Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat

by Garrett Bettencourt

  John’s posture straightened. His tears dried in the warm air. “Name it, Da.”

  Declan’s eyes were hard as flint. “Your countrymen, your sister, and that bonnie lass you love—you get them home. You hear, son? Get them home.”

  A fire ignited in John’s chest. The strength of renewed purpose coursed through his veins. “I will. I swear it. Captain.”

  “Don’t be sad, loves.” Declan took a few steps back and gave them a broad smile. “I’m going home to my Nora.” And with that, Captain Declan Sullivan started toward the south boom tower.

  John tugged his sister’s arm, and they were soon shoving off in the jolly boat. As they floated away from the dock, they watched their father hobble toward the powder magazine. He was whistling an Irish sea shanty.

  ###

  The gates burst from their hinges. Dozens of boots pounded onto the wharf—a swarm of angry pirates and soldiers sprinting for the south boom tower. Declan Sullivan hobbled the last few steps to the open door. There was a pyramid of kegs stacked where he left them outside the powder magazine, and he pulled the lid off one. He held the torch over the ten pounds of black powder. There were countless barrels of the stuff still inside, and every one would go up the moment his torch ignited the open cask. The mob poured through the gates in a flood, fanning out along the harbor. Most of them were pounding toward Declan, scimitars, dirks, and cudgels raised in the air. Several Janissaries at the front fired pistols, but their shots went wide. Even if a shot landed, it wouldn’t change what was about to happen.

  Declan looked over his shoulder. John was helping Kaitlin out of the jolly boat and onto the deck of the stolen ship. Over the topgallant sails, Declan could see the distant figure of Varlick Naim. The man who had tormented his family. Tried to break him. A man who would consume the world with his hate. But he was going to fail. Declan knew that with all his heart. His children were strong. Stronger than he and Nora could have imagined. His son and daughter ran to the bow of the Barbary ship, which was only moments away from drifting into the boom. He turned back to the mob of pirates, only twenty yards away now. In a matter of seconds, they would be on him.

  The pirate at the head of the crowd raised his scimitar. Declan smiled to himself, a man staring at an angry mob about to tear him apart. A man with not a care in the world.

  Because, Declan wasn’t looking at the stampede of armed men. He was looking at her.

  “Nora, my heart. I’m coming home.”

  Declan closed his eyes.

  He opened his hand.

  The torch fell.

  ###

  The night sky lit up with a blinding flash. The thunder of the blast shook the earth, trembled the timbers of the ship, roared across the water. Stone blocks were thrown into the sky. The south boom tower crumbled, it’s foundations blown apart in a blaze of fire. John had to look away from the heat. Then the flames darkened into black smoke. The last of the debris plunked into the harbor. The barrier of chain sank to the bottom, screeching and thrashing like a slain sea serpent. With seconds to spare, the Wolf of Tunis sailed safely over the sunken boom.

  John looked over his shoulder towards the other tower. On the rooftop, the silent figure of Varlick Naim watched the ship drift out onto the lake. For a moment, John’s bitter enemy looked on silently, his crossbow leveled as if to fire. John met his gaze with boiling hatred. The crossbow lowered, too far out of range now. Varlick Naim turned away from the parapet and receded into the night.

  Kaitlin’s arms circled around John as they watched the blaze on the receding docks. He held her close as she sobbed. He fought back his own tears, bearing his grief in silence. The Wolf of Tunis sailed into the open lake. Buford stood, beefy arms folded, eyes squinting toward the dying blaze. Thomas Keene and the other sailors on the deck took off their hats or made the sign of the cross. Ethan bowed his head in silent prayer.

  Sparks danced on the wind. John and Kaitlin shared the same loss. The loss of the man who took them on adventures. Taught them about the sea. Showed them how to do good in the world.

  With his final act on Earth, Declan Sullivan set his children free.

