“She’s coming about, sir!”

“Fire!” bellowed Captain Loxley.

The Lady’s cannons roared. Their shot crashed through the bow of the French frigate. Smoke, wood, blood, and screams filled the air. It was a good blow by Loxley’s crew, the fighting men of HMS Lady Jane. A good blow, but it was not enough to stop their foe.

The frigate completed its turn and headed towards them. It would pass tightly along their side. The Frenchies would be too close to deliver a broadside; that would decimate the Lady, and ruin the French captain’s chance for a prize. It was going to be a boarding.

Loxley cursed his luck; what men he had left had already gone through enough of an ordeal. It had been a week since the storm had separated them from the Indiamen they were escorting, protecting them from Napoleon’s small but strong naval presence here. The storm had come out of nowhere, and stranger weather followed. Thick fog prevented a reading on their position. The ocean was calm and yet they could not get a consistent depth reading. And the most disturbing phenomena; their compasses never stopped spinning. Nothing was in sight except water and fog.

After a week in that limbo, Loxley and his crew were stunned when they had come across the French vessel. Judging by their stares, the Frenchmen had been equally as shocked. The first moments of “battle” were anything but. The two ships had simply passed each other in silence. That changed though. There was a war on and Loxley and his French equivalent got their crews about. The back and forth of their guns had played out for the last 15 minutes, and now … a boarding.

Small arms fire brought Loxley back to the present. He turned to his first lieutenant.

“Head to the bow, get the men …”

The lieutenant collapsed as a bullet hit his forehead. Loxley turned to his second.

“Get the men ready to fend them off!”

The lieutenant nodded and ran off. Loxley readied the men about him. Firings stopped on both sides as the French ship finally drew alongside. Loxley drew his sword.

The French ship exploded as a gargantuan, black pillar smashed through from underneath. No, not a pillar, thought Loxley. It couldn’t be. Not when he saw white teeth and yellow eyes the size of men slowly rise up past the wreckage and his Lady into the sky.

The thing grew taller and taller as he tracked it up, somehow maintaining his foothold on his rocking boat.

“My God,” Loxley said.

The growth of it slowed and stopped. Somebody screamed as they realized it was coming back down, but it followed the same path it had taken up. A few moments later it quietly slipped into the dark waters.

Loxley looked at where it had disappeared, but shortly became aware of the state of his men. Most of them were terrified into silence. Some were crying and praying to God. Or praying to whatever they just saw. The better members of his crew were already turned to him, waiting for orders. Loxley noted the only man smiling was Old Gaff as he mumbled “couldn’t all be tales, could they?”

“Enough,” Loxley said. He raised his voice. “Enough! It’s over … it’s … We won!”

More men turned to him now, while others helped their panicked shipmates come to grips. They pointed to him; the Captain was taking charge, see, life was normal.

“Collect the wounded and gather the dead. We’ll sail off a ways, and then begin repairs,” said the Captain.

Loxley looked out into the fog. Somehow he was not surprised to see it thinning.

“Mr. Hutchinson, my sextant, please. I think I see the sun.”