Drope on the other hand, rotated awkwardly corkscrewing his body around staggering on unbalanced legs, bent at the waist, and barely able to maintain his balance. With arms flaying and the pistol swinging about as his body reeled, sailors ducked trying to avert the pistol’s muzzle. Having drastically twisted around, he miraculously kept his legs underneath him and found himself staring at the muzzle end of the colonel’s pistol held steady in his direction. Drope was at wits end how to avoid Thomas’s shot, yet the need to survive kept his mind actively pinging to do something to obstruct his foe’s ability to make it an easy one. He reacted with more nonsensical poise. As if the realization of facing the deadly end of the weapon had him riled, the pistol came loose in his hand hanging by the trigger guard on his index finger, and he used both hands to get it back under control.
Seeing his target in total disarray, Thomas held up his shot and wore a mean scowl while watching this pathetic seaman squirm around like some circus clown. His finger was lightly pressed on the trigger but held up firing until he had a solid, and still standing target – he wanted it to count for good. But how long would he have to wait, and put up with this farce? He should just walk up to the imbecile, put the ball into his skull, and put everyone out of this ridiculous misery. Completely out of patience, he decided as soon as he had a shot; even a tiny window of one, at this short distance, Fischer did not have to look through his scope to see the damage they inflicted.
Suddenly, Drope came to control the pistol at chest high with two hands having decided this is where it would serve best in his attempt to hopefully defend against a fatal hit in the chest which he knew the colonel was aiming for. Although he knew he would be hit, it was all he could do to possibly stay alive.
Seeing his opportunity, his face widened in a grin, his focus solely on his intention, the colonel aimed down the length of the barrel, and quickly squeezed off the rest of the creep in the trigger. As the trigger mechanism broke the final ounce of pressure, the spring-loaded flintlock hammer with attached flint block struck the metal frizzen slamming it to the front exposing the small powder pan, and created a spark of hot metal to ignite in the pan in turn sending a flame through a tiny side hole to the back of the barrel torching the powder behind the ball. The eruption fired off the projectile out of the short barrel sending it flying to the intended central body mass. The time sequence of the firing mechanism from dropping the hammer to the ball leaving the muzzle was fast; measured in thousands of a second.
The colonel’s ball smashed into the pistol’s wood stock just below the barrel, and the ensuing wallop sent a shockwave up through Heinrich’s arms as if lightning had struck and he involuntarily dropped the weapon to the deck without it going off.
It took a few seconds for Thomas to determine what happened. “Damn it to hell!” he yelled out. He could not believe the resulting mishap. He stamped his boot to the wood planking and continued to foment. “Never have I met a man as providential as this one. He might as well be decorated with a crown of clover leaves as the damn Irish.”
Captain Hennessey and Lt. O’Shea looked at each other with ominous shock at the surprise development. All three of his mates stopped Anton’s sudden move to go forth to his captain’s aid by grabbing him. It took six strong hands and arms to keep him restrained.
In the meantime, Drope had shaken out the stinging tingles from his arms and picked up the pistol with trembling hands. He inspected the pistol for damage. The lead ball had hit the very front of the wooden stock just under the barrel. The front portion of the wood had a pronounced chunk missing. Otherwise, it seemed all right. Still loaded and cocked, the weapon was ready to fire. He knew how lucky he had been, and swallowed hard several times, and shook his limbs some more to loosen the tenseness in his body. The resulting blunt smack had shaken him up. He pushed away the thought of what the odds would be of this happening? He wiped the stream of sweat from his forehead and twisted his neck around to stretch the muscles. This show was far from over, and he had to carry through with it for the sake of his crew. He wanted it to end as much as Thomas did, but with a different result. He wasn’t at all sure though if he killed the colonel with the pistol, would Captain Hennessey be merciful enough to allow at least his men to leave with the schooner, while holding him captive. He presumed he couldn’t play a belligerent idiot for too long, and expect a pardon for his cunning behavior. He knew he was over-playing his hand out, but wasn’t so sure now whose hand of cards he was holding anymore. The fleeting thought was gravely bothersome. It was his move to make.
