As captain Lasseter had made his way to the Lucy's wardroom, seeing what all he might burden the WatchDog with, and what he would keep aboard to bring her to safety, he pondered many a thing, packing odds and ends in his sea-chest. He had just taken up his well worn cutlass when Preston's voice, as strong as Dorian had ever heard it broke him from his thoughts. The urgency in his voice, and soon after the yells and near screams of many other voices caused him to fetch up a pistol and in a moment was on deck. All eyes were looking aft, and his followed. Then he saw the Navarra as well.
"Mother of God... Bloody Fools!"
As he approached the rail, cutlass in one hand, pistol the other, he cocked the piece, wishing the stern-chasers were loaded to fire a warning, but his pistol would have to do. He aimed at the spanish ship slowly and fired, the report sharp yet weak in the weather.
"Veer off, damn you! Veer-"
It was at that moment he saw the 'Dog's boat in the path of the merchant. Having been through many a battle and wicked event, this simple horror caused him to pale. A memory of his youth flashed before his eyes of a man being run down by a coach and four, but this was infinitely worse.
"Christ All Mighty... No..."