La Tempesta en el Caribe [PG-13] (Spain, USA)

[Spain]

Note: I have not figured out the official rating for this thread yet, but once I do, I'll make changes to the title. There is a potential for it to get violent, though it would depend on how things play out.

Let justice be done, though the world perish.
-King Fernándo II

Morning, October 28th, 1873, A couple days before the Virginius Incident

Rays of the morning Cuban sun shone through the window, illuminating the Spaniard as he leaned against his desk, enjoying his cup of café. Antonio Fernández Carriedo had finally adjusted to the major time difference between Madrid and Havana, taking advantage of the lack of guidelines laid out for the trip by catching up on some much needed rest. Several issues weighed heavily on the Spaniard’s mind lately, enough to keep him preoccupied during his trip to Cuba. His primary reason for coming to the colony was to meet with his troops and to ensure that they were holding up in spite of the fact that many of them had been plagued with disease and weary from the guerrilla warfare. However as much as he wanted to send more men over to help them, Antonio had found his hands tied as he found himself caught up a Third Carlist War, an ugly eruption that broke out after the elections last year.

For a split second, the Spaniard entertained the thought of making an attempt to try to hold another peace meeting with Cuba. However, Antonio killed the thought almost as quickly as he thought of it, it did not take a genius to predict the outcome of their encounter. He had sworn to give up on meeting with Cuba when conflict broke out after their last very short (and very fiery) exchange, which ended with the Spaniard getting unceremoniously booted out of the building. It was a sad turn of events in his eyes, after all, he practically raised Cuba. Hell, he had even declared Cuba to be the most faithful colony, like the crown jewel in his entire empire.

How times had changed since then, there had been so many rebellions that Antonio almost needed to create a record book of who was rebelling and where all the battles were taking place.

All things considered, he remained optimistic since his attitude had helped him survive rule under two empires, countless wars, unwanted invasions and brutal betrayals. With the way things stood at the moment, Antonio could not help but feel like crawling back into bed to go back to sleep again. It would be the ideal temporary solution, though something told him that the problems were piling up a lot faster than before, that it would only be a matter of time before he would find himself buried up to his neck in problems.

His boss Emilio Castelar y Ripoll seemed to have sense the unrest in the Spaniard, having sent him to Cuba where he would at least be away from the troubles of the domestic affairs. Despite suggestion, Antonio knew better than to consider the trip as a vacation, considering the insurgence of rebels illegally smuggling goods to fuel the revolutions that had been taking place in his colonies. At one point, it had gotten so bad that they had to pass a series of laws to strong arm the locals and executed anyone found on ships that were shipping weapons to the colonies. Men and women caught outside of their plantation or residence were severely punished either summarily executed or moved to camps in the city. It was not something that Antonio had willingly decided because it appeared too brutal by the modern standards, however, those who disobeyed needed to be punished. Even now, he could remember when he watched the executions of the eight university students two years ago. Eight promising minds, extinguished because of a poor choice that they had decided to make. This was merely a measure to ensure that more of that kind of talent would not go to waste.

And this entire situation landed him precisely where he was now.

Savoring the bitterness of the café, Antonio listened to the diplomat as he explained the situation to him. “It appears that the rebels have been receiving help from backers from los Estados Unidos de América,” he said with a condemning voice, “we cannot let this continue on. We have spent months chasing down potentially suspicious boats. We know that they are receiving help from at least a couple ships owned by those Americans.” The look on the man's face was that of annoyance, his voice shook with anger as he spoke. However, the Spaniard could understand – this was precisely the same situation he felt he was in a couple centuries ago, when he had requested for Arthur to help curb the activity of the piratas, only to discover that the man was openly awarding the attackers on his ship.

Wearing his own mask of understanding and empathy, Antonio placed his cup on the desk, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah, it's ridiculous how much help they have been giving to Céspedes and his men,” he frowned as he recalled the rebel leader, who he may have caught a glimpse of a couple years ago. In the age of Napoleonic warfare, troops use to line up neatly before each other, exchanging fire at each other until the either side gave up. However, given the purposeful disorder in the way the rebels fought, it was impossible to try to eliminate the root of the problem. These men were clever, capitalizing on the fact that they were more familiar with the land than the Spanish soldiers.

