“Go go go!” Lew cried, raising his rifle and taking out a pirate on the deck of the Indomitable. “First line, covering fire!”

The turncoat pirates who had been on the deck raised their weapons and fired up at the much larger warship, causing the enemy there to scatter and duck, as Lew’s men came topside and raised ladders to begin climbing. Despite the covering fire, return fire began raining down on them, and Lew saw a few of his men fall to the ground, wounded or worse.

Suddenly there was a terrible cry and a dark shadow leapt from the deck to over halfway up one of the ladders. Throwing off the ragged cloak, Princess Luna let out another battle cry and raised a spear toward the ship in challenge. Lew could only guess that she must have gotten it from Zecora. Again, Luna threw herself up, going over the remaining rungs and the railing, thrusting forward as she landed. An unfortunate pirate who had been aiming down fell back, his chest pierced and then torn as the warrior princess ripped the spear free and move down to her next target.

Shaking his head in disbelief, praying she would be OK, Lew lined up his next shot but was thrown wide and nearly off his feet as the ship’s port guns fired at one of the circling pirate ships. On their mad rush to come alongside the Indomitable, they had fired and managed to seriously damage one of them and, due to their proximity to the warship, were now hopefully too risky a target for return fire. Still, they needed to keep boarders off of their flanks as they assaulted the pirates, so some of Lew’s men were to keep up the cannon fire.

The first of the Guardsmen approached the top of the ladders, their swords at the ready as they threw themselves over the railing and into the fray.

Lew took another pair of shots, watching as his men covered their fellows climbing. More and more of his men were reaching the top, but he also saw the unit medics treating the injured, pulling the wounded back to cover. He gritted his teeth every time he saw them approach a body and leave it, the cost of the attack growing one lost life at a time.

It was then he noticed something odd. At first they had met somewhat light resistance--unsurprising considering the Admiral’s men had been fighting off Gilda’s pirates from the other side. Now more and more of the enemy were turning to repel the Guard.

Taking one last shot, Lew slung his rifle across his back and leaped as high as he could, grabbing a rung of the rope ladder and scaling up to the Indombitable’s deck. His men had thrown various crates and large coils of rope from the deck into a makeshift barricade as they allowed more of his men to climb aboard. Throwing himself behind an already bullet-ridden crate, he ordered his men to better cover and firing support as he leaned to the side. It was then he had his answer.

“Why are Gilda’s men retreating?” he asked aloud.

“Forthright’s men must be pounding the piss outta ‘em!” one of his men--a Jerry Frissee, if he recalled correctly--exclaimed, grimacing from his cover. He rubbed at a shoulder, where a bullet had just barely grazed the skin.

Beginning to reload, Lew frowned. “They’re not attacking her ship are they?”

Jerry shook his head. “Not yet, sir. Guessing they might try to board it, close as we are!”

“Well thank Elondrie for that--but we need to get out of this pin!” he called in between taking a pair of shots. Both sides were more or less frozen in place, hiding behind cover and taking shots that tnged harmlessly against the deck or fwmped on wooden crates. “Is the fore assault team boarding yet? The sooner we get this pincer up, the better.”

After a moment conversing with a comsman, the soldier replied, “Boarding now--and apparently that warrior woman you found is really showin’ ‘em up, sir!”

Despite the tense situation, Lew laughed. He could well imagine. “As soon as they’re in position, we need to find the target and neutralize him, ASAP.” He looked around and noticed something that had been nagging his subconscious. “Wh-where the hell is the princess?!”

Jerry rose and took a quick shot before falling back down and reloading. “She leapt over the railing, never seen a damn thing like it, sir, poked a few people before pulling out that old peashooter of hers. She fought her way to the ladder down--I assume she’s meting out old-fashioned princess justice.”

“Damn it!” Lew swore hard. Most likely she was fine, but… “The fore team needs to get in position now!”

“Too damn right, sir!”

Lew patted the man’s shoulder and began taking more shots, wondering if he should be praying to Elondrie for his princess or for the men she was stuck with.

Zecora dashed across the deck, a blur of speed as she juked to cover, running like a woman with a deathwish, unafraid and bearing a stone-cold stare as she moved closer and closer to her prey. Mac followed suit, albeit far more cautiously, moving from his cover only during a lull in fire from the loyalists.

