The Children of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

  Edward flashed a confident grin. “We’ve got our defenses, we know the island better than they do and despite what some of you might think, I actually like you people. The Punishers will defend you to the last man. It’s what you’ve paid us to do and it’s the order I gave them.”

  “Good, it’s settled then. Carry out the plan,” John said and made to leave. However, just as he turned to the door, it burst open and another Punisher ran in.

  He saluted Edward before speaking. “Sir, we’ve sighted another ship coming from the north.”

  “Oh, how many do they think they need?” groaned a councilman.

  “It’s not one of them. It’s the Alphina.”

  “Are you sure?” Jones asked.

  “She’s the ship that carried me here from Southport sir. I’m sure.”

  “At least that is some good news. Thank you, corporal, rejoin your squad,” Edward said.

  “What good are our two ships against seven of theirs. We don’t even have the arms that Rob promised to bring us from Ruth,” Adams said.

  “It’s Aruth, and you should trust Rob and Tom. They haven’t failed us yet,” John countered. “Now, enough talk. We have precious little time.

  An hour later, John stood with Charlie and Roger on the docks. They watched the Old Man disappear behind the east peninsula of John’s Bay. From there they turned their eyes to the ridge of the peninsula where Roland Apgood signaled the approach of the Falcon ships. They had lined up in single file with the two assault ships leading the way.

  Another signal came from Roland reporting the position of the Old Man as she sailed out to meet the invaders. Trina had no doubt noted their formation and sought to take them on one by one. Roland signaled the ensuing fight.

  Wary of her position as the only ship set against five, Trina brought the Old Man farther out from shore where she could maneuver with more liberty. She tacked inward as the first of the ships approached, fired her cannon and launched a grenade-tipped bolt from the ballista before swinging out again, using the wind to escape retaliation.

  The first assault worked in their favor. The Falcon ship took the shot and the grenade without firing back until the Old Man was out of range. However, the second attempt came with vengeance upon them. For when the Old Man came back in, the three larger ships opened their sails and jogged out to close the gap. As Trina brought the Old Man out again, she was hit and sustained severe damage. Two of the Falcon ships pursued them as they attempted to head off the lead assault ship, which for itself launched a volley of crossbow bolts at them.

  They were shot thrice more with cannon and only met out minimal damage to the lead assault ship before using their superior speed to sail back around the peninsula. Trina saw Roland signal the approach of the Alphina from the western side of the island. In all prudence, she determined the Old Man was outmatched alone and sought out the support of her sister ship.

  After receiving the secondhand action report, John and the others with him saw the Old Man cross over the opening of the bay. She was followed closely by the lead Falcon assault ship. However, the Falcons were no longer pursuing the battered Old Man. They brought their ships, all five of them, into the bay.

  “Signal Roland to get his group back to Harrisville,” Charlie ordered.

  “Make ready!” Roger called out to the militiamen and mercenaries gathered at Port John.

  The call was repeated in echo around the otherwise deserted town. All those not prepared to fight were on the road to Harrisville. The exceptions to this were Mister and Missus FitzHugh, who refused to leave their inn.

  Roger moved to the mangle nell and made a few adjustments to its armature. He couldn’t help but ensure the aim would be accurate as the Falcon ships came in toward the town. The mangle nell’s crew waited anxiously behind the wall for him to give firing orders. John stood fifty yards to his left where the defense wall curved around the south side of Port John. Here it was met by large thickets of hacklebush, which were less penetrable than the wall. With his hooked spear at the ready and about twenty mercenaries, they waited to see if the Falcons would flank them from the south. Charlie waited at the gap through the defense wall with a group of militiamen he’d selected as the frontline defenders. These men would take the brunt of the assault, while behind them a reserve group waited to fill any holes in the line. Waiting with this reserve was Lewis Johnson, spear and shield in hand, and next to him the young Riley Engleman. Riley wore an axe in his belt, but his hands held a tin bugle. He’d trained with Joshua to learn the command signals they used in battle. His job was to pass on the orders to everyone else via his bugle.

