Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun

by Jeffrey Cook

  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 t
o 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.

  For some, that time can wait as long as possible, for we have done well enough in surviving so far without such a large risk. For others, I think, that time cannot come soon enough, for some of us tire quickly of surviving under these conditions, and some would prefer to be done with it either way.

  The skies are dark, and the days are short. For the Maori, who prefer to attack at dusk or dawn, this is a perfect time for combat. Miss Penn tells us that they see the changes in the skies as portent that now is a time for war and warriors and that only with victory will better skies for farmers and growth appear again. Some even jest that a difficult growing season is little problem right now, for there will be far fewer people to feed by the time this war is over. I fear this is true, and no matter how much I am put on edge by these people and their ways of war, I cannot take any spirit in their black humor.

  As ever, I keep to this difficult path for hope that soon I shall be able to return to you a free and honored man, my love. Right now, I think I need your light more than ever.

  My love, always,

  Gregory Conan Watts

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  June 7th, 1816

  37º03' S 175º53' E

  Tragedy. We have suffered our first defeat, and it is a crushing one. We are not yet lost, but the people about us are dispirited so greatly that we may well lose the war for lack of an inspired people to fight beside. We have spent so long building up their hopes, whether that was our wish or not, making them believe that they – and we – could win against crushing numbers and odds, and now all that effort may be lost.

  We attacked with the dawn, having scouted out the largest of the French fortifications so far, though it is not yet their main base. We saw numbers which would be difficult, but not impossible, to defeat and fell back to prepare the winged flanks, which have proven effective so far, and to which the Maori have adapted well. We had covered most of the distance before things fell apart. The fortress doors, instead of providing protection, proved camouflage. It opened suddenly to reveal vast numbers of opposing Maori warriors – and with them, the trackless engine which has so far proved our bane.

  Some of our warriors fled right then, though most carried on. They crashed into the wave of their opposing number with great ferocity, but this time met no hesitation from the enemy. Suddenly the field was not as we had planned it, but filled with fighting, and Miss Coltrane could not help support our troops, needing to see to Wyndham's engine instead.

  At the commotion, our flankers closed in, quickly realizing the plan had failed catastrophically. The muskets were little use by this point, for the field was a tangled mess, though they were able, once they understood Eddy's direction, to begin shooting opposing muskets down from the walls of the enemy fortification, which at least prevented them from continuing to pick off the edges of our numbers. Eddy did not hesitate, finding himself a stand and firing his rounds into the battle, with Matthew supporting him as best he could. This too gave some of our strongest fighters a chance, for Eddy dropped their foes from before them, letting them cut deeper into the enemy ranks and break up their line. It also left Eddy in a more vulnerable position than he's used to, with no chance to prepare his position in advance.

  Miss Bowe and her fellows charged without hesitation, crashing into the ranks, and at first seemed to shift the battle. Then, from all around us, more enemy Maori emerged, screaming and pressing our position, much as we had done to their outlying fortresses many times. We were now hemmed in, and Eddy was forced to alternate firing one way and then the other, at much closer range than he is accustomed to.

  Miss Bowe and the most renowned Maori warriors of our ranks suddenly found themselves in the position of not so much trying to fight their way to the enemy leadership, but turned about and trying to fight their way free. Many of our number met their end there, stabbed in the back while trying to force a hole in enemy lines.

  I was with some part of our rear company, aiding in the fight, but originally responsible mostly for making sure that we held our position and enemies did not escape past us. This time, we found ourselves heavily engaged. More than once, I found myself ducking under spears or war clubs and shooting their warriors in the stomach to fell them quickly and to make myself some space. Each time I had any space, whether I had expended my full four shots or not, I found myself reloading at best opportunity, lest I not have a final shot when I most needed it.

  I managed to fight my way nearer to Eddy's musketeers, for they had done the best job, with all their training, at holding ground and keeping the enemy back. My own small group followed, and soon our primary muskets had some support, and the spearmen with me took up a position guarding our muskets from close-quarters assault.

  When the bulk of York's troops had exited the fortress, Wyndham's engine charged into the fray. The engine plowed through the ranks. True to what we've seen of York and his group so far, he showed no regard for his allies, beyond simply wishing to make sure he killed at least as many of ours. This time Miss Coltrane was prepared and got her legs under her just before it struck. She leaped over the engine, landing near the fortress. She tore up a section of their fortress as she turned, launching it at the engine like a spear. The engine was turning about, and her barrage caught it broadside. For a few moments, it seemed like it might tip over, leaving it helpless, but she was not quick enough to follow up, and it found itself on its t
reads once more.

  When the engine finished its turn, she fired repeatedly into its charge, damaging but not stopping it. Likewise, it fired rockets and heavy shells at her, most missing, but at least two shots finding their marks and staggering her. By the time it came upon her, she was reeling enough from the shots that she could not go over it again. Miss Coltrane did manage to not take the collision head on, being grazed aside by the heavy engine. She almost lost her balance – and then surely would have been lost if it had an opportunity to run her over – but managed to keep her feet.

  She did manage to pummel the side of the engine as it passed, exposing tears and flaws in the armor, but was not able to fully take advantage of it before it was out of reach and preparing to come about for another charge. While it was preparing, she tore up more of the fortress to use as weapon or defense in their next exchange.

  While this fight had mesmerized the field enough to slow the battle and let us gain our bearings, they were soon on us again. Our wall of spears held in most sections, and our muskets were still getting the better of them until one of the enemy warriors rushed into the wall with such force as to impale himself upon two spears deep enough that they could not free their weapons. I do not know if this was his intent when he charged or not, but his suicidal rush opened the way for others to pour into the narrow gap. Though I rushed to try to help hold it, one of my allies had the same idea, and he crashed into my damaged shoulder. Most of the time these days, it does not bother me, but there it went numb, and I lost the handful of musket balls I had in my off hand, intended to reload with, and fell back into our own ranks.