Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next|
last episode with Dr M’Mullen
GLOSSARY
Fragments of the Spaniard rained down, crashing into and through the splinter netting - balks of shattered timber, spars with ropes still attached, part of a gun carriage, the upper half of a man, not quite dead yet. Sailors ran about with buckets, dashing out the burning debris as it came aboard, and then a massive wave yanked the Badger from her moorings.
Gravity vanished. Water, wood, iron flew around and into Philip. A rope passed by. Crushing weight that pressed the air from his lungs. Someone’s arm. Noise: roaring, shouting, crashing; a cacophony that crested and receded, flinging him onto something broad and flat where he could at last draw breath again.
Time backed up and restarted, so that “Grab hold!” took place before the deck lurched, before he rolled over and found himself on the mole staring up at the sky across which tendrils of smoke drifted lazily in the breeze. He sat up.
His two brigs lay low in the water, leaning drunkenly into each other, curiously bare of their masts. Spars littered the bay, and bodies.
Author's Note|First Post|Previous|Next|
last episode with Dr M’Mullen
GLOSSARY
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