The Free Company in Italy - Vae Victis: Book III

[Storey]

November 14th, the storm is beginning (just before The_Hawks post on another ship)


Finding the captain's quarters was easy but finding the strong box had proven a little more difficult. He was amused to find it under the captains cot in a hidden hole and he was even more amused to find it locked with an old German lock that must have been 50 years old. It only took him a moment to pick the lock and open the box where the glint of jewels brought a sparkle to his eyes.

"Ah, now what do we have here. Isn't this a pretty little bobble! And isn't that a pretty gold ring. My my this is my luckily day."

Sitting on a small stack of papers was a heavy purse that jingled with the heavy ring of gold when Alberic shook it. His attention was drawn to the papers in the box, which had the seal of the Doge of Venice on them. Hurriedly he stuffed them into his blouse and headed back up to the deck. As he reach the ships deck his first reaction was, "What happened to the sun?" The storm had arrived and instinct told him that it was time to get back aboard their ship. Bloomfielde was shouting orders and the men were heading back to their ship.

 

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November 14
in the gathering storm

It had been years since he had him, but there was no mistaking the face. The years had been kind to the Englishman, gentle almost…

Fear clenched the pit of his stomach life never before, and all thoughts of the Cypriot captain vanished from his mind. What had, for weeks, been a game of cat and mouse was suddenly a far more deadly game than he had ever intended.

What was his name?

The capture or even death of Jonasz would have been a prize that would have cemented his personal fortune and raised his stature in the eyes of the Doge. This man, however, was another story altogether. He had heard the stories of…what was his name?…his “activities” in the Holy Land, and knowing he faced him here was the last thing he could have wished. If He was the man who commanded these men, then all hope was lost. Or was it?

What was his name?

He was used to battle on land. Surely his men couldn’t prevail against his crack troops at sea…and yet they were. Slowly his guard were being pushed back, and the Commodore was forced to deal with the occasional man who was foolish enough to come within range of his expertly trained defences. He ignored them as they writhed in pain on the deck around him.

He kept his eye locked on the mercenary leader. What was his name?

He felt a new pang of fear as the Captain began to move towards him.

A sheet of lighning lit the sky...

 

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November 14th, Seraphims Ship...

The bowfire was becoming sporadic now, as the wind picked up. Both ships swarmed with soldiers, but the mercenaries were confident, while the venetians could see the wreck of one ship, and fierce fighting on the others.

As the ships drew closer and closer, men began to jostle, then the planks used for boarding began be lowered, and Lochlan placed his foot up on the railing that seperated, knowing he was safe from arrowfire as the storm howled its way into reality. Casting one look back toward the men, and a look down the side of the ship at Seraphim, he hurled himself over the side jumping just before the men began to swarm over the sides.

He heard a cry from Hans. "Lochlan what the hell do you think your..." And the words were lost.

Then he was among them, his sword parried a quick slash, and he followed through slamming his shoulder into the Venetian, knocking him to the ground. He heard cries from the company men as they stormed over the side of the galley, reversing what had obviously been the Venetians plans.

He caught a slash on the guard of his sword, and his knife slipped underneath to slash his opponents stomach, as the man dropped, Lochlan kicked him in the face. "Come on boys, Death rides with us!" He shouted, and the company men surged foarward again.

He ducked and a heavy blade passed over his head, and he whirled, kicking the marines legs out from under him, then plunging his knife into the mans exposed neck. As he stood up, he saw that as he fought his way across the deck on one side, Lieutenant Seraphim was doing the same on the other. At a relaively fast pace, the deck was being soaked in blood...

 

[Lord Durham]

November 14 - The Glory

When Captain had set eyes on the one-eyed man he felt the need to spring to action.

At precisely the same moment, Captain Jonasz began to bellow orders to cut the ties and drop the planks which held the two ships together.

Captain wondered why and opened his mouth in protest. His men would be stranded. Then he followed the Cyprian's gaze, and saw the other Venetian ship bearing down on them from the starboard side. He understood.

But he was not going to leave his men behind on the other boat. Quickly, he moved to the edge of the aftdeck and climbed the railing. A short jump carried the mercenary across the widening gulf beneath him as the ships drifted apart. He landed on the deck and cleared his broadsword.

Slowly he worked his way toward the enemy Captain, the man with one-eye...

Lightning and thunder surrounded him, and the skies began to open.

 

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november 14 - The Glory

It was heading towards an inevitable confrontation…one that he didn’t relish at all, for the man (what was his name!) had a frightening reputation.