  “Where are the Punishers? Shouldn’t they be here?” The mercenary Orson asked Charlie.

  “First, we don’t know that all the Falcons will be landing here. If some of them land somewhere else as well, they’ll be punished,”

  He waited to see if anyone would laugh. They didn’t.

  He continued, “Second, the Falcons don’t know the Punishers are here. We want to surprise them.”

  The two assault ships entered the bay and took in sail as they decided where to land their troops. John had no doubt they could see the defense wall. The question was how to approach it. While they hoped for a foolhardy frontal attack on the wall, they knew their enemy wasn’t that foolish. Bombardments and diversionary attacks were likely.

  Two of the three ships following the assault vessels entered the bay also. Where the third was, gave John no little amount of worry. All four of the enemy ships in the bay held close to the east side, as far from the wall as they could get. All save one, which dropped anchor near the western shoreline of the bay, just out of range of the mangle nell. John smiled, knowing that the Falcon’s caution would make their assault on Port John more difficult for them. They’d lost the advantage of the wind’s momentum.

  There the ships sat for what seemed an eternity. Signals flashed between the ships for several minutes before one of them ran up a message meant for the islanders.

  “What does it say, sir?” a man asked John.

  “It demands our unconditional surrender or…”

  “Or?”

  “I don’t really have to answer that, do I?”

  Shouts sounded across the bay. The echoes created confusion among those at the defense wall; their ears searched for the source. John took up his far-see and scanned the Falcon ships. Rapid movement among the crew of one of the larger ships caught his eye. Several of them pointed to the thickets of brush and piles of rocks on the east peninsula. A few fired crossbows in that direction.

  “Roland,” John said. The hotheaded Engle Islander had not withdrawn to Harrisville as ordered but was firing upon the ship with slings and arrows.

  “Roland?” a mercenary repeated, but then understood John’s meaning. “Roland is attacking the Falcons!”

  A cheer rose up among them. John himself remained stoic and somber, but he saw Roger and Charlie joining in. The cheer continued for some time, morphing into the name of its inspiration.

  “Ro-land! Ro-land! Ro-land!”

  The sudden boom of cannons silenced them. Shots fired toward the east peninsula brought doubt and fear with them. Were these cannons desperate attempts to flush out Roland and his snipers? Or perhaps they were a quick and sure way of ending the sneak attack.

  “Steady men!” John shouted, bringing their attention back to their own task. The ringing of the cannons subsided and silence ensued.

  A familiar rushing sound filled the silence and incendiary rockets began landing in the streets and on the rooftops of Port John. These were followed by more cannon blasts; the shots of which tested the wall’s construction. After the second cannon volley, John saw Roger smiling as he ducked himself down below the wall.

  “She’s holding!” he shouted.

  The next set of blasts shattered the front doors of the inn and destroyed Mister Claythorne’s boathouse. Charlie sent a few of the men waiting in reserve to put out as many of the fires as
they could. None of Port John’s buildings were tall, but with only one well to provide water, the men were less than successful.

  “Here they come!” came a shout from somewhere.

  John fixed his eyes on the two assault ships, both of which had oars out, rowing directly for the wall. Each of the ships were equipped with a ramp which would allow the marines on board to disembark quickly. The ramps could be lowered onto the gunwales of ships, down to the beach of an island or, as was the case with Engle Isle, onto the top of a defense wall. While the marines would have to climb up the ramp to assault the wall, it was still better than trying to use the small dock.

  Roger peered over the wall, then spat out firing orders for his crew. The mangle nell launched a large stone over the bay where it smashed into one of the assault ships. The stone impacted the raised ramp, cracking the planks.

  “Reload!” Roger yelled.

