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Info
Title : Letter to the Singular Imperial Academy
Author :Neremsa
Translator :Prismal
Original : Lettre à la Singulière Académie Impériale
Brass Blade, Caribbean Sea - 18 Fructidor, Year XIII (September 4th, 1805), 13:14.
The ship, a brig or brigantine, cleaved the water, borne along by an auspicious wind at its back. It flew the English flag in pursuit of a ship flying the French flag. An ancient frigate refitted as a slave ship or merchant vessel. Such things were commonplace. The Brass Blade was faster, and rapidly gaining ground. In another thirty to forty minutes, Captain Godwill would give the order to hoist the black flag. He hesitated somewhat on the next step, sinking the French ship was likely the best move, even if it wasn't his usual practice. Yet, it was better to deprive the French of their sailors and ships than to leave any chance for them to take their revenge. The ex-frigate was more heavily armed than his brig, but the Brass Blade held the advantage in speed and mobility. It would be easy to remain in the French ship's blind spot and dismast it, leaving it immobilized. Boarding it would be riskier, as always, but a few well placed rounds of grapeshot would drastically thin the ranks of enemy sailors.
His instinct, however, told him that something was amiss.
Despite this, the merchant ship's behavior was perfectly ordinary. The French captain had spread more sail to gain speed once he noticed the Brass Blade in pursuit. Typical behavior, desperate, futile. There was nothing but open sea and the Frenchman's sails on the horizon. Very few clouds too, leaving no chance of escape.
Godwill wore a predatory smile. Even the instincts of a captain of the Royal Navy could be wrong from time to time.
"Mr. Radcliffe, give the word. Double rations of rum for the men tonight. This catch promises to be a good one."
"Aye, Captain."
Sanguine Rose, Caribbean Sea - 18 Fructidor, Year XIII (September 4th, 1805), 14:02.
"Thirty minutes, Captain?"
"Twenty, more than likely."
"They certainly are moving at a good pace."
"You have to admit, Monsieur de la Broche, we make a tempting prize for the roast beef."
"Privateer or pirate, in your opinion, Captain?"
"Black flag or not, Monsieur Roast Beef is flying English colors. That's good enough for me."
The two men shared a hearty laugh.
"Right, enough joking around. Give the word: man battle stations, but discretely. No drums, no shouts. I don't want Monsieur Roast Beef to suspect a thing. Keep the topmen looking disorganized for a little longer."
"Very good, Captain."
"Oh, and Monsieur de la Roche."
"Yes, Captain?"
" Tell the ship's engineer to stand by, we're going to test the little marvels of the Singular Imperial Academy today."
A wicked smile spread across the face of the first mate.
"Very good, Captain."
The Sanguine Rose was no merchant vessel. It was a Resistance class frigate, officially armed with thirty 24 pound canons and twenty 12 pound canons. It was a warship under the auspices of His Imperial Majesty.
And she'd been on the hunt from the start.
Brass Blade, Caribbean Sea - 18 Fructidor, Year XIII (September 4th, 1805), 14:12.
"Shall we hail them, Captain?"
"No need. Have the gunners prioritize targeting the Mainmast. We'll disable, then board her. And if she resists or revolts, like a damned French woman, we'll send her to the bottom. We'll be in firing range within ten minutes, be ready."
"Aye, Captain."
A sailor called out.
"Captain ! Their mainmast!"
Godwill grabbed his spyglass and aimed it towards the French ship, shortly followed by Radcliffe.
"A flag?"
"No Mr. Radcliffe. A warship's flame… That's no merchant vessel! Fire! Fire at will!”
Sanguine Rose, Caribbean Sea - 18 Fructidor, Year XIII (September 4th, 1805), 14:15.
"Ready to fire, Captain."
The English cannonballs whistled around the frigate. Few struck the ship's hull, The English captain had fired far too soon, wasting the first salvo of his bow canons. Giving him the chance to unleash his broadsides was out of the question."
"Amateur… Monsieur Gastotz, hard to starboard!"
"Aye, Captain!"
The Sanguine Rose veered sharply, while the entire crew clung to whatever they could. The loss of speed was brutal, but it allowed the ship to be positioned at the perfect angle.
"Cross his T, nice and easy. Monsieur de la Broche, fire!"
The arms of the Singular Imperial Academy sprang into action less than three seconds later.
And hell descended upon the English.
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