Winds of Fury

by Peter Duysings

  He was beyond any way that would offer an escape for the time being. It was a horrible thought to him that he was so helpless. Most times he saw options in past situations when trouble came calling. This situation was altogether different as he was entirely at their mercy. He could only, for now, allow this vile scheme to play out and hope he would have enough precious time allotted by these thugs to figure a way out of this dilemma. He had no idea who they were and what they wanted. But damn it, it couldn’t be something small if they had used that many men to jump him and carry him off to where ever they were taking him.

  He had to hold on tightly to the opportunity of escaping. He had to tell himself to be strong, but most of all smart. With the soreness in his head from the blow, he did not feel at all confident of escaping, but he was not one to give in so easily. He had been in imperilment before. He thought as long as he was still breathing, there was hope.

  From the onset of the assault, he knew this was no prank by some of his crewmembers. They wouldn’t have roughed him up as he was. No one on his crew would dare such a lamebrain stunt for fear of their life at their captain’s hands. No, he ruled out such a gag. There could only be one answer to this foul act; hooligans trying to lay claim to the British bounty on his head. The audacity of their nerve to jump him once again reared its ugly head within him, and he squirmed and wiggled out of anger. He instantly felt firmer grips from the men carrying him as their hands tightened. After some time, which Heinrich could not keep track of because of his foggy mind, the same commanding voice barked out orders, louder this time. Heinrich’s brain analyzed that to mean they had reached a spot well out of earshot of anyone not a party to this seizure. In accented English, the leader of the gang as Drope assumed, directly spoke to him.

  “Capitán Drope, it is good you understand your predicament. Fighting against your abduction is useless. Surely you can understand the circumstance you are in. There are too many of us and you are tied up firmly. Stop struggling and be a good cooperative captive, Señor. It will be much easier that way for all of us, si? Do not force us to use even rougher means. Soon you will be in a more comfortable place and be treated with … with reasonable comfort. For now, let it rest. It will go easier on you, I assure you.”

  The Spaniard was right. He could continue to struggle against these goons, but deciding that it was useless to thrash around in a feeble effort, he merely listened. He decided best to save his strength for when it counted. But would he be provided that chance? The unknown factors were not kind thoughts at all. An attempt to flee this wretched situation was all but elusive at the moment.

  Once again, they took off. Accepting his current circumstance, Drope focused on holding himself together as best he could. He needed enough strength to attempt any escape. And he knew in his present condition; it was not happening. When they had gone another stretch, the group came to a stop, and the men carrying him changed handholds, out of breath from having lugged him a fair distance. Held by hands under his armpits and at the ankles, he was suddenly swung from side to side like a sack of potatoes and tossed on hard and rough surfaced wood. He heard the whinnying of a horse and instantly had an image of a wagon. Several others piled into the cart, while the rest went by a different mode of transportation. The musty smell of hay wafted into Heinrich’s nostrils as someone up front spurred the horses, and they trotted off. He felt prickly strands of hay against one side of his face and tried to lift his entire upper body in a better position as the rough ride jostled him around. Hands again grabbed him and this time actually helped him into a sitting position. “Ah, that’s more like it.”

  Having shaken off much of the head fog, Heinrich began counting the time until they reached their destination somewhere of course in a solitary location away from all prying eyes. He had estimated it took them approximately a half-hour after having been thrown into the cart. In what direction, he had no idea whatsoever. Besides the shuffling of men around him, the only other noise was a cacophony of crickets fondly into their orchestration of night sounds. On any other occasion, the sound would be a welcome accompaniment of a soothing choir to his ears. Unfortunately, the circumstances of the moment did not warrant such comfort.

  He felt the untying of his ankles and then firm hands lifted him out of the cart, then to the ground, and led him away. The ground here felt mushy; likely muddy he thought. A faint light began to glow through the blindfold and became brighter as its origin came closer. The hands helped lift him several steps and into a dwelling of some kind as he heard the creaking door close behind him. They set him in a chair and again tied his ankles together. Then they bound his body to the chair.

  The blindfold was taken off, and he blinked for a few seconds acclimating his eyes to the surroundings. Not much of a place his mind assessed. Six men stood around him in the small confines of the room. The structure was old. The room was bare of furniture other than an old table along with three other chairs in which three of them sat facing him from but a few feet distance. He licked his parched lips as he stared hard at the men judging each one trying to get a feel for their character. In particular, any flaws that may perhaps be indicted outright. None were. They all looked like hardened men; handpicked by whoever was in charge of the operation. Their handling of him from the very start of the assault already told him of their determination. He still made a serious point to read each one of them to assess his chances for escape. He looked over the room and its bare walls that held three windows, which were completely closed with nailed-up planks. There wasn’t much to see unless he was able to peek outside somehow, but he knew these ruffians would not allow that. He needed to think, and that was also a tough task with them keeping him close company. Perhaps that would change over time – but he didn’t relish any lengthy time with these scab heads. But what choice did he have?

