30th February 1701
The waves crashed relentlessly against the hull of the flag-bearing Sovereign-class battleship, but the ship was far from alone. Dozens, no, hundreds of warships cut through the sea alongside it, advancing in tight formation like an arrow released from a bow string, which sees only its aim and nothing else. Their wakes overlapped and merged, turning the ocean behind them into churning white foam.
On the decks, sailors of different nations moved with purpose. British crews adjusted sails and lines, Dutch gunners checked powder and shot, while French and Italian officers barked short commands, their voices barely carrying over the wind and surf. Flags snapped sharply in the salty air, and the smell of oil, tar, and wet iron hung heavy over the fleet. What had once been a collection of separate navies now moved as a single mass, a cold, machine of war and a tool of destruction.
