Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun (22 page)

When they had closed to pistol range, Captain Fisher and I joined as well, with the last two of the pepper-box pistols, able to fire four shots in reasonably rapid succession before we had to fall back for extended reloading. Though he is not accustomed to fighting on the ground, the Captain took to this desperate chore well, covering me while I reloaded, holding his nerve, and performing the difficult reloading of the pepper-box while I covered him.

Matthew fell quickly to the chore of powder monkey, keeping a few loaded muskets near him, handing them out when a musket would jam or misfire. He took the damaged guns, cleaned them as best as conditions allowed, and got them back to firing condition. He was quick and efficient with it, darting in and out among the ranks of musketeers fearlessly, keeping his eyes open and ears cocked for any sight or sound of muskets failing or men having difficulty reloading. After handling Eddy's rifles, these muskets must seem like the simplest of toys to him. He is a brave boy, growing with every day into one of the bravest of young men I have ever had the privilege to know.

Miss Bowe took those warriors of our number who refused muskets, preferring to prove their skill in their traditional manner, or who were simply untrained in the guns. They waited until opposing lines were almost upon us and only then, with death closing down upon us, first moved to defend our walls with spears and thrown weapons. After that salvo, she and her small group left our walls, and moved instead to a hidden exit to one side of our small fortification, trying to not draw attention until they were able to rush one of the enemy's flanks and catch them off-guard.

The unexpected rush unbalanced our enemy enough to confuse part of their charge. Some stopped and turned to engage our hand-to-hand fighters, while ranks broke as others continued a forward charge. Still more simply halted, trying to assess the situation. As soon as the enemy organized enough to start to overwhelm them, Miss Bowe and her fellows efficiently shifted to a fighting retreat back to the protection of our walls, with musket fire covering their retreat. All the while, our muskets continued their relentless pattern, building a wall of bodies the enemy had to clamber over before they could reach our walls.

Had they continued on, they might have reached us still, but we managed to hold out until night had fallen completely. With the darkness, Miss Bowe launched out with one more charge, clashing with their ranks while they could not see clearly. Then, as planned, she and her troops retreated while the enemy was still fighting and seeking enemies. Our muskets could fire with impunity, for everything in the field was a target, and the enemy was uncertain if there was still some assault coming or not. While we lost some more men we could ill afford to in this newest battle, European tactics and Maori courage won the day at last, forcing the enemy into a retreat. As soon as they began to fall back, Miss Bowe and her troops were upon their backs again, cutting them down and giving them no chance to regroup.

Though I still abhor such savage means and brutal tactics, even I will now admit it was necessary, for without that confusion and feel of a threat upon their backs, they might have simply regrouped and come again as soon as they hit covered lands. Instead, they were pursued for so long as possible without risking ambush, and then Miss Bowe and the Maori allied with us fell back.

Despite all the death of the day before, this new victory, without Miss Coltrane and her battle suit, has given some new hope here, and the Maori who yet survive already are preparing to mark more of their warriors with all manner of new tattoos should we survive the dawn, for if another attack is to come, that is when it will be. Otherwise we will have another badly needed day to recover ourselves.

Only an hour past, the warleaders gave in to the plan put to them by Miss Bowe. If no further assault comes at dawn, Miss Bowe and the Maori's strongest warriors will approach another of the smaller tribes who are at war with both themselves and the larger camp controlled by York. They will try to find some alliance with them. I have since gained confirmation from Miss Penn that this is an almost unheard-of thing. Defeated tribes can certainly be absorbed into the victors, but a surviving chieftain or warleader will not often allow his troops to swear allegiance to any other. They believe that they are more likely to be ambushed and killed than they are to succeed, but it is a last desperate hope, and, with the gift of flight from her ornithopter, that gift that so amazes these allies, Miss Bowe has some hope that she might be able to find some alliance here.

For the time being, however, until we are past the long, creeping dawn hours, we can only wait.

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

June 11th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

We were not attacked at dawn, and so Miss Bowe, Miss Penn, and their accompanying Maori warriors left to try to make an alliance with another tribe. Miss Bowe took the ornithopter with her, though they both are keeping to the ground, which proved both quite the sight, and a cause of much confusion and wonder among the Maori. They have been gone two days now, and we are beginning to lose hope for their return. We have not been attacked again yet, but we know that it is coming. Our scouts have confirmed that they are seeing movement in the darker hours, keeping an eye on us and trying to determine our numbers and health.

The Captain has tried a few times now to convince us that we can leave this place, but I do not believe it is possible, and I am not alone. We would be abandoning our fellows before all was lost, and I am not certain the Maori would permit us to leave them when there is still a war going on. Aside from that consideration, Miss Coltrane will not leave her brother, and we have no other hope now for his recovery. There is little doubt that York has made himself comfortable here, ruling his savages like a king. If we cannot force him from this throne now, it will not be done. Whatever the arguments on both sides, Miss Coltrane makes the final decision on the dirigible when her brother is not among us, and even when they disagree, the Fishers are loyal to her.

Eddy finally awoke this morning, though he remains weak. Still, he has shown degrees of progress throughout the day and has stated repeatedly that he is quite tired already of being abed. If determination alone could heal his wounds and let him walk again, he would be up and back to training already. The musketeers among the Maori have been concerned for him and visit as often as they are permitted to see to his progress.

Without our translators, communication is difficult, but I have managed a few words. I also comprehend a small bit more than I can say – enough to understand their reports
of enemy scouts and indication that they believe more attacks will come soon. However much we put fear into them last time, they will not wait much longer.