Peaking from over a set of tossed about crates, Zecora offered a doggish grin, snapping forward once more, sprinting on the deck in a dead run towards a group of three men distracted by Lew’s group. When she got within a body’s length to them, one turned his gaze to her, returned to Lew, then did a double take as she charged, spear at the ready. She impaled it deep within his sternum, the blade vanishing into his body like a grim magic trick. Before he even fell dead to the ground, she moved to his companions, reaching to her side and withdrawing a knife. In what was almost a gesture from a ballroom dance she pirouetted, stabbing one man in the neck, withdrawing the weapon in the same fluid motion, then tilting her chest back, dodging a surprised, fearful swing of the last man’s gun. She shot her hand forward, pulling the gun away, then striking once more with the knife, all but disemboweling him with one thrust and hard pull.

“Elondrie…” Mac said, feeling sick. He sucked in a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down in the midst of this hell.

“Where’s the Captain?” a voice loudly asked amid the panicked group.

“Hell! I dunno!” another replied, rubbing a hand over his bandanna and looking up towards the deck of the Indomitable. “Last saw her when we went scrammin’ down those ropes.”

Alice lowered her gun, having seen everything through the sights of the rifle. She quickly turned to the big man beside her and cried, “What are we gonna do, Will?! She’s done fer, out there!”

Will looked away from the sights on his gun and turned his attention to Alice. “We stay safe. You stay safe,” he instructed. “Gilda wouldn’t want her whole crew getting wiped off the map.”

“How can you say that?!” one of the crew snapped. “I ain’t givin’ up on the cap!”

“Same!”

“Here here!”

“Fuck her orders!” another cried.

“Fuck ‘em!” several bellowed in agreement.

“Idiots!” Will shouted. They paused, only briefly, before the sound of gunfire grew louder still. Squinting towards the deck, Will shook his head. “They got company.”

“If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is!” one of the crowd called out. Will gave a considering nod, before looking to Alice and putting a large, meaty paw on her shoulder.

“Stay here. Watch us,” he instructed.

Alice frowned, shrugging off his hand. “And if you guys get killed too? What the hell do I do?! I’d rather be with you guys than that Admiral asshole.”

“I’m not gonna let you get shot up,” Will countered. “And don’t swear,” he added as an afterthought. “You’re just a kid.”

“Would ‘just a kid’ have even gotten here in the first place?!” Alice shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.

No, but maybe an idiot might have, echoed almost tauntingly in the back of her mind.

Will looked to the men then nodded towards the stairway leading to the deck. “Let’s go.”

Alice gave it a few seconds, watching them storm out, then followed the crew. She kept her head low when she was in the open, staring as the men grabbed hold of ropes and swung themselves across, leaping into the carnage, ready for the fight.

She bit her lip, watching them go. Only a few crew members were still left with her and they were busy making sure the ship didn’t separate from the Indomitable. She flexed her hands, then grabbed hold of a piece of rope. Staring across at the enemy ship, she sighed, taking a few steps back with the rope.

Closing her eyes, she gripped the rope tighter. The only reason she was here right now was because she was stupid enough to make the choices she had. As her family might say, she had made her bed. Now it was time to lie in it. No regrets.

With a burst of speed, she sprinted forward then jumped, physics guiding her towards the other ship. She opened her eyes then let go, screaming and flailing as she fell right into the mess.

“Look out!” she screamed, wincing as she met contact with an enemy pirate, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Thanks for the save, missy,” a man said, presumably from her side, as he delivered a killing blow to the prone pirate.

Alice flinched. “Er… no problem?” She hastily crawled off the dead man and wasted no time in running through the frenzy, trying to find Gilda.

A man, clutching a horrifically bleeding stomach stumbled down a flight of stairs, landing hard on the deck. He let out a choking grunt, blood and saliva bubbling to his lips as he took in a slow, shuddering breath.

Alice shuddered, the contents of her stomach threatening to rear their ugly heads by way of her mouth. She covered her mouth with a hand, almost retching and nervously stepped past the dying man, heading towards the bridge.

“Gild…” he stuttered out, drunkenly moving his hand towards the stairs.

Alice glanced in their direction, wasting no time in climbing them. Her legs trembled as she scaled them, each step feeling more painful than the last. Her head was pounding from all the gunshots and her stomach felt like a bubbling cauldron.

