by Candy Rae
Miles to the north, the crew and families from the Electra were preparing their defences, unaware of Elliot Murdoch’s plans for the womenfolk. The high ground where Gerry had led them had certainly fulfilled their expectations. It could be described as a natural hill fort, surrounded as it was by three sheer cliff faces to the north, east and west. These cliffs were, decided Camilla, almost unassailable, almost but not quite. A determined force could, with much effort, climb them, although they would lose many men in the process. Unfortunately, the prisoners could well afford to throw away lives to keep the defenders busy on these three sides, whilst their main attacking force rushed the easier southern approach.
Camilla was under no illusions. The place would be pretty nigh impossible to defend long term with the numbers and weaponry available to her. Not that she had any choice. Negotiation would not be a viable option with these men, of that she was certain.
From the highest rocky crag in the middle of their bolthole she could see with binoculars the southern continent’s northern coastline in the distance, a faint smudge on the horizon. She knew that there was another landmass in the north, over the water. There was no point in trying to reach it, much as she wanted to put the vast expanse between them and the convicts. If they did reach the coast, just how could they get there? How could they cross over to the northern continent? Boats of course, but boats took time to build. The ex-prisoners would catch them in the open and any defence would be as a laughable charade. They had a chance here in the hills, albeit a slim one. Perhaps they could at least get a few of the most vulnerable away? She made a mental note to examine the possibility.
She appeared to be everywhere at once, checking that the barriers were being placed correctly on the southern slopes. Large tree trunks formed the mainstay of the defences, wedged in place between the rocky buttes that formed an intermittent semicircle at the edge of the southern slope. If she had had more men and modern weapons she would have been happy. They could have held back a storm of attackers. As it was, they could only do their best and hope that they could hold out.
Gerry Russell, who had been the head livestock handler back on the ship, mounted on his gallant grey mare, was waiting for her some paces downhill from where the workers were toiling. He had been riding this mare ever since they had landed and Camilla doubted very much if he could be prised away from her now. The approach path leading south from Fort had a gentle incline, only growing steep right in front of where the barriers were being built. The natural corral where the livestock was situated was at the bottom of the slope. It was guarded day and night, protecting the animals from any predators that might be in the vicinity.
Camilla walked down the hill to join him.
He smiled down at her.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked. “All is quiet with the animals. No problems.”
Camilla ran her hands through her sticky hair whilst she marshalled her thoughts. Gerry would not like what she was about to say. She took a deep breath.
“It’s about the animals I need to speak to you Gerry,” she began, “I don’t know how we can defend them when we are attacked. We’ll need every adult we can muster up there.” She pointed back uphill.
Gerry stared at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears. A man passionately devoted to all animals, he could not understand how and why the Commander was suggesting such a thing. Humans, he felt, were more than able to look after themselves. Animals could not.
He shook his head decisively. “No,” he said, “I cannot abandon them.”
Camilla looked at him. “You must.”
He continued to shake his head.
“Well, what do you suggest then?” she asked.
“Take them inside Fort with us. There’s enough water from the spring up top. You can’t leave them down here. Anything could happen to them.”
It was Camilla’s turn to shake her head.
“There’s just not enough room. Quite a manner of things could happen to them if they are squashed up with us as well. There will be, in all probability, a lot of fighting up there. You can’t want them amongst it all. They will get hurt.” Camilla continued. “When we see the convicts approaching I think we should bring in the goats, but only the goats.”
“And the horses,” finished Gerry, “you must give me that at least.” He patted his mare; her ears flickered as she responded to the caress.
Camilla nodded. He could have his horses with him inside the barricade. At least the man seemed to realise that it would be impossible for them to protect all the livestock from the prisoners. The horses might also prove useful. She wished she had more of them. A germ of an idea began to take form in her mind.
“You do understand, Gerry, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. I suppose you’re right. If the worst happens, these men, they can't all be bad. Some must love animals surely? They will look after them,” he paused, “but not as well as I.”
“Indubitably,” agreed Camilla. “You make the arrangements about your beloved horses and the goats. We’ll need the milk they provide if we end up in a siege situation. I am quite sure you’re right, they will be looked after.”
“Maybe the convicts will give up and leave us alone.”
And cows might fly. “Perhaps,” Camilla answered but by her tone of voice Gerry knew that she didn’t think so.
Up behind the barricades, the other inhabitants were coming to terms with what was ahead of them.
The Howard family, still minus Peter Howard who was still in the desert with the away-team, burying the dangerous power-core from the Electra, were in the middle of a family confab.
“Do you think Dad is all right?” fretted Jessica. She was close to her father and missed him.
“They’ve activated the locator unit,” said young Joseph, aged seven-and-a-half. “He’ll find us Jessica, never fear.”
He put his arm awkwardly round his big sister. It was strange, he reflected as he did so, to be comforting her. It was usually the other way round.
Anne Howard, worry for her missing husband and for what lay ahead of them etched on her face, her arm round her younger daughter Cherry, spoke up, “I am sure he will be with us very soon,” she comforted.
Under her breath, Anne was never sure if she actually heard her or if it was her imagination running away with her when Jessica muttered, “But perhaps not soon enough.”
At that point Jenny, Jessica’s best friend popped her head round the tent flap that served as the door to their little domain. A stocky, sturdy girl three months younger than Jessica, the two were almost inseparable; even on the ship they had rarely been seen apart.
“Coming Jess? We’ve got cook duty.”
As Jessica bent down to put on her boots Anne Howard sighed, thinking about their situation where children were being forced to work, and hard. The adults did the heavy backbreaking labour building the barricades. To the younger teenagers fell the day-to-day tasks ordinarily performed by these adults. Jessica and Jenny, the two Jays as they were known, were working at least ten hours a day on various necessary jobs, thus freeing their elders to work on the defences and to learn how to fight.
In fact, although Camilla deplored the necessity, all personnel, male or female over the age of fifteen would be manning the barricades when the time came. Anne herself had been given a duty station on the north face. When she was ordered to take up her position she would place Cherry and Joseph in the hands of their big sister. They and the rest of those under sixteen would enter the comparative safety of a large cave situated not far from their tent. It was hoped that the youngsters would be safe there until it was all over, one way or another.
The days and nights passed as the ex-crew and their families tried to keep some semblance of normality in their lives whilst working hard to prepare for the inevitable day when the ex-prisoners found them.
* * * * *
