by B A Simmons
Pete smiled again and continued his deadly game. The captain of the first Falcon ship must have been wondering Pete’s intentions. Did he know Pete by reputation? Did seeing the name Alphina on the ship’s hull give him cause to worry or was he unaware of Pete’s cunning?
“Hard to port!” Pete shouted, just as the Alphina began passing the ship at anchor.
Ever quick to the helm, the Alphina again shifted to pass clear of harm. The approaching Falcon ship had come too close to her sister and now took the volley of shots she meant for Pete and his crew. Her own portside gunports, open and ready to fire, had no target but their comrades and therefore didn’t fire.
But the Alphina was not to escape this without damage. The approaching ship had made both sides ready for them. Their starboard gunports were also open and ready for the hellhound sails.
The first two shots dismanted the topsail, snapping the sheets and shattering the spar. The third shot was meant for the steering, but missed. It put a hole in the Alphina’s starboard quarter, right at the waterline.
The Alphina returned fire with their own shots, inflicting minimal damage to her hull and breaking a couple stays. With her topsail out of action and water pouring into the hold, she lost the advantage of speed and maneuverability. Knowing discretion to be the better part of valor, Pete opted to sail back around Engle Isle to the south.
However, the Falcons weren’t done with them yet. The aggressor turned and pursued the Alphina southward while Pete considered his options. Seeing that they were relentless in putting them down, Pete resolved to be just as relentless in return.
“Bring us around again; starboard couse to northward! Take us as close in to the shore as you can.”
Donald responded, but the Alphina groaned at the undertaking tasked to her and the turn, wider than usual, took longer to execute.
A soaking wet Logan found Pete, “No more starboard turns! We take on more water if we turn starboard!”
“Can’t you plug that hole?!” Pete said.
“We’re trying, but you’ve got to straighten us out!”
“Damital! We’re in battle, we’ve got to be able to turn! Get extra men to help bail if the pumps aren’t enough!”
Logan returned to his duty, finding half a dozen men and issuing them buckets in place of their spears and javelins.
“Trina! Get the cannons and archers onto the port side!” Pete said.
As the Alphina came along the shoreline of the island she was close enough to make out the individual figures of Falcon soldiers, light infantry, forming into columns to march inland. Despite knowing it would require further starboard turns, Pete ordered Donald to keep the ship along the shore which here formed a small bay. The eastern most point of the island lay to the north. From there, Pete could take the Alphina around to the western shore and retrieve some of their jettisoned lumber with which to make repairs.
The two long boats which had escaped their first assaults, now rowed back to the anchored Falcon ship. They had supposed the Alphina either too occupied by the larger ships or escaped from the battle altogether. They would pay dearly for their blunder.
“Fire on the men ashore!” Pete ordered.
The archers fired into the mass of men whose discipline kept them from dispersing. Rather, they formed tighter ranks; protecting each other from the arrows with their shields. Into these huddled masses Yusef fired the cannons. Shields and spear hafts flew into the air with each hit.
Donald executed the first of the starboard turns as they came within firing range of the long boats. The Alphina slowed again in her charge through the waves, but after reloading the swivel guns, Pete’s men blasted holes in each of the Falcon boats. Sinking, their crews abandoned them, diving into the water for fear the next shot would be aimed at them.
The pursuing Falcon ship appeared at the opening of the bay, cruising northward in another attempt to intercept the marauding Alphina. Pete recognized they would be caught again and considered ordering another starboard turn to avoid them. He knew such a maneuver would only slow his ship further, for she was also losing the wind sailing so close to the shore. No, they would have to run for the point north of them and hope to stay clear of their guns.
Just as Pete thought they might make it, disaster struck. With the extra water weight in her hold, the Alphina sat deeper in the water than usual. She skidded along the rocks below the waves and for a moment, looked to run aground.
Pete called out, “Starboard! Take her starboard, Donald!”
The helmsman had already altered course, slowing them to the point of a near stop. The Falcon ship saw their plight and changed her own course to take full advantage of the situation.
“They’re taking in sail!” Harland said. “Are they waiting for us to come out?”
“The bay is too shallow for their draft,” Pete said.
The Falcon ship fired a shot in their direction. It fell short, but just barely. They knew the next shot would strike them. Yet another shot was never fired. The Falcons seemed desperate to catch the wind again for from around the north point of the bay, another ship appeared.
It was the Old Man.
She sailed past the anchored ship which fired a desperate shot to stop her. She sailed toward the ship blocking the Alphina’s exit from the bay and rammed straight into her starboard hull. The terrific crunching sound of ships colliding sent shivers down Pete’s spine. Yet as the ships now embraced each other in a mangled mess, Pete thought that the damage wasn’t beyond repair for either ship.
This idea was ripped from Pete’s mind when a sudden explosion engulfed both ships. Pete’s hands shielded his eyes from the blast, but he snapped the far-see to his face just as quickly afterwards. The Old Man was gone; disintegrated by the explosion. What was left of the Falcon ship now burned before them and secondary explosions began blowing more of it away.