Slowly Heinrich muttered out loud, “Well, … I truly believe that would have made a nasty bruise if it hit me instead of the pistol.”
No one said a thing. All were quite flabbergasted.
“Colonel,” he said in a loud voice to be heard above the sound of the wind. “I gather it is my turn to fire is it not?”
Thomas was shaken out of his tantrum hearing the words and straightened his posture as he turned to face the German with his right side. Not at all enthused to face the muzzle end of a pistol, he was obligated to stand erect as a willing target; not an easy bearing of poise to exhibit. He felt there was ample chance this jackass could not hit a wall from this distance. He straightened his back even further offering himself although pensively. He was wearing a white dress shirt that included a thin epaulet with the outside end held down by a fancy gold button.
“Now stand real still, colonel. I do not want to be sloppy with this shot.”
Still fuming with rage and impatience, the officer forced his chin up showing his bravado.
“Must you take all day, man? Get the bloody thing over with!” he shouted.
Drope aimed unsteadily as nerves had been frayed. It was not an act. The muzzle end swung slightly side to side as he tried to line up his shot. “Do I shoot to kill or not? Would Hennessey write it off as a fair duel if I killed his superior? Do I miss purposely or wound him, and show mercy?”
The pistol bucked in his hand. The lead ball smacked into the wood wall thirty feet behind the colonel as it had blown past his left ear missing by perhaps an inch. Thomas had felt it flying by, and tried not to show his fright as the breath he had held in anticipation blew out through a narrow slit between lips that quivered in relief. Regally standing erect, he expressed a haughty look at Drope, and without being subtle, he said, “Ah, but what a shame. Now we are forced to utilize blades after all.”
Captain Hennessey had reached his limit of reasonable composure upon hearing this. He stomped forward glaring at his superior. Senior Lieutenant O’Shea followed after him worried sick of the consequences playing out. O’Shea was staunchly loyal to his captain, but understanding that Thomas had absolute authority was the real issue.
“Listen here, Colonel Thomas,” the captain began. “You have taken this personal vendetta to the extreme. This is not justice; it is gross neglect of your duty and honor as an officer and a commander. You must desist this -”
“Shut your damning mouth, Hennessey!” shot back Thomas. “You are but a few words away from a court-martial. If you think I am -”
“This is a mockery, sir, and you are the one guilty of -”
“Nothing! I am guilty of nothing that is within my capacity as Provincial Commandant! It is that man there,” the colonel shouted while pointing to Drope, “that has been the cause of this duel. You are a witness to it. Now back off or I will have your own royal marines disarm you, and toss you in the brig!”
Hennessey did not back off. Instead, he stood his ground even firmer.
“Or shall I slap your chubby ruby cheek, and challenge you myself,” stated Hennessey.
Thomas almost burst out laughing but caught himself as he grinned widely.
“You, Hennessey; fight me with weapons? You cannot be serious. This is quite an interesting day wouldn’t you say … captain?” he sneered the title out.
“You are nothing but a common brigand, Thomas! It is not over between you and me!”
O’Shea took the captain by the shoulder and gently turned him.
“Come, captain. There is nothing to gain with this. I beg you, sir. Come and stand aside. This is beyond our control.”
Thomas watched them step away, and thought, “Afterward, I will have Hennessey arrested and shackled for his insubordination. I will end his career!”
He turned his attention back to Drope.
“Do claim your sword, Captain Drope. We will put an end to this madness once and for all.”
Heinrich stepped up to the colonel. “Must we continue this? Everyone seems to be upset already. And just to let you know,” he spoke lower so only Thomas could hear.
“I missed that shot on purpose. I did you a favor. Not bad for a merchant sailor, eh?”
Thomas again came unglued. Instantly he launched into a ranting fit as an enraged rabid animal. The entire crew was sulking by this time. This had gotten entirely out of hand, and they had seen their captain try to stop the farce a couple of times without success. The army colonel would not budge and used his provincial command position at every opportunity.