“Yes, which is why it is more important than ever to find these ships. I'm sure that you have heard about the Virginius?”

The question caused Antonio to look the man in the eye, his olive eyes full of attention and recognition. “We've been trying to catch that ship for three years, no? That ship still giving the rebels aid?” he said as his frown deepened. Though he had spent a lot of time here, he had only heard about the ship in name. Purchased from los Estados Unidos de América, the ship had been used as a means for smuggling men, weapons and funding to the island, where it would be used to continue to fuel the conflict. Though they had deemed the ship itself as a tool of the outlaws, the declaration was a thousand times easier than actually tracking down the ship in the open gulf. It did not help that there was the potential that los Estados Unidos de América could be involved in this matter as well.

This whole situation caused the Spaniard to feel uneasy.

“Yes,” the man said, “I believe that someone has told you that you will be supervising Tornado, which is set for sail this afternoon. I will make sure that either the captain or the first mate contact you prior to departure.”

Realization finally dawned on him when he realized that why there were no meetings arranged for him to attend this time around. He was being sent to help sniff out a rebel ship that was causing them a lot of grief. It was not exactly what he had envisioned himself doing when Castelar y Ripoll sent him here, but he nodded anyway. “That sounds good,” he replied simply, “I'll go ahead and finish making my preparations for sail.”

---

Note:
- Apparently in 1869, Spain passed a series of laws as a declaration of a war of extermination. So all leaders and collaborators who were associated with the rebels would be executed on the spot. This included ships that carried weapons (which were immediately seized) and everyone who was onboard were immediately executed. Additionally, any male who were at least 15 and over were executed while women caught not on their farm or home were sent to concentration camps in the city. So it looks like the Virginius Affair was very much a matter of international law as well.
- The university students executed is a reference to the November 27, 1871 event in which eight medical students from the University of Havana were killed by the Spanish army for the profanation of the tomb of a virulent anti-Cuban Spanish journalist.
- The Spanish Empire had been hunting down the Virginius since it sailed its first rebel mission in October 1870.

[usa]

     Getting involved with matters outside of his borders was kind of not the best thing to do at this point in time. There was still much to be done with the Reconstruction, but alas there was just something else that caught his attention for the time being. One concerning a little island about 90 miles off the coast of Florida. Cuba. He recalled one of his presidents, Polk, had wanted to purchase that territory from Cuba about 30 years ago, but the Spanish didn't want to give up their money making factory so easily. Manifest Destiny was well instilled in the hearts of the people during the time, so at least the small chance to get their hands on the island at the time was enough to make everyone excited. Now though it was a different matter. Cuba wanted to become independent from Spain, and America couldn't help but respect that. Many in his nation were, but there were other matters within his land that needed more attention. This was simply a distraction he found himself reeled in.

      President Grant though, on the other hand, did not want to have the young man get himself to overly involved with foreign matters until things were done in the South. That region was so war-torn that they essentially had to use the north as a crutch, even though the north didn't really "help" matters either. Alfred wasn't at all pleased. If the Reconstruction needed a description, he would simply say "Piss the South off as much as possible". Indeed. Because a war for some reason just wasn't enough. He could see and feel that things were at least getting somewhat better. There was obviously some bitterness floating around, of course. There was such a huge divide that these things just didn't heal over a span over a few years. Grant did not at all approve of Alfred deciding to wander off to help a bunch of rebels. America simply did this willingly out of his own good will. He should help the Cubans with their quest for freedom. Everyone had that right.

