“Rowers! Take your places!” the captain bellowed, trying to be heard over the loud ocean wind. The bulky rowers grabbed their huge oars and got ready to row.
“Lower the sail!”
The young cadets got to work.
“Archers! Ready your bows!”
The mysterious archer mercenaries from the small, obsolete country named Umardor, strung their bows and nocked an arrow.
“Row
Today, Captain Cross and his crew would try to single-handedly break through the barricade. His reasoning was simple. This was the 10th year of the war and the 7th year of a stalemate. Valmere and Sacratia had been locked in a seemingly neverending battle. The Sacratian border blockade would be letting their guard down. It was the perfect time to strike. But King Johnston of Valmere didn’t concur. He was waiting for newly drafted soldiers to get the proper training first, so he could launch a large land assault against the Sacratian capital, Duro Lacrata. Cross warned him Sacratia could strike at any moment. But, Johnston was stubborn and would not let up on his position. However, Cross thought it was necessary to break through the blockade while Sacratia was vulnerable, even though it was against the king’s orders. He could get banished from Valmere for this, but he felt like it was worth it. So, he gathered a small group of men willing to try to break through the blockade. Cross went over to his men: 10 rowers who were barbaric in battle and 5 mercenary archers from Umardor worth about 20 men each thanks to their prowess. He wouldn't send his 10 sailing cadets into battle if he didn’t have to. He had also convinced General Green of the Valmerian army to lead this charge with him. Green brought along 10 of his best soldiers. The blockade came into view. They were headed right between two Sacratian cruisers. Cross had a mini celebration in his head. He had calculated perfectly! He sent a cadet to get the general and his men ready.

“Rowers! Give it everything you’ve got!” Cross encouraged.
General Green came out of his sleeping quarters, shaking the sleep from his body. “How’s the situation?” he questioned.
“It seems like we might have a chance,” Cross replied.

After minutes, there was finally some movement on the Sacratian ships. The rowers were frantically gathering their oars and getting into position. Cross knew the Sacratian soldiers couldn’t get ready and move fast enough to intercept them. He looked past the ships to the shore. Uh-oh, Cross thought. There was a Sacratian land patrol in the area at which they were shooting. They would have been alerted of Cross’ presence. Let’s see, he thought. A Sacratian land patrol is comprised of…10 men, 3 of which are archers.

“Captain!” A cadet shouted urgently, pointing. Cross followed his finger. He cursed. There was a Sacratian destroyer bearing down on them. Destroyers were known for their tough exterior and ability to tank towards a target. They also moved very fast. And this one stood right in Cross’ path.

“Keep going!” Cross ordered. “When we are in range of the patrol, anyone in the front needs to bear some kind of shield to protect the rowers.” Cross had decided that this course of action was the best one in this unfortunate turn of events. The only bad thing was that their flanks were exposed.

Everyone started moving in a flurry of action. This is when their years of grueling training finally paid off. To untrained eyes it looked like chaos, but the captain knew they were working perfectly and efficiently.

Cross peered over to the destroyer. Flint and steel were being struck together, and Cross knew the enemy was preparing fire arrows. The land patrol was doing the same.
“You guys have anything special?” Cross asked the peculiar leader of the group of Umardorian archers.

“You’ll see,” he rasped in reply, placing a peculiar object on an arrow.
Cross checked the destroyer’s progress. It was coming in straight for a head-on collision. He checked behind him and saw that the blockade ships were actually going past them. Cross guessed they would block off any idea of retreat. They were hopelessly and utterly surrounded.

The Sacratians were known for their awe inspiring naval strategies. But, they only had one admiral that was a good enough commander to do this amazing trap, and he was miles away guarding the capital of Sacratia, Duro Lacrata, wasn’t he? The admiral was named Bartholomew Gage and he was more legend than man. If he was in this area then Cross and his crew were in big trouble. Cross would have to be better than perfect. All of this went through his mind as he studied the approaching destroyer. The Sacratian archers were done preparing the fire arrows and were waiting for Cross’ ship to get within their range. However, the Sacratians were oblivious to Umardorian archers.

“Steady,” said the archer leader. He made Cross’ skin tingle every time he said something. There was just something about his voice. “Fire!” he bellowed breaking the silence of the moment before.

This is the reason we hired them, thought Cross. They were shooting the arrows from a distance that no other bow could. The Sacratian archers seemed surprised when they saw arrows bearing down on their ship, because they weren’t within arrow range yet. The Umardorian archers each had 2 other arrows gone before their first ones hit. Cross looked as the first of the sleek, black arrows hit the Sacratian ship and nearly jumped out of his skin. There was a boom, quieter than cannons but still loud enough to give him a fright. It was at that moment that he realized that those were no normal arrows that his hired mercenaries used. They were exploding arrows. Suddenly giddy with joy, Captain Cross watched the remainder of the arrows penetrate deeper into the destroyer, eliminating most of their weapons.

Chaos was breaking out on the Sacratian ship as explosions erupted everywhere. The ship was clearly heavily damaged and in no shape to fight. Cross knew that this was the perfect opportunity to get past the destroyer and take on the land patrol.

“Row with everything you’ve got!” Cross bellowed. They flew past the heavily damaged destroyer and faced the land patrol. The Sacratian archers started shooting their arrows. “Shield bearers!” Cross hollered, “take your places!” The general’s men grabbed their shields and sprinted to the front of the ship to guard the rowers from the arrows. The first wave of arrows mostly bounced off the shields, but a few snuck through, wounding some rowers, but not badly. Then, however, the Sacratian archers let loose their fire arrows. The Umardorian mercenary archers came to the rescue again, shooting the fire arrows out of the sky and making mini fireworks. Next, the Umardorians started to pick off the land patrol starting with the archers. Three seconds had barely passed by the time the archers were all gone and it was just the brutish, barbaric, normal land patrol soldiers that were left. They glanced at each other, then look back at the Umardorian archers taking another arrow from their quiver. Cross laughed to himself when they ran away in terror.

The hull of the boat clunked against the shore. The rowers and the general’s soldiers started unpacking the gear. The few rowers that had been wounded by the arrows sat off to the side, tending their wounds. Cross examined the scene, pleased. They had done well. The cadets were scurrying around helping with little things here and there. Soon, all of the gear was unpacked and they were ready to go. The rowers slung the packs over their shoulders, and the crew headed off, hoping they would be able to slip behind enemy lines.