Pete looked from Harland’s horrified face to Trina’s, which appeared stupefied by what she saw. Indeed, the entire crew looked to be in a daze. A daze from which Pete shook himself and called out to his crew.
“Get those sails in the wind! Tighten the sheets and get us away!”
They moved at a slow, agonizing pace around the burning wreckage, searching the waves for survivors; knowing there would be none. The anchored Falcon ship sent out their remaining long boat with only a rowing crew aboard. The Alphina and her crew let them without harassment. Every heart on board ached for their lost comrades. As they sailed around the north end of the island, Pete held Trina close and shed a few tears for Tim and Richard.
The Road of Fire
J ohn saw them coming. Through a gap in the wall of woven baskets filled with rocks, the hester baskets, as Roger had called them. A line of red, white and black shields, six across, with the gleam of the sun reflecting amber from their bronze helmets. They moved as one being with all its parts in perfect rhythm.
Behind them, the remains of Port John billowed smoked into the air. Among those ruins, mostly at the defense wall, the bodies of twenty-seven Engle Islanders lay. Roger Cunningham, who at one time, like John himself, had been a Fallen Dome militiaman, was among them. They’d turned mercenary in pursuit of money and adventure. How could they have known that both of them would become part of a community, a family that loved them and that, in return, they loved. For a moment, John thought of poor Alphina, who even now waited for her husband to return.
The moment was interrupted by a young voice calling his name. Riley Engleman, his face stained with dust and ash, and the bugle still hanging under his arm, came running up.
“John, Joshua says to tell you that the Punishers have engaged the enemy northeast of the birthing cave. There are two groups of them. He says not to put too much into defending the road.”
“Thank you, Riley. I have another job for you. Get up to watch post on the north pinnacle and see if you can spot our ships somewhere. Wait for me at Harrisville to give me this report. We may even be there before you get back.”
Riley sped off, away from immediate danger, but eager to do his part in the defense of his home. John and the fourteen others with him were one of two defense lines on the road between Port John and Harrisville. The thick hacklebush hedges between farms and the maze of trails beyond the farms (which were known only to the islanders), made the road the only real venue of attack for the Falcons.
Again, John looked through the chink between hester baskets and saw the line of heavy infantry moving toward him. They were close enough now for him to make out the crossbows waving behind them. He figured they would pause a couple dozen yards from the baskets and use the crossbowman to cover their approach to the barricade.
Edward and Roger chose this location for the hester basket barricade because the road narrowed as it turned slightly to the northwest. The road was flanked on both sides by a short stone wall over which grew thick hacklebushes. The next fallback position was the Engleman farmhouse, where the road turned back again to the northeast.
“I didn’t think they expected such a fight?” Charlie said.
John raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Why wouldn’t they? They’ve only been constantly harassed by us for a year. We’ve sunk or taken how many of their ships? And who knows but they were able to learn of the Punisher’s presence here before launching the invasion.”
“No… well, I meant, I’m glad we’re giving them such a fight. Despite the training, I’ve always wondered how these men would do in a fight like this.”
John pondered Charlie’s words for a moment but the veteran soldier spoke again.
“How’s your leg. I saw one of the sisters of the Matriarch’s Circle bandage you up before we shooed them away.”
“It hurts, but I’ve become a bit used to such pain. A surprising effect of constant discomfort.”
They heard a shout in Iyty and turned their attention once again to the enemy before them. As John guessed, the line of shields stopped some fifty yards from the barricade. There they knelt with the tips of their spears protruding from between them. The crossbowmen crowded themselves together in a line behind this and aimed a volley in their direction.
“Stay down!” John shouted just before the bolts flew at them.
No one was hit, but bolts lodged themselves in every basket and caught in a couple of shields. Those among them with bows and slings returned fire but were caught by a second volley from the Falcons. Three men fell to the bolts. Two were killed outright and the third bled out within a minute or two.
John again peered through the chink for a brief moment, noting that the line of shields moved closer while the crossbows fired. A third volley struck the barricade and only two archers dared loose arrows in return. The line of shieldmen crept ever closer.
“Now, Gus!” Charlie yelled.
Gus, who crouched out of sight on the other side of the stone wall, touched a slow match to a fuse. The fuse sputtered to life and burned its way down the wall. Its wisps of smoke went unnoticed by anyone, even Charlie who laid down his shield and sword and took up his hand cannon. John leaned his spear against a hester basket and hefted a javelin in his weapon arm. He found the balance point on the haft and waited.
Seconds seemed minutes and John watched a small pile of rocks stacked up next to the wall, knowing that any moment the fuse would reach the powder beneath them. The Falcon’s front line erupted into chaos. The left-most man in the line was blown apart and stones flew, striking each of the others. Those on the right shifted their shields to protect themselves from the explosion. As soon as the defenders at the barricade saw this, they shot them with arrows, javelins and hand cannons. Those Falcons who weren’t killed outright, crawled backward for safety. Without the line of shields to protect them, the crossbowmen began retreating as well. These were the defenders next targets. Javelin, stone and arrow inflicted wound after wound upon them until they were all out of range.
In a moment of blind rage, a mercenary whose name John had not learned rushed forward began hacking upon the wounded with his axe. Gus ran forward to stop him.