“… and then you doubly insult me by trying to convince me that you purposefully missed the shot! You will not scorn me again, you filthy piece of pig shit!”
“Now, now, sir, I was under the impression we were getting along quite nicely. There is no need to be so unfriendly. I am an amiable fellow you know. Haven’t we settled this by now? We both took shots at each other and missed. We are better off for it don’t you think? If we continue, at least one of us may get hurt very badly. Let’s call this affair even before it becomes a mockery.”
Thomas’s face turned beet red with fury when Drope thought he couldn’t get any redder than he already was. His complete civility tossed aside; he launched into yet another tirade.
“Enough of this charade!” he yelled out as Drope had him consumed with rage. “Fight as a man should, and take your punishment as one!”
He had Thomas so wound up that Drope decided it was time to stop his play acting.
“I would if I was facing one,” said Heinrich with dripping sarcasm, which now had even the British sailors smirking and chuckling as they turned their heads to keep the colonel from seeing them. Not one of them dared to laugh too loud for fear of punishment with the lash or even worse punishment meted out by this scurrilous army officer, who seemed not to care what befell a man.
“What did you say to me?” the colonel’s face was twisted as a prune.
Drope dropped all pretense of being a timid merchant, and the epitome of graciousness. He looked Thomas straight in the eyes with an imposing stare, which any rational person could not mistake but as a challenging gesticulation of what he meant. Sailors looked questioningly at each other wondering what happened to the buffoonish attitude this German displayed so far. With a firm tone, Heinrich addressed the colonel.
“Your ships horde the seas as if you owned them all. You’d think the next expectation would be for merchant mariners to pay a toll on waterways which belong as free passage. The very belief that the British rule the entire world’s oceans point to your circumventing the Creator’s own divine plan. Your vision of the entire world ruled by British fiat is not only absurd but out of touch with reality.”
The change was not lost on the colonel either as he stood frozen as stone not believing what this seemingly meek seaman of just moments before was now saying with a commandeering voice as if he had miraculously ascended to Poseidon’s throne.
“Face reality and rationale, colonel; as all the rest of us have to as human beings unless of course, you deem yourself a divine personage. What makes you an exception? Oh, forgive me. I almost forgot that you are indeed an exception. You avoid character traits and attributes that have to do with decency and justice. You, colonel, are but a small man. You use your positional authority to hide behind.”
The crew was now beyond themselves hearing this merchant mariner brazenly admonish Thomas. Chuckles erupted among them.
“Pipe down, you loggerheads!” the colonel shouted at the sailors. I will have all of you flogged! You … young impudent German ox! You talk courageously for an imp of a man. You have neither manners nor any polished gentlemanly traits.”
“Who needs any when one faces death, isn’t that true, colonel? There is no reason for rules at this point are there? Only pure survival instinct is needed. Shall we dispense with this masquerade of yours, and get on with this foolish duel that has your tail feathers in a knot?”
Thomas response didn’t come forth with words. Instead, he reached out toward Lt. Collins, who held the colonel’s sword. Withdrawing it from the scabbard, he handled it deftly, slicing the air with smooth strokes.
“Now you will feel the pain due to your insolent tongue, and you will eat your words.”
Not trusting Thomas, Drope backstepped to where his men stood keeping his eyes on Thomas and held out his hand for his sword. Reiner immediately put it into his hands, and said, “Be extra careful with him, Heinrich. You can be sure he is very accomplished with the blade. Do not take him lightly. Focus on fundamentals, things we taught you, and watch out for trickery. You know deception wins fights.”
With a curt nod in acknowledgment to Reiner’s words, Drope stepped back to the middle of the deck. Colonel Thomas moved with graceful motion to close with Drope, still slicing and stabbing air as a show of loosening up. With only a few paces between the two, Thomas unexpectedly sprung at him. As his sword point reached for the chest, Heinrich swatted it away at the last second while leaping aside. Instead of countering, he set up for the next attack. Mentally, he chided himself for not having been prepared for the Englishman’s sudden attack.