  Chapter 53

  The Lake Fort

  Fortified Docks

  Tuesday, September 13th, 1803

  Day 4, Near Midnight

  Cannonballs howled through the air. Dominique Dufort wiped sweat from her eyes and poured powder into another musket. The Lake Fort guns lobbed shots at dozens of ketches circling near the docks. The defenders on the walls rarely hit a target in the darkness. The only light on the water came from enemy deck lamps and muzzle flashes. Ryland’s gun crews saved their ammo, only aiming at the ships trying to sail between the fortifications. The strategy kept pirates from landing in the dockyard but allowed them to roam free on the island.

  Most of the Allegheny survivors were on the walls, locked in a melee with troops climbing up siege ladders. At the foot of the gatehouse, a group of sailors braced the massive doors against the strikes of a battering ram. In the noise of screaming men and gunfire, Dominique could barely think.

  The ramrod scraped as Dominique pulled it out of the musket. Her ears still rang from Aubert’s punch hours ago. Dust ran from her nose in a constant drip. Her lungs burned with smoke. There was no choice but to work. Prime the pan. Ram home wadding, powder, and ball. Slide ramrod back into the channel. Hand off the weapon. Start again.

  “Musket ready!” Dominique yelled, handing the weapon to a Marine at the ramparts.

  “Dom, reload!” Melisande called.

  Dominique took Melisande’s empty rifle and handed her one of the reloads.

  Melisande took the fresh musket and aimed over the walls with predatory focus. Her muzzle aimed straight down. She fired and blasted another pirate off his ladder. The men standing shoulder to shoulder with her had no idea they were fighting beside a woman. As Dominique watched her sister, covered in soot and fighting as hard as any of them, she couldn’t deny a feeling of pride.

  Crash!

  Another impact of the battering ram on the gates below.

  “Avast, men!” bellowed Ryland as he commanded the defenders at the gatehouse. “More bracing planks. Look alive!”

  Several sailors jogged to Ryland with boards salvaged from the docks. The crew nailed them to the buckling gate, but it was a losing battle. With each new thrust of the ram, another crack appeared in the doors. Dominique searched the darkness across the lake, desperate for any sign.

  She rammed another musket ball into a rifle barrel. Sully, where are you?

  A parapet exploded. Shards of stone stung her body. A Marine slammed into her, and they both went tumbling off the wall. Dominique shrieked and caught the edge, dangling by one hand. The Marine thudded on the docks twenty feet below her, blood spreading out from his head. She grabbed on with both hands, but her fingers were slipping.

  “Gotcha!” Melisande caught each of Dominique’s forearms, her feet braced against the ledge. “Hang on, Dom.”

  “Melly,” cried Dominique. “Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t.” Melisande’s blue eyes were hard as glaciers. She pulled with all her might, helping Dominique back up.

  Crash!

  The gate splintered apart. As Dominique scrambled back onto the wall, she saw a flood of Nizam-I Djedid and Barbary Pirates pouring through, sabers and scimitars swinging.

  “The gate is breached!” cried Ryland. “Alleghenies, mass at the gate! Alleghenies, mass at the gate!”

  Half the Marines and sailors on the walls abandoned their posts. Those on the ground met the flood of enemies with dirks, cutlasses, or hatchets. Melisande went down and joined the fray, war club and dagger flying. A fog fell over Dominique’s exhausted mind. Men cut and hacked at one another. Their bodies were pressed close in the space under the gatehouse. There was no heroic swordplay. With enemies crushed up against each other, they sawed or stabbed at any piece of flesh they could find. Distantly, Dominique knew this was the end.

&nb
sp; “You need a lesson in proper respect,” seethes Aubert. His hands are like daggers digging into her flesh. She feels at once terrified and hurt—she can’t understand why he’s doing this to her. “If you will not humble yourself, then I will humble you.”

  Dominique’s eyes drifted to a pistol lying at her feet. Ten strides away, Djedid soldiers were climbing over the crenelations. Marines charged to meet them, but they were being overwhelmed as more came up the ladders. Dominique picked up the pistol. She kept seeing Aubert’s mad eyes as he forced himself on her. If it could be so awful at the hands of her own husband, how much worse at the hands of the pirates? Dominique pressed the muzzle of the pistol against her heart. A Djedid soldier ran a Marine through with his scimitar, then turned toward her. She moved her thumb to the trigger. A tear ran down her cheek. She began to squeeze.

