Terrors of 1745

==Part 1==
1745 marked the beginning of the end for the war surrounding Carlos Clemente and Spain. He was considered the most powerful and brutal leader of this century. A prime demonstration of his power took place in an invasion of Tangier, a town in Northern Africa guarded by a seemingly strong fort. It was within miles from Spain, and saw very much action during Clemente's dynasty. He saw it as a weak spot lacking any British assistance, or any assistance for that matter. It was simply in the hands of nothing short of savage pirates such as myself, and the pirates that possessed the Barbary Coast. 
We knew the invasion would come, the night prior to it. A fleet of fearsome frigates fifty times the size of ours guarding the fortress would ravage through our waters, and finally raid the fort and possibly occupy our towns. It would probably be a massacre, but for foolish pirates like us, there was a fighting chance. That night, I drank whiskey until my gut burst. It may be my last opportunity to drink, so I seized it. By the next morning, it grew evident that I was by the far the least confident of the fort's crew.
"Hah, by tonight, we'll have Clemente's head on a platter!" I heard from a hallway where the ammo was stored in the fort.
"Those weaklings won't even get through our fleet," A grenadier on the roof remarked. I began to question the sanity of my men. In fact, at this point, they just seemed to purposely be as cocky as possible before they get annihilated, just to give themselves one last chance to be content with themselves.
==Part 2==
All of the talk ceased when we spotted a colossal Spanish galleon intercept the horizon, followed by several sloops that I presumed were scout ships. Our ship of the line and the remainder of our fleet awaited the first shot, allowing the Spaniards to close in on the fort so that our hundred-pound cannons could reach them. The galleon stopped, and the war sloops entered our line of fire first, laying down a few small broadsides. These were met by a series of heavy explosive shots from three of our frigates which completely crippled their first line of sloops.
"See what I mean? Spaniards make such weak vessels!" Chuckled the same grenadier from this morning. I squinted at him and shook my head, enough of a gesture to shut him up.
The second line of Spanish sloops caught our frigate off guard completely. The four simultaneous broadsides was enough to sink two of our three frigates, and board our third one. They slaughtered each man on board it, and started operating our cannons. They then began firing at the seven remaining frigates as well as our ship of the line. As our vessels fell back to our fort, I gave final commands to take to the cannons. Before we knew it, the once Barbary frigate fired onto our fort.
"CANNON FIRE!" yelled the head grenadier as it penetrated the fort. After that shot, dozens upon dozens of cannonballs bombarded our fort, leaving us overwhelmed. Cannon fire knocked a grenadier beside me off of the side of the three-story fortress wall. He laid there on the ground behind the wall, motionless, with a pool of velvet-colored blood under him. An explosive round hit a wall within meters away from me, I knew it would only be a matter of time before it hit the wall where I'm standing and send me flying, possible fatally off of the fort. 
Our frigates and ship of the line managed to either cripple and board, or sink every Spanish sloop, but only after the immense damage they caused us. Our ship of the line was doing very much of the productive damage, and put forth a gallant effort in stopping the Spaniards, but it was taking too much of a pounding. The colossal Spanish galleon managed to bypass our ship of the line and its armor could not be pierced by our fort's cannons. The only damage we could do on it was with a grenade on its upper deck, but we knew their relentless crew would swing onto our fort in a matter of seconds. 
==Part 3==
Until now, most of us on the fort's roof weren't under any actual danger, but now the Spaniards on ships began hauling out muskets. They fired at our grenadiers, while our grenadiers responded with only a handful of grenade throws which put barely any considerable damage on the galleon's deck. I looked to my right, and saw a bullet pierce the head of one of my closest first mates. His face was a symbol of complete astonishment. His mouth and eyes widened as his life slipped away from him. Lives were being lost all around me and all I could do is avenge them. I pulled two pistols from my belt and managed to take out one Spanish musketeer, ONE. One, while they were causing an absolute massacre.
