Lucifer's Fire

by Richard Turner

  LUCIFER’S FIRE

  A RYAN MITCHELL THRILLER

  BY RICHARD TURNER

  ~~~

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2015 by Richard Turner. All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  1

  West Africa

  October 10, 1715

  The hot jungle air was heavy and still.

  Death, like the inevitable dawn, was coming and there was not a thing anyone could do to stop it. They had gambled everything and lost. Huddled behind their pitiful barricade, they awaited their fate.

  A loud crash broke the terrible silence as flames leapt out into the dark, briefly illuminating the killing ground.

  “You damned bloody fool, for God’s sake save your powder!” bellowed James Lucifer at the frightened crewman, a pimply-faced youth barely past his sixteenth birthday. The boy stood there, his eyes fixed on the darkness, his heavy musket clutched in his trembling hands.

  “You’re all shooting at bloody ghosts again,” scolded Lucifer, trying desperately to keep his men from firing off what was left of their precious ammunition. Hobbling over, Lucifer placed his gnarled hand on the unsteady youth’s shoulder.

  “I saw one, Captain, I know I did,” mumbled the youth under his breath.

  “Don’t you worry none my lad; they’ll be back at dawn. Only this time there’ll be so many of the screaming heathens coming at us out of the jungle that the very ground will shake as they rush toward us. They’ll be screaming at us in their native tongue, waving their shields and spears in the air, every last one of the bastards looking to kill poor old Captain Lucifer and his men.”

  “Aye, sir,” replied the boy, his voice cracking with fear as he tried to sound brave.

  Lucifer stood beside the boy, peering into the impenetrable night surrounding them. He spat on the ground and muttered a curse against his unseen foe. The sound of drums and singing taunted them from the jungle. Lucifer knew they had been coming by the hundreds, joining the warriors surrounding their camp, waiting for the dawn to arrive so they could take their revenge.

  The boy looked up at the scarred and craggy face of his captain. “Sorry cap’n, but I thought I was certain that I saw one of em out there.”

  “Aye, lad, you just might have, but remember to wait until the bastards get real close and then put one in their belly. That way, you’ll know they’ll go down for sure and never get back up,” said Lucifer with a grin on his weathered face.

  Nodding his understanding, the boy tried swallowing but found he couldn’t. Fear had long since dried his mouth. He reached down with a shaking hand, picked up a wooden water bottle and took a deep gulp of brackish-tasting water, trying to quench his insatiable thirst. The youth wiped his mouth dry on his blood-encrusted sleeve, turned back toward the barricade and slowly began to reload his musket, wishing he were home in England. After abandoning his life of begging on the streets of Bristol for one of piracy, the boy thought he had made the right choice; only now, with death staring him in the face, he wished he had never heard of Captain Lucifer and his accursed ship.

  Lucifer patted the boy on the head and then painfully limped back to the upturned barrel that he had been using as a seat for the past couple of hours. With a resigned sigh, Lucifer shook his head in defeat. The sun may have gone down, but the interminable heat hadn’t relented one single bit. To Lucifer, it felt as hot now as when the noonday sun hung high above. He took his dirty handkerchief from his pocket and ran it over his wrinkled face; covered with numerous scars, each one of them told a story from his past. Lucifer had a thick, black beard that hung down from his jutting chin and was braided on the sides. His tired, dark brown eyes no longer shone with the hunger of his youth. Lucifer knew in his weary bones that he had come to his end. If he were going to die, he would do so as a man.

  Sitting down, Lucifer reached over, and with a grimace on his face, he adjusted the worn leather strap that held his wooden peg leg onto his reddened and sore stump. Looking up into the night sky, Lucifer thought back to the day when he was barely fourteen years old, and a Spanish cannonball took his left leg.

  Lucifer grew up in the fetid slums of London. A troubled youth, he had run away from an abusive stepfather when he was only eleven. Born James Lucas, he soon made his way to the stinking Southampton docks, made his sign on a ship’s roster and from that day on, he never once looked back. He found among the ship’s company of runaways and criminals the family he had always wanted.

  By age twenty, he had his own ship. Setting sail for fresher territories in the East, he terrorized the warm waters of the Indian Ocean for years, taking what he wanted, regardless of the flag flown on the vessel; all were fair game as far as Lucifer was concerned. One morning off the West Coast of India, he intercepted an Arab ship and her two escorts making their way to the post of Bombay When the fight was done, the escorts had been sent to the bottom of the sea, and the rich Arab merchant vessel was his. After dispatching the crew, Lucifer boarded the ship, and in its hold, he found an unbelievable treasure of gems, gold, and silver. Never had such a prize been taken by any pirate crew, nor would anyone see riches such as these ever again.