Finally, she came to a heavy door. Grabbing hold of the handle, she opened up it slowly, the din of the battle obscuring any noise the door hinges would have made.

What she saw almost made her give away her position. Gilda was alive and for the most part totally unharmed. There was just one issue: the Admiral had his gun pointed to her head. Worse, he was surrounded by at least a dozen men that she could see. At the moment, it looked like he was yelling at them for something, rather than giving Gilda any attention.

What can I do, what can I do, she thought to herself frantically, looking around. Her heart started pounding, the headache from earlier returning. She had been running on adrenaline up to this point, pulled in by the excitement of the others and her worry for Gilda. She had even shot… She had even…

The Admiral continued yelling, but the gun never wavered from Gilda’s head. In her heart, Alice wanted to do something to save her. Something, anything, no matter how foolish or stupid. But, as she fell to her knees, time slowing as the hard reality of the situation she found herself in sank in, her mind drew a blank.

Gilda…! No!

The seconds ticked by as her mind raced, and her heart pounded. She had to think of something--fast!

It was there and gone, almost faster than he could comprehend.

A blur of red hair running up a flight of stairs. But Mac knew, he knew it was her. Rubbing his face, he took the plunge, lowering his body and taking off at a sprint, his feet slapping the deck deafening him almost as much as the bullets pinging and crashing into the ship. He blew past Zecora, who watched him with surprise bordering on alarm, past a group of pirates. A few noticed him, recognized him from earlier, but the Admiral's men drew their attention enough that they made move to pursue him.

He began rising. Climbing up the stairs two at a time to catch up. He had lost sight of her, but—there!—saw a door not quite closed. His gut confirmed it. That was it. That was where he was needed.

He gripped the latch and pulled it open, entering, hoping and praying he was not too late.

I’m coming, sis. Hold on!

Turning to his men, Forthright barked questions and curses, demanding to know what was going on outside. For the moment, his attention was not on finishing his captive. The Admiral distracted was Gilda’s best chance. Hell, her only chance. She shot to her feet, ramming into him and grabbed his wrist, twisting the weapon away from her.

Growling, she wrestled with him, struggling to free the gun from his hand.

“You’re… dead,” she snapped, slapping his wrist against her thigh.

The gun flew from his hand as he snarled in anger. “Not from a whelp like you, girl!” he yelled, slamming the heel of his palm against her ear in a massive blow. Flexing his other arm, he wrenched it free and shoved her away from him.

Stumbling backwards, she fell, landing hard on her ass and glaring daggers at him. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she shot up, making a desperate lunge once more for him.

The man sidestepped her, his features hard. Immediately her eyes saw his dropped gun on the floor in front of her. She half-dove, rolling over her side as she scooped the gun up and turned to face him. Gilda squeezed the trigger.

There was a loud cracking sound and then a massive weight slammed into her thigh followed by burning heat. A crimson trail leaked through her clothes and dribbled onto the floor.

Another gun in his hand, the Admiral took a single step towards her, saying, “No more talk--goodbye, Almada.” Again, he lifted the gun at her.

But before the end could come, the double doors on the far wall broke open, followed by a group of familiar faces--her men!

“Save the cap!” one of them cried as they charged, swords waving and pistols firing.

Gilda dove to the ground, grunting in pain as she landed on her wound, but at least avoiding another bullet in her. The Admiral and his own men leapt for cover--though not before one fell dead, his head split open, and another pair catching grazing shots--and began firing back as the room exploded into chaos.

Crawling away from the chaos, Gilda hid behind a desk, sweating. With a hiss, she gave a tender touch to her wound, then pressed down harder to stop the bleeding, nearly crying out in pain when she put heavier pressure on it.

Through all the madness and bullets flying, a girl running through the room looked less noticeable than it had any right to be. Alice covered her head with her hands, sprinting her very hardest. She flinched and screamed as she heard the gunshots, the roars and the pained screams of the crew around her. But she didn’t get hit. At least, she thought she didn’t.

Her legs fell out from under her, but she slid on the well-polished floor, sliding along until she was right behind the cover that was giving Gilda refuge. It surprised her--she was pretty sure carpet burn hurt worse. She’d always imagined the pain would be unending.

Then it got worse.

She pinched her hand, hoping that pain would distract from the burning sensation her leg felt. When she stopped, she gave it a quick rub. It was warm, but she didn’t feel much blood--she realized she had only been grazed. She let out a slow sigh. She was ok, for now.

