain crossed the plank back to his beloved Stiletto and locked himself in the cabin. Nearly twelve days after taking the San Casilda, Stiletto had turned into the Windward Passage, the final leg of the journey to Port Royale. The Captain had long since left his office having calmed down from the last battle. He and Jean had a long conversation four days after the battle, in which the Captain emerged at long last from his quarters. Lesley stood at Stilettos bow, a spyglass clutched in his hand as he looked out over the open sea. The wind brushed against his face as Stiletto cut her way through the water, finally on her journey home. From the crows nest, the lookout called Vessel off the starboard bow! Captain Rowland raised his spyglass to his eye and peered through it. Sure enough there was huge vessel heading south along the Windward Passage, her flag a very proud, drapeau tricolore, French. Ignore them. Said the Captain, We are hunting no more ships. Slow her down and let her get ahead, just get us into Port Royale without incident. Stilettos sails unfurled, and her speed decreased slowly. Almost as it were coordinated, like the theatre, no sooner had Stiletto dropped speed, the French vessel came about. Lesley took fair warning and gathered his officers to him.

They may be turning for an attack, muttered the quartermaster, They are French after all The commander shook his head, If we keep out neutral flag, then no one will even know. If we are boarded, we can communicate and avoid a conflict. Lesley nodded. Looks like well have to remain cautious. He nodded to Mason, Prepare the guns just in case. Then he turned to Jean, Ill leave it to you to ensure they feel welcome. As Lesley had predicted, The French vessel made their approach towards Stiletto. You are flying neutral flags! To which Empire do you belong? From the stern of the Vessel, the French Captain, in a neat Uniform was calling out through a megaphone. We are owned by East India Company and have no political affiliates! Returned Captain Rowland, through his own megaphone. By the Authority of his majesty King Louis XIII, we shall board your vessel and inspect your cargo! Lesley shouted his acknowledgement to comply with the Frenchs request and immediately sought out his first officer. Remember, be polite. He said, clasping the officer on the back. We dont know what they really want. Within moments, the decks were swarming with French riflemen. Stilettos crew looked around nervously. The commander was talking on the deck with the French Captain in rapid French. What is the meaning of this inspection? asked Captain Rowland, making his appearance above deck and approaching the French Captain. This ship and its cargo are now the property of his majesty King Louis. He drew his own rapier and held it under Chevaliers chin. Captain, you and your crew are under arrest for crimes against the French Empire. The Captain sighed and turned to Jean. See what happens when we are nice? Mr. Chevalier nodded. Of course Captain, as always your ability to avoid a conflict is uncanny. Without a second thought, Captain Rowland had drawn one of his many pistols and pulled the trigger, firing an iron ball into the face of the French Captain, black powder and soot covered the sides of the Captains face as he fell to the ground dead. Both Stilettos crew and the French soldiers stared at Lesley completely stunned. There was a brief pause. What the hell are you all staring at!? yelled the Captain, Fire! Port broadside! Stilettos gun ports opened and Mr. Mason let loose a broadside off of Stilettos port side, riddling the French Frigate full of holes. On that signal, Stilettos crew drew the blades and pistols, fiercely retaliating, each man hacking and blasting their way through French Soldiers in order to free their home from these invaders. As the fighting began, more French soldiers worked their way up to the decks of the frigate and began to fire at Stiletto. Cut us loose! Called Captain Rowland. Get us out of here! Commander Chevalier tossed the French gangplanks into the sea below and cut the lines keeping Stiletto grappled to the Frigate. Broadside! the Captain called again, Broadside!

Mason set loose the cannons again; ten individual blasts ran out into the air, tearing the hull of the frigate to shreds. However, no sooner had the frigate been cut loose, the French let loose a broadside off their starboard cutting into Stilettos belly like a knife, shattering sections of her hull and rocking her to the side. French cannonballs smashed through her wooden skeleton and broke cannons as well as men and boxes of cargo. Keep moving! Shouted Lesley, Get us out of here! The Commander turned to the Captain, Captain we need to get into British waters. Only then will we be able to drive them off! He lifted his head over the railing and fired a shot over the side, striking a French rifleman in the chest. We can outrun her sir, but not fight. Shes too big! Were overpowered! The Captain nodded in agreement. The sooner we get to Port Royale, the sooner we get out of this mess. He broke from the cover of Stilettos railings and made a dash for the main mast. Full sail! he called out, We need to make Port Royale! Bullets and cannonballs flew through the air. Stiletto was finally gaining some distance and couldnt be broadsided by the Frigate anymore, but the smaller arms fire and the swivel guns on Stilettos stern were still firing at each other. As the Frigate finally began to shrink into the distance, the lookout called out. Vessel off the starboard bow! Its English Captain! Captain Rowland rushed to the bow and looked through his own spyglass at the approaching vessel. Sure enough, the red ensign flew from atop her main mast and her stern, a twelve-gunned Snow, small, but just a satisfactory size for an escort that Captain Rowland was looking for. Stiletto approached the Snow eagerly, like meeting a long lost friend, after being separated for years. As they drew closer however, the Snow fired a warning shot across Stilettos bow. HMS Stiletto! By the order of his Majesty King Charles, you are hereby ordered to be hanged for your crimes against the crown of engaging in piracy! By this authority we order you to surrender! With these words, Captain Rowland felt something break inside of him. Piracy? Hed been following orders of his majesty the King for the last four years . After all his service and the service of his crew, his own country had abandoned and betrayed him. The Captain turned about and looked at his men. All of them, including Mason, Barker and Chevalier were staring in disbelief. They were now all looking to their Captain to what to do. Lesley didnt have time to think, but he knew he needed to run. Captain? asked the Commander, What do we do? Im not your Captain anymore, said Lesley, Weve been abandoned by the Empire, so were free men! This ship has been our home for the past four years, said Dr. Barker, We, the crew of The Stiletto are loyal to you. Lesley cracked a smile. Then we run! We make for the nearest port and run! he drew his letter of Marque from his pocket and tossed it over the side. Starboard broadside and full sail! Theyll have to work for their hanging!