The colonel turned on the balls of his boots and came at him again. Slashing and thrusting in quick succession, he had Heinrich on the defensive. Smooth strokes drove heavily at Drope as Thomas expertly used feigns with clever body movements, foot placement and pivoting, and blade strokes coming from different angles while redirecting them in mid-strike. He was indeed a masterful swordsman. The man’s blade work was polished in every sense of the word. It took every bit of concentration, competency, and swift speed which Heinrich had to avert the man’s sword.
So far, Heinrich had only been able to get close enough with a few sword thrusts, and those were handily avoided by excellent footwork and a canny sense of anticipated moves. Staying poised, he tried every which way to force and feign strikes he had been taught by Reiner and Diego, but without success against this British foe. He had figured Thomas’s fighting skills would be on an expert level, but now he found himself against a man who may be a good measure above that.
The fight went on with the Englishman being the stronger aggressor, while Drope frustratingly ended up on the defensive time and again. Strikes and thrusts continued at a fiery pace. Several strikes were parried off as a last resort when Thomas had closed in aggressively. Something had to give soon, and Heinrich hoped it was not being impaled on the man’s sword. He had to come up with significant moves to counter with quickly or else he would surely be done in. Everything he had thrown so far at the colonel had been ably thwarted. What must he do to get an edge in this fight? He felt physical stamina would not fail him; he was in top shape. That wasn’t the issue. The problem was the skillful master he was facing. It was Heinrich’s nimbleness and speed that had so far been the reason he was not yet sliced to bits. However, he could not go on endlessly just trying to stave off his opponent.
Another forceful thrust angled in quick, and although he eluded it by sidestepping away from it while his blade just barely blocked the sword. However, the point pricked flesh on his lower left side. He stepped further away as he felt the sharp pang of the wound. He didn’t have time to look down and check the injury, but certain it was not mortal.
Thomas was on him again. His fierce attacks were brutal. He lunged and threw furious combinations of strikes at Heinrich, who was now in a precarious position with his back too close to a wa
ll. He attempted two feints to either side, and barely avoided a vicious downward strike, and the blade cut deep into the planked decking along the grain. With Thomas’s blade momentarily stuck in wood, Drope saw the opening he needed and spun away from the wall. Now quickly stretching forward, he drove a far-reaching thrust toward his foe, and was rewarded by his sword point penetrating the colonel’s… shirt. Alas, Heinrich was slightly off balance having had to reach a bit too far and righted himself by again spinning to his right, further away, and now the Englishman was between him, and the wall instead. However, with surprising swiftness, Thomas had not only freed his sword but had wheeled about facing his opponent with it raised in a continued combative stance as if cutting into the planking had all been part of his fighting repertoire. Heinrich’s sword point had only cut through the man’s shirt. Apart from partially shredding the left side of it, no physical damage had ensued.
Heinrich could have easily halted all action, stand there open-mouthed, frozen in time because of Thomas’s incredible ability to stay unscathed, and in full control. The man was a consummate master. His fighting prowess had been nothing less than amazing.
Without hesitation, Thomas again faced Drope, not giving him any time to prepare an attack. The colonel’s strikes and lunges were futile only by Heinrich’s ability to dodge away with quick footwork and body movements.
As Heinrich ducked, a fiercely thrown strike by the colonel cut through the air where Drope’s head had been and losing his balance causing the man to stumble. Seeing an opportunity, although slight, Heinrich promptly launched his entire body in the air at the colonel from his stooped position. It was an awkward move that only offered a strike to the man’s right shoulder with the end of the sword’s hand grip. The impact was hard enough to knock Thomas back smashing him hard against the wooden wall as Drope fell to the man’s side instead of on top of him which he had intended. It had been his best chance to get the upper hand on him, but he failed once again. He rolled several times with the fall to get out of striking range, and in a fluid, motion sprang back to his feet. The brief moment also afforded Thomas to straighten himself, and lurch away from the wall.
Winds of Fury Page 53