     He had decided to wear comfortable clothing for this whole "adventure" of sorts. After all, they were on a boat helping rebellious Cubans. He felt slightly uneasy about this whole trek considering he was leaving some of his duties at home behind, but he wasn't about to let that overcome the part that wanted to do a little adventuring, no? He wanted to take this risky mission in hopes that perhaps he could make a difference in the lives of the Cubans. If anything that was his goal in life. To be able to change lives for the better. Hopefully he'd be able to pull this off smoothly. Over the course of time there had been many too-close-for-comfort encounters with the dear old Spanish and he was starting to get the subtle feeling that his lucky escapes were going to catch up on him again. Of course, he doubted such a feeling. No one ever got around anywhere moping for the worst.

     Walking to the edge of the deck the wood creaked subtly under old boots he had used time and time again to the point where the black color was beginning to fade gray. As he leaned against the rail he looked over to see the water roll under and against the steamer harshly as she cut her way through the water so swiftly. It was always uncomfortable for him to think of the boat of what it used to be. Prior it used to be a Confederate steamer in which rebellious Southerners were loaded on and waged war against the Union. There was a different feel to it though now that it's name was changed (even if slightly) and the fact the hull and everything was redone. She felt a bit more reliable and he sure as hell felt more comfortable being on the thing. Captain Fry was taking a great risk doing this for those Cubans. Of course, what good American didn't take risks?

     With the sun high up in the sky he was sure that whoever was on deck all the time would surely get a tan, which was never bad, of course. Alfred himself was quite pale, not that he cared. If he got a bit of color from all of this, well then that'd be pretty cool. Someone else on the steamer looked over the rail's as well, as if taking a break from doing something. Blue eyes flicked over to the side to see the man. One might ask the question as to why Alfred was bothering to help these people. He would simply respond with the fact that he just liked to help those who he felt deserved it. He was an ally to those who wanted liberation from tyranny as he empathized with them greatly. Besides, the small island was a close neighbor. It was always nice to help the folks next door, was it not?

Turning his head to see the man, he smiled. "Buen dia, si?" He inquired cheerfully.

"Verdad." The man responded as he walked back to his duties.

     He shook his head looking back at the water with a small smile lit on his face. This had gone a long ways and escaped many dangers to get to this point. Hopefully this would all go fine without much trouble. Standing up straight once more he turned to walk across the deck to find the captain who had more information about all this more than Alfred honestly did.

"So, Mr. Captain Sir, you think we've got enough stuff to carry to Cuba?"

The man simply looked at him and thought for a moment. "Well of course not. Perhaps one more stop should be made."

"Ah, ok, theeeen we head to Cuba?" Asking for conformation was always good, right?

"Yes yes, of course."

"Ah, gotcha~" He flashed a quick grin before heading to his quarters.

     A break from the sun was needed. While it was well into October and fall was well underway, It was still pretty warm in comparison to parts of his own country where it would be just freezing during this time of year, more so during the winter. To be honest this was a nice break from all that cold back in Washington, and it wasn't that much hotter than it was in "deep south". Closing the door behind him he ran his gloved hands through his hair and sighed. He knew if the ship was caught, it would risk war. He did not need that in the current state his nation was in, defiantly not. Sitting he thought for a moment and leaned back against the chair. How many more days would it be before they finally reached Cuba?

[Spain]

The gentle rocking of the boat, paired with the lazy current of warm air combing the Spaniard's chocolate brown locks only served to lull him back to sleep. However, the only things that really kept him awake at this point were the occasional bark of rapid-fire instructions and the gorgeous sun set that unfolded before him. The blends of oranges, crimsons, gold and indigo that blended together as the sun kissed the ocean good night. Then as one looked further up in the sky, they could see the stars glittering the midnight blue like diamonds. Though he enjoyed watching the scene more when he was resting in the mountains in Asturias or even on the beaches of Valencia, it was a minor consolation for what the fact that he would be doing night-duty on the sea. Instead, he used this as a means of wiping out the visions of watching street performers while sipping in a sweet sangria and savoring a delicious empanada.

So much for vacation.