What had he heard? Ruthless. Efficient. Merciless. No…those things would not avail him when it came down to it. Those were the things that sapped strength, drained will…

Used to fighting with a shield…favours his left side…will leave an opening hoping you’ll take chance it…will strike like one of those hideous snakes that could swim in the sea if you dare take it…no…cautious…take no chances…focus…breathe slowly…cover all guards…watch for the inevitable and dangerous move to disarm and then, when he’s expecting you to be surprised by the strength of his assault, pivot and deliver the coupe de grace…that’s how to face him…he remembered the idle speculation that many of the men had engaged in when discussing what, exactly, it would take to defeat the man…whatever his name was.

Drawing new resolve, Mateus moved to face…

…what was his name?!!!

 

[Lord Durham]

OOC: The_Hawk, your PM's full.

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The fighting was tough, these Venetians were regulars, mercenaries maybe. The battle see-sawed on the rain and blood slicked deck. The wind began to pick up pace, blowing water into unprotected faces.

Stoically, Captain moved forward, his sword rising and falling, thrusting and slashing in a flurry of death. He climbed the steps of the aft-deck, pulling a Venetian by the scruff of the neck and tossing him down to the planking below.

A path cleared, and he found himself face to face with the Venetian commander.

 

[Grothgar]

November 14th, Rammed Venetian Ship

The ships crunched together, the momentum of the ram swept John off his feet. Luckily because of his position at the center of the crush of people he didnt fall and he grabbed onto Sir Barkdregs armour for support. He hauled himself up until he was steady enough only to find that in the rush he had been carried onto the venetian ship along with everyone else. "Oh Great!" John thought as he lifted his hammer just in time to deflect a sword blow. Johns hammer was made of solid metal and so could be used to block as well as for swinging.

The Venetian backed off and John wairily swung his hammer easily before him waiting for the attack. The venetian he could see was no fool as he was waiting for an opening so that he could slip his sword through the bigger mans defenses ending the fight cleanly and quickly. John couldnt afford to waste time like this as who knows where the next threat could come from. Taking a desperate gamble John swung a poorly timed attack and the venetian swung his sword round to the side sensing victory.

However the venetians thoughts were rudely interupted when Johns hand, wearing a thick glove with a chain mail glvoe under it, caught the razor sharp sword in his hand pulled the venetian closer and headbutted him on the chin knocking him out cold. John dropped his hammer at his feet and lifted the venetian above his head and looked around for an inviting target. He didnt have to look hard to find it.

A solid phalanxe of venetians was working their way through the maelstorm of the battle and the weather conditions going about their business with cool efficiency. With the company disorganized at the moment these men were having a field day. It didnt take John long to realise what was coming next.

The Leader of the Venetian phalanxe was astonished when out of the driving rain a body seemed to fly through the air and smash into his body of men. It didnt do a lot of damage but, more importantly, it opened up the formation. Sir Barkdreg and Sir Greystoke were there in an instant takin full advantage of the distraction lopping off heads left right and center. John turned away and looked for his next target. He was in a relative calm as the storm and driving rain made this a difficult battle.

John and a few company men strode into the middle of the battle slashing left and right with their swords, John smashing one enemy into the planks after another. It wasnt without losses. A stray arrow caught one free company member in the throat and he fell to the planks quite dead.

The company formed up around their dead comrade and made the venetians pay dearly. The planks around them became slippery with blood but they were in the middle of the most concentrated attack by the venetian men-at-arms.

All it took was a slip and the company was down by another member, but they were taking more that their toll on the forces arrayed against them but they were stranded in the middle of a sea of enemies. Soon, by luck of fate alone, it was John standing alone in the middle, an arrow sticking out of his leg. He praised his armour as it had deflected 2 more arrows which would have killed him.

John beat his way to the rail of the ship and it was here he made his stand. He was surrounded with nowhere to go, we swung his hammer in arcs around him to keep the venetians at bay but he knew, and they did to, that he would soon tire. He looked around and not seeing any help coming threw himself upon the venetians...

 

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November 14...

Forced back to the aft deck, Mateus knew that the day was lost.

He had seen his men being cut to pieces. There was even the indignity of having the corpse of one of his own soldiers heaved into his front line, creating an annoying hole that it had taken several very risky cuts and slashes to plug…

But even as he had retreated to the higher ground that the aft deck afforded, he had seen the rain of death that surrounded the mercenary captain. What the blazes was his name?

He saw his valiant sergeant, Franco, face down the knight and be hauled aside by the scruff of his neck. Normally he would have watched the man’s fall to determine how he fared, but this was different. All of a sudden he was face to face with the enemy leader and knew that he was in very serious trouble.