  The ship did not alter course. Instead, she increased speed. Roger realized he would only get one more shot off before they landed. Once again, he gave the firing orders, adjusting the trajectory of the missile. Three more cannon shots smashed into Port John, damaging houses and killing one of those dousing fires. Charlie’s men launched firebombs at the lead assault ship as it came alongside the dock. Yet even as flames spread over the bow, the ramp was released and came crashing down onto the wall.

  The mangle nell’s second shot overshot the ramp and landed somewhere near the quarter deck. Roger shouted adjustments for the next shot while Charlie lobbed grenades and fired their few hand cannons to force the marines on the first ship to pause their assault.

  Moments later the second ramp fell. Two large round shields bearing the double-headed falcon rushed across the ramp, yet before they were halfway to the wall, Roger gave the order to fire. The stone, as large as a man’s chest, shattered one of the shields and sent its bearer into the water. The second man paused long enough for a couple of archers to find his legs. With an arrow in each, he was forced to let himself fall from the ramp.

  The next set began moving toward the wall, shields collecting arrows and bolts as they moved forward. This pair was slower and deliberate. They allowed themselves to be the focus of attention while behind them, their own crossbowmen picked off the defending archers who were foolish enough to expose themselves above the wall. When Roger yelled “fire!” again, they dropped the deck. This stone flew through the air above them and smashed into the mainmast.

  The marines were up again and rushed forward with a full platoon behind them. Roger and his crew abandoned the mangle nell and joined the other defenders at the wall in an effort to repulse the attack. Three more marines fell from the ramp before reaching the wall, however the rest pushed forward until a melee commenced at the junction of wall and ramp.

  Falcon marines piled up on the ramp, shields blocking stones and arrows while they awaited their turn in the fray. The ramp, damaged by mangle nell’s first shot, buckled under the strain and dumped them all into the water next to the dock. They were forced to climb onto the dock and fight through the already crowded opening.

  Charlie and his group held that position, having forced the first assault ship to pull back from the wall; abandoning their burning ramp. The marines aboard this ship disembarked on the dock while under constant fire from the wall. Thus, the frontal assault became bogged down with casualties mounting among the invaders. It was just as the defenders had hoped.

  With the action at the wall occupying most of the attention of those there, three men with a barrel slipped into a fishing skiff behind the Claythorne’s boathouse. One of the men, the youngest of them whose scraggly beard identified him as Max Claythorne, crouched at the bow of the skiff with a large shield over the barrel. The other two, Max’s father on the port side and the skiff’s owner, Tim Engleman on the starboard side, rowed the skiff at top speed toward the closest of the Falcon ships in the bay.

  They rowed halfway to their target before being noticed by the crew of the ship. Crossbow bolts began pounding them, turning the skiff and Max’s shield into pin cushions. This was all the Falcon crews could do to stop them as their cannons could not be brought to bear on the small skiff. A bolt pierced Tim’s arm. He stopped rowing, gripping at the hurt arm with his good one. After a moment, he returned to rowing, though slower and without as much force in each stroke.

  The skiff came alongside the ship’s port bow where Max blew on a slow match under the protection of his shield. However, the Falcons guessed at their intentions and were ready with a counter assault of their own. Max was pinned to the deck of the skiff when a Falcon sailor jumped from the forecastle of his ship. Max’s father brought the oar down on the sailor’s head, but the blow was parried by a cutlass. The sailor moved off Max’s shield to deal with the old harbormaster and allow a second sailor to join him. Tim used his oar to knock this sailor over the side, before helping Max up off the deck.

  “Get it lit and get into the water!” he yelled.

  They both saw the first sailor run the blade of his cutlass across the elder Claythorne’s chest. Blood spilled down his rent tunic and he fell over the side and into the bay.

  “Da!” Max screamed and tackled the man who killed his father. He brought his fists down with fury upon his enemy, beating the man senseless in a matter of seconds. A bolt struck Max’s buttock as he throttled his victim.

