Chapter 5
Frenchtown, Michigan Territory
January 1813
James kept his eyes screwed shut and hunched himself down as close to the dragon underneath him as possible. He'd tried earlier to glance ahead and get some idea of how much longer they would be flying but the freezing torrent of snow and the wind had been enough to discourage any further attempts, he'd just made out the captain and the back of the dragon's head but anything else was obscured by a white wall. Even hunched into as small a ball as he could manage the frigid wind was tugging at his greatcoat and trying to wrench the musket from his arms. A year ago James would scarcely have imagined that any dragon could fly in the blizzard like conditions they were currently enveloped in but that was before he'd volunteered to help man the Ghost Reapers instead of sailing for the Spanish peninsular with Achilles. Looking out from the side of Velaparus there was the occasional glimpse of other large flying shapes in the snow. The Ghost Reapers were a mix of Yellow Reaper and hardy native breeds, all six of the formation were good sized middleweights, they had retained their British progenitor's white stripes but lost the yellow in favour of a bland native gray. Coupled with the transparent second eyelid that allowed them to see through heavy snowfall and other adaptations they were ideally suited for the rugged warfare the American's had invoked the year before with their declaration of war.
Up ahead Velaparus shouted something to his Captain that James couldn't make out, the Captain turned and passed the message along for the benefit of his crew, he had to bellow to be made out over the wind and James doubted anyone further back than himself heard even so.
"Less than a minute!".
James passed the message on again and then readied himself as best he could. His legs were numb but he pushed himself up into a crouch and braced himself against the wind, he then brought the musket up against his shoulder and cocked it in preparation to fire. He'd only be able to get one shot off, there would be no chance of reloading and keeping his powder dry in the blizzard so his bayonet was already fitted. He paused a moment listening to the faint noises behind as the rest of the crew prepared themselves then feeling Velaparus' begin to slow he looked up.
With the dragon slowing the air resistance lessened and James was able to look into the blizzard ahead, they were near the ground no further than thirty feet in the air and as the dragon slowed further he began to be able to make out the shape of canvas tents in the snow and here and there he could the weak glow of a fire that the Americans must have dug out hollows to protect. James couldn't fathom how the dragon had found the camp in the middle of this blizzard but no alarm was raised even as Velaparus slammed to the ground crushing a tent underneath his great bulk. The dragon raised his head and roared loudly enough that the wind's own roar was temporarily forgotten. The dragon's roar seemed to go on and on but as he finished there was a second of almost stunned silence before all hell broke loose in the camp. American soldiers in the dark blue of regulars began to stagger from their tents, they were ill prepared and there were far more screams than gunshots ringing out as Velaparus lowered himself as low to the ground as he could manage. This was the signal James had been waiting for, bringing his musket up and aiming at the closest cluster of Americans he took a deep breath before shouting.
"Volley!"
He pulled the trigger at the same time as a dozen others behind him, the musket kicked back and the sound of the volley cracked into the snow filled sky. Several Americans were hit and dropped to the floor, the wounded added their own cries to the confusion of the panicked camp as the snow was scattered with red blood. James didn't know if his own shot had found it's mark such was the crush of soldiers trying to get away from the dragon but he didn't waste any time looking, undoing his carabiners he jumped to the ground. The snow cushioned his landing and he heard the heavy fall of boots all around him as the rest of the crew dropped down from Velaparus. He took another breath ready to order the advance but it turned out there was no need. A full two dozen Iroquois warriors streamed forwards, they'd left their guns on the dragon and went forwards waving tomahawks and screaming at the top of their voices. If the sudden arrival of a fifteen tonne dragon and the volley of musket fire hadn't of been enough to set the camp to panic then the terrifying advance and war cries of the Indian warriors certainly did the job. Some of the Americans tried to flee through the snow, others tried to fight but most hadn't loaded their weapons and in hand to hand combat were no match for the ferocity of the Indians. James began to follow the warriors into the camp sparing a quick glance back and raised hand to acknowledge the now crewless Velaparus who leapt into the air with another roar disappearing into the snow above almost instantly. He felt a momentary sympathy for the Americans and silently congratulated whomever had so well named the new breed of dragon. There was the sound of musket fire from all directions now and James made out the sound of other roaring dragons from other locations in the camp as they deposited their own parties before leaping back into the air. Ahead the warriors were flowing through gaps in the tents hacking down everyone in their path, James followed as quickly as he could pausing only to harangue the Iroquois who had stopped to try and scalp their victims. Whilst he didn't like the practice at the best of times the plan of assault called for as much haste as possible. As he pushed through the snow he had to step over the battered bodies of the American regulars, the wounded still cried and whimpered where they'd been struck down, spared the Indian's normal ruthlessness only by the importance of their mission. James only job was to keep the Indians moving in the right direction, they took care of any scattered resistance themselves. The American camp was full chaos now, some