In the bright San Juan Bay, waves surged in and crashed against two Clark galleons in the shallow waters. The sea breeze carried a moist, salty smell mixed with an inescapable scent of blood and smoke. The morning sun shone on the decks where bodies piled up and captives crawled, while the mercenaries' brazen shouts of excitement emanated from the cabins.
"Haha! This bag of pearls is mine now! Eh? These pearls are pink? Are they valuable? Whatever, let me stash them in my bag first!"
"Gottverdammt! Why are there bags full of cotton yarn here? How many Native Tribes did these Castilians slaughter to rob this much cotton? This stuff is heavy and bulky; how do we take it back? Better to sell it off at a discount to the Cuban Barbarians!"
"Fool! We can't call them 'Barbarians' anymore; we have to call them 'Cuban Warriors'! They are our major clients now, maybe we can do some business with them."