  Cannon fire roared through the night. Shots screamed all around the fort. But they didn’t land in the docks. To Dominique’s amazement, impacts exploded across the shores beyond the walls. She looked over the parapet and saw the attackers being torn apart. They fell under a rain of broken ladders and severed limbs. Dominique looked out past the docks. Muzzle flashes lit up the graceful hull of the Wolf of Tunis. The bey’s flagship continued firing on the attackers outside the walls.

  Oars splashed in the water. Three boats were rowing into the docks. Standing on the bow of the lead vessel was John Sullivan, his blue midshipman’s jacket blowing in the breeze. When the boats reached the shallows, he jumped out and splashed through the water. Several men in ragged slaves’ clothes were standing amidships, firing muskets at the invaders breaching the gatehouse.

  “Sully!” cried Dominique. A hand seized her hair and dragged her back. She screamed and found a Djedid glowering down at her. She cocked the pistol, twisted around to face him, and pressed the muzzle to the man’s stomach. She fired.

  The igniting powder burned her hand. Blood poured hot over her trigger finger. Her attacker’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

  Dominique ran down the stairs and onto the docks. Ryland yelled for all hands to get into the boats. The Allegheny sailors and Marines splashed through the surf and climbed over the gunwales, firing parting shots as they went. John was at the edge of the water, ushering men past him. He ducked a slash from a pirate and ran the enemy through with his rapier. She was running toward him, but he didn’t see her.

  John turned in Dominique’s direction. Their eyes locked. For a single heartbeat, all motion stopped. He raised his pistol at her. She froze. He fired, and she flinched. A body dropped behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see a pirate dead at her feet, taken by John’s shot. She jumped off the docks and sloshed through the shallow water. John dashed to meet her and swept her into his arms.

  “Dom,” he said. “You’re safe.”

  “Sully.” Dominique heard the quaver in her own voice. “You came back.”

  “I told you I would.”

  John whisked her away by the hand. He lifted her over the rail of the boat, and she crowded in with a mass of bedraggled sailors. The last of the defenders climbed aboard. Only John remained in the surf, firing his pistol into the crowd splashing toward them. The boats paddled backward into the lake. John took a running jump and hurdled over the gunwale.

  As the three boats rowed out of the fortified harbor, the seventy-two remaining survivors of the Allegheny aboard, corsairs swarmed into the dockyard like ants over a carcass. They traded a few more shots with the evacuees, but none struck home. When the boats were at a safe distance and rowing for the stolen frigate, John settled down beside Dominique at the bow.

  The sounds of the battle faded. Musket fire died away. Swords ceased to ring. She heard only the slosh of oars, the moans of the wounded, and the whispering of survivors. Her eyes adjusted to the starlight, and she looked into John’s eyes.

  She held his hand with a death grip.

  Chapter 54

  The Palace of the Bey

  The City of Tunis

  Wednesday, September 14th, 1803

  Day Five, Dawn

  The mosques, minarets, and crowded blocks of Tunis cut a sharp silhouette in the darkness. As the minutes passed, the lake beyond the city skyline bloomed into existence. Beyond a thin strip of land at the far border of the lake, the Mediterranean took on the pale blue of mountain flowers. Varlick Naim watched the stars wink out one by one. His hands gripped the stone rail of the balcony as he looked east, toward the light of dawn. A fresh breeze carried the scent of the palace gardens and the distant sea. These precious few moments, hovering between the long night and the new day, had always been his favorite. A time of rapture.

  The boots of a soldier tapped on the marble floor of the banquet hall. Naim didn’t bother to look up. The footfalls stopped at the towering glass door, which was open to the balcony. He caught the scent of Isitan’s shaving oil. For a moment, the only sound was the flutter of curtains. Then, a clarion song burst across the city.

  A mu’adhdhin warbled the call to prayer from the bey’s minaret. A few seconds later, a more distant voice, and then another, added to a chorus. The mosques of the city were serenading their faithful. An injunction to higher purpose that once filled Naim with hope.

  “You look east,” said Commander Isitan. “But you do not pray.”