“Yancey, you meecher, get back here!”
Yancey did not listen. After hacking a couple wounded men, he approached an infantryman who managed to get back up with shield and falcata. Despite being covered in blood and putting all his weight on his right leg (his left foot stuck out at an odd angle), the Falcon soldier did not appear intimidated by Yancey.
The fight began and ended in a moment. Yancey sent a kick to the man’s shield, attempting to knock him down again. His foot was chopped by the falcata, sending him onto his back. The Falcon soldier fell forward and impaled him through the neck.
Gus screamed and thrust his own short sword behind the dying enemy’s clavicle. He then reached down and pulled Yancey’s body back behind the barricade.
“Anyone else want to get themselves killed!?” Gus growled.
“Here they come again!” Charlie said.
The Falcon marines took over for the infantry and came marching with a shield wall of their own. Rather than approach with methodical caution as their comrades had, they rushed forward.
“We won’t hold them!” John said. “Fall back to the farm!”
He took the slow match from Gus and found the end of the fuse leading to the center basket. He intended to wait until the Falcons were on to the barricade before lighting it, but when the marines started lobbing grenades over the barricade. John lit the fuse and ran. The resulting explosion decimated the center of the barricade, but not the line of Falcon marines moving forward.
“Damital!” John cursed himself, but kept running for the Engleman farm, hoping they could delay the Falcon’s there without causing too much damage to his in-laws’ property. However, as he approached, he realized a dark haze already ascended to the sky. Brandt Engleman met him out front with a torch in his hand. His horror-struck face looked at John with pleading.
“Father said to set fire to the house!”
Mark Engleman came out of the house with a torch of his own and tears in his eyes. The home he had spent his entire life in, the home built by his grandfather, the home he’d hoped to pass down to one of his own sons, was not to be used by either side in this conflict. The Engleman pride wouldn’t allow it.
Charlie, Gus and the others were already marching to Harrisville. John joined his father and brother as they too joined the retreat. Smoke billowed from the other farmhouses along the way as the feeling of doubt settled into John’s heart. He questioned the Falcon’s sanity. He reflected on his own. He pondered the chances of victory against a foe who seemed relentless despite losing so many of their finest men.
Where was Rob? Perhaps he was dead, and Tom too along with the Entdecker. They could certainly use the weapons Rob promised. They could use Jacob, right about now. Damital, where were the Punishers? Perhaps he should never have left Fallen Dome.
John stopped. He stopped walking forward, he stopped his train of thought. He remembered and looked toward the north pinnacle.
“Riley!”
* * *
“I understand religious devotion, Sister…”
“Missus, McClain.”
Joshua placed a hand to his brow and wiped away the sweat that trickled down from under his helmet.
“McClain, please understand, we intend to keep the Falcon’s clear of this area as much as possible. However, they are coming and there are enough of them that we can’t stop them all.”
“Young man, I appreciate your concern for us, but the sisters of the Matriarch Circle decided this would be our refuge from invasion before you and your company came.”
The two stood arguing in front of the entrance to the birthing cave, while Punishers marched past, using the road to the cave to access the trails which crisscrossed the brush and pasture lands of Engle Isle’s eastern half. Several wounded soldiers lay or sat at the entrance to the cave where they received medical care from members of the Matriarch’s Circle. Most of them returned to thei
r squads just as soon as they were patched up, however a few were more severe in their injuries. Two men lay covered by their cloaks, their weapons stuck in the ground above their heads.
Joshua sighed, “You do realize what is likely to happen if they discover you here?”
“If they are followers of Ayday, they will recognize the sanctity of this place and leave us alone.”
“And if they don’t give a flying fur fish about Ayday or your sanctity?”
Missus McClain scowled, “Guard your tongue!”
Joshua smiled, which only increased the Reverend Mother’s temper. She continued, “As for your concern, we have absolute faith in Ayday’s protecting power. You do your job and we’ll see to ours.”
Joshua left the woman to guard their shrine and rejoined his men. Young Engle Islanders directed the Punishers at the crossroads. Having their assistance made the Punishers’ job easier but Joshua worried that if even one of them was captured, they would lose the advantage the hacklebush and dense brush gave them.
A soldier approached him. “Sir, Sergeant Holcomb reports about forty Falcon infantry massing in a goat pasture to the southeast.”
“Right. Tell him to carry on just as we planned. Strike and fade away into the brush. Force them to stay put or be taken out piece-meal.”
The soldier saluted and returned down the trail. Joshua wished he could see above the brush, to see where exactly everybody stood, where the enemy was going. He wished he understood their mind, but it baffled him as to why they would land on the northeast coast at all.
“Sir, Cap’n Edward wants a report of the action on this end.”
A new runner had come up behind him. He turned and recognized Corporal Shaw, a capable soldier; tall and athletic.
“Shaw, everything here is as meecher as it is anywhere else. Tell Edward the Falcons are trying to move around to the south of the birthing cave but that we’ve got them bottled up. Oh, and let him know that I couldn’t get the sisters to leave that cave. We’ll protect them as long as we can.”