The last two days at sea had been spent much like the way he had been spending it just now, hanging on the side of the boat in hopes that something exciting to happen. After all, there was only so much story telling, singing and dancing that could happen when one was suppose to be on watch for any suspicious vessels entering into their waters (not that he minded the fact that Pedro liked telling the same three stories about his four kids and the same story about how his family had been loyal subjects to the Reino de España for many years, even during all its civil wars). Considering the fact that half the crew had been resting in preparation for the night shift while the rest quietly carried out their duties in partial fatigue, Antonio could feel the general attitude rub off on him. And if it was not for the fact that he had woken up for his siesta an hour ago, he would have probably gone back to take another one.

So far and to no avail, they had searched for ships, delinquent ships that were lurking in their waters and carrying weapons, or worse, rebels and reinforcements to Cuba. Though normally he would have taken it to be a good sign, with the large volume of reports of rebels caught smuggling contra-bands into Cuba to help continue to fuel conflict, it felt as though they had failed. Worst of all, there was the distinct possibility that The Virginius had sailed right past them in spite of the fact that they should have caught the ship already. However, it seemed as though Antonio was not alone in his sentiments as the tension and anxiety hung in the air aboard the ship. Though they had been sent out to sea before, it seemed that the crew had expected the task to be a lot easier.

“¡Señor Fernández!”

The cry of his name caused Antonio to turn around, curious to see who was calling him. Olive green eyes flashed in recognition as the young man, who he recognized to be the new ship help approaching him. A youth of merely fourteen years old, it had taken exactly a day for him to become comfortable around the Spaniard, though Antonio would have to credit that the a batch of freshly made churros and a piece of fruit. With most of the crew busy focused on sailing the ship, he had gotten quiet lonely (except during meal times when it was all right for everyone to idly chat with each other. But in this case, the look in the youth's eyes cried urgency as he ran over, his dark wind-tossed locks damp with the ocean mist.

But instead of smiling like he normally would at such a common scene, Antonio looked at him with an expression of alarm as the youth ran towards. “No need to run and look so distressed, Gael,” he said reassuringly to him as he placed a hand on his shoulder. Despite the fact that he was a bit taken back, he was certain that Gael was probably overexcited, after all, they had been at sea for only a couple days, so a sign of anything was probably more than enough to cause the child to become excited. Heck, he could remember when he was like the child, running enthusiastically whenever he had a sense of something big happening.

“¡Señor, señor!” the boy cried again, “the crew said that they had spotted a ship in our waters!”

At the outcry, Antonio raised an eyebrow, speechless for a moment as he looked at the boy. “Oh... really?” he finally said after he recovered, enthusiasm clear in his voice as his face brightened, “where did you see this?”

Without waiting for an answer, Antonio stalked towards the general direction that the youth came from, the youth walking briskly at his side. He could feel the feeling of anticipation building in his chest, along with a hope that was building inside of him, though he knew better than to let them get too high. “They said that it is probably The Virginius!” the youth said, almost breathless as he tried to keep up with the Spaniard's longer strides, “I think we got 'em!”

When they had finally reached the port side, Antonio spotted the captain, who was barking orders at the crew as they rushed to their respective posts. Amidst the chaos and dodging, Antonio finally made his way over to the man. “¡Señor Castillo!” the Spaniard cried as soon as he was within earshot, “what's going on?”

“We found a ship that has been sailing in our waters,” the captain said as he pointed north, “I think it belongs to one of our neighbors.” Then with that, he held out a pair of binoculars, which Antonio took and pointed it in the general direction that the man had gestured towards. Squinting, the Spaniard narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out the ship as daylight quickly ran out on them. Though he could make out the familiar shape of the famed filibuster, he was personally more interested in the flag that was flying proudly in the air. “Could you make out the flag?” he asked rhetorically since he had long been able to make out the details of the flag.

“A flag with stripes and a black square, señor.”

He knew better than to believe that the square was black, but in reality a navy blue. Los Estados Unidos de América. There was only one country in the world (well, almost only one) that had such a flag. Yet Antonio could not help but feel a little troubled by the situation, after all, wasn't the ship that they were looking for operating on its own? However, the thought was immediately pushed towards the back of his mind as he lowered the binoculars. Never mind that this could turn into an international conflict if things went wrong. The only thing that ran through his mind was the fact that they might be catching the elusive ship that they have spent blood, sweat, tears and years trying to capture.