  “No.” Naim looked at a bank of reddening clouds. “Nor do you, I see.”

  “Duty calls me to a more urgent purpose.” Isitan’s words were clipped—absent the usual worship for his mentor. “But rest assured, when I am aboard the deck of our ship, I will look to the Holy City. It is my hope you will pray at my side.”

  “I have not prayed in many years.”

  “I know.” Isitan snapped his heels together. “My Chronicler, I regret to inform you our soldiers recovered the Lake Fort too late. The Wolf of Tunis evacuated the captives last night. The American crew is aboard the stolen frigate. They will make their escape with the flood tide.”

  ###

  Liberated American Snow Brig

  The Lake of Tunis

  Wednesday, September 14th, 1803

  Day 5, Midnight, Earlier

  John Sullivan shouldered through the press of bodies on the spar deck. The former Wolf of Tunis crawled with activity. The ship was packed with seventy-two survivors of the Allegheny and nineteen escapees from the city—ninety-one souls in all. John edged along the gangway where Acting Boatswain Matthew Meadows was already assigning gun crews to the 18-pounders. Powder monkeys were dashing fore and aft with armfuls of wadding, powder, and shot. Idlers were carrying sponges, buckets of water, and slow-burning cord. Gunners were cleaning the bores, arranging the tools, clearing the deck of cables. Men were crawling up the rigging in preparation to set sail.

  Midshipman Benjamin Merrick called orders up to the men on the foretop yard. John smiled at his friend from the Philadelphia, surprised to see the change in him. Merrick exuded aplomb with his brown hair tied in a queue, his hands clasped behind his back, and his blue coat buttoned to the highest notch.

  A boy darted up from the main hatch and slammed into John’s stomach.

  “Whoa!” cried John. He recognized the gap-toothed smile and blonde curls of ten-year-old Eric Long, a powder monkey with ambitions for command. The boy was about to lose his hold on an armful of rolled hammocks. “Easy there, Mr. Long.”

  “Sorry, sir,” said the ship’s boy. “I have to stack the rail with dunnage. To protect the men from shot and splinter.”

  “Good work, young chap. But if I might give you a tip, how about carrying a lighter load next time?” John gave him a wink.

  “Aye, Mr. Sullivan, sir.” Long nodded rapidly.

  John gave the boy a pat on the back, and he dashed off.

  A moment later, John found Chester Ryland at the stern.

  “The munitions and supplies are stored,” John said. “The postings are assigned, and the men are clearing for action. Ship and crew stand ready, Captain.”

 
; Ryland knit his brows at John. “‘Captain,’ you say?”

  “You are the ranking officer aboard, Ryland.”

  “Ah.” The lieutenant nodded absently. “So I am, Midshipman Sullivan.”

  “You probably shouldn’t call me that.” John leaned over the rail. “I’m still a deserter.”

  “That is a matter for a court-martial. Until such time as a tribunal can convene, I grant you a field commission as a lieutenant aboard this ship. My first lieutenant, in point of fact.”

  John blinked. “Sir? Are you serious?”

  “I am the captain, after all.” Ryland gave a wry smile. “If stealing an enemy frigate right out of their port doesn’t qualify you for the job, I don’t know what does. You up to it, Lieutenant?”

  John straightened his posture. At no point in the last four days had he even contemplated such an honor. And yet, he found it was an honor he greatly wanted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Now that’s settled, I’ll be damned if we’re going to call this American frigate by a Barbary name. She’ll need a new one.”

  “Aye, sir, I’ve been thinking about that.” John looked forward until he caught sight of Ethan. The surgeon’s mate was standing near the ship’s brass bell, Kaitlin beside him at the port rail. “A friend of mine has a great passion for our country’s ideals. I’ve thought of a name in his honor. One we can all rally behind.”

  “Oh?” Ryland tilted his head with interest. “Let’s have it, man.”

  ###

  Dawn, Later

  “I regret, my Chronicler,” Isitan went on, “that our efforts have failed.”

  Naim watched a ray of sun turn a spire into gold. “Sullivan is not free of the lake yet. Are your ships ready?”