Breathe…remember his strengths…remember his weaknesses…poison dagger…pretend to work on his left side like he expects you to…watch for the disarm manoeuvre…here it comes…pivot…parry…coup…

Sparks flew as Mateus deflected the strike – only barely - and he realised with a grim, fatalistic humour that his left wrist had been shattered by the force of the blow and that he had dropped the deadly dirk. Assuming a new stance, trying to wring life back into his broken limb, he attempted a stop-parry-leg-thrust against the mercenary’s onslaught, which forced the man back a step – no more – before he renewed his vigorous attack.

All of a sudden he remembered the man’s name!

“Robert,” he exclaimed.

But the man’s sword was already swinging in counter-riposte and far too close to his head. He tried to dodge, but it came on remorselessly, turning at the last instant to connect with his temple with the flat of the blade. Had he any consciousness left with which to appreciate the artistry and skill with which the blow had been executed he would have been dumbfounded. As it was, he was already sinking into oblivion…hoping against hope that lightning would strike...

 

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Bloomfielde's men had captured most of the first Venetian ship, but their own was being overrun by men from the second.

Don Diego yelled for his men to follow him back aboard their ship. He waved at Stroph and his other corporals to gather their men. They jumped across.

Don Diego fought his way to where the other ship was lashed to theirs.

 

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Don Diego's voice was clear and sharp -
"Senior Stroph and squad reform and back to the ship"

Stroph barked out a single order and his men reassembled on the side of the Venetian ship. He saw that the other Venetian ship had disgorged men who now swarmed over the FC ship and if the squad didn't act quickly, they would lose their own ship.

Don Diego led the way and the FC men in unison slashed their way though the Veneitian swarm. Behind Don Diego were Phillipe and Stefan and two FC privates hacked and slashed. Blood and body parts testified to the ferocity of the pair.

 

[TheF]

"Come on boys, Death rides with us!" He shouted, and the company men surged foarward again.

Firas jumped over the sides, he held a small knife in is left hand and a large one in his right. The first Venetian that he targeted clearly was not paying attention to him. The second one however, was different material, as he was focussing on Firas exclusively. The man was not that tall or quick, but he wielded a fearsome scimitar with a skill that would have been respected in the army of the Sultan.

Firas was the quicker one of the two, though. He made an obvious feint at the Venetians right side, his opponent responded by blocking his left side, nearly at the same time he flung his small knife at the Venetians chest. The Venetian tried to duck but he was too slow - instead of being hit in the chest he was hit in the throat. Firas grabbed the hilt of his enemy's scimitar as the man fell down. As he weighed the weapon in his hand, he could see another man raising his weapon in the corner of his eyes. Without hesitation he lunged out and gave the man such a cut in his side that he fell over... right on top of another Venetian.

Firas moved in for the kill. His frenzy grew as the fighting got more intense.

 

[Derek Pullem]

Stormy weather........

“He’s gone again, sir” said Spiros

“So I see, Spiros” replied Pohlman. “Edmonde is never one to stand and talk when there’s fighting work to be done. He seems to be coping quite well over there so I’ll guess we’ll look to our own problems now!”

The Venetian galley was edging nearer to the side of their transport. The Company archers and handgunners had had the better of the exchange up to now, but the multitude of heavily armed and armoured men ready to board on the deck of the Venetian ship did not bode well. Johan and his crossbowmen were only lightly armed and the only heavy foot available were Antonio’s command. The Italian stood ready with his men but 80 against 200 did not look like favourable odds, even with the support of the missile troops.

The transport Captain and two of his crew approached.

“You wanta ship to leave?” the captain asked pointing to the dinghy. “Sky is very bad” he added in very poor French.

“What did he say” asked Pohlman to Spiros. Spiros and the captain spoke rapidly in Italian.

“He thinks we’re mad” replied Spiros “But he understands what we want to do. Antonio, Otto and Johan will try to stop the Venetians from boarding whilst we slip around the back in the dinghy. When he hears the signal then he’ll try to break contact”

“OK, lets do it” replied the Master Gunner.


With the sound of breaking timbers and screams of pain from the oarsmen, the galley and the transport collided. The Venetians tried to lash the boats together but Antonio’s men concentrated on cutting the lines and fending the ships apart. Here and there a brave man managed to cross on to the transport but for the most part the battle was fought across the narrow gap between the two vessels.