“They're gonna try to escape! Have our ship going at full speed!” he shouted energetically, "don't let them get away!"

---

Notes:
- I know that it's probably hard to determine that the ship was flying an American flag, but for the sake of the plot, we'll just let it go.
- I almost named the kid "Juan." Mi nombre es Juan. Yes, I'm looking at you Ani.
- USA, the only thing I can say after rereading the facts is that you suck.

[usa]

     This was getting a bit dull fast. Sure, he was glad that he was doing something other than deal with the political mess that was going on back in the States, but he wanted to see some action. Yeah, all this snooping around and smuggling had to come with some sort of danger, right? Then again, he felt on edge during this whole venture. He felt as if he was messing with the wrong crowd. Of course, that's all the young nation ever did: mess with the wrong people. The English, the French, the Mexicans, and now the Spanish. All were big powers, of course, but he didn't let any of them stand in his way, did he? Of course not, he was America, and one thing Americans didn't do was let some "big-bad" country like Spain take advantage of him, his crew, or the Cubans. They were fighting for what was right, of course.

     Peronally he wondered why his crew consisted of.. well... Britons. He didn't bother asking as he didn't care that much, but it was a curious question all the same. Then again it would be like asking why Cubans were on an American ship. They just kind of were, so he left it at that. They were able people, no doubt. Alfred left them alone for the most part as he went on with his own tasks. He wasn't really bothered unless something was a miss, and no, it seemed like there was. A yell was heard from the deck and people began to scramble about. What was up this time?

"A Spanish ship up ahead!"

     ... Oh. He ran up to the rails to see if what the words were really true. It was hard to see, no doubt, but that was a ship alright, and why would the crew lie about something such as that? This was serious. Shit, he thought as he ran to help crew members adjust the masts and steer the ship. Great, just great. Then again, this was just the excitement he was looking for. The violent streak he developed earlier in the century had no faded away yet, and there was still the spark for a fight left in him. Realizing something he went to lower the flag down as quickly as possible. It was perhaps too late now, but maybe he could still get away with it.

     They had to speed away out of the ship's sight. Getting to land would help. Damn, if only they were going faster before. He looked back at the ocean to see the ship. They just kept coming and coming. Who could blame'em? America though was confident that they would be able to slip their way out, just like all the other close calls. He had luck on his side, right? Things should still be in their favor. The captain had come to the deck to assess the situation, his face became increasingly annoyed and frustrated. Alfred pursed his lips as he tried to think of a way around this. There was no way, was there? Of course there was, there had to be. They were burning the last of the remaining daylight, and if they could slip out of sight in the night then maybe they could still be able to go on with their operations without too much worry.

"Come on, let's not get too nervous." He said, trying to calm everyone down. "If we do, we'll never get out of this in one piece. Let's all stay focused and ahead f the game!" A grin spread on his face, trying to motivate everyone.

     Alfred was one of those people that had a knack at lifting people's hopes just by his body language and speech. When he really tried, he could bring a smile to just about anyone's face or motivate them to do something they didn't think they could do. It was just one of those gifts the young man had. He knew that with a positive attitude they could get through anything, even during taxing moments such as this. They had to get through, or else all they worked for would be lost. That would really.. well... suck.

     It came to the point where people began to throw some supplies off the side of the ship in order to lose weight have the boat go faster. He ran his fingers through his hair and huffed. He wished it didn't have to come to that. That was just an utter waste. He looked over the side and looked back at the ship advancing ship. If it was really a Spanish ship, he wasn't too sure as to how screwed they were. The last time he saw the Spaniard was back during the American Revolution, when the Spanish chipped in to help fight against Britain. There was something weird about the man that he couldn't really get. As a child Alfred was actually quite scared of the empire, but now? Well, he wasn't really sure. Only time would tell if Antonio was actually on the boat that was chasing them or not. Why would he be anyway? Didn't that guy have like, more important things to do?

