Troops have been deployed to the western island for an ambush and Powder Pete, the shortest – yet grittiest – cannon maker around the entire Gulf of Finland, has been left behind to man the Tar Island artillery.
Rumor has it the English have changed their tactics; they are to attack Pitäjänsaari Island at sunset. The whole gulf is silent, as if holding its breath – except of course for Powder Pete.

Muzzles, checked. Fuses, checked. Powder, checked. Cannon balls, checked. Pete knows his job and likes it, but it’s his love for the sea that keeps him going.
Silently, his mustache streaming in the wind he peers at the Mighty Blue wishing for luck for his brothers in arms in the western island. He breathes in a sharp dose of the salty wind and lets the sound of the waves seduce him to close his eyes for a second… just for a second… until the smell of something alarming works its way through the thick grey bristles under his nose.

From the brooding darkness floats a ten-digit flotilla – cannons loaded with the blackest of black powders. Pete’s nostrils start to shiver of rage when he catapults into the night to load the cannons. No one is going to violate the shores he has sworn to protect!

Gather up your guts – it’s time to slay some
Englishmen! There will be no mercy
while the mustache still moves.