Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun (20 page)

By this time our allies
were upon them, and in our foes’ hesitation, our allies were in their fortress. We should have been quite outnumbered and repulsed by this point, but we had counted upon hesitation and surprise – and received it in full measure. They also put much stock in trying to remove the most powerful of their enemy from the battlefield, for to their beliefs, the powerful and successful have much of this spiritual energy they try to gain from defeat of their foes. So even when being raided, our enemies’ most experienced and capable warriors made an effort to charge Miss Coltrane, jabbing spears at the armor and attacking her with clubs. I am most impressed that some of the latter left small dents in the heavy armoring of the battle suit, but did not impair its function. She mostly ignored them as she tore up the logs and spear walls making up their defenses, creating more avenues by which our allied warriors could assault them. More importantly, she created a route by which our enemy could flee before they came fully to their senses.

Used to lightning raids and ambush, our foes did just that, racing into the brush. Some fought their way through; some raced through the new holes Miss Coltrane had created; some went right over the top of their own useless defenses which were now trapping them inside with their doom. As they fled, they reached our sniper post first. There was the sharp crack of the rifle, then a roar of muskets. A sing
le round of fire and a few well-placed shots from Eddy, and that side of the field went silent.

Those fleeing the other way were taken into our other wing, and Miss Bowe charged side by side with their war leaders, showing no mercy. She met their brute force and ferocity with quickness, their spears and clubs with her own blades, cutting men all about her and moving on. And our allied Maori themselves crashed into their foes like a wave, chopping down men all about them, now finding themselves at home in something like their typical tactics, until not a foeman was standing.

I find myself uncertain which unnerves me more. The brutal tactics and efficiency of the Maori in hand-to-hand combat – and the joy they seem to take in it – or that, with flanking maneuvers and musket lines, we're teaching them the basics of modern warfare, making them even more effective on a larger scale.

We left not a man alive, in the Maori fashion, and when the battle was over, the warriors with us went through, tending their own wounded and finishing off fallen, but not deceased, foes. Perhaps some small mercy that they did so before tossing them to the sharks to be rid of them. We assisted with tending the wounded but urged everyone to hurry, lest we leave ourselves vulnerable to counterattack. Both we and the tribesmen were well aware we were in enemy territory, so those wounded who could walk with assistance did so to have their wounds cleaned and dealt with later, and the collecting of fallen and weapons was carried out with haste. Of most value here, our allies seized several muskets, along with a supply of unspent powder and shot.

We are already planning another raid, for we have need of these supplies. We must also try our best to provoke York into making an attack, or to raise the tempers of the Maori allied with him so they will seek revenge on their own. Our allies believe that we cannot attack like this for long before the enemy's pride will demand that they get some revenge. Soon, we shall see how great of control York has upon these tribesmen.

I can only hope that it is soon, for I think if we must stay in the midst of this war for too long, I shall go mad. This is not a war suited for civilized men, no matter its stakes.

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

June 4th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

The dirigible is almost repaired with materials captured or made, though the Captain and Miss Coltrane alike agree that it is still far from what could be done in Dr. Mitchell's laboratories, Oxford, or even New York
City. Nevertheless, it should fly and hold together, in their estimation. I am grateful for this, because it will allow us to change our tactics of war considerably, at least until we must travel over expanses of enemy territory, where we cannot know where they may have placed rockets.

Our enemy has begun to know the sound of Miss Coltrane's approach, for we have conducted five raids now in just twice that many days. After each raid, the suit is repaired back to full working order, and refueled. As soon as we've verified
that it's back into fighting condition, we go out again. Our allies assure us that each success on our part goes further and further in demanding a response from the enemy tribes and challenges York's ability to force them to be patient.

For this, we must be cautious, for we are dangerously outnumbered even with our successes. The tribe the French allied with was once one of the strongest in their region already. Then they were given muskets, some grasp of tactics, and a food source that women, slaves, elderly, and children could tend, leaving men in their prime free to fight. With these advantages, they overcame their neighbors, adding those women, children, and farmers to their own numbers. By this time, this generation, better armed and numerous, they were seen as nearly unbeatable, at least until our arrival. The raids and wars upon them were no longer with belief in truly conquering them, but for survival. Tribes sought to prove themselves strong enough that they would be the last target instead of the first.

Now, the people around us seem to have some belief that they might still be blessed to survive, even win. Enough small victories, and it can cause men to believe a larger one is possible. From what I understand, they seem to believe Miss Penn in particular is some sign of this victory to come, that she and her ability to read the future are a sign they have one. We have so far made no attempt to disillusion them, for we need all the morale we can muster right now.

We have not yet seen York or his men, and he has certainly not answered our engine of war with his own. He must have the Maori serving under him truly terrified of him or something in his company, for the raids we have made on them already must constitute grave insults and demand response. We have answered his quick raid with five of our own, all of them so far overwhelming successes, though we have not attacked any great number of foes yet. If this is the case, then we must press harder, risk counterattack and risk being cut off or falling into another trap, for there is still no chance I can see that we could win on York's ground, fighting the kind of numbers he has allied himself with.

Miss Bowe has begun to talk with the war chiefs here about some plan to shift these tactics, but I have not yet heard the details. Every time she speaks with them, there seems to be a great deal of frowning and shaking of heads, but the young and the most heavily tattooed who listen in always seem more inspired for it. This all leads me very much to believe that she is proposing some suicidally insane venture of the sort that make for many great and tragic stories. I have no doubt that we shall know soon enough.