  Realizing that they had taken more wealth in one engagement than any other crew ever had, Lucifer gave the order to set sail back to the Caribbean, where the treasure would be divided among the crew. What each man did after that was his decision. Lucifer had always fancied buying some land in the American Colonies and settling down to enjoy what little time he had left in his life.

  After sailing for nearly a month, his lookouts spotted masts on the horizon. Their worst fears were soon confirmed when two English warships sailed into view. If they were caught, every man on board knew that they would be hanged for the crime of piracy. They unfurled their sails and hoped that his vessel could lose their pursuers sometime in the darkness of the night. Trying their best to outrun the English, they soon found they were too overladen with treasure to escape. Each man knew it was just a matter of time before they were forced to turn and fight. Lucifer spat at the English ships. He knew that he could beat one ship, but two men-of-war were too much, even for him and his crew. Cursing his luck, Lucifer prayed for a miracle.

  As night fell, Lucifer�
�s prayers were heard when a tropical storm came out of the south like a dark angel and battered his ship, The Devil’s Revenge, snapping his main mast as if it were a mere twig. Fighting to keep his ship afloat, Lucifer had himself lashed to the ship’s wheel while his men furiously worked the bilge pumps below. Waves taller than any Lucifer had ever seen in his life surged all around The Devil’s Revenge, threatening to send it to the bottom of the sea. Laughing and cursing like a man possessed by the Devil himself, Lucifer railed against the storm.

  When the first rays of the sun crept up on the horizon and chased away the accursed night, Lucifer and his crew found themselves run aground on the shores of an unexplored stretch of West Africa. Looking out to sea, Lucifer hoped that their pursuers had either been sunk or given up their chase during the storm. Ordering the crew to make repairs, Lucifer hoped to float his battered vessel and sail out on the next high tide. However, it wasn’t to be. The next day, like a pair of hungry wolves looking for their quarry, the warships appeared offshore. Seeing The Devil’s Revenge lying there beached and helpless, they sailed in for the kill. Cursing their luck, Lucifer and his crew tried fighting back, but it was a fight he couldn’t ever hope to win. In minutes, half his crew had been cut down. Shells easily tore through the exposed belly of his ship, sending jagged splinters of wood flying into the men futilely trying to work the cannons. When the British warships ceased firing, Lucifer’s ship was finished. The wreckage on the beach barely resembled a ship at all, more like the carcass of some mythical wooden beast washed ashore.

  When he saw the English ships make ready to send men ashore to finish them off, Lucifer called what remained of his battered crew together and gave them the option to surrender to the English and face death by hanging, or they could follow him and attempt to push inland. He had heard stories of Arab traders who were reputed to have established settlements to the north. Lucifer told his men that they could trade some of their treasure for assistance from the Arabs. With some luck, they would soon be safe. There were plenty of places along the coast where they could hire a new ship and then sail home, still rich men.

  Not a soul voted to take his luck with the English. Setting the remains of his ship alight, Lucifer turned his back on his once-proud vessel and then climbed aboard the lead boat. Four longboats, dangerously overloaded with men, treasure, and supplies, soon made their way into the mouth of a wide, fast-flowing river and, without looking back, they began to make their way upriver.

  For weeks, they pushed up the unnamed river. The incessant buzz from the thick clouds of disease-filled mosquitoes was enough to drive a man crazy. Several of the weaker men quickly succumbed to their wounds from the fight with the English, while others were soon so sick that they couldn’t row anymore. One poor soul was taken by a crocodile as long as one of their boats while he fetched water. The few natives they saw always fled into the jungle the instant they spotted the strange men sailing past in their large boats. Early one morning, they turned the bend on the cool, mist-covered river and saw an old Arab fort overlooking the river. With a loud cheer, the men pulled for all they were worth.

  Lucifer was the first man to jump from his boat and wade ashore. Their euphoria was short-lived because when they got closer they found that the fort had long been abandoned. Aside from a few graves outside of the fort, there wasn’t a single sign to say that anyone had ever been there. To Lucifer, it looked as if no one had been there for several decades. The fort was in desperate need of repair if anyone was ever going to use it again. The local natives had long ago removed the wooden gate for firewood. Setting up camp inside the fort, Lucifer decided to give his exhausted men a few days’ rest before continuing their journey north. Although disappointed to find the fort empty, he took it as a good sign that Arab merchants had at least penetrated this far into the jungle. Perhaps, there were more forts still in use just a few days’ sail away?

  After two days, a blind, elderly native man helped by a young boy walked out of the jungle. Lucifer was pleased to discover that the man spoke Arabic, having learnt it when the fort was used to trade goods. Using one of his men to help translate, the elderly man explained to Lucifer that the Arabs had gone north over thirty years ago after disease had nearly wiped them all out. Realizing that they needed to push on if they were going to find any assistance, Lucifer decided to barter for supplies. He asked the old man if he could arrange for them to trade some of their goods for supplies of fresh meat and fruit. The man, with a wide toothless smile, happily agreed to help.

