John looked left and right along the dune. The warriors lay silently in the moonlight, the tips of their spears glinting. As well as the weapons they held ready in their hands there was a forest of spears, stuck butt-first into the sand. They were made according to Rodney's suggestion, along the lines of Roman pila, with a wooden shaft and a long, narrow iron head designed to bend on impact so it could not be thrown back.
They were well-prepared, but still John was worried. Coll had told him that usually there were twenty-five to thirty men on each ship. Last time seven ships had sailed; that was potentially two hundred and ten raiders. John's forces numbered fifty. They would have to use to the full the first few minutes when the raiders landed on the shore.
Wind vibrated the tough grasses on top of the dunes; the waves washed up over the beach, pulling shingle back into the sea with a rushing sound; spears clinked together gently as the warriors shifted position. Then the sound of the sea changed; a slow, rhythmic slapping from several directions; and then a subtle splashing of carefully dropped anchors.
Then they came; seven ships and the raiders flooded over their sides in a great, determined stream. They charged up the beach, axes in hands, but the warriors knew to wait. They waited until the raiders were crowded onto the sands and then, when John's P90 burst out, then they released their storm of spears. John sprayed the beach in a wide arc, taking down as many as he could; this time was crucial if they were to survive and John felt no compunction in using his weapon against primitives armed only with axes and swords. They had terrorised this island for years, carrying off goods and people alike, slaying and burning as they saw fit; it was time for them to pay the price.
John's weapon and the deluge of spears cut a swathe through the raiders, but then, as John had known they would, groups of raiders began to break off to either side, trying to outflank the defenders. "Fall back!" John called, and the warriors retreated behind the next rows of dunes, orienting themselves to repel the attackers coming from their sides. They would continue to retreat, skirmish-style, toward the farmland, too few in number to continue to repel raiders from the beach and defend the farms simultaneously.
oOo
Rodney watched from the shadows further along the shore. He heard the P90 shattering the silence of the night, he heard the roar of attackers and defenders, he saw many of the raiders fall. But then the battle began to move inland and that was the sign for the swimmers to move.
"Now," said Rodney, "Go on!"
Vorra looked at him and nodded, determination in her eyes. She led the way down to the sea and the four swimmers slipped silently into the waves and then began pulling with strong overhand strokes out through the breakers and then turning to follow the shoreline, aiming to come from seaward to fix their explosives to the undefended ships.
oOo
John crept along the line of the sand dune, head low. He could see shapes flitting amongst the trees, a large group which would soon intercept a small group of John's warriors hidden further inland among the farm outhouses. John decided to improve their odds.
The group made a break for it, running across the open land towards the farmsteads. John, down to his last magazine, stood and taking careful aim, began picking them off one at a time. The group scattered and he couldn't cover them all. Some made it to the farm-buildings where John heard the clash of hand-to-hand combat begin, some headed back to the trees for cover, some, marking John's position, zig-zagged toward him. The P90 was out of ammo. John let it hang on its sling and drew his Beretta. He aimed and fired twice, but the moon had gone behind a cloud and he wasn't sure if he was on target. He dropped behind the dune again and, running low, made his way further inland. Sounds came from all around him, whether friend or foe he couldn't tell. He ducked down next to a stand of sea thistles and froze, motionless. Now would be a good time for an explosion or four, he thought.
oOo
Rodney waited in the dark. Distant sounds of gunfire, cries and the clash of swords and axes came from inland. He scanned the waves but could see nothing, the to and fro of the black water looking almost oily in the dim light. A cloud went across the moon and suddenly he could see nothing. But he could hear something; a stealthy creeping coming from behind him. Rodney whirled round, the cloud revealed the face of the moon and the light revealed the face of a raider, almost upon him.
Rodney drew his Beretta but the raider launched himself forward and threw himself on Rodney, drawing a knife. The Beretta flew out of Rodney's hand and, seeing the knife coming toward his face both hands flew up to block the attack. Rodney pushed with all his strength, desperately, but the man pushed harder and Rodney felt the knife scraping hard down from his breast bone, further down his chest and then it caught on the edge of his tac vest, the point aiming towards his heart.
Vorra, wading up out of the sea, saw Rodney tackled to the ground, she saw the Beretta fly from his hand and she knew what to do. Drawing up the last of her strength, sapped by the cold and the beating waves, she ran forward and snatched up the Beretta. Without hesitating she took it in both hands, aimed and fired, once, twice, three times, hitting the raider with every shot. He collapsed on top of Rodney and Vorra rushed forward, rolling him off, saying, "It is done, Rodney! The C4 is ready!"
