"Damn you, there are rules of war."
"Ah yes. You are civilized." He slipped the machete into his waistwrap. "Someday you must explain to me these rules you have for civilized killing. Perhaps they are something like the 'rules' your Christians have devised to justify making my people slaves."
Winston looked at him a moment longer, then at the bodies lying around them. There was nothing to be done now. Best to get on with disabling the guns. "Dick, haul up that sack with the spikes and let's make quick work of this."
"Aye." Hawkins seized the line attached to his waist and walked to the edge of the parapet. At the other end, resting in the mud below, was the brown canvas bag containing the hammers and the spikes.
Moments later the air rang with the sound of metal against metal, as the seamen began hammering small, nail-like spikes into the touch-holes of each cannon. That was the signal for the Barbados militiamen to advance from the landward side of the breastwork, to provide defensive cover.
"A life for a life, senhor." Atiba moved next to Winston. "We served you. Now it is time for your part of the trade."
"You're not getting any of my flintlocks, if that's what you mean."
"Don't make us take them." Atiba dropped his hand to the handle of his machete.
"And don't make my boys show you how they can use them." Winston stood unmoving. "There's been killing enough here tonight."
"So you are not, after all, a man who keeps his word. You are merely another branco. " He slowly began to draw the machete from his belt.