Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 2 - 2 | Page 78

Pirates' Tyranny
Singapore International School, Wu, Audrey - 10
What a stormy night it was: lightning flashed, rain attacked, wind roared and whipped the hulls of the
Ming treasure fleet, howling with vexation when they refused to give in. Standing tall and proud on the
flagship, Zheng He, the captain of this fleet, was ecstatic for they had received many priceless gifts and
alliances from the countries they visited. He marched towards his advisors, expecting them to share the joy
of surviving the storm, but instead, they were muttering feverishly towards each other in hushed tones.
“What’s the matter?” Zheng He boomed with ardor. “Aren’t you joyful for the news we’ll give our
Emperor?”
An advisor stepped forward hesitantly: “Er… Captain, we’ve detected some...pirates.”
“Pirates?” He repeated skeptically, facing the advisor with an arched eyebrow. After an earlier encounter
with them, he knew that pirates always preferred brawl over brain. “Well, avoid it, then. No need to
worry.”
Another advisor shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s not a fleet of one, but over a hundred ships, and
they’re heading our way! They even switched route - they obviously want a fight.”
Zheng He nodded slowly. “Alright. Alert all ships to prepare for battle, stop our ships in a semi-circle, and
to gather ten soldiers per ship to man the cannons of 100 ships,” Zheng He commanded briskly. The
advisors promptly saluted in unison and, looking gratified to be doing something useful instead of dawdling
fretfully
around,
marched
away.
He sighed and turned back towards his quarters. It had been a long time since he’d fought, but he trusted
that his skills were not rusty; after all, pirates’ solution to everything was to fight. He grabbed his golden
breastplate, and opened the cupboards to the rest of his armor. As he donned his ivory-silver helmet and
gingerly lifted his sheathed blade, there came a furious series of knocks on the door, and barely a moment
later, a squadron of black-armored soldiers rushed in and knelt down. The leading fighter stepped forward.
“Admiral, we are approaching the enemy fleet. All soldiers have been notified, but we are useless without a
plan from our leader,” he began, his solemn voice slightly muffled by his helmet. “Tell us what you want us
to
do.”
Zheng He allowed himself a grim smile. He’d pondered over all the possible battle plans against the pirates,
and after debating them with every criteria, he’d created a final strategy. “Find every soldier. Separate five
hundred soldiers per wave. I want every wave to go when they see my signal. The first two waves will go
together. Men who aren’t fighting try to stay at the front, and don’t do anything rash.” The soldiers nodded
and hurried away. Zheng He didn’t want to spill any blood; he would try to reason with them, he decided.
Zheng He burst onto the top deck. Stretching all the way to the horizon, he stared at the pirates,
dumbfounded: countless faint outlines, standing fearlessly on pirate ships, a hand wielding a glinting weapon
barely visible. Zheng He shivered. Convincing the leader of this powerful fleet to stop would not be easy.
He stepped onto the bow of his ship and took a deep breath: “Pirates!” He called at the top of his lungs.
“We do not seek to harm you; we prefer peace over war. Please, let there be no bloodshed.”
The pirates collectively turned to look at a man at the front of the army. Although Zheng He was far away,
he could feel that this particular pirate radiated an intense energy, like that he ought to be in charge. Zheng
He could see how the other pirates had “fallen under his spell”. This man was obviously the captain.
The leader stared back at Zheng He and started yelling in a foreign language. Although he could not
understand the pirate, he heard fury from his tone. These pirates were obviously hungry for a fight.
But then Zheng He turned back to his own army: thousands of loyal soldiers, swords at the hand, waiting
for his command. Warmth gushed through Zheng He. He ripped the scabbard off his blade and yelled,
“Attack!” and pointed his gleaming sword towards the pirates. Despite the fierce cannon fire from the Ming
treasure fleet, the swifter pirate ships got into position and closed in quickly.
All around Zheng He, he could hear the sharp sound of metal clashing. He parried a sword and stunned
his attacker with a jab on the ribs. After twisting and stabbing for a few minutes, he suddenly remembered
his battle plan and signaled to the soldiers in reserve, who immediately rushed into the fray.
The battle raged on. Now all of the Ming treasure fleet were battling for their lives. As Zheng He slashed
at two pirates, he suddenly stumbled onto something. He instinctively looked down, and instantly wished
that he hadn’t: a soldier was limp on the deck, sprawled in an awkward way. Dark blood was pooled around
his neck, mouth and injured hands, and more crimson liquid was slowly pooling out of a deep, huge gash on
his chest. His dented helmet was lying a few feet away, exposing his ivory eyes. His tongue was lolling out
like a pink, fat worm, with milky-white spit bubbling around his lips. Zheng He’s stomach flipped.