Eddy, meanwhile, has begun to include more of the Maori in his efforts to prepare for war. Where before, he scouted and planned largely on his own, now he's instructing our allies more often to think and fight in his fashion. He still requires a translator, but the Maori have seen how effective he and his rifle are in combat, and many are very enthusiastic to gain any insight or training he might give them. They can now reload more quickly, understand the effective ranges of their weapons better, and know more about firing and loading in concert. When I see him engaging in such instruction, I have more hope for the moment and fear for the future.

June 5th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

My Dearest Cordelia,

I shall spare you the vicious and ugly details of living among the Maori. Suffice it to say that they are not the cannibal savages some tales make them out to be. We would not, even for the stakes put before us, live among such a thing, let alone go to war with them at our side. They are, however, savages of a wholly different sort, no doubt about it. Even when means to make more substantial clothing is taught to them, if it does not benefit them in warfare or farming, they are not interested, even to cover themselves and have some small modesty. Indeed, men and women alike take great pleasure in displaying themselves in the most brazen fashion imaginable.

For the women, who rarely go to war – though some small handful have done so – there is no shame in using all charms at their disposal to attract a strong mate. Indeed, though it shames me to say it, after seeing the behaviors of some of the other Europeans, they have made some attempts here to have the men among us married to their women, or perhaps to offer them up as prostitutes. I did not quite understand, but apparently the latter service was one of the things the French and Dutch would accept in exchange for muskets, powder, and potatoes. I am certain I should not speak of such things, but I know you are curious, and I can find few other ways to adequately describe the people we have found ourselves among and what has been done to them by the Europeans.

For the men, these displays are for other reasons. Primary among them is to display their tattoos. When a young man of this culture participates in courageous deeds, he is marked in a most painful process, given ever more elaborate networks of twisting and writhing tattoos upon his chest and his face. This is how they know the truly brave and accomplished among them, how warriors of repute find one another on the battlefield. The greatest here always seek out their opposing number when they can, for in time, what is a great deed for one warrior becomes a mundane task for a more accomplished one. To gain any further recognition, to earn the next marks, and to further please their ancestors, they must perform ever more brave deeds. It is this desire for recognition from the living and the dead alike which most drives the warriors of this land.

This matter led to one of the odder conversations I have had recently. With her actions in warfare, which are much like those deeds I have described before, and her knowledge of the local tongue from the beginning, the Maori here attempted to adopt Miss Bowe into their ranks. An odd honor, but certainly one it seems that a woman like her might appreciate. They offered her their tattoos, which is apparently a very rare thing for women at all here, even their few female warriors, and to their knowledge, has never been offered to an outsider before.

Despite the unique nature of this and the woman's savage character, she refused them, though she conducted herself with what they deem manners all the while and managed not to offend them in refusing what they took as a great honor. It was odd enough a thing that I felt the need, upon Miss Penn's explanation of what had been offered, to ask her about it. Her response still perplexes me.

“
Gregory, I'm no more a thing of this people than I am of yours.”

While surely she has little regard for the ways of England, and there may be other factors from her mother's blood, she is still a colonist, to the best of my understanding, and has traveled among us for some time. Though I asked, she did not explain further.

Miss Coltrane has been speaking with the Captain a great deal, for the dirigible is close to operative status again. We are near enough to water to refill its supply, which was mostly emptied for sake of being able to have greatest freedom in checking every part of the ship and conducting repairs. A little hope has been expressed by some, such as Mr. Franzini and Mrs. Fisher, that we would use this in order to escape our present circumstances and find a different way to rescue Sir James, rather than rely upon these people. But the soldiers and tacticians among our number have refused the possibility, for we need their numbers and aid to even begin to oppose York's men. It also seems, even as inhuman as these warriors sometimes seem to be, quite cowardly to abandon them now and take away all of their hope after the hospitality they have given us – and all of the difficulty we went through in order to gain their aid in the first place. Surely no better plan has presented itself.

Eddy also believes that we are nearly ready to proceed. He has been instrumental in determining our plan of battle, for in the absence of Sir James, he is our most experienced soldier. He has not made the same efforts as Miss Bowe to truly stand among the warriors, or to become a part of the local style of warfare. He instead has taken the role of general and instructor, giving their muskets their orders, teaching them everything he might, and making sure that their guns, rare among these people, are used to greatest effect. He is pressing for an attempt to at least scout more closely to where we believe York to be hiding. Win or lose, I believe he is growing tired of waiting and wishes to see the war proceed. I wonder if perhaps he is as uncomfortable conducting a war here as I am, among these people. Certainly I fear for any Europeans or even Englishmen who try to take this place by force in the future. While these people are eager to trade, if approached correctly, these muskets shall be most difficult for anyone to overcome. I cannot imagine a greater teacher in marksmanship than the notorious Battlefield Ghost, even if he is not yet notorious on these shores.

Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright, as is proper, keep themselves even more divorced from these people and our preparations. I am not even certain if the Maori understand that there is a person within the armor. They simply see it emerge when it is time for war, and when we have won, it returns to its shelter. Each time, Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright must repair it on evermore scarce materials. We have been lucky so far that most of the repairs are just hammering out plates and fixing wires and pipes again. Eventually, however, we have to risk a greater attack on York's base, for we cannot keep the battle suit running forever under these conditions. When fuel or supplies run low, despite all our attempts to tactically provoke, which should have worked, we shall have to begin making our stabs at the darkness.