This is extremely late but I didn’t see the prompt before so like… why not.
I awoke to the scream of a seagull.
Getting out of a hammock is not easy. I have seen countless new sailors attempt to roll out of their hammock like a bed on land. They had either become entangled like a fly in a spiderweb or had fallen flat on their face.
I gently moved my legs off the rough canvas, grasped both ends with my hands, and slid off.
There was scarce a breath of air on the deck, and the ship barely rocked in the warm waters. The sailors are cleaning the ship during the lull in sailing.
“Hurry up!” the captain called out. I understood his worry. Calm weather was pleasant. A dead wind, however, betokened a storm.
Then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, a dot on the horizon I would have missed had I looked ever so slightly away. A dreadnought. Even from this distance I could see the sails. They were white as snow, and my blood chilled. Only two world powers owned and operated dreadnoughts, and the Grand Navy painted their logo on all their sails.
“Captain!” I called out. He turned. “Enemy ship eight o’ clock!” He turned, his eyes widening in fear.
“FULL SPEED AHEAD!” the captain screamed. “20 DEGREES STARBOARD!”
The Gloria scarcely budged. The wind was dead and the seas were still. The dreadnought, rows of oars like the legs of some bizarre insect, marched on. I clenched my fists. Old lessons sprung to mind, taught to me by my old master of magic. I managed to summon a magic circle, light blazing within it. Weak. Once I had the power to blow ships out of the water. No more.
The strange battle continued. The dreadnought marched on, while the Gloria sat dead in the water, the captain and sailors arming themselves as best as they could. That’s when I noticed. The slightest taste of electricity in the air. I turned around.
Dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon, their threatening visage a sudden hope that bloomed before us. Please. I whispered a prayer to a god I had long forgotten.
The dreadnought’s cannon boomed. The numbers ran through my head. Nine thirty-kilo shells, flying through the air like the wrath of the divine. They splashed down around the ship, and the vessel shook.
“CAPTAIN!” I screamed over the boom of the detonations. “SAIL TOWARDS THE SPLASHES!”
He yelled out the order. The wind had picked up, driven by the storm gathering. The Gloria creaked as we moved, slowly, ponderously.
The enemy cannon boomed again. We were close enough to see the muzzle flashes, magically enhanced gunnery that made up for the weakness of the powder. A shell slammed into the ship, ripping through the wood like a knife through cheese. I almost laughed. We were so unarmored that the shells were simply cutting through without detonating.
There was a lull. The enemy was changing ammunition. They were staying still in the water, out of range of even our heaviest cannon. We waited, still moving slowly.
And then it happened. A lightning bolt, bright white and blazing blue, smashed down on the highest mast of the dreadnought. The storm had arrived.
The Gloria picked up, swift as a bird where once it had been slow as an ox, sails driving forwards like the wings of a gull. We were picking up water from the holes, but we could pitch it out. I let the magic circle I was holding go. We had been saved. Saved by the storm. A storm that was a blessing.
The dreadnought disappeared in the rain and lightning, looking forlorn as it watched its prey slip away.