“Come on” yelled Pohlman as the dinghy was lowered into the water. The dinghy was tethered to the transport and the two sailors assigned to them pulled hard on their oars as they circled the transport and approached the rear of the galley.

“Is it big enough”asked Spiros pointing to the powder key lashed to a boarding spike.

“It’ll have to do – it’s only supposed to take out the rudder. If it holes the ship as well that’s a bonus.” replied Frederick.

“Look out Frederick!” yelled Spiros as a Venetian crossbowman spotted them and let fly. The bolt thudded into the wooden barrel Frederick was holding.

“Good shot!” observed Frederick.

“But not good enough” replied Spiros as he took aim with his own crossbow and felled their assailant with his own bolt. “I hope he was the only one watching the stern”.

As they approached the rudder, Pohlman took out a hammer and pounded the makeshift petard into the hull of the vessel. Fortunately the din of the battle prevented anyone else from noticing their activities. Lighting the fuse, Pohlman signalled to the sailors to row back. A futile exercise as one look at the spluttering fuse was enough to put the fear of God into the crewmen. Spiros and Frederick grabbed their own oars and rowed for their very lives. The weather was taking a turn for the worse and the waves were breaking over the small craft but that was unimportant unless they put enough distance between themselves and the powder.

The charge detonated and ripped a large hole in the stern of the Venetian galley. “That’s not fatal” moaned Spiros “But they won’t be going anywhere fast in this sea”

“Let’s hope the captain heard it” added Pohlman.


The explosion echoed across both the boats. Momentarily the fighting halted to see that had happened.

“Thatsa it – do it now” yelled the transport captain. The artillerymen, useless passengers up to now moved forward with a motley collection of ramrods, pikes and poles and heaved the boats apart. At the same time the oarsmen on the transport tried to break away from the galley. Slowly the ships edged away from each other, the Venetian listing badly and floundering in the rising wind with no means of steerage. A cheer went up from the Company men and the crew together.

“Well they aren’t going anywhere soon” observed Otto.

“Yes” replied Johan “but where’s the Lieutenant”

“Oh, they’re all right” Otto pointed to the small dinghy trailing about 50 paces behind the transport on the end of the rope. “Providing they keep bailing that boat, that is. Come on, lads. The Lieutenant needs us to pull him in”

 

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Alvin fought with a fury that belied his size. He was slow, methodical, almost gruesomely so.

Swish, swish, chunk.

Swish,swish, chunk.

Swish,swish, chunk.

With each "chunk" another Venetian fell to the deck without a head or arm.

Swish, swish, chunk.

Swish, swish, chunk.

Swish, swish, chunk.

Alvin heard an explosion in the distance, and cocked his head slightly.

He felt the first drops of rain, and knew that it was time for a strategic retreat.

"Time to get out of here, before I get taken down with the rest of these fools." Alvin thought grimly as he edged back towards the tranpsort.

 

[Storey]

Alberic came on deck and heard an explosion that at first he thought was thunder. He saw Alvin and Khan heading back to the company's ship and decided that now was a good time to join them. In the distance he could hear Bloomfielde once again yelling orders but he couldn't make out what he was yelling.

 

[Rictus]

With a grunt, Edward landed on the creaking Venetian ship, his sword already flciking upwards to parry an oppurtunistic swipe. Behind him, scores of his men were carrying the fight to the enemy, though the Venetians, to their credit, were well organised and had learned quickly from their sister ships fates'.

His left arm, wielding the shorter French blade snaked out to spear one man in the neck, who was engaged to a Free Company man, his other arm, curled into a fist was thrust heavily into a Veneitan pikemans' face whom Edward had slipped past. He fell back heavily, dropping the long weapon as he did so. Edward delivered a punishing kick to his chest but otherwise left the incapitated man alone.

Across the ship, Lochlan was making good progress, his blades dealing expert death in the confined spaces, slashing tendons and jugulars while bulky longswords had no chance of a swing. However, he was on his own and Edward saw this.

"Hans! Kishlanksky! Get to him, now" he ordered. Immediately, a third of his command moved to the Scout Masters aid, though Edward knew he probably didn't need it.

A few Venetian sailors, armed with everything from cudgals to cutlesses, had managed to worm their way past the Free Company and to try and get to the handful of archers who had remain on the transport, but Duncun and his dozen men made sure the archers were able to keep up a steady of fire and also ensure that as many of the wounded made it back.

