Beat to Quarters

Neither captain had expected the gale. It had come out of the northwest, lashing both ships with shrieking winds and raindrops the size of musket balls. The Prench ship was pressing Manticore hard, and was now close enough for every sailor to make out the smaller flag on its jackstaff. Scootaloo shivered at the sight of it, standing out against the grey sky like a drop of blood. A completely red flag, bearing no insignia. She remembered Octavia's grim statement to her, just before she was called to the gundeck.

That flag, miss Scootaloo, means that they'll not take prisoners. No quarter is to be given, and none is expected.

Scootaloo shivered violently and wiped her wet mane from her eyes.

Whooooom!

She felt the shock as a cannonball sliced through the rigging, mere feet from her and inches from the spar she was standing on. They were now within range of the enemy's bowchasers.

"Hard to starboard and run out the guns! We'll rake her across the bow!"

She heard the captain's magically amplified voice clearly over the howl of the winds, and felt the ship begin to turn through the heavy seas, sluggishly, due to the lack of canvas. Shoals had ordered them to reef nearly all her sails when the gale hit. The Prench ship, foolishly, had not, and had lost her topmasts in a strong gust. Looking back through the rigging, Scootaloo could see the foe attempting to match Manticore's turn, but not quite quickly enough.

"Fire!"

Manticore shivered and heaved violently as her starboard cannons roared at once. Scootaloo was nearly knocked from her perch, and windmilled her wings wildly in attempt to regain her balance. She managed to catch herself on a ratline and turned to peer through the smoke, trying to survey the damage to the enemy vessel.

As the haze blew away, she realized the captain's error. He'd hit the Prench ship, and the shot had done grievous damage, if the bloodsoaked decks were any indication. What he had also done, however, was lock the Manticore in irons, directly facing the hellacious wind. Their foe was still bearing down on them, and they had nowhere to go.

They're going to ram us.

Shoals had apparently realized this as well, and she heard him cursing at the helmscolt to come about. This was an impossible task; with no wind in the sails, the ship simply would not turn, regardless of the rudder.

They could only watch as the Prench ship bore down on them.

Celestia, they're gonna cut us in half...

At the last moment, however, their foe veered off to starboard, slipping deftly alongside them. A ripping broadside sent a hail of grapeshot whistling across the Manticore's deck. As soon as they fired, the Prench deck crew rose from behind the rail and began throwing ropes across to the Equestrian ship. Some throwers were hit by the marines in the rigging, but many found their mark and the iron grapnels were seated with sharp tugs.

"All crew... to the deck to... repel boarders!"

Scootaloo could see Shoals standing on the quarterdeck, clutching his left shoulder and holding a cutlass aloft with his flickering aura. He staggered and slumped to the deck with a groan. The helmscolt and deck crew were strewn about in piles, cut down by the lead hail. She hurried to the mast and slid down a stay line, hitting the deck at a trot, scurrying to the captain's side. She grabbed up an axe from a fallen marine, and held it awkwardly, scanning the deck through the haze. She could no longer hear anything above the wind and staccato tattoo of the rain.

She shivered again and sniffed back tears.

A figure appeared out of the haze amidships. He wore a blue-trimmed white jacket and a tricolor cockade decorated his hat.

Spotting her, he took aim with his musket. She winced and closed her eyes, waiting for the report.

All she heard was a click.

Her eyes flew open. The Prench marine's soaked powder had failed to ignite. He cursed and drew his saber. Beckoning to yet more marines behind him, he took one step forward.

"For the Queen!"

Octavia burst from the hatch to belowdecks, discharging a pistol with either hoof before throwing them aside and drawing her rapier. The rest of the gundeck crew followed suit, firing with their dry charges before rushing at the boarders with drawn steel. The Prench, unable to fire their own weapons, charged forward with no less ferocity.

Scootaloo found herself rushing into the fray, swinging her axe like she was chopping wood. The sights and sounds of the melee overwhelmed her senses, and she pushed them to the back of her mind. To her, every white uniform was just wood to be split, and she swung her weapon with reckless abandon. The fight became her whole world. Her muscles burned and screamed in protest, and she struggled to keep her weapon up and swinging. Every breath came as a ragged gasp, rainwater and sweat running down her face in rivulets.

After a few minutes of back-and-forth, the battle had reached the mast, where the outnumbered Equestrian sailors were putting up a tremendous fight against the Prench boarding party. Scootaloo found herself fighting next to Octavia, who she nearly didn't recognize. The lieutenant was spattered with gore from head to hooves, the only recognizable features being her ever-present bicorne hat and her lavender eyes. She ran through a marine who was attempting to bayonet her, twisting the rapier in his gut before placing her other hoof on his shoulder and wrenching it from his body. He fell to the deck with a wet thud. She gave Scootaloo a clap on her shoulder.

"Miss Scootaloo, there you are! I have an urgent request..."

She was interrupted by yet another Prench stallion, and she parried his blows until an Equestrian sailor got behind him and hit him hard with a belaying pin. She returned her gaze to Scootaloo as he fell.

"As I was saying. The cannons on the gundeck are loaded and run out. We'll hold them here, you get belowdecks and fire. Just run down the line of guns, pulling the cords on the breech. It's simple. Now, go!"

Octavia waved her off with a hoof and continued her swordplay as Scootaloo slipped and staggered her way back to the hatch. The rough seas and soaked deck conspired against her, but she finally made it, wrenching open the hatch and half-falling down the stairs to the gundeck.

She surveyed the room, long lines of stubby cannon on either side, punctuated by the masts boring down at intervals. She made her way to the starboard gunports, peering out at the Prench frigate, no more than a few yards away. Steeling herself, she took the firing cord in her teeth and stepped back, wrenching with her neck.

The gun jumped backwards with a massive report, and she heard the crash of timbers from the other ship.

No time to think about it, Scoots, gotta get the rest.

She hurried down the line, tugging on each cord, wincing at each blast, until she'd fired all sixteen. With her mission complete, she galloped back across the deck, charging up the stairs and out the hatch into the driving rain.

Her jaw dropped.

The Prench ship had apparently cut away their lines when she started firing, and was now listing crazily, whitecaps crashing over her deck and sweeping her crew into the black water. Scootaloo blinked back tears at the sight of them flailing madly and turned away, walking back to the mast. Octavia and the gundeck crew had the remnants of the boarding party at swordpoint. One of the Prench marines was weeping and gibbering in Prench, and Octavia slapped him with the flat of her sword.

"Be silent!"

She turned to Scootaloo, and gave her a weary smile.

"Very well done. You likely saved the Manticore with your actions. You may go below and sleep for as long as you need, on my authority."

As Octavia turned back to the rest of the crew, Scootaloo piped up.

"What are you going to do with them? The boarding party."

Octavia looked back over her shoulder and her face hardened.

"They'll be locked in the bilge until I can think of something. They requested no quarter, so that's more than they deserve."

Scootaloo nodded and carefully picked her way across debris-strewn and blood soaked deck. She staggered down the stairs to the gundeck, and fell forward into the first hammock she came across. She was asleep before she could swing her hind legs in.