Mutiny

The black flag suspended in the breeze foretold of death and destruction. A bleached-white skull grinned from behind its crossed bones.

"Death, death, death!" The riled-up sailors shouted. They had had enough of being treated like dirt and feeling the lash across their backs. Now that land was in sight and they no longer needed his navigating skills it was time for the Captain to pay. They had him cornered in his private quarters and run aplenty to add to their courage. Nothing would stop them now!

Inside his dimly-lit cabin, the Captain was not cowering, far from it, rather he was preparing for battle. With his musket laid on the bed, pistols and dagger tucked into his belt and a sharp sword at his side he knew the damage he could do. Death was inevitable and induced no fear; he would take as many of the sniveling cowards with as he could.

"Do you surrender, Captain?" The leader shouted over the noise of the rabble. No answer came, adding to the tenseness. The man grinned. He, like the rest of them, thought they would find the Captain hiding under the bed. It was pure foolishness on their part.

Who would be first? He was sure they were all in it and deserved to die, but some more than others. The first mate was probably standing in front and was naturally going to be the first to go. The rest would depend on where they stood.

He burst out of the cabin with guns in hand. He threw heavy cast-iron cannon balls into the crowd and was rewarded by the curses the followed. The Captain fired a few shots into the group and at the leaders; he had more than enough powder, shot and pistols to kill the whole lot of them, but he wanted to shoot as many of them as he could before they shot him down like a dog.

The sailors recovered form their surprise and pulled out their various weapons, but he was smarter than they gave him credit for. He didn't stay in one place like a sitting duck, but rather moved with a swiftness that amazed them. They had him cornered against the cabin wall, fighting like it was the last thing he would ever do.

Many of the mutineers fell to his shot. They couldn't get a clear sighting on him through the run-induced haze but he was wounded several times by chance shots. He started to slow his frenzied stride, but still fought like a mad man. He discarded his pistols once they were used; there was no time to reload them and pulled out his sword. "Die you craven cowards!"

Even more fell to the thrusting of his sword and his darting dagger, and the deck grew slick with blood and gore. He was the last one standing on a deck strewn with the dead and dying. They had not killed him after all!

He moved around the corpses, showing no mercy, hearing no pleas; they would only be hung later anyway.

He was now the Captain of a crew of the dead.