  All the while they also studied him. None were taking their eyes off of him. He felt like a bug as Doc Strobel would call it “seen under the microscope by curious minds.” The smaller lithe one of the bunch was sitting directly to his front and was intently measuring him up and down as if he was meant for the evening supper pot. Fortunately, he didn’t see one of those lying around. All of the men were darker olive-skinned. All of them Spanish no doubt. Not a word had been spoken as yet as both sides measured each other.

  Drope had many questions he wanted answered, but bit his tongue knowing he wouldn’t get any answers. He waited for them to open a discourse. Hell, they took him hostage and the least they could offer was to introduce themselves. It was only proper manners for having treated him so fiendishly. He was not going to be seen as a frightened animal in front of this scum. That he was sure about. Everything else was up in the air as to what would transpire. They had the upper hand for now. He continued to stay calm and gain his full faculties back. He would not give in to this bunch. Finally, the man sitting in front of him pursed his thin lips and spoke.

  “You are the famous Capitán Heinrich Drope of the See Wolf, si?” It was not a question, just the typical language inflection the Spanish spoke in.

  “You do me … no, you do us all here a great honor with your presence. A great and feared man of the sea you are. And bountifully wealthy at that from all the stories that abound. You must forgive us for our … let’s say terrible hospitality. Perhaps some of the others in the group do not feel so as much as I do, but that does not matter, señor. As much as I personally have respect for you and your reputation, it is unfortunate that what we have here is of a graver matter. I would very much enjoy a lengthy discussion with you over several tankards of ale or rum, Capitán, but as you can well imagine after taking you captive there are certain priorities to make the most of our time together.”

  Heinrich sneered and replied, “You would make a model British naval officer, señor jefe – mister boss, with all that stupid chatter. Let us not tarry too much on formalities here you sons-of-bitches. It is quite clear your hospitality lacks a certain proper etiquette. Now, what is it you want
from a common cargo hauler?”

  “Oh, no Capitán. As I said, I do not take you as a common wayfarer. No, no, no. You are much more regarded than you assert. You must not be so humble as one in your status.”

  “And what special status are you referring to. I make a simple living wage in a hard business. What do you possibly think I am worth? You want me to share my onboard cargo of spices? I can make that happen. In fact -”

  “Señor, do not test my intelligence. I was not tasked to deliver you for a commoner’s sum. Let us be direct then.”

  “By all means, be as direct as you desire. But I assure you have the wrong hostage if you wish for gold. No one will pay a ransom for a common sailor.”

  The Spaniard, as leader of this band of thugs, was beginning to flush with anger. If he indeed possessed intelligence, surely patience was not one of his attributes. The thin Jefe’s lips pressed hard, and he had cast off his friendly attitude. Turning his head to one side, he made eye contact with one of the men leaning against the wall, who was showing signs of extreme boredom. The Spanish Jefe made a slight, but clear head indication and the big man pushed himself away from the wall and stepped to Drope. Stepping to his right side, the goon without any hesitation, swung a short-left punch to Heinrich’s cheek that slammed his head around hard.

  The sound of the punch was loud in the small and quiet room. The big Spaniard stood erect and stretched his arms for effect taking pleasure in finally doing something enjoyable. Even though Heinrich knew and saw what was coming, he didn’t have the ability to roll with the punch, and the wallop felt like one of his ship’s carpenter, Martin Bauer’s wooden mallets had hit him. The tough guy played his part with noted effect as he crossed his bulging arms rippled with muscles, while a bright twinkle shone in his beady eyes out of pure delight in taking an active part in the deliberation.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” sounded out the thin weasel of a Spaniard on his chair. “You must take your own advice more seriously, Capitán. Proper manners with the right amount of respect are expected from you as well, señor. You do not have any leverage in this.”

  Heinrich shook off the strike by shaking his head as if he was a bit dizzy, which was indeed the case. Then raised his head facing Señor Jefe – Mister Boss and with a sly grin stated, “My cabin boy can hit harder than that, you filthy buzzard brain.”

  Señor weasel came flying out of the chair in a rage and shouted something completely indiscernible into Heinrich’s face as spittle flew out of his mustachioed mouth in volumes. Drope could only squint his eyes shut trying to avoid the shower without avail. The little man pointed a bony finger at his prisoner and canted his face to Señor tough-guy demanding action and the large Spaniard pulled back his arm to swing a roundhouse punch. All Heinrich could do was watch or close his eyes. The arm started forward; the big fist targeting the same side of the face and … an even louder sound erupted as knuckles slammed into the front top of Drope’s head. It was no flesh-to-flesh sound; rather a resounding thud. The big Spaniard screamed in intense pain as fingers had broken from hitting the skull. Heinrich had just at the last second ducked his head down to take the punch.

  Señor tough-guy danced in a frenzy around the room knocking into anything and just about everything howling fiercely in pain, while he gingerly held his broken hand. The sound of his excruciating cries was so loud that Señor Jefe yelled at his men to take the wounded man outside. Two men grabbed the injured Spaniard and hauled him through the door.