officers attempted to gather groups of men to resist the assault but the air was full of Indian howls and cries from all directions and the panicked soldiers evidently imagined a horde of thousands descending on them in the blizzard. The regulars were routing in all directions, crashing into each other as they ran from the separated Iroquois war parties, to the West where the militia had been encamped it even looked like the Indians had succeeded in firing some of the tents as there was a growing orange glow even through the falling snow. James strode on entering a clearing which he surmised must have been the centre of the camp. A group of regulars were attempting to form a square in the clear area but his own war party had been joined by another and were hacking into it from two sides. For the first time he felt a flash of worry, there must have been a hundred soldiers in the clearing with more arriving all the time, if they realised their own superiority in numbers then the Iroquois could be trapped and the momentum of their assault reversed. Bellowing for the Indians to follow he ran past the square of soldiers and charged the men attempting to enter the clearing from between tents in the North. The first man he charged wore no greatcoat and didn't even try to fire his musket as James approached. He seemed half terrified at no doubt being woken from his sleep by screaming, gunfire and the roar of dragons but equally there was relief on his face that it was a white man approaching not a savage Indian warrior. The relief was short lived as James rammed his musket forward impaling the regular in the chest with his bayonet. Blood gushed down the length of the musket as he pulled it back out and the American fell back into the snow gurgling. Another regular stepped forwards and swung his musket like a club at James who ducked just in time to avoid getting his head cracked open. Then fortunately the Iroquois were there at his back, they'd followed his advance leaving the square to follow James and fall on the soldiers he had charged. James was breathing heavily now and he said a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that the Indians had for once followed him rather than continuing their bloody slaughter. Then it was on again through the tents towards the other side of the camp. As they advanced the amount of Americans in front of them lessened, they'd no doubt either made it back into the heart of the camp or took their chances in the snow outside. The natives swarmed over any stragglers before following James further out from the camp. James was out of breath now, his breath misted the air in front as he pushed through the snow. The sounds of gunfire and slaughter gradually lessened as they moved on, a quick glance back and the camp had disappeared behind a swirling white wall. The assault through the camp had lasted minutes but now in the relative safety on the other side the adrenalin had stopped pumping and the sudden relief that they'd got through with barely a pause struck James. He'd worried for days that the Americans would predict they were coming, that they'd be lined up in ranks ready to drop the dragons and their crews from the sky as they came through the snow. With a tired smile he joined the Indians in their cheering, the warriors redoubled their own shouts at seeing their normally taciturn white officer showing some passion. Leadership didn't suit the anxious young corporal but the assault had gone well regardless so James let the tension go.
A couple of hundred yards from the camp great dark shapes appeared through the snow, as James and the warriors pushed on the shapes resolved into the six Ghost Reaper dragons that had dropped them off on the other side of the camp. A dozen British marines were stood in front and the relief on their faces was clear as the war parties returned. James turned as he joined them, bending down with his hands on his knees to catch his breath he watched the warriors stream past leaping back onto the dragons who greeted them excitedly themselves.
"It doesn't look like you lost many men Corporal". Sergeant Jenkins the highest ranking marine that had stayed on the continent clapped James on the back. James had been thinking the same thing. Each of the six beasts had dropped two dozen Iroquois warriors into the camp at different locations and though many of the warriors jogging past carried minor wounds it looked like well over a hundred had made it back.
"Aye, they weren't prepared at all Sergeant, the Indians swept through the camp like a hot knife through butter" James responded as he got his breath. Roberts who had led another of the parties through a separate part of the camp joined them now, he was grinning madly.
"You look pleased with yourself" Jenkins greeted him.
"The Western side of the camp was where they had the militia camped, carnage lads. It was absolute carnage, they were firing at any shape in the snow and I'll wager they killed more of their own than we managed ourselves!". Jenkins laughed. James couldn't bring himself to smile as he'd seen exactly how brutal the carnage that the Iroquois could wreak was, but he joined the congratulations as Roberts had helped Captain Barclay with the plan to deploy from the dragons at night into the camp. As they'd been speaking a few straggling Indians made their way best and finally when the stream of warriors seemed to have dried up the group of marines made their own way back to the dragons, mounting quickly so the dragons could take off and leave the American camp to lick its wounds. James took one last glance back after the dragon had launched itself into the air, he could see nothing but snow and he quietly thanked the weather that allowed Barclay's plan to pass without a hitch. The Americans had started the war the previous year and so far even though their vaunted new heavyweight breeds hadn't stirred since driving General Brock and his army back out of Detroit the weight of numbers the Americans could bring to bear had pushed British forces back in Upper Canada. Barclay's unorthodox tactics though might just be enough to turn the tide James thought.