“Kid?” Gilda asked, almost disoriented as she stared first at her wound then at Alice. “The… fuck?”

“Yeah. Was kinda thinkin’ the same thing too,” Alice breathed, approaching closer and trying to peek at the wound. “Lemme see.”

“Don’t touch it,” Gilda snapped. “It’s sore.”

“I know, I know…” Alice took another breath, running a hand through her hair. She looked over at Gilda’s men, then back to her. “What the hell are we gonna do?!”

“Let’s get out of here. Captain or not, I don’t think they’re stopping until this shit calms down.” She gestured towards a doorway nearby. “Maybe through there? Fuck, I don’t know.”

“B-But you’re bleedin’!” Alice exclaimed, gingerly moving a hand towards the wound.

“We’ll be bleeding a lot worse if we don’t get out of here!” Gilda snapped back. “That fucker could come after us any second, my boys or not!”

“Get up then!!” Alice shouted, taking Gilda’s arm and placing it around her shoulders.

Gilda stumbled over, nearly dropping to a knee, but finally stood, leaning heavily on the girl. They ran forward amid the chaos, Gilda tripping but still keeping righted, until they came to the door. Pulling back from the girl, she leaned by the wall, breathing heavily.

“Rotate the wheel on the door. Get it open.”

“On it!” Alice replied, grasping the wheel. She grunted as she used what strength she had to turn it, her hands hurting from the amount of pressure she was applying to the thing.

“Kid!” Gilda said, furious. “Turn it like you mean it!” Adding to her point, a bullet pinged overhead, making both of them jump.

“I’m tryin’!” the girl protested, using all her upper body strength now. As the wheel slipped the right way, she almost fell into it, putting a hand against the wall to keep herself steady. “There!”

Gilda turned, pushing into Alice and forcing her inside. “Go!”

Alice stumbled, bringing her hands to the floor so she didn’t fall over in a heap. Recovering quickly, she turned back to check on her companion.

“I’m right behind you!” Gilda said, glaring across the room. “Fucking move it!”

“Mac!” Lew called again. “Ma--ack!” His cry was cut off as Jerry tackled him down.

“Watch it, sir. Lose your damn head and, well, you’ll lose your damn head!”

“Thanks, Jerry,” he breathed, getting back to a crouch. “But what the hell. You saw that, right?”

“Right I did, sir,” the man replied. “Your friend seem a little suicidal lately?”

Lew shook his head. Confusion wracked his mind. He had been about to order the fore team to pincer the enemy with his own when Gilda’s men charged from the other side again. It seemed like a lucky break, but then Mac had broke through the line on his own, stampeding towards the ship proper. Last Lew had seen of him, the man had rounded a corner that the captain assumed led to the upper deck.

Gilda’s men, too, had beelined for the cabin doors. Now was their best shot.

“Alright, men!” he yelled as loud as he could. “Order the attack--let’s show them what the Royal Guard can do!”

The men and women of the Royal Lunar Guard called back and began moving, their countless hours of practice and drills allowing them to advance almost as a single organism. Orders were relayed and followed as naturally as breathing. Shots rang both directions, but his men pushed forward.

“I’m going on ahead, Jerry. You and the others can mop up here,” he told the man as he slung his rifle and pulled up his cloak. “I’ve got to find Mac. The Princess. Mac’s sister. Everyone, it seems!”

“Let me go with you, sir!”

“No,” he ordered, adding, “I’ll need to move quick and quiet. It’ll be easier to avoid the enemy alone.”

“But you can’t go alone, sir, that’s suicide!” the soldier protested.

“Suicide, perhaps, for one,” a woman’s voice announced. Zecora stepped forward, rubbing her hand across the blade of her knife in a quick effort to clean it. “But with two? It shall be done.”

“Zecora?” Lew asked, genuinely surprised at her sudden appearance. “What was Macintosh all about, do you know?”

“I saw the man charge right on through.” She turned, gesturing towards the starboard side of the ship. “Up the stairs, after a girl with a red-head hue.”

Nodding, Lew said, “I suspected as much. There’s little else he’d charge like that for. Well then. What are we waiting for?” The young man held out a hand to Zecora. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”

She looked at the man’s palm and quickly shook it. “The dawn approaches, Lew.” She nodded her head towards the stairwell. “Quickly now, with you.”