I noticed that Spaniards were now swinging on ropes onto the fort with twin scimitars and beheading my men one by one. I responded by sprinting towards them, sword in hand, and releasing my anger on their chests, running them through with quickness and stealth. They began to outnumber me, so I hurried away towards the lower floors to command reinforcements, but an explosive round hit the wall under my feet before I could reach the stairs and sent me flying. Just as I predicted, I fell off the side of the fort facing the ships that were still exchanging cannon fire. Halfway to the ground, a hand reaching through a crumbling wall on the second floor of the fort grabbed my wrist. It was a young recruit who looked no older than seventeen. 
He lifted me into the the fort, but before I could thank him, he fell over from a bullet wound in the back after a gunshot rang out. A Spaniard was holding the gun with a sinister half-smile. I grabbed his wrist and stabbed him through the neck, as the smile turned to a blank expression of awe. 
==Part 4==
After realizing that the reinforcements I intended to call onto the roof were already there, I joined them. When I emerged onto the roof, I was met by a Spaniard who nearly chopped my head off, luckily, I had my gun in hand and he was taken out in an instant. When I looked around me, men were decapitating one another and Spanish explosive rounds hit our fort's deck every few seconds, ending countless lives in the most tragic of ways. Although our extra swordsmen gave us a fighting chance, the Spaniards seemed to out-number us. Standing between me, and the enemy vessel was the dense battle of men exchanging strikes with swords, was the enemy galleon I intended to board. I slashed my way through a crowd knowing that any wrong movement I would make would be my demise, but also knowing that the Spanish galleon that boarded the fort is probably unprotected.
After killing countless Spaniards, I finally got to the edge of the fort where the enemy galleon was tied to, drew two fully-loaded triple barrel pistols, managed to take out about three or four enemy musketeers on the vessel, and boarded the Spanish flagship. After I took out every musketeer on the ship, there was nobody on the deck. I stuck my head in the cabin's window and saw two Spaniards holding muskets, luckily they didn't notice me. At this point, I had a plan up my sleeve. A plan that, when looking at it in hindsight, didn't seem very sensible. Despite the two men in the cabin, I blocked the cabin door, cut the ship's ropes and took the wheel. The Spaniards on the fort were too occupied fighting my men to notice me, so I set off towards the closest Spanish warship, while going with the wind, and rammed it, enough to break the hull and sink it. Fortunately, the wind was rather fearsome that day, so the ramming speed was lightning fast. 
Unfortunately, after ramming the ship, the galleon's bow was incredibly damaged, leaving it to slowly submerge, so I had to jump off the ship. For in a dingy, I would be found and shot down in a matter of seconds. As I jumped into the water, I discovered that being underwater is almost as risky as riding a dingy, despite me being a strong swimmer. Flying shrapnel, discarded bullets, and missed cannon fire were all over me. Luckily, I got to our ship of the line and climbed its ladder with only minor shrapnel cuts on my leg. Once I got on deck, I was greeted this time by several explosive rounds destroying the hull. It was evident that Spain was winning the battle at seas.
==Part 5==
This portion of the battle made the fort look like child's play. Fiery explosions emerged in the hull of a supposedly indestructible ship, people were flying off the deck into the water, and the deck was painted by the blood of injured and deceased pirates. This was an effort I couldn't give up, though. At the time, my hate for Spain grew so large, it was at its initial peak. I've wanted to kill anything even distantly related to Sir Clemente, and my heart bled for my fellow soldiers. Every body that flew off of the deck was a stab to my gut, but in this situation, I couldn't give in. The battle raged on, even while it got increasingly dark as the blazing sun disappeared over the horizon. 
I fired at Spanish raiders attempting to swing aboard the crippled ship of the line, and knocked them off if they got on the deck. Our forces managed to strongly hold them back. After nearly an hour of taking out several Spanish raiders, the Spaniards realized that they were losing too many men, so they cut the grapple ropes and resorted to using cannon fire. We fired a broadside as they were cutting the ropes, and we managed to damage them, but more Spanish attack ships covered our hull with cannon fire. Every crew member was on the brink of death, and some were already dying painfully from blood loss and losing limbs. 
