Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun

by Jeffrey Cook

  Where Miss Bowe seems to have become at home in their culture, and is quickly picking up their tongue, Miss Penn now very much seems a bridge to our own for them. They are mystified by her ways, especially her cards. I think some of them could spend hours and hours doing nothing but watching her read them, whether when Miss Bowe translates, or without knowing a word of what they portend. Miss Penn is also learning the first few words of their tongue, and while it is not much, she can now give most of her cards their names in Maori, perhaps with some meaning.

  Apparently her so-called talent as an oracle is more valuable to them than any other value she might have, and they give her the highest respect when she is at readings. Otherwise they seem to either guard her or avoid her. In any case, her dislike of Mr. Franzini seems to have quite transferred to them, and he is even more reclusive now, for he avoids both Miss Bowe and the Maori when he is not at some task to which someone else has assigned him.

  When Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright are not in the workshop, the Captain tries to recruit them for work upon the ship, which is still agreed upon as a priority, but for now, it has taken a lesser place in priority for everyone except the Fishers. I think everyone else has realized that we have set ourselves upon a course, and we have no real option now but to follow it to whatever end it leads.

  Sooner or later, a showdown awaits.

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  May 19th, 1816

  37º03' S 175º53' E

  The first attack came last night. I am not quite certain what to call it, for it very much has the feel of York rattling his saber at us, in hindsight. We have talked enough with the Maori to know that their warfare is serious business, it is for territory, slaves and women at times. But this was simply to prove he could. There was not a man among them that we recognized as one of York's, but our own Maori associates were quite certain of the identity of the attackers and their alliance with 'the devils.'

  We have also learned, from those few prisoners we were able to take, that they were terrified into this assault. Those who were selected knew that they would probably die, but for this, they would either be blessed, or else not cursed, by the devils. So far, they still seem somewhat uncertain exactly what the blessing of those devils entails, and so they treat it with their own sort of terrified reverence. There is no question now that York will fight this war his way, much as he fought the end of the engagements in New Spain, knowing he would not be there long. He believes that he has the resources to waste.

  They came in the night, without warning. A war party had crept through the covered lands, killing what sentries they came upon. Our one grace was that they seem to revere their superiority not only in muskets, but in having the supplies to be able to reload, so they do not use them so sparingly as those allied with us. Sometimes disadvantages can turn into small blessings, if exceedingly small ones. We had time to begin to prepare ourselves when we heard the first fire.

  Eddy set up his prepared post, with Matthew right behind, looking quite certain that there was no doubt he would survive his first battle without difficulty, just as he had his scouting missions before being pressed to the back or protected space. This time his aunt had no objection, for if we fall here, there is no safety, nowhere to run, so she seems to have resigned herself to allowing him to help all he can, though she went inside and hid away, as the Captain and the engineers armed themselves just inside the main doorway, preparing to defend the only means we will have to eventually escape.

  I found myself a place where I might have some cover, but was at least as limited as those with muskets. In this darkness, I would hardly be able to fire reliably before I could see the eyes and markings of men almost upon me. There would be no lines; there would be no order. When the attack came, they would come at us and keep coming, until they fell back in terror of us, or they were dead. Most of the time, according to the Maori, those young men of this new generation who pride themselves as warriors will fight until they are dead, and consider surrender a coward's way. I am quickly learning why this war became so vicious so fast, learning what kind of savagery it takes for men with spears and clubs to wage war against men with guns and powder.

  The Maori pride themselves on rapid assaults. They strike from cover in ambush, try in their charges to shock their enemies with their viciousness, and kill everyone in enemy groups, lest they seek revenge. Even if this was a relatively small force, on the attack, their intent and ferocity could not be questioned. A round of musket fire dropped some of those warriors of our camp about the beach, out in the open. Other shots missed, but they had the attention of the men of our allied tribe.

  After the muskets came the rush, leading with all manner of spears, wood and bone, but wickedly barbed. The assault came so fast that those nearest the woods had no time to react. When they did, the fighting was immediately fierce. If our allies were intimidated, it did not show. They rushed right back in, some almost seeming to run onto enemy spears if only for the chance to attack with their war clubs, with the same true of our foes.

  Eddy was the first to reach his post, dropping into cover just as musket fire went off again, showering our fortification with shot and injuring two more of the Maori nearest us. They were not used to fighting from behind walls; they had tried to react as their culture had been trained to, to show their courage and skill up close. The enemy may be growing used to muskets, but rifles – even Eddy's rifle with the damaged stock, patched together as best the ladies could manage in the airship's shop facilities – were clearly something else. Eddy began picking out his targets in the midst of the melee, somehow picking out one warrior from another from memory or some sign I could not see. One after another dropped.

