by Jeffrey Cook
Somewhere in this rash of errors, one of their men got to Eddy, stabbing him in the back with one of those terrible multi-barbed spears of theirs. He fell, almost onto Matthew. As the warrior was preparing to finish Eddy off, Matthew grabbed the nearest weapon, a fallen warrior's club, and lunged for the leg of the much larger Maori. His first swing, even with an eleven-year-old's strength, shattered bone and felled the man. It is fortunate that our own warriors had closed the gap and our muskets had a new line, for Matthew was quite lost in smashing his new club down, again and again, on the Maori he believed had killed his mentor. It was some time before his mad flailing stilled enough that I could forcibly drag him away.
Somewhere in this, Miss Coltrane had had another exchange or two with the engine, both suffering more in the process. As I finally had attention to see their fight again, it was rushing her once more. She managed to mostly move aside, though it clipped her back, creating a tear in the metal itself. She was venting steam at a terrible rate, but had movement enough to turn and smash down upon the area she had heavily damaged earlier with one good arm. Holding a single pointed log from the fortress, she drove it through the opponent's armor deep enough to keep it lodged there. Apparently Wyndham lost his nerve with that, for when he charged past her this time, he did not stop, retreating into the brush and trees more quickly than anyone could hope to follow.
Without Wyndham holding her attention, she fought to our ranks, sweeping aside Maori with one arm, the other hanging like dead weight. The enemy fled before her enough that a large gap opened. Seeing how many enemies were still in the field and knowing Miss Coltrane's suit would not aid us much longer, we fought a retreat. Matthew and I worked together to drag Eddy off of the field while Miss Coltrane forced a path open for us, and our muskets fell in behind us, shooting down anyone who dared follow.
We had long since lost sight of Miss Bowe, but she and all too few of her warriors came upon us when we were still in fighting retreat. They cut down those who were trailing our injured party as we limped away. They had escaped the melee the hard way, fighting through the ranks of the enemy's flanking maneuver and continuing on into the brush, then ambushing the disorganized sorties who came after them.
After that, we eluded pursuit while the enemy celebrated behind us. I imagine they would have pursued to try to finish all of us off, but we still had our terrifying war engine, while they did not, and they no longer had the fortress to protect them. They did not have the knowledge of engineering to know how badly damaged the battle suit was, nor did they realize how many of us were injured, or that Eddy was only half conscious and incapable of sniping them down. Had they all of this information, I must wonder if that would have changed their approach any.
We dragged Eddy back to our camp, a long journey. Miss Coltrane made the trip, but by the end, the horrible venting was slowing, and her steps were heavy. She let the suit slump, and the working arm dangle free to conserve as much power as she was able, settling into the workshop with the last gasp of power left to it. Miss Wright was most distressed, but went to work right away. I believe that Miss Coltrane went straight to bed after the fight, but will almost certainly be to trying to help repair the battle suit as soon as she has rested.
Eddy was the most serious of our wounded. Anyone else who was as badly injured, the Maori had left behind. Though he lived, dealing with the wound was a terrible process. Miss Bowe helped us, for we had to remove the barbed spines, some few of which had plunged between his ribs, and some had punched into the bone itself. He has at least one broken rib, and we have not yet been able to tell if anything vital was pierced. He has now entirely been unconscious for some time, having lost a lot of blood before we were able to bind the wound properly. He is a strong man, of great constitution, but this may be too much for even him.
As bad as the wounds themselves were, we could not help but make them worse in digging the barbed spines free, and removing one of those devilish things from bone was among the most sickening things I have ever had to do. At least he still lives and breathes. We hope to know more by nightfall.
Miss Bowe has spent much of the day since talking, and occasionally seemingly arguing with the warleaders over something. Miss Penn, once she was done assisting with the wounded as best as her talents permitted, joined Miss Bowe in talking with the local leaders. I do not know what they are discussing as of yet, but can only hope she has some plan of action to get us out of our current difficulties.
If we cannot determine how York is so perfect with his tactics and predictions, we are certainly lost this time, for we at last engaged him on his field, and the results were not even close. As it is, for the day, we are preparing ourselves as quickly as we can with relative freedom, for the Maori rarely attack in the light of day, but when evening comes, it promises to be a very long and nervous night.
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
June 8th, 1816
37º03' S 175º53' E
They came by dusk, as we expected, hoping to finish us off. This time we did not have Miss Coltrane and the battle suit, for she and Harriet have not had nearly enough time to repair it after the last battle. We also were without our sniper. Eddy's condition remains unchanged.
We had, thankfully, had time to build rudimentary wooden fortifications about the airship since our last battle here. Likewise, we did have somewhat trained muskets, as well as desperation on our side, for we knew that this time, there would be nowhere to run to, and not a man, woman, or child would survive if they broke through. The engineers helped to reinforce our numbers, aiding the muskets as best they were able.
In the end, much of our survival is still due to Eddy and his training, as well as the courage of the Maori. Even without Eddy himself there to guide them, they were flawless. They formed musket lines, with one group firing into the charging ranks, then dropping back and to a knee as another group came up to fire. The wide expanse of open ground between ourselves made this a perfect fight for trained musketeers for so long as we could keep up an unbroken firing line.
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 pro
tection 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.
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
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 w
ith 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.
