The Mediterranean sun burned like molten gold over Alexandria's harbor as Captain Yusuf squinted through his spyglass. The first Crusader sails appeared as white specks on the shimmering horizon, growing larger with each passing moment. His calloused fingers tightened around the brass instrument as he counted the ships—one squadron after another emerging from the sea haze.
"They actually came," he muttered, voice rough with suppressed excitement.
Beside him, young Lieutenant Amir fidgeted with the hilt of his sword. "By the Prophet's beard... at least a hundred and fifty ships. Twenty thousand men, if they're packed like salted fish." He swallowed hard. "Are we truly ready for this?"
Yusuf snapped the spyglass shut with a metallic click. "Ready?" He turned to the boy, his sun-weathered face cracking into a grin that revealed missing teeth. "We've been polishing cannons and sharpening blades for three bloody months, waiting for these Frankish fools to show their cowardly faces."
He turned to the signalman crouched beside the ruins of the ancient lighthouse. "Light the beacons. Let the Coastal Wolves know their long-awaited feast has arrived."
The signalman struck flint against steel, and within moments, the first warning pyre erupted—a tower of orange flame and black smoke. Down the coastline, answering fires bloomed one after another like deadly flowers, from the western harbor to the rocky inlets east of the city.
Below them, Alexandria stirred like a roused beast.
In the harbor, veteran artillery master Rashid bellowed at his crew as they swarmed over six massive cannons. "Check your priming! Measure your powder! The first fool to misfire today will clean latrines with his tongue!"
A young gunner named Karim wiped sweat from his brow. "Master Rashid, should we still be hiding the guns?"
Rashid cuffed him lightly on the ear. "Let them think we're defenseless. Let them come close. Let them taste hope before we rip it from their guts."
Along the seawall, hidden archers nocked arrows while officers moved quietly down the line. "Wait for the trumpet. Wait for the trumpet."
In the concealed coves east of the city, the sleek galleys of the Sea Wolves and Coastal Wolves lay in wait. Captain Malik of the Coastal Wolves ran a whetstone along his curved blade, the rhythmic scraping echoing across the silent decks. His first mate, a grizzled Cypriot renegade named Draco, chuckled darkly.
"Think they'll piss themselves when they see our teeth?"
Malik tested the edge against his thumb, drawing a bead of blood. "Let's find out."
King Almeric of Jerusalem gripped the polished rail of his flagship, the salty wind whipping through his golden hair as Alexandria's white walls gleamed under the midday sun. The harbor lay disturbingly empty—no defensive ships, no soldiers patrolling the battlements, only the occasional seabird circling overhead.
"Where are their cursed ships?" Almeric muttered, his knuckles whitening on the rail. "Where are their soldiers?"
Beside him, Admiral Contarini lowered his brass spyglass, the deep lines on his weathered face tightening. "This is too easy, my lord. The Egyptians always fight. Always." The old Venetian's voice carried the weight of twenty years battling Saracen fleets.
Almeric waved a dismissive hand, jeweled rings flashing. "You worry like an old woman, Contarini. Salahuddin dragged every able-bodied fighter to Syria. What remains?" He gestured contemptuously at the silent city. "Fishermen. Boys. Kitchen servants playing at war."
Contarini's grip tightened on the spyglass. "I've seen Egyptian 'fishermen' gut a man with their filleting knives, Your Grace."
A young knight from Poitou laughed nervously. "Perhaps they fled when they saw our banners!"
Almeric's lip curled in triumph. He drew his jeweled broadsword, the steel singing as it left its scabbard. "Forward! The richest city in Egypt lies undefended before us! Let no man say the King of Jerusalem hesitated when victory was within reach!"
As war horns blared across the fleet, the Crusader ships surged forward, their oars cutting the water in perfect unison. The harbor mouth yawned wide before them, the calm waters reflecting their proud banners.
Then the world exploded.
The first cannon shot screamed through the air like the wrath of God, striking the lead transport ship Saint Barbara dead amidships. The impact sent splinters the size of spears scything through packed ranks of Frankish soldiers.
"WHAT IN CHRIST'S NAME—" Contarini began, but his words were drowned by the thunder of five more cannons roaring from hidden emplacements along the seawall. The Saint Michael erupted in a fireball as a heated shot ignited barrels of Greek fire.
On the walls of Alexandria, Master Gunner Rashid bellowed, "Reload, you dogs! Five-second intervals! Make each shot count!" His young apprentice Karim rammed a fresh powder charge into the smoking barrel with trembling hands.
"They're turning!" Karim shouted. "They're trying to retreat!"
Rashid spat over the battlement. "Too late for that, boy. Far too late."
The harbor mouth had become a death trap. Lead vessels found themselves entangled in hidden chains stretched just beneath the surface, their oars snapping like twigs.
From concealed inlets along the coast, sleek Egyptian galleys shot forward like arrows, decks bristling with archers. The dreaded Sea Wolves had come to hunt.
Captain Yusuf stood tall on the prow of his flagship, the wind whipping his salt-stained cloak. "FOR SALAHUDDIN!" he roared, his voice carrying across the chaos. "FOR EGYPT!"
From the rocky outcrops east of the city, the Coastal Wolves' galleys surged forth like sharks scenting blood, archers loosing volleys that sang through the smoke-choked air.
The harbor waters turned crimson as the trap closed around the Crusader fleet. What began as a triumphant invasion had become a slaughterhouse.