  For the next couple of days, people warily walked out of the surrounding jungle and bartered with Lucifer’s men for things they needed in exchange for live game and freshly picked fruit.

  Lucifer saw his men’s flagging spirits rise with each passing day. Any grumbling over their bad luck was soon erased, and a newfound optimism about their future filled the air. That was, until one day when some of the younger men broke out the rum and tried to entice some of the young native girls into the fort to join them. Cursing up a storm at the men’s damned foolishness, he immediately ordered that not a single drop of liquor was to be given to or drunk around the natives. He wasn’t going to throw away any goodwill they had built up with the locals over a bottle of rum. Lucifer expected that this, like all of his orders, would be followed; instead, the young men decided that they knew better. As soon as it was dark, they snuck out of the fort with several bottles of rum and went in search of the girls they had seen the day before.

  By morning, it was too late . . . they were all doomed.

  Lucifer was woken the next day by one of his men, mumbling something incoherently, and his breath smelling of rum. Shaking his head, Lucifer pushed the drunken man aside and went to see what all the commotion was about. Stopping at the entrance to the fort, he was shocked to see the severed heads of four of his men mounted on the tips of bloody spears just outside of the jungle. Throwing on his heavy blue woolen jacket, Lucifer stepped outside and called for the old man. A few minutes later, the man accompanied by his great-grandson returned to the fort. Lucifer was beside himself and demanded to know what had happened. Why had his men been murdered?

  The old man explained that they had been caught in a drunken state, raping several of the local chaste women, two of whom were daughters of the tribal chief, and had been summarily executed for their crimes.

  Lucifer bit his lip. He knew his men were in the wrong. He only wished that they had been turned over to him for punishment.

  The rhythmic sound of drums came out of the jungle from all around the fort. The old man looked up at Lucifer through unseeing eyes and told him that it would soon be too late for them to save themselves. His people would be coming for them. Turning his back on Lucifer, the man and his great-grandson walked back to the thick, green jungle and quickly melted away from sight.

  Hobbling as best he could, Lucifer made his way back inside the fort. His gruff voice turned loud and angry as he told his men to prepare to get underway this instant. Ten minutes later, Lucifer and his men, many still nursing bad hangovers, made their way out of the fort to their waiting boats.

  The very air around them grew eerily silent and still. Not a sound was heard from the jungle. Even the animals rutting through the garbage piled outside the fort turned quiet.

  Lucifer’s stomach knotted. Slowly, he reached for his saber; he didn’t have to be told what was coming next.

  All of a sudden, the jungle itself seemed to spring to life. Dozens of arrows and spears flew out of the tropical rainforest and began to rain down on Lucifer’s hapless men trapped out in the open. Men all around Lucifer screamed in pain and then dropped to the ground dead or dying from the poison-tipped arrows embedded in their bodies. Panic took hold as another deadly shower of arrows flew at the pirates. They ran for the safety of the fort, dropping anything they had in their hands in the rush to escape. Wounded men crawling along the ground begged their comrades to carry them. No one dared to stop. The wounded were abandoned to die.

/>   Once inside the old fort, the terrified men collapsed onto the ground, struggling to catch their breath.

  Lucifer looked around and gritted his teeth in anger. He had lost over a dozen good men. Cursing, he called his lieutenants over and told them to bar the gate any way they could and to prepare themselves for another attack.

  The old Arab fort was really a fort in name only. Its walls had long since begun to collapse and it was without a front gate; they knew that they wouldn’t be able to stop a determined enemy from breaking inside and slaughtering them all.

  Throughout the day, the drums grew louder. Lucifer knew that it could only mean one thing: that more natives were being called to join in the coming slaughter.

  Lucifer never believed in lying to his men, not when death was staring them in the face. He had always told them the odds they faced and their chances for victory, no matter how slim the odds might have been. Calling the men huddled behind the fort’s walls to him, Lucifer told them to their faces that they were trapped and that they were undoubtedly going to be attacked at first light. Taking a quick inventory, Lucifer found that they barely had enough weapons for the men trapped in the fort; the remainder of their arsenal was still stowed away on the boats down by the river. Their small, two-pounder cannon, nicknamed the Queen Anne after the late monarch of England, only had enough powder for three shots before it would be useless. Their lone hope for salvation lay in making it to the river. If they could get to their boats without being seen, then they stood a chance of getting away.

  As night fell, Lucifer told his men to prepare themselves. As soon as it was dark enough, he intended to give the order to abandon the fort and make for the river. Flames pierced the night. Standing atop the fort’s walls, Lucifer and his men watched despondently as their boats and everything in them were set alight by the natives.