The French Frigate was closing in on the port and the British Snow on the Starboard. The wind was not in Stilettos favour, but that would mean that they could still shake the Frigate. If she could manage to outrun the Frigate and cripple the Snow, Stiletto would have no trouble making her way to a Pirate port somewhere along the Gulf of Honduras in Mexico. A long, arduous journey to be sure, but if they could survive the battle, she just might make it to the shore. Mason let loose a starboard broadside, decimating the Snows port hull, and took off in the opposite direction before the French Frigate could turn to fire her guns on the rogue Stiletto. She raced as fast as she could towards the open waters, but the Snow had already regained themselves and the smaller vessel had already turned about and was catching up fast. Keep them busy! called Lesley to Bjorn. Sir! He acknowledged, Ready another starboard broadside! Meanwhile, Lesley worked his way up the rope ladders to the tattered mainsail and began to make shoddy, makeshift patchwork to gain more speed on his beloved vessel. Below the decks, Jean did his best to cover up crucial holes in Stilettos hull, while the good doctor provided some relief to the victims of the Frenchs broadside. She loosed another broadside to the Snow, letting off several individual bursts of black powder taking another bite out of the Snows hull, as she began to race faster and faster. Almost there, almost free. Captain! Theyre turning about! called the lookout. Lesley crawled into the crows nest and peered once again through the lookouts spyglass. The Snow was turning back and the Frigate was nowhere to be seen. He breathed a sigh of relief. Safe at last he muttered to himself. But as he began to climb back down the main mast, the lookout called again. Captain! Vessel! Dead ahead! Lesley dashed to Stilettos bow once more. A spyglass was no longer needed. Positioned perfectly in the water, guns aimed directly at Stiletto, was a Royal, First Class, Ship of the Line. Equipped with near one hundred-twenty guns, six decks and a crew big enough to rival a small army, these ships were the pride of Englands Royal Navy. Keep going! Lesley called out to the helmsman, We can easily slip passed! The Frigate, Captain! The Snow too! The lookout called down to the Captain, Theyre coming up on our stern! Were trapped! Lesley wheeled around and made a dash for the stern. Looking out over the railing, he could plainly see the British Snow and the French Frigate tailing Stiletto on both the starboard and port stern, and the Ship of the Line was getting closer and closer by the minute. Hard to starboard! Called Lesley, We can slip through the space between the Frigate and the Ship of the Line! If we dont get out were all dead! Stiletto creaked and groaned as she made a hard right turn, a desperate last attempt at freedom. In only a few moments, the Ship of the Line would be in range and thered be no chance of Stilettos survival.

Just as Stiletto had pulled into the turn, the small Snow came about also. The smaller vessel let loose a broadside of chain shots. It wheeled through the air and ripped through Stilettos aft mast, crippling her speed and turn. Jean and Bjorn met Lesley on the deck. Were lost Captain said Bjorn, without that mast well crash right into the Ship of the Line. I will not let this crew be hung unjustly for simply following orders! Shouted Lesley, Prep the guns Bjorn! We put our lives on the line for this navy! Now were going to show them what were worth! Despite knowing that Stiletto hadnt the power to take on three ships, or even a Ship of the Line on its own, Lesley believed that if Stiletto were going to die, then she would have one of the most glorious deaths a ship of the Royal Navy could ask for. Full broadside! Lesley cried out. At once, Twenty-four guns open fired on all sides of Stiletto, breaking holes in the Ship of the Line and tearing further into the Frigates hull, bringing the vessel to its knees. The Frigate broke off her attack and turned away from the fight, but it was immediately replaced by the Snow. Full broadside! Lesley called again, drawing his sword and waving it in the air like a banner, Fire! Again, Stiletto became encircled with black smoke as she let out one of her fiercest cries, pelting the Snow with her heavy eight-pounders, causing her to heave and pitch, taking on water and slowly begin to sink into the blackness beneath the shimmering blue. The Ship of the Line was riddled with small holes and a few awful breaks in the hull, but in other places, only dents and dings. Her gun ports opened, aimed at Stilettos deck. Its been an honour to have fought beside you all! called Lesley, May we all find a more peaceful life in the next! Goodbye my friends! The Ship of the Line opened fired. Sixty guns went off in a uniformed pattern from Bow to stern shredding through Stilettos hull, ripping through her sails, breaking her last mast in several places. Stiletto began to sink and took in more and more water as her body became penetrated over and over again with cannonballs. None of the crew made a sound as she sank, nor as the cast-iron balls tore through their friends and home. A final cannonball smashed into Stilettos armoury. In a fantastic ball of fire, and splinters, Stiletto was gone. Aboard the Ship of the Line, Commodore Mathew OBrian looked out over the carnage hed caused. One hand was in the pocket of his military coat. While it looked like he had his hand over his heart, paying respects to the brave souls whod sacrificed themselves on the Snow, the Commodore was actually gripping a letter of Marque dated twenty years ago.