hope in style

Large iron balls rained all about them. Thankfully none hit their mark, but Captain Cunningham knew another salvo or two would strike home. He sighed, Firefly could never take a broadside, she had barely made it this far. Sails once filled with wind now hung limp, his beloved frigate lay becalmed, dead even.

“And we will join her.” Colin Davis said, ominously, seemingly reading Paul’s thoughts.

“Third rate intercepting, sir, Agamemnon I believe.” Tom called out.

“Though perhaps not today, lieutenant.”

Sixty four guns, three decks worth of pure power bore down on the enemy ship, offering hope in style.