Miss Coltrane has been working hard on the armor ever since her recovery. It is far from repaired yet, and she has told us that she is not positive she has the parts to make the second arm move without taking it entirely apart and rebuilding differently to make up for the damage done. That would take far more time than we have, so she
abandoned it for the time being.

She has worked instead on making sure the suit is fully fueled, with tanks that will hold, and that it can at least move and fire all weapons from the other arm in time for the approach of a new attack. It should be mobile in time to meet an assault at dusk, though Miss Coltrane would much prefer they wait another day. Exhaustion has taken her a few times since the defeat, but I do not think Miss Wright has slept since then, working frantically in the workshop when she is not forced to take some time to rest, and then rushing back to work as soon as it is permitted.

With Miss Penn's absence – and once he had become absolutely certain that he could not convince either the Captain to defy Miss Coltrane and ready the ship to leave, or Miss Coltrane to abandon this position – Mr. Franzini made himself more helpful, moving among the people here and checking on our defenses. Though he is still clearly out of his element, it is good to see him doing what he can to assist in the defenses until we know the fate of the rest of our number and can somehow prepare ourselves for another attack. In particular, he is working with the muskets in order to at least keep some evidence of our presence among them, even if he is not half the shot Eddy is. Having him there seems to inspire the gunmen, as does Matthew's continued work with them, for he has taken it upon himself to maintain the guns and make sure they are all prepared for battle at any moment.

I find most of my time is spent working on learning the Maori language – or some small part of it – and teaching English to those tribesmen who will make the effort, so that we can coordinate our efforts when the inevitable battle comes.

June 12th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

They came at dawn, having marshaled their courage for another charge. This time they were more organized, forcing the inexperienced and some slaves ahead of the front ranks to take the first rounds of muskets. When this nervous, half-hearted charge fell, the real rush began, Maori shouting and taunting and throwing their weapons at our gates to try to keep our musketeers down while their own muskets found places within range to open fire.

Though we were not taken by surprise, having long since learned to go on highest defense at first and last light, we had only the single rank of muskets readied, as so many of our small number were just waking up to be ready for the likely times of attack. Men rushed to their positions, and
we all took our places as quickly and efficiently as we were able. Miss Wright could be heard shouting by those near the airship, demanding just a few more minutes.

Eddy insisted upon struggling to the line. With Matthew's help, he was able to make it to a resting position, though he looked half dead already, pale and sweating from just that much effort. Matthew helped him with his goggles and getting his rifle in his hands, and from that moment on, exhausted, wounded, and sick though he may have been, he was a godsend. Even just the sharp crack of the rifle amidst the roar of musket fire stopped some of our enemy in their tracks.

Mr. Franzini took a spot with the muskets near the middle of the line, though he seemed hesitant. Despite his misgivings, he held his portion of the line, forming a second wave of muskets as our gates were approached. Our spearmen prepared to help repel the first wave for as long as we had cover, and the Captain and I fired freely into the enemy mass, one covering the other as he reloaded, taking up one end of the line. Our repeating pistols made us well suited to the task of holding a corner for so long as our nerves held. It is quite a nerve-wracking position, however, as our pistols lack some of the power of a musket ball, and these Maori do not fall easily when wounded like European men. They are so determined to see your end that until they die or cannot walk, they will keep coming, even when an arm is made useless, or a shot has struck their chest. The only counsel I could give anyone who follows us here is that if you must fight them, shoot for the face, or take their legs, and do not miss, for they will not stop unless you force it on them, and they will not give you a second chance. I have seen many more disciplined, more precise soldiers in my time, but never any more determined to end their enemy's life.

As they reached our gates, a cry went up from the brush. At first we thought it a second wave, eager for some kills of their own. Suddenly a new wave of Maori warriors launched into the back ranks of our enemies as they poured from the cover of the land beyond the beach. I could not hear the sound of the ornithopter's wings over the din of combat, but could not miss seeing Miss Bowe dropped among the enemy from above, whirling about and cutting men down until the rest of her new warband reached her, and from there they fought together. The ornithopter even pursued a couple of our foes away from the field as they fled in terror of the great mechanical bird dropping down upon them.

The airship opened at last, and while one arm hung uselessly, and the precision of the walk was not there, the mechanical monster was still whole enough to be an obvious threat, and Miss Coltrane announced her presence by firing a thunderous round into the ranks of the enemy. Those who suddenly fled in terror of this mechanical threat found themselves racing into our reinforcements.

Even for the Maori, once this battle turned, it was bloody, brutal, and
short. They were pinned between our well-drilled musket ranks, our sniper, and our monster – and on the other side, ranks on ranks of fresh warriors led by the most decorated of our tribe's men and one insane woman. By the time the sun was fully risen, our enemy's raiding band was all dead, dying, fled, or captured. We had our reinforcements, by whatever miraculous occurrence and feat of diplomacy.

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

June 13th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

Miss Penn told me something of what went on with the other tribe. Raids had been conducted both ways, so they knew where to find the other village readily enough. Well away from it, they called out to the other to make sure they knew that there were people approaching, and some of them would be unarmed. They certainly got attention, but were met at first with hostility.

Miss Bowe, at their signal, dropped down from above with the ornithopter, putting quite the fright into the people of the village. That fright seemed to delay their instinct to fight their enemies, and eventually, approach was permitted, though as slow and careful as our first contact here. The discussions were difficult, even with Miss Bowe's presence and the tales of the rest of us. The tribe had already almost accepted that they would be destroyed and were seeking to die well. It is almost impossible to convince people in such circumstances that a few outsiders make so significant a difference as to make allying with the tribe currently being wiped out worthwhile.