"Cockney, there!" Edward pointed with his shortsword to the weakest part of his, the Moor and his troops trotted into battle, adding their thin spears to deadly effect. However, Edwards bellowed orders also made him a target for Venetian sharpshooters and a tempting target for any marine or sailor seeking glory. The Lieutenant was almost constantly on the defensive, made worse by that inconvenient niggling feeling you get when people are trying to pick you off.

Just to prove the point, one arrow tore a gash in the leather on his thigh, another zipped over his shoulder and tearing a pair of his braids with it. The third bounced loudly off the guard on his longsword.

Jamming his elbow in one mans face and goring another with his katar, Edward twisted around to face Duncun,

"Get them! Now!" He indicated the dozen or so Venetian archers poised on the rigging and crows nest. Across the far side, Lochlan was still making fine progress although he too was getting increasingly hampered by the press, fortunately, Hans and Kisklanksky were making good progress.

Then the Venetian Guard turned up.

 

[Storey]

As Alberic reached the company's ship and prepared to attack the second ship he looked over to the Venetian ship and saw it teeming with the enemy.

"Damn there must be 1500 of them he exclaimed!"

OOC 1500 posts and still going strong! Not a bad thread to reach it on.

 

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OOC: You and I both. I hit 1500 last night on this very thread too. It's kind of fun watching you since we both post at roughly the same rate. I guess I'd be a Lt. General now if I wasn't such a FOOL!!

*******

November 14

It began to rain.

 

[Misha]

November 14 - Aboard the Rammed Enemy Ship

Sir Greystoke fought carefully. Entering the engagement in full armor had provided a boost for the Free Company against their lightly armed adversaries, but one misstep & the knight would end his career at the bottom of the Mediterranean. Paul noticed that Sir Barkdreg had no such reservations. As always, the huge knight was fighting with reckless abandon, cutting a swathe of devastation through their enemies. Sir Greystoke grinned - it was nice to have the fallen Templar back in the fold. Whatever had happened in Sir Barkdreg's two year absence from the Company, certainly his fighting edge was undimmed, despite the grey hair...

As Paul moved forward, he noticed that young Baron von Spandau was withdrawing from the fray. The lad apparently had acquitted himself well in the fight thus far, but seemed a tad miffed at the onset of inclement weather. Which gave Sir Greystoke pause. It was bad enough to be fighting in full armor on the rolling deck of a ship, but to do so in a storm? Perhaps the youthful German knight was right, & a withdrawal to the Glory was advisable.

Sir Greystoke moved to signal Sir Barkdreg, but realized that the gesture was futile. The erstwhile Templar would not withdraw while he still drew breath. Paul shrugged. Fortune favors the bold, he thought. But Sir Greystoke felt no urge to tempt fate. It was time to get back to their own ship. The knight didn't like the way that the rammed enemy ship was listing...

 

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November 14th, Seraphims battle

Lochlan snarled as a blade brushed his shoulder, opening a wound he would definately feel later. His blade slipped into the mans unprotected stomach, and the venetial sank to his knees.
Just then Hans and Kishlansky crashed into the men around him with their commands, they broke the already traumatized venetians easily, and the three paused for a breath.

An arrow slammed down between his feet, and he looked up to see a hastily reloading archer. He was about to say something witty when a crossbow bolt from one of Duncans scots took the enemy in the neck. As it was, he just grunted.

Then the Venetian guard showed up. They had obviously taken their time getting armed, and their superior armor showed it. The company advance slowed to a halt as they regarded etheir noew enemies.

"Mein Gott." Hans said, wiping his blade on the shirt of a sailor. "Where did they come from?"

"Belowdecks I imagine, before that...Venice?" Kishlansky ventured, and gave the german corporal an evil grin.

"I don't care if they came from the bottom side of the world, we have to get rid of them before we get..." As he spoke the storm rose to another level of ferocity, and the scouts hair whipped around. He looked down the line of Company men, and saw Lieutenant Seraphim finishing off the last of the sailors on that end.

He looked back at his own men, their bloodlust was evident. He shrugged, who wanted to live forever. He raised his sword, and swept it in a downward motion. "Death rides with us!" He cried and he company surged forward again, howling. Who wanted to live forever anyway...

 

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Don Diego heard an explosion. He looked and saw a puff of smoke go up from the rear of one of the other Venetian galleys.

Alberic's men were arriving and between the two squads they managed to clear the deck of Venetians. The Venetians were still pouring out of their own holds though. This ship must've had most of their fighting men.

"We need a way to disable their ship. Have any ideas?" He shouted to Alberic.

"We can have Bloomfielde play his pipes. There's no way anybody who hasn't built up some immunity could fight with that going on." he shouted back.