Rodney sat up shakily. He could see the other three swimmers staggering up the beach, sitting down heavily on the sand.
He leapt to his feet, patting down the pockets of his vest. Surely, it hadn't flown out of his pocket when he was attacked? No, there! He grasped hold of the remote detonator, flicked up the lever and brought his thumb down onto the button.
It was as if the sea convulsed. Great gouts of water sprang up into the air and with them the splintered hulls of the ships. The beach was lit up with red and white flames and orange sparks flew high into the black night. The four targeted ships were devastated, but the others were in danger too, their rigging beginning to smoulder in the heat.
oOo
John heard the crashing roar of the four explosions and saw the red glow light up the night. He stayed, crouching by the thistles, unsure whether he was surrounded by friend or foe. Cries of anger and dismay began to come from all around him and men came rushing down from the farmland to see the devastation that had been wrought on their ships. Many retreated, determined to salvage their only means of escape, some, thinking themselves doomed, turned on the islanders once more to take their revenge.
John cautiously stood and scanned his surroundings. He could see men hauling themselves into the ships preparing to depart; he could still hear the sounds of pitched battle coming from the farms. And he could hear slow, furtive footsteps approaching.
An axe came whistling toward his head and John brought his P90 up just in time to deflect it; the blade twisted sideways but the momentum of the axe carried the flat of the blade on and he felt a crashing blow to his temple. John staggered, expecting to feel the bite of the axe, but the two impacts on the axe had sent it spinning out of the raider's hands. The man turned to pick up his weapon and John leapt on to his back, left arm going around his neck, right hand going to his knife, bringing the knife up and plunging it into the raider's throat. The man desperately grabbed hold of John's left hand and forearm and pulled and twisted. As John wrenched back hard on the knife he felt a sickening snap in his wrist, but it was too late for John's attacker; blood gushed from the wound in his neck and he crumpled and fell to the ground, dead.
John stood, chest heaving, the man's blood covering his knife and hand. He looked up, dazed, staring at the flickering flames as the remains of the four ships gradually burnt down to the waterline. He could see men splashing through the shallows, wading out to the remaining ships, climbing aboard. They were leaving, vanquished; the plan had worked.
He staggered a little way. The knife fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, pain flared in his wrist and temple. John's vision blurred and faded. He fell, face down on the cold sand and lay still.
oOo
John became aware of a complaining voice cutting into the fog of his mind.
"Ow, careful, that came near my heart, you know!"
Then a calm voice: "Yes, Rodney, and that is why it needs to be cleaned and stitched. And you are making it very difficult for me."
"But it hurts! Ow!"
"It is cut to the bone in places. I am sorry to hurt you. Here, have some more tea," Breesha's patient voice continued.
"Tea doesn't do much good. Anyway, shouldn't he be waking up by now? He's been out for ages."
"It's just as well he didn't wake while I was setting his wrist," Breesha said.
John became aware of his left wrist, lying splinted across his body, feeling bruised and swollen. His head ached too.
"He should be awake now. Ow! Aren't you finished yet?" came Rodney's voice again.
"'M awake," John mumbled. "Too noisy to sleep! What happened?"
"We won, that's what happened! They left with their tails between their legs or at least their axes between their... whatever. Anyway, it worked."
Breesha's face appeared above him. "Yes, it worked," she said. "And now you both need to rest and heal," she looked at John with a raised eyebrow, "again."
Breesha stood up. "Unfortunately I must leave you. I have other wounded to attend." She hesitated. "And also some some funerals to prepare."
John looked at her. "How many?"
"Ten," she said quietly, and then met his eyes with a quelling look. "Do not take this upon yourself, John Sheppard. This battle was ours to fight. You gave us the means of winning it, but this land is ours to defend and each one of us is prepared to give our life if necessary." She held his gaze for a moment and then nodded, satisfied, turned and left.
John tentatively raised his arm and felt his head where the axe shaft had hit him. There was a large bump and his head spun as he turned to look at Rodney. Rodney was pale and had a large bandage wrapped round his chest, but he smiled as their eyes met.
"We did it," he said.
"Yeah, we did good, Rodney," John muttered, his words fading out as he drifted into sleep.