it.
Hooper shot at him and missed. The wind was rising and the ship rolled just enough to take the man a yard to the left as the mast swayed.
The bearded man on deck raised his pistol and aimed at Hooper.
Laker, a dozen yards forward of them all, raised his gun, fired, and sent the man sprawling back, blood gushing from his throat. It was a brilliant shot, or a lucky one. His gun fell to the deck. Orme lunged forward and kicked it away, far out of his reach.
Without hesitating Hooper adjusted his aim and shot at the man on the rigging. This time he caught the man’s shoulder and for an instant he swung wide, holding on by one arm, then he crashed into the sea, sending up a huge spray of water.
Another man was away up the rigging. He held the ropes with one hand and his gun with the other.
A second man was coming out of the smashed open hatchway, straight at Laker.
Laker saw him and froze.
The second man on the rigging also aimed at him.
Monk lowered his gun because he could not fire at the man in the hatchway without hitting Laker.
The ship was beginning to roll a little with the freshening wind.
The man in the hatch straightened up, lifting the barrel of his gun. The man on the rigging looked at Monk, half-sheltered from him by one of the yards, and turned back to the deck.
Orme seized a coiled rope and flung it across the deck.
It caught Laker in the middle of his body just as the man in the hatchway fired, and the deck erupted in splinters where Laker had been. Hooper took one of the men on the rigging, and Monk took the other. One of them got caught in the ropes and swung grotesquely by one leg. The other crashed to the deck and lay motionless, blood spreading around him.
Laker swung round and fired at the hatch, then stared in horror as the man toppled out of it, gushing blood, but still clinging on to his gun, jerking the trigger again and again, firing randomly.
Laker winced and shot him again.
More men were coming out of the hatch now, armed with rifles. They must have broken open the cargo and loaded at least three of the guns. They had enough ammunition to hold a siege. They emerged three together, facing in different directions.
There were more men coming up over the rails, too. Hooper was picking them off, but taking heavy fire himself. There was a widening patch of blood on his left shoulder.
Monk saw a man climbing the rigging of the mizzen mast, right above the hatch. His view would be perfect. And if Monk could pick him off, he would fall right into the hatch, blocking all of the men there. But he needed the man to be higher, at least another ten feet.
The man stopped, ready to take aim at Hooper.
Monk fired first, below him.
The man shot back, without aiming, and scrambled higher. Another fifteen feet and it would be too late; he would be shrouded by the rigging.
Orme was cornered between the hatch and the gunwale.
There was no time to warn Bathurst. Monk fired below the man on the mast, then as he was about to reach up to the crow’s nest, he took more careful aim and shot him in the chest. The man let go and plummeted down, crashing into the edge of the hatch and scattering the men there, one falling on to the splinters of the broken wood. His scream was short and terrible.
Suddenly there was gunfire everywhere.
Orme was at the gunwale, shouting and waving his arms.
Hooper was on one knee; his gun aimed carefully, the blood on his shoulder widening.
Laker was aiming steadily, picking off the remaining men at the hatch. He was close to them, dangerously close.
Monk shouted at him, but he took no notice.
Hooper was on his knees, watching the gunwale in case any more raiders came up over on to the deck.
There was more gunfire from the water. It seemed to be all around them. It was Orme who charged across the deck and caught Hooper on the chest with his shoulder so they both fell sideways just as the hatch erupted in flames.
‘Over the side!’ Monk yelled at the top of his
Hooper shot at him and missed. The wind was rising and the ship rolled just enough to take the man a yard to the left as the mast swayed.
The bearded man on deck raised his pistol and aimed at Hooper.
Laker, a dozen yards forward of them all, raised his gun, fired, and sent the man sprawling back, blood gushing from his throat. It was a brilliant shot, or a lucky one. His gun fell to the deck. Orme lunged forward and kicked it away, far out of his reach.
Without hesitating Hooper adjusted his aim and shot at the man on the rigging. This time he caught the man’s shoulder and for an instant he swung wide, holding on by one arm, then he crashed into the sea, sending up a huge spray of water.
Another man was away up the rigging. He held the ropes with one hand and his gun with the other.
A second man was coming out of the smashed open hatchway, straight at Laker.
Laker saw him and froze.
The second man on the rigging also aimed at him.
Monk lowered his gun because he could not fire at the man in the hatchway without hitting Laker.
The ship was beginning to roll a little with the freshening wind.
The man in the hatch straightened up, lifting the barrel of his gun. The man on the rigging looked at Monk, half-sheltered from him by one of the yards, and turned back to the deck.
Orme seized a coiled rope and flung it across the deck.
It caught Laker in the middle of his body just as the man in the hatchway fired, and the deck erupted in splinters where Laker had been. Hooper took one of the men on the rigging, and Monk took the other. One of them got caught in the ropes and swung grotesquely by one leg. The other crashed to the deck and lay motionless, blood spreading around him.
Laker swung round and fired at the hatch, then stared in horror as the man toppled out of it, gushing blood, but still clinging on to his gun, jerking the trigger again and again, firing randomly.
Laker winced and shot him again.
More men were coming out of the hatch now, armed with rifles. They must have broken open the cargo and loaded at least three of the guns. They had enough ammunition to hold a siege. They emerged three together, facing in different directions.
There were more men coming up over the rails, too. Hooper was picking them off, but taking heavy fire himself. There was a widening patch of blood on his left shoulder.
Monk saw a man climbing the rigging of the mizzen mast, right above the hatch. His view would be perfect. And if Monk could pick him off, he would fall right into the hatch, blocking all of the men there. But he needed the man to be higher, at least another ten feet.
The man stopped, ready to take aim at Hooper.
Monk fired first, below him.
The man shot back, without aiming, and scrambled higher. Another fifteen feet and it would be too late; he would be shrouded by the rigging.
Orme was cornered between the hatch and the gunwale.
There was no time to warn Bathurst. Monk fired below the man on the mast, then as he was about to reach up to the crow’s nest, he took more careful aim and shot him in the chest. The man let go and plummeted down, crashing into the edge of the hatch and scattering the men there, one falling on to the splinters of the broken wood. His scream was short and terrible.
Suddenly there was gunfire everywhere.
Orme was at the gunwale, shouting and waving his arms.
Hooper was on one knee; his gun aimed carefully, the blood on his shoulder widening.
Laker was aiming steadily, picking off the remaining men at the hatch. He was close to them, dangerously close.
Monk shouted at him, but he took no notice.
Hooper was on his knees, watching the gunwale in case any more raiders came up over on to the deck.
There was more gunfire from the water. It seemed to be all around them. It was Orme who charged across the deck and caught Hooper on the chest with his shoulder so they both fell sideways just as the hatch erupted in flames.
‘Over the side!’ Monk yelled at the top of his
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