Author Topic: The Battle of Point Sable  (Read 744 times)


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The Battle of Point Sable
« on: April 27, 2018, 09:54:02 PM »
The first dull crack of the cannon slashes through the early-morning darkness, rending the air like a whip or a knife. Ranging shots splash into the water, and then the skies over the Baie turn crimson as flares rocket upwards from the Covenant ships, leaving smoky, twisting trails behind them. The cannons boom and blast as the Dementlieuse fleet, long rotting at its anchor, forms a long column under the cover of the heavy batteries on the University promontory, blasting and screaming their defiance at the fleet that remains as yet out of their reach.

The Dementlieuse fleet, the blazing tower of the Council streaming proudly from their mastheads, now turns and forms a long spearhead, thrusting at the far end of the Covenant lines. Cannons thunder as after all the long months of frustrated inaction they finally get to rend with tooth and claw the taunting adversaries. The initial blasts turns two Covenant gunboats to kindling; the commanders of the rest of the patrol turn to flee, but lose another gunboat to the cannonfire. A magazine explodes, making a spectacular fireball against the background of the smoky night. The Covenant fleet, stung by the Council's fire, draws back--into a great, rough circle, dodging and weaving through the rocks and choppy waves of the Baie. The Dementlieuse fleet, frustrated in their attempt to pierce the line, nevertheless sails bravely at them, and finds itself picking away on the outside of the circle, trading body blows with the great warships of the Covenant.

Her mainsail in tatters, the Dementlieuse flagship turns, pivoting. Her mainmast has fallen across her stern and the rigging has fouled her rudder. Her men clinging to the rails or diving into the sea, she rams the Chevalier de Fouilly amidships... and both ships explode in a single massive fireball, hurling dust and debris for miles. The Dementlieuse fleet, bravely, dive into the gap created by the explosion, piercing the circle, pouring into the gap piecemeal. Once inside, however, they are struck by withering fire from both sides. A few smaller ships simply disintegrate and begin slipping beneath the waves; others trade fire with the Covenant, their soldiers white-knuckled and pale-faced, sure that this is their valiant last stand. Suddenly, from the mists and fog behind the encircled fleets comes a host, a flotilla, a virtual swarm of small craft, some ramshackle, some yachts, some rafts with a sail. What they all are is crammed to the gills with men in motley clothing, gripping weapons with deadly intent as they flock in towards the unfought side of the Covenant craft. And leading them, standing athwart a dinghy with her hands on her hips, is a small blonde woman with a red sash tied proudly about her waist.

The newcomers swarm up the side of the Estinhan, one of the largest Covenant ships in the Baie. They swarm in through cannon-ports, windows, over the sides, and through the railings. The Covenant troops turn to fight but they are annihilated, and several other vessels seem similarly plagued, even as the remnants of the Dementlieuse fleet are pounded mercilessly into submission, splinters and shrapnel thrown into the sky. It becomes all too clear, however, that the Council fleet has fought to the bitter end, and the blazing tower slowly slips beneath the waves, only a few ships putting up sporadic resistance as the Covenant fleet break their lines and move to board. And meanwhile, the Estinhan... turns, raises sail, and heads out for open sea.

A thick fog begins to roll across the Baie, slowly shrouding the floating flotsam and jetsam that remains of the Council's attack, the rigid and unyielding shapes of the surviving Covenant ships, and the billowing white sails of the Estinhan disappearing over the horizon. When the fog lifts, late in the day, the sea is strewn with bobbing and floating bits of debris. A mighty blow has been struck against the Covenant fleet--a half-dozen ships small and large destroyed, a warship stolen, and others damaged--but the Council's fleet is utterly destroyed. Many men wash up on the beaches, their forms strewing the strand, some alive, most not, all bearing the marks of violent death or the bloated, gasping horror of drowning. And as the dark shapes--fewer, perhaps, but now unopposed--settle in their chain across the horizon, the people of the City begin to wonder if all the fury and defiance in the world might not save them from their steadily-approaching fate. And from the East, marching in steely crimson ranks, come the soldiers of the Covenant. For the first time, those who dare to climb the city walls see campfires twinkling in the distance. The siege has come to Port-a-Lucine, and an uncertain future awaits.
« Last Edit: April 28, 2018, 10:51:31 AM by Arawn »
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