Many of them were just kids, in their late teen years and early twenties, foolish, foolish kids. They were foolish enough to think that they could vanquish this gigantic empire that absolutely dwarfed us. Those young pirates' rum-induced laughing and smiling from last night turned to expressions of complete terror. They feared for their lives, which are too innocent and young to be taken away so early. I felt it was all my fault. I'm the military leader who put this nation of foolish rum drinking pirates up against invincible fleets of Spaniards. Although I felt immense guilt, I couldn't dwell on such a problem while guns were aimed at a ship of mine. 
"FIRE!" I yelled to the quartermaster and captain, as they distributed the command. We were firing from both the port and starboard in an incredibly foolish attempt to stop one of the strongest fleets in the world.
"They've got too much firepower, capt'!!!" a young crewmate on a cannon exclaimed.
"Keep firing, these guns are all we got!" the ship's captain responded.
"Y-your majesty?" the crew mate said.
"Listen to your captain, mate, what else can we do? We'll get intercepted if we retreat," I answered.
The kid continued firing with quite a brave look on his face. As if he's facing his worst fear head on. I took a musket and strategically fired at every enemy on the Spanish ship's deck, but it didn't look too good for our ship. It was being piled by several frigates with strong broadsides. They took turns taking shots at our massive hull. The crew seemed to continue their efforts, though. They were relentless enough to fight their heart out despite knowing this will probably result with them dying a horrible, painful death. 
"WE WILL NOT GO WITHOUT A FIGHT, SPAIN!!" yelled a crew mate who was igniting a cannon.
I looked to my right, and noticed a large line of Spaniards who were aiming muskets at use from their ship.
"GUNFIRE! GET DOWN!" I heard, but it was too late. Bullets hurled at us at an unavoidable speed. I looked down and noticed two of them hit my chest. Wide-eyed, I looked into the moon-lit horizon believing this was the end of me. I felt little pain, but began to feel incredibly light-headed. An explosive round then hit our deck right in front of me and knocked me onto the ground. The ship was now too damaged too stay afloat and gradually submerged into the rough seas along with its crew. As I tried to keep my eyes open while using a plank to keep me afloat, I heard several screams and saw dozens of blooded bodies floating in the red water. That was when I slipped away and lost consciousness. 
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I woke up to sunlight shining brightly in my face the next morning, while still holding onto part of the sunken ship. I was hyperventilating from the extreme exhaustion of my blood loss. But with my attention off of that, I noticed that Spanish ships were turning away. How could this be?
I turned my head towards the fort and heard hundreds of men yelling "HOOORAH!!! LONG LIVE THE PIRATES OF THE BARBARY COAST!"
At that point, I could of never been more proud of my people. They fought until the last second, knowing they would probably die or be imprisoned, but they pulled through and caused a very uncommon Spanish retreat. Those traits are the essence of a true pirate, one who will fight 'til the bitter end for the cause of freedom.
Despite the amazing victory, I could still never forget the amazing efforts of the ones who lost their lives. The guilt of putting these unprepared young men into battle was something I will have to live with forever. I hope that if there is some form of afterlife, they will be there, forgiving my foolishness. 
==Conclusion==
When I was among the wreckage of the fallen vessel, holding onto a discarded plank, I felt an extreme wave of guilt. I couldn't face my nation again after all of the men's lives that were ended because of my own war plans. I decided to disappear from the face of my nation for a year, and go on a vision quest in the deserts of Africa to cope with my guilt. The vision quest lasted over a year, and nobody knew my location at the time. During that span of time, I found what my true following must be. I witnessed Allah's presence before my very eyes, and returned to the Barbary Coast on July of 1746 as a devoted, born-again Muslim. I ruled once again, but this time, not as a pirate, but under the Ottoman Empire. 
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