"Come on, chaps! Full steam ahead!" He chimed as he pointed in front of them.

     Barking commands was something he both liked and didn't like to do, and right now he had to do them as chaos was sprawling on the deck and all over the ship. He wouldn't allow for the capture of his ship. No, not t all. Unacceptable. He wouldn't be so low as to allow that when Cubans were depending on him and his crew. The last thing he wanted to do was let people down, and he wasn't about to start today. They were almost to shore, he could feel it!

---

• I am so sorry this took so long 8c If I'm missing anything, just tell me.
  

[Spain]

31 October 1873, Evening

Squinting to keep the water out of his eyes as Tornado charged forward, Antonio watched as the ship cut through the water like a sharp knife. He could taste the salt in the mist that sprayed onto his face, which brought back the feeling of nostalgia, albeit for a brief moment. Just like his voyages to what was then the New World, the feeling of a ship moving at full speed rejuvenated the Spaniard. Having stayed awake for most of the previous night, he had snuck off to rest in his cabin for a few hours after they had identified the ship, but he still felt like he would need a fuller day of rest than what he had received lately. The lack of a decent siesta and these late night patrols were taking a toll on him.

The ship that they had been following had desperately tried to avoid them, first heading off towards Jamaica and sticking to the coastline before heading south. The path of travel appeared strange to Antonio and awfully inefficient, but knew that would just mean that they would have another advantage over the escaping ship. If they are lost, it’ll be easier to make them go where we want and capture them.

Considering how hard he had been fighting fatigue, they had better capture the ship.

Brushing his damp hair out of his face, Antonio took a deep breath and then turned around, watching as the crew continued to hurry about on deck. He watched as a couple of the men scrambled, running to the masts, attempting to set the sails to help them gain speed. Judging from the way his hair had been swaying, the wind could prove to be useful since the ship they were chasing had dropped their sails as well. The Spaniard ran over to the mast, climbing after the crew and took the rope from one of the less confident looking men. Though rusty, the feel of the rope in his hands quickly helped him recall the skills perfected during his sailing days. Working with the familiarity of a seasoned veteran, Antonio quickly undid the ropes, shouting commands and safety words so that the rest of the men could hear him. He ignored the dumbfound looks on some of their faces as he barked the commands.

“Let fall!” he cried as he pushed the sail, watching each sail drop one by one, the white of the sails standing out in the slowly dimming light. From his perch, Antonio took the time to look off in the distance, the gentle wind drying out his hair as he held onto the mast. Looking out over the sea, he could see that it was surprisingly calm and empty, with the exception of the ship that they had been pursuing. If this had been a casual sailing trip, he would have found something romantic about sailing into the sunset and admired the passionate, vibrant colors. Disappointed, Antonio sighed before reluctantly turning and descending down to the deck. The thought was quickly forgotten as he rushed to help the crew set the remaining sails.

“Keep to all steam!” Castillo shouted in midst of the organized chaos happening, ducking the bags of coal as the crew rushed to the boiler room, “we are gaining on them, so keep going!” Antonio watched as the man moved authoritatively, fiercely shouting orders before approaching him.

When it looked like the ship had mostly finished adjusting its course, Antonio leaned back against the side of the ship, eyes tracing the lines. Humming softly, he closed his eyes for a moment, content to get a few seconds of peace in the midst of such a long night chase. At this point, it was highly likely that they would be able to capture the ship, but they would need to determine what to do with the people they found on board when they are hauled back to Cuba. He could think of a few things that could possibly happen, but none that were worth entertaining at the moment. Opening his eyes again, Antonio caught sight of the captain as he approached him.

“Holding out?” Antonio said jokingly as he flashed a smile at the captain. Giving the man a quick glance over, the Spaniard could see that the captain was holding out surprisingly well, considering the fact that the man had not rested since the patrolling started. He could see the fatigue written in the man’s eyes, though his expression was stern and mostly stoic.