  The punch had hit hard, and Drope was still seeing blinking stars and wished he were asleep. But as the seconds went by, he slowly realized this beating session was far from over. Shaking off the pain, he made a point to once again sit straight up in the chair. He was a bit surprised the punch hadn’t spilled him over to the dusty ground. Looking up, he saw Señor Jefe back in his chair. The man’s face was blazing red from anger. He then looked to the ground in thoughtful reflection and took time to calm down.

  “You are one tough, but dumb hombre, señor. You should by now know you are helpless. There is no one coming to save you. Do you not understand that?” he said shaking his head.

  Heinrich kept his mouth shut avoiding more pain. It did not work, however, as el jefe in his immense irritation, gave orders to two other men. The two thugs stepped up and beat on the tied up German captain unmercifully. It was a few hours later when Drope came back around to consciousness and stirred sluggishly. Prying his eyes open was difficult enough as he felt the torment of the beating he sustained. His entire body ached with affliction. They had gone through great lengths to exert agonizing pain on him. He had never been beaten as bad in all his years in the countless fights he had been in numerous ports of call. At least in those times, he was able to fight back. Aches and pangs coursed through his body not unlike having been trampled by a herd of donkeys. Dried blood clung to his facial areas, and the bruising to his torso hurt with every breath. He languished in the chair as the chaffed skin, and sore tendons reminded him he was still tied up firmly. Small gasps and coughs emitted from him as his throat was so utterly dry and had a hard time swallowing any little bit of mucus or saliva that had not as yet evaporated. As tough as it was to lift his head, he managed to do so and his sight fuzzily made out the sharp aquiline nose of Señor Jefe who was staring at him as the man still sat in the same chair facing him. The weasel was inclined comfortably smoking a thin cigar as the smoke curled up and had filled the small space as if they were among clouds. Even the other men were wiggling their noses from the irritating hue that was most likely making their nostrils itch.

  “Open the door,” Jefe ordered, and one man moved to do so for all of their sakes. Immediately a column of smoke began filtering out of the room.

  “Give him some water. Just enough to clear and wet his throat. We only treat accommodating guests with better manners,” he sharply stated for Heinrich’s ears.

  It was the best water he had ever tasted in his life in spite of the sufferance he had endured. As distressing as the circumstances were, Drope fostered and assumed a deplorable attitude that could provide another thrashing, but he needed to assert a sense of confidence over his captors that exuded strength. He believed that weakness shown would encourage them to continue their beating on him to get what they wanted.

  He had no idea how long he had been out for. All he knew was the only things that had changed was he was weakened by being roughed up, and the impatience of his foes was thinning in regards to getting out of him what they sought. He was thinking; what was so important for them to hold him here instead of merely taking him away and bring him to the British for the hefty bounty on his head. There had to be something else on their minds.

  “You, Capitán Drope, are a foolish man that thinks he is indestructible. There is no such man especially when there are certain crucial aspects involved that means a great deal to others; particularly us. I will cut to the chase, so hopefully, you will clearly understand our demands. If not, we can either cut your throat or put a bullet in your head and be done with this.”

  Testy fellow, Heinrich thought. He’d love the chance to get his hands on the man’s throat and squeeze the air completely out of his lungs and hold that fierce grip until the head lolled to one side and his face was flushed a ruby red from oxygen starvation. And still, he would backhand him square in the face breaking his nose just for good measure after he had already lapsed into eternity.

  The man was not at all convincing to Heinrich. They had gone through the trouble to capture him, hold him, and to try to force information out of him, which meant there was much more to this than Señor Jefe had alluded to so far. If this were a simple robbery, it would not have taken a well-planned scheme as this one was. It would not have included so many men either. They would have summarily taken what they could find from him and left him lying on the dark street in town otherwise. There was much more they wanted.

  “Señor, just get to the point. What is it you want from me and let’s get to it, so we do n
ot waste each other’s time? Is that not more practical?”

  “Ah, now you are beginning to make more sense. All this violence makes no one happy. It is a complete waste of time and energy. Let us be men of substance and discuss things rationally.”

  Heinrich felt like shaking his head in disgust that this could have been done from the very start. But at the same time reminded himself he had forced the abuse to buy precious time for his crewmen to find him missing and put a search party together. As distressing as the beatings had been, he saw no other way to buy that time. He felt drained but had to give his all to stall for more time if he had any chance of escape.

  Snuffing out his cigar, the man sat forward in his chair and looked hopeful to get the required information he wanted.

  “Capitán, there are a couple of options that we, meaning my men and our benefactor would like to proceed with. We know the English have a large bounty on your head and your entire crew, along with your ship. If we turned you over to the authorities in Kingstown, Jamaica, we would be given the bounty for you only. It is a fair amount, but not nearly as much as the total of what your ship and crew is worth. We are not however very likely to be able to convince the English to pay for any more than just you. As much as your men favor your release, we do not see them volunteering to give themselves up along with the ship. That is understandable, si?

  Heinrich’s expression said enough to concur that fact to the Spaniard, so he went on. Now that brings us to the most logical conclusion; ransoming you for a lot more booty than the English will pay.”

  Well isn’t that wonderful, Drope’s mind said. I don’t have to worry about being in the hands of the British. I am only in the hands of these miserable scabs who would not shed a single tear if they killed him.