  I do not think they had ever fought a foe who could pick them off in the midst of hand-to-hand chaos, and that hesitation was all that was needed for a sudden and violent reaction from more of the tribesman allied with us, who had been moving about in their hunting bands. Our enemy was hemmed in. Any European force would likely have surrendered then, but just as they gave no quarter, they clearly expected none. This inspired a new desperation, and some few, many of them already injured, broke through and charged our ranks.

  Eddy was in the midst of switching rifles at first, but this new wave was met by Miss Bowe and her knives. She weaved among them with a speed and precision I do not think they are used to, their own tactics based upon courage, ferocity, and the brute force of such large men. She cut through three in the time it took Eddy and Matthew to ready his second rifle. The enemy then began to fall again from rifle fire, one after another almost reaching our ranks before they were felled. A large man among them, covered in their strange, winding tattoos, took a shot and continued his charge. A second set him staggering, but he reached the wall, bellowing and thrusting his tongue out – a gesture of disrespect and intimidation here, I'm told. I shot him from one side, finally putting him down, though he tried a couple more times to stand before he finally lay still in the sand.

  He was not the last, but he proved the nearest threat to our number, though some few of our allies lay dead, many more wounded. In the aftermath of the battle, as we sought to help, we learned something more of these vicious warriors. Their clubs are designed for pure efficiency, especially the treasured greenstone clubs. These are short of reach, but as deadly as steel, several of the fallen having broken ribs or cracked skulls. In this warm climate, with no great medicine, infection and shattered bone can be as deadly as quick kills. Their spears are sometimes covered in shark's teeth, inflicting wicked, torn-open wounds that can leave even the victor bleeding out or with a useless limb.

  The worst, for surveying the injuries of the living, may have been the spears bearing barbs from some local fish. These barbs curve and are almost serrated, sticking into the wounds, causing further damage if they aren't pulled out very carefully. I almost learned this too late, warned as I was about to try to clear five of these spines from a leg wound, nearly ruining the warr
ior's leg. I might have once thought these strange people close to discovering some civilization. Having seen them at war, and this aftermath, I must reassess that thought.

  When all was over, the victors gathered their wounded, doing what they could for them. After that, the dead were gathered. At first I was almost sick, thinking perhaps the tales of cannibal savages here might be true as well, but was told that the bodies of the enemies would be thrown to the sharks. Perhaps the Maori here once practiced cannibal rituals. Some elsewhere might still; they were not certain. That is not current practice here, at least, but some certainly did not look away as the sharks feasted.

  Even this was enough to chill me to the bone. Not only because we now fight alongside these terrible warriors, but soon, that may be our fate if we fall the least short of victory, for our enemy will not show us any greater mercy. I wonder if this was part of York's plan, knowing that too large a group would be seen, but a small group, sent to challenge our defenses, let us see what we both fought with and fought against, that we might question our choices.

  Damn Bartholomew York; damn him to hell.

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  May 21st, 1816

  37º03' S 175º53' E

  With two of our number now speaking some part of the Maori tongue, we have been able to communicate with these strange people enough to understand at least something of their ways of war. It is not enough to simply defeat a foe; these deeply superstitious people must take some part of their enemy's essence or soul. For some tribes, this may, indeed, include cannibalism, and even for those that it doesn't, they do not always advertise that fact, the better to put fear into their enemies.

  While they are gatherers and farmers as well, as I had seen, they have always had a warrior culture, and those trained in these ways have always been known for their ferocity. The capacity for women and slaves to raise a crop easily has simply freed almost all of the men of some tribes to go to war. A conflict on this scale has never been seen here before. Entire tribes are being wiped out and their territory seized. The French were taking clear advantage of this, arming one tribe and following up by taking advantage of the trade and weakening of tribes alike.

  With this warrior mindset here, there will be no easy end to this war. They will fight to near genocide if it comes to it, for the sake of their traditions and to prove their courage. For all this, they are smart fighters. Our allies have adapted their techniques of ambush and rapid strikes to somewhat make up for the superior arms given to some tribes, and they seize weapons at every opportunity. We are also helped in that not all of the enemy use the muskets available. Guns apparently do not showcase strength and courage to as great a degree as spears and clubs, so some voluntarily forgo the advantage for tradition's sake.

  Miss Penn has been most informative in trying to translate the beliefs of the culture to me, that I may accurately document them. She continues to dress and hold the manners of a European, but somehow, she is neither terrified nor offended by these primitive ways, studying the people and seeking to communicate with them even as she holds them mystified with her card reading and tricks. The more days that pass, the less she is requiring Miss Bowe to translate for her, which seems for the best, as Miss Bowe has taken to longer and longer-range scouting, reveling in this new freedom to run and to fly in this open land, risking York and his warriors in order to return to us with more and more information of our enemies. That she has now thrice encountered York's Spaniard, and they both still live, she takes, I think, as a challenge of her own.