Giving out the last remaining orders, the pair waited behind as the Guardsmen fought back the Admiral’s men. Seeing their chance, Lew took the lead towards the cabin doors, opening one quickly and gesturing for Zecora to enter. Hot on his heels, she ducked inside, and Lew closed the door in after them.

“Let’s find the ladder up,” he whispered. Zecora nodded, putting a finger to her lips in a silent agreement.

The two moved quickly and quietly, listening carefully for any activity inside. The thick metal walls had muffled the sound of the battle outside, though it was occasionally broken by a deep thud of cannon fire. As they hurried down a corridor, they heard a commotion coming from the far right. As they found a side passage, they passed into a larger room that looked like it was used for storage or something of the sort.

Some of the Admiral’s men were fighting with Gilda’s. Most had abandoned their guns and were in melee. They hadn’t noticed the pair’s entrance.

Mouthing, “Over there,” Lew pointed toward the far wall where a set of steep steps led up.

Watching each other, they moved from cover to cover along the back wall, slowly approaching their way to the upper deck. A man, holding his gut as his lifeblood bled away from a wound, noticed them. Before he could sound the alarm, Zecora almost casually snapped forward, plunging a knife into his throat and pulling it free. She was already gesturing for Lew to press on before he collapsed, eyes already clouding over in his last moments on earth.

Just part of the routine at this point, he thought, scanning his eyes over every potential target, every potential threat. As he moved in tandem with the islander, Lew noticed how much easier it was to stay calm. Something about the way the woman moved, the way she held herself… It simply seemed as if, with her help, they couldn’t help but have the upper hand.

But would it hold against the Admiral? As they made it to the staircase and ascended, Lew knew the ultimate test would be on the upper deck.

Another door behind them and the fighting downstairs became as muffled as that outside. Lew let out a sigh of relief. “One step closer.”

“Keep your eyes open. Who knows what man could drop in,” Zecora remarked.

“Right,” he said, nodding. “Same to you. And keep an eye out for a little red-headed girl.”

Zecora snapped out her hand, catching Lew by the chest. She cupped a hand to her ear, looking up.

Raising an eyebrow, the captain stopped and tilted his head. After a moment, he whispered, “You’ve got better ears--what is it?”

“They shall make no fool of I. I distinctly hear a child’s cry.”

Without a second thought, Lew said, “Run, now!” and took off, true to his word.

Zecora only hesitated for a second before following, hot at his heels. The pair tore through the hallways, booted feet slamming loudly on the floor.

Lew traced what he knew of the ship’s design so far, based upon the older Torani ships he had become more familiar with in his exodus from home. No matter the size or purpose, they were all based on the same basic design principle. So he hoped, as he made his guesses on a left here and a straight through there, that he was leading them to the ladder for the upper deck.

Another right turn and he saw it, just as expected. He pointed to it and gestured for Zecora to move up first. “If either of us is going to be seen, it’ll be me--at least you can get up first.”

She nodded, already grasping one of the steel rungs of the ladder. “Very well. All I ask, is that you, Lew, are to watch my back.”

“We’ve come this far. Now let’s save the day, yeah?”

Chuckling, she scrambled up the ladder like a monkey, vanishing away from Lew’s sight in a matter of moments. He gave it a moment and, hearing nothing, began climbing himself. Approaching the opening, he slowly rose his head up, looking around. The ladder was on a far corner, surrounded by a small metal wall. Probably to prevent anyone accidentally falling in.

Satisfied it was safe, he climbed on out, doing his best to stay low. Zecora, flatter than he believed possible, was behind the wall. He quickly took a place beside her.

On the far end of the ship, facing each other down, was Mac on one end and the Admiral--with Alice held in a painfully tight grip--on the other. Another woman he assumed must be Gilda was on the floor near the Admiral, her face set in a furious grimace.

The Admiral shouted something at the big farmer, lifting Alice up from the floor by her arm and waving a pistol in her face. As Mac dropped his weapon, defeat mixed with anger twisting his features, Lew raised his rifle. But as quick as he was to try the shot, he swore and lowered it. From this position, the way the Admiral held Alice, she was shielding him from the side. He had no shot. He had no time.

“Damn!” He grit his teeth and raised the scope back to his eye. Seconds--you’ve got seconds, Lewellyn! Make it count!