“Yes, I can rest after we capture the ship tonight, it looks like it has slowed down a bit,” Castillo spoke confidently, though his line of vision remained fixed on the ship ahead. “I think that I know what we are chasing.” The man then looked down and began to trace the lines of his hands.

“Oh, really?” Antonio replied, his voice was a mix of satisfaction and surprise. “Well, we know that it’s Los Estados Unidos de América’s ship…” His voice trailed off for a moment as he processed the captain’s words. “Wait, you mean to say you know exactly what ship we are going after?"

“Sí,” Castillo responded, “just judging from where the ship was when we found them and where it is headed, I have a feeling it might be Virginius. I don’t know if you could tell from where you were, but it looked like they have been dumping arms and other things overboard.”

Virginius. The sound of the name caused Antonio to straighten up, feeling energetic all of a sudden. He had heard the name a few times when his boss met with his staff. The ship had proved to be a problem with them recently, constantly creeping into their waters to smuggle goods to the rebels, only to slip into international waters when it realized that it had succeeded to draw Spanish ships. There had been much emphasis on its capture in the last meeting that the Spaniard attended, to finally be able to accomplish this was a Godsend.

“Looks like Pardo and Ortiz will be taking the boats out to the ship,” the captain said, watching as a few men ran towards the boat, “would you like to jump in?”

Barely able to conceal his enthusiasm, the Spaniard nodded his head vigorously, “Sí! I’d love to do so… I’ve always wanted to see what the ship looked like!” Antonio wanted to see the elusive ship up close and to witness the raid, to look at the criminals in the eyes as they file onto the deck. He could almost see the look on Alfred’s face when he finds out that his countrymen were fueling a rebellion with arms smuggling. It would feel like the revelation of an uprising star caught in a scandal with a common prostitute. However, the Spaniard made a face at the comparison and proceeded to walk to starboard, where a group of men had gathered, bearing arms and getting ready to board the boats.

As he approached the group, someone shoved a gun into his hands, telling him that it was important to take it because the rebels were unpredictable. He gladly accepted the arms, throwing it over his shoulder as he grabbed a box of ammunition. Just then, five shots fired in succession rang in Antonio’s ears, nearly deafening him as it headed towards the general direction of Virginius. Warning shots, he determined as hopped over the edge of the ship into the quarter boat, taking a seat next to another young, tense-looking Spaniard. He smiled reassuringly at the youth to calm him down, though he had been trying to shake off a certain feeling he had been having since the start of the day.

The boat swayed with the movement of the waves when it was lowered into the waters, rocking gently as they pushed off of the corvette and headed for the filibuster. Antonio leaned over, fiddling with the gun as he watched Tornado become more distant. Though they had switched over to the use of guns, Antonio could never quite shake off how foreign the weapon felt in his hands, missing the familiar weight of a battle-axe. He could remember how much easier it was to just swing at the opponent as oppose to reloading a tool and aiming to fire. But the era of close-combat weapons had long disappeared and he found himself being forced to adapt to the times, as difficult as it had been to do so in the current century.

As they grew closer, the Spaniard could see the remnants of some of the cargo that they had thrown overboard, possibly attempts to make the boat lighter though probably also to get rid of some of the evidence. “It looks like there are quite a few men on board,” Antonio noted as he watched them gather on deck, some looking as if they were on the defense. However, Ortiz waved off his comment, looking at him quickly before he turned his attention back to the ship.

“Any aggression on your part will be energetically chastised by our forces!” Ortiz yelled at the crew as they approached. Antonio could see some of the men appear to back off, resigned to accepting the fact that they were finally caught. He scanned the line of men carefully, ignoring the difference in the stations of the people onboard, scanning the crowd for any familiar looking faces. He remained silent, expression grave as he gripped his gun tightly.

I wonder what we’ll find, it’ll be interesting if it’s what we’re looking for, no?

---

- I.... have no idea why this is so long, pffft.