  Eddy does not associate greatly with the Maori, though through Miss Bowe, he has given a few some information about the range of their muskets and tactics therewith. But while he does not mingle with them as Miss Bowe and Miss Penn do, here he is at war, spending almost all of his time surveying our fortifications, checking his defense points, scouting what he has deemed our perimeter, and maintaining his weapons. I do not think he particularly likes the decision to stay here, train, wait, and recover, but has acknowledged it is probably for the best.

  At last, we are waiting now only on Miss Coltrane, for her broken finger is needed to work some part of the complex controls. If we are going to win against superior numbers and enemy fortification, then we must have our most potent weapon with us. If we can get York to spend some further part of his resources in the meanwhile, or figure out the routes his scouts travel and pick them off, then we fare that much better when we are prepared to confront him.

  He knows we are here, so we cannot linger too much longer, or he will find some further lure. Right now, we can hope that he is waiting simply because he anticipates that we will take the defensive for as long as we can, and he does not know of Miss Coltrane's injury, or does not know who was piloting the battle suit in New Orleans after he had captured Sir James. Very soon, at the very least, we will need to risk scouting their perimeter and trying to find a weak point in their defenses. Last time he lured us into a trap, nearly successfully, and showed remarkable foresight. We can hope he is not as lucky in his guesses this time.

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  May 25th, 1816

  37º03' S 175º53' E

  We have made our first assault against York and his people, answering his assault. There was no way in this to be silent, fighting in the manner of the Maori, but we seem to have succeeded in intimidation, and we have created something of our own variant on Maori war tactics. We sent two scouting teams forward to a former French fort, having selected a target to get York's attention. One included Eddy and several of their muskets, while the other featured Miss Bowe and many of their most heavily tattooed warriors. Their tattoos are odd things, signs of status, most particularly as a warrior, but they seem to have some deeper meaning as well. I am uncertain of all of the details yet – and less certain if I wish to know – but they certainly make these warriors distinct.

  When we had given these groups enough time to get into their places, Miss Coltrane and many of our allies’ younger warriors rushed forward with their typical war cries and gestures of intimidation. The armor was permitted to take the front, and with it, the first round of musket fire. This, of course, did little, and she must have made quite the sight to see, crashing through the brush – and occasionally through the trees – advancing on them with an unholy noise, ignoring their every shot from the weapons which had already changed warfare here. She fired back, her rocket setting their small fortress afire and taking the gates off their simple hinges. The other arm lifted, firing its ballistic rounds, a fine test of Dr. Mitchell's multi-fire system, taking their first spearmen off their feet.

  By this time our allies were upon them, and in our foes’ hesitation, our allies were in their fortress. We should have been quite outnumbered and repulsed by this point, but we had counted upon hesitation and surprise – and received it in full measure. They also put much stock in trying to remove the most powerful of their enemy from the battlefield, for to their beliefs, the powerful and successful have much of this spiritual energy they try to gain from defeat of their foes. So even when being raided, our enemies’ most experienced and capable warriors made an effort to charge Miss Coltrane, jabbing spears at the armor and attacking her with clubs. I am most impressed that some of the latter left small dents in the heavy armoring of the battle suit, but did not impair its function. She mostly ignored them as she tore up the logs and spear walls making up their defenses, creating more avenues by which our allied warriors could assault them. More importantly, she created a route by which our enemy could flee before they came fully to their senses.

  Used to lightning raids and ambush, our foes did just that, racing into the brush. Some fought their way through; some raced through the new holes Miss Coltrane had created; some went right over the top of their own useless defenses which were now trapping them inside with their doom. As they fled, they reached our sniper post first. There was the sharp crack of the rifle, then a roar of muskets. A single rou
nd of fire and a few well-placed shots from Eddy, and that side of the field went silent.

  Those fleeing the other way were taken into our other wing, and Miss Bowe charged side by side with their war leaders, showing no mercy. She met their brute force and ferocity with quickness, their spears and clubs with her own blades, cutting men all about her and moving on. And our allied Maori themselves crashed into their foes like a wave, chopping down men all about them, now finding themselves at home in something like their typical tactics, until not a foeman was standing.

  I find myself uncertain which unnerves me more. The brutal tactics and efficiency of the Maori in hand-to-hand combat – and the joy they seem to take in it – or that, with flanking maneuvers and musket lines, we're teaching them the basics of modern warfare, making them even more effective on a larger scale.

  We left not a man alive, in the Maori fashion, and when the battle was over, the warriors with us went through, tending their own wounded and finishing off fallen, but not deceased, foes. Perhaps some small mercy that they did so before tossing them to the sharks to be rid of them. We assisted with tending the wounded but urged everyone to hurry, lest we leave ourselves vulnerable to counterattack. Both we and the tribesmen were well aware we were in enemy territory, so those wounded who could walk with assistance did so to have their wounds cleaned and dealt with later, and the collecting of fallen and weapons was carried out with haste. Of most value here, our allies seized several muskets, along with a supply of unspent powder and shot.