The Master Gunner’s Revenge

So there I was, buried under a sprawling, chaotic mass of thrashing arms and legs.  Fury lent me a strength almost superhuman; with a mighty effort, I flung off the soldiers on top of me, rising to my feet.

I knew escape was hopeless, but that only goaded me into a greater rage.  Like a bull I rushed at the head officer, Don Pedro Priego, only to be caught by a dozen of the bronzed veterans surrounding me.

For a second, I succeeded in flinging them off.

“No more!” I gasped, my anger almost choking me.  “No more!  Fleming though I am, I was a loyal servant of King Phillip, but I tell you no more!  You take my money.  Very well.  I can earn more.  You take my job.  I can get another.  You take my home.  Yet I raise no protest.  But you are not content!  You are never content!”  I spat each sentence out as though it were poisonous.  Through narrow eyes I looked at him, and he met my stare with a gaze every bit as cold and icy.  I tore myself out of the grip of a soldier who had seized my arm.  “You are never content,” I repeated.  “Now you want my life!  Master-gunner on his Imperial Majesty’s Invincible Armada’s Rear Admiral’s flag ship!  Slavery!”

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