The Adventures of the HMS Harlot

Part 3: Ethel Blay, Navigator

"You need me as a spotter?"

"Yes. I'm going to shoot down the sails, rigging, and anything else that will slow them down, but you are going to tell me where to shoot."

Oh, yeah, sure, no pressure Ethel! Just be eyes for the greatest sharp shooter you've ever met! And If you fail, and can't slow down the Gabriel, well, then the whole crew will perish at the hands of the most vicious crew in the whole armada. Right. Piece of cake.

As if the day hadn't been exciting enough, fleeing from the colony, blowing up towers, racing back to the Harlot, and now playing cat and mouse chase with the Gabriel of all ships; the icing on the cake was running onto the Harlot and tripping over Seymour's rifle. I looked around but there was no sign of Seymour. Very unnerving. I have known the sniper a while now and I've never seen him put his gun down. I'm pretty sure he sleeps with the thing. I asked Witherford, as he ran to get to the engines below, if he had any clue where Seymour was? He laughed "Ha, where else?" and pointed to the crows nest. " 'sa miracle he got up there though, I'll tell ya," and with that he disappeared below deck. So I began my ascent to the crow's nest, rifle in hand.

Halfway up the ropes the Harlot rocked, suddenly hit with enemy fire. I gripped the ropes as tight as I could with my free hand and wove one leg through the rungs of the ladder, bracing myself as I swung around the mast.

"We've been hit," I heard from above me. Yeah, Seymour, thanks for the update.

I finished my climb and flopped into the crow's nest, announcing to Seymour that I was there returning his rifle. In an instant, I had the big man's full weight on me, his grateful tears soaking my shirt sleeve. Poor guy reeked of drink and was bawling like a baby. I had never seen Seymour this emotional and could never for all the gold in a doxy's purse picture him drunk. It was hilarious. Naturally, I told the whole crew.

Which brings me to spotting for Seymour, our sloshed sniper, who couldn't hold his liquor.

After a moment of fiddling with the instruments I had on me, I gave Seymour our bearings.

"The Harlot is traveling at 65 knots, the Gabriel at 70. Our current altitude is approximately 3,600 meters. The Harlot's steady. The wind is coming from the north, our port. You need to wait for it to die down for this shot to work."

"On your word then" He replied. Staggering, he swung the gun toward the Gabriel and took aim. Although he was swaying in the way only men fresh from the bottle do, the rifle was solid. Even piss drunk, Seymour's hands were steady as a drumbeat.

I closed my eyes and focused on the wind. Breathing in. I let the the chaos below deck fall away. Breathing out. I stopped the panic that had been rising in my chest, since seeing the Gabriel. Breathing in. I slowed down my own beating heart. Breathing out. I felt the wind go still.

"NOW!" I shouted. Seymour fired.

Over on the Gabriel, some rigging came loose, causing a set of sails to come tumbling down.

Together, Seymour and I managed to loosen a few more of the Gabriels sails and just when I was thinking the dents we were making weren't making any difference, something happened.

They were hanging back. Retreating!

"Seymour! It worked! They're turning tail, the cowards!"

Just as I turned to congratulate him on idiocy gone well, Seymour turned and vomited over the side of the crows nest.

Oh well, we'll celebrate later.

Ethel Blay