Almeric's sword slipped from numb fingers, clattering to the blood-slick deck. His golden hair was matted with soot and gore. "This... this cannot be…"
Contarini seized his king by the shoulders, his face a mask of grim fury. "We must sound the retreat! Now, before—"
A cannonball screamed overhead, silencing him forever as it tore through the flagship's mainmast, sending tons of wood and rigging crashing down upon the command deck.
The Battle for Alexandria had begun in earnest. And the Crusaders were learning the terrible price of underestimating Egypt's wrath.
"ALLAHU AKBAR!" roared Captain Yusuf as his Sea Wolves' flagship rammed into the floundering Lion of Jerusalem. Bronze-clad prows smashed Frankish hulls as armored boarders poured onto enemy decks, curved blades flashing. A young Crusader squire barely had time to raise his sword before Yusuf's scimitar opened his throat in a crimson arc.
"Welcome to Egypt, boy."
On the burning decks of the Saint Gabriel, King Almeric—just pulled from the sea—staggered through the chaos, his golden surcoat stained with soot and blood. "Rally! Rally to me!" he bellowed, but his desperate cries were drowned beneath the screams of dying men and the relentless thunder of Egyptian cannons.
Back on the walls, Master Gunner Rashid danced between his artillery crews like a demonic conductor. "Reload! Faster, you sons of lazy goats!" His boot connected with a young loader's backside as the boy fumbled with an iron ball. "Stop shaking like a virgin on her wedding night! These Franks bleed like any man!"
Apprentice gunner Karim wiped sweat from his eyes as he stuffed another powder charge into the smoking barrel. "They're breaking, Master Rashid! Their line's collapsing!"
Rashid spat over the battlement as another Crusader ship foundered. "Not good enough! I want every last one of those whoresons feeding the fish today!" He grabbed a torch and touched it to the cannon's fuse himself. "For Egypt! For Salahuddin!"
The bronze ram of Captain Yusuf's galley, the Lion of Yusuf, tore through the side of a Crusader transport with a sickening crunch. Wood splintered like dry bones as the impact hurled Frankish sailors across the deck. Before the ships had even stopped shuddering, Yusuf was already moving—his scimitar flashing in the sun as he leapt the narrowing gap.
"Boarding parties!" he roared. "Leave none alive!"
The Sea Wolves followed in a howling tide, their war cries mingling with the screams of the dying. They surged through the enemy ship like a flood, curved blades flashing. To the Franks, they were no longer men—just demons made flesh.
A burly knight in dented plate swung a broadsword at Yusuf, the heavy blade whistling through the air. Yusuf ducked under the clumsy strike, the wind of it ruffling his beard. Before the knight could recover, Yusuf's scimitar slid through the gap between helm and breastplate, slicing into soft flesh.
"Is this the best Jerusalem has to offer?" Yusuf spat as the knight collapsed, blood bubbling from his lips. "A fat old man swinging a pigsticker?" He shoved the dying man overboard with a boot to the chest.
Nearby, Lieutenant Amir fought with youthful fury, driving his dagger into a sailor's throat. The man clutched the wound, his cries turning to wet gurgles as he slumped against the mast. "They thought we'd be weak without Salahuddin!" Amir shouted, wiping blood from his face.
Yusuf decapitated a charging spearman with a single swing. "Now they'll learn," he growled, kicking another knight into the sea, "Egypt doesn't need the Sultan to defend her honor!"
The deck became a slaughterhouse. The Sea Wolves moved with the precision of veterans born to the sea—brutal and efficient. A Frankish archer loosed one arrow before three blades opened his belly. A gleaming knight lasted seconds before he was dragged down and butchered like a lamb.
"Captain! Sterncastle!" Amir pointed to a cluster of nobles making a desperate last stand beneath a golden cross.
Yusuf grinned, teeth white against his blood-spattered face. "Leave the banner boy for me," he said, striding forward.
The nobles fought with courage, but courage meant nothing before the fury of the Sea Wolves. Yusuf's blade severed the standard-bearer's hand, sending the banner of Jerusalem tumbling to the deck. He planted a boot atop it, grinding it into the blood-slick planks as the last noble fell.
"Signal the fleet," Yusuf ordered, panting. "This one's done."
Victory horns sounded. Across the harbor, Crusader ships burned or sank, their crews dead or pleading for mercy none would find. The few still afloat fled, but the Coastal Wolves were already in pursuit.
The water ran red as Sea Wolves and Coastal Wolves closed their trap. Boarding parties leapt from deck to deck, their war cries echoing over the carnage. A knight buried his sword in an Egyptian marine's shoulder—only to be skewered by three scimitars a heartbeat later.
"This... isn't... possible..." he choked, blood spilling from his lips as he toppled into the sea.
From the shattered lighthouse ruins, Lieutenant Amir watched the massacre unfold. "By the Prophet… we're butchering them."
Captain Yusuf, blood dripping from his blade, clapped the young officer's shoulder. "No, boy. We're sending a message." He pointed toward the few ships fleeing into the open sea. "Let those cowards tell Christendom what happens when they test Egypt's might."
As the sun dipped toward the western horizon, the once-proud invasion force had been reduced to burning hulks and bobbing corpses. The few surviving ships limped away, their decks crammed with the wounded and the dying. On the walls of Alexandria, Egyptian soldiers roared with triumph as the last Crusader sails vanished into the smoke-stained dusk.
Master Gunner Rashid finally allowed himself to sit, his hands blackened by powder burns. He accepted a waterskin from young Karim, drank deeply, then flashed a soot-smeared grin.
"Now that, boy," he said, voice hoarse but proud, "is how you welcome uninvited guests."