At that point, sense, logic, and sanity abandoned ship. Good riddance. They were not going to help her now. She broke open another barrel and oil slopped over her boots, spreading across the deck.
Her first mate was dead, gutted by the cannonshot that’d ripped open starboard. The second mate had chanced the waves along with sense, logic, sanity and most of the crew. The Scorpion was unmanned, shot to hell, and entirely out of defenses. The masts were upright though, she squinted up at them through the noon sun. That was good.
With a crippled rudder they were stuck staring down a quarter of the royal navy with no where to go but straight at them. The flagship watched, its escort not far off. They were confident and waiting for surrender to fly.
She chuckled to herself, joke was on the prissy bastards. Her ship didn’t have a white flag onboard. The only thing The Scorpion would ever fly was red.
The few men left dropped back to deck from the rigging, their last task done. They stood, watching her unsure as oil seeped into the splintered deck below their boots.
“Get off if you want to die pretty.” She grinned at them with blood stained teeth. She gave them a mock salute with the flint knife. Her rictus smile widened as they took the invitation.
Alone with her ship a more sentimental Captain would have run her fingers over the railing, or taken one last wistful survey before setting a final course. She spat blood in the flagships direction and began sawing at jury rigged ties.
The flagship’s Captain watched The Scorpion sit in the water. It would be his shortly. Once they’d scrubbed the stink of the barbarians away and stripped the ungodly red color from the wood the quick vessel would make a fine addition to their fleet. He ordered his own ship to drop anchor, it would take time to fish the heathens out of the water and his prize wasn’t going anywhere.
“Captain?” The question came from his first mate a moment before the call sounded from the crow’s nest. The Scorpion‘s red sails unfurled, catching the strong wind. The splintered ship jumped forward, charging towards them like a javelin.
The Captain balked and stammered an order for evasive action. The barbarians had gone mad. His first mate screamed at the crew but the anchor was down and their sails were tight.
Steel flashed in the noon sun. The flagship’s Captain squinted towards the charging ship as his own men abandoned the ship. A single red coated figure aboard the enemy ship held up a knife and drew it against the wheel. The sparks caught. The Scorpion went up in flame.
The two ships collided with a scream of iron and wood, The Scorpion’s bowsprit impaled the larger ship, wrenching its deck apart and splintering the masts. The flagship’s Captain, pinned beneath tangled burning sails looked up to see red.