  Tim found the slow match and blew life into the ember once again. Just as he placed it to the fuse, water splashed aboard and the sailor he’d bludgeoned with the oar climbed back aboard the skiff, holding a bronze knife in his hand. The fuse ignited and sped toward the barrel. Tim knew he had only seconds to live. He would make those seconds count. He dived for Max, embracing the former delinquent even as the Falcon sailor’s knife slashed his back. Rolling over the low side of the vessel, both of them went into the water moments before the barrel exploded.

  While this action drew the attention of the defenders at the wall, another was more subtle in its approach to Port John.

  From the Falcon ship anchored near the west peninsula, to the south of the town, a contingent of fifty heavy infantry soldiers disembarked and formed up between the hacklebushes and the shore. They moved as one body, without shout of order or call of command. They moved toward the flames that burned and screams that rose and fell in the near distance. They moved toward John and those defenders who watched with anxious eyes at their comrades killing and dying at the docks.

  When they were less than one hundred yards from the wall, a cry of alarm sounded from some defender. John’s attention turned to the south and he repeated the alarm, calling for his archers and slingers to open up on the attackers. A few arrows were loosed, along with two stones. None of these affected the advance of this group of hardened soldiers. Every one of them had seen combat before. None of them had chosen to leave the army in favor of a peaceful life. They were proven men, and well-trained.

  “Doppio!”

  The formation began a steady jog toward the defenders. The gap closed quicker than John could have imagined. Despite their heavy armor and weapons, these men were as agile and fast as hornbucks. They charged the wall without hesitation. Seven of John’s men fell within seconds. John parried thrusts from three different spears which forced him to step back a few paces. He cursed himself when he saw the man at his left thrust through his ribs. His gumption rose and his dormant fighting instincts awoke. Without much thought, he speared two of the Falcon soldiers’ legs.

  Another charged him but took a large stone to the helmet. John used that moment to put the tip of his spear into his throat. He took a moment to assess the situation. His line was collapsing. The militia were no match for the enemy they faced. Even as the reserve unit moved in to bolster his, they were also suffering many casualties. The melee descended into brutal hand-to-hand combat.

  John found himself trading jabs with two Falcons. He wounded one in the arm but the other speared his lower leg. Dropping to one knee John placed his spear into his
shield hand where at least it would be an obstacle for them to get around. With his right hand he drew his sword and waited for the assault.

  A sudden explosion from behind the Falcons dropped both of them and knocked John on his back. His mind flashed back to Alimia Castle and the blast that had embedded shrapnel into and burned his legs and backside. He placed his shield over his head and waited for the next blast to finish him off. It never came.

  Instead, a hand grabbed the shield and pulled it away from his face. It was Joshua. The Punisher looked from John to the surrounding battle. John followed suit and saw the black shields with white skulls of a platoon of Punishers.

  “Can you get up?” Joshua said, but rather than help John, he rushed to assist one of his men against the enemy.

  John rolled onto his hands and knees and raised himself while testing his leg. The pain wasn’t as bad as he expected, though he could feel the blood around his foot in his boot. Retrieving his weapons, he joined Joshua in dispatching a burly soldier.

  A moment later more incendiary rockets fell on the town. John looked to the main wall to see Charlie and Roger retreating from the wave of Falcon marines which came pouring through the opening. He turned to Joshua.

  “We can’t hold them!”

  Joshua grimaced, or perhaps it was an odd grin. “That’s actually what I came to tell you. There’s more landing on the eastern shore. Edward’s taken the rest of the company to fight them and we need to fall back.”

  John called out. “Fall back to secondary positions! Back to secondary positions! Fall back!”

  Roger and Charlie took up the call, as did several others. The militia’s training paid off. Instead of an all-out retreat, they reformed their lines and moved away from the advancing enemy. The main force took up a defensive position in the center of the town. A line of Punishers mixed with the bolder members of the militia maintained a collapsing pocket between the Fitzhugh’s inn and remnants of the dockside warehouse. The combined force of marines and heavy infantry took a moment to organize themselves.