Tommo & Hawk (36 page)

I notice for the first time that he is wet up to the waist. His breeches are covered in mud and he is shaking from the cold.

'The water is full of the bodies of the British and we have found three of our axe fighters dead,' Hammerhead Jack pauses, 'but not Tommo.'

'We must keep looking! I will come with you!' I turn to run out of the pa but Hammerhead Jack grabs my arm.

'Wait! It is full moon in an hour, we can see better then. You must eat first, you have not taken food today! You will have no strength, Ork. The swamp is freezing and treacherous with sucking mud. You will surely perish!'

'I must find Tommo!' I shout, tearing away from him. My heart is pounding and I think I will die of the fear that has taken hold of me. 'Oh God! Oh Mama! Ikey! Help me now!' I begin to run wildly towards the swamp.

TOMMO

Puke Te Kauere

27 June 1860

I'm sitting up to me waist in a bloody swamp, near shitting meself. The redcoats are everywhere. There's smoke covering the battle so it's hard to see, but wherever there's a clear patch there's half a dozen British to be seen, loading, firing and panicking.

I had to open me big gob about the long-handled axe being better than the bayonet, but even after Waireka, I got me doubts. I've learnt a great deal from how the Maori handle a fighting stick, but it's different when a trooper with bad blood in his eyes is comin' straight at you - him with a reach o' six foot or more, and me with an axe what don't extend more than two foot. All of a sudden, it don't look too promising.

Ever since we took the farmhouse and them two young lads was killed, it ain't been the same for me. I've seen how the axe kills now. I've thought about that moment a thousand times. Could I have known they was lads before we struck them? The room were filled with smoke from their muskets and from the shotgun blast, so we couldn't see hardly nothin' at all when we entered. I know I axed someone, but who I couldn't tell. Just a neck and a bit of shoulder in the smoke and confusion. Our blood was up and running high 'cause we'd won the day. But when the smoke cleared, two young lads lay dead next to the two grown men. I don't reckon I'll ever get over that. So young and brave one minute, and then hacked meat at me feet. Oh Gawd! What would our poor mama think o' me?

We've been waiting here in the rushes for nigh three hours, having come into the swamp from the back. It's the middle o' winter and bloody cold! I'm thinking of Hawk in the trenches and worrying for him. But he says we're not to come out, we're not to fight in the open. Instead we must wait for the British to come to us. Let the swamp slow them down, then take 'em by surprise.

I know me lads, though. They can see the British be in a mess already on the higher ground and they'll want to go after 'em. I pass on the word, no one must move until I say. But these be young warriors, anxious to be blooded in battle. They won't like the idea of holding back, freezing their bollocks off while there's a hot fight going on.

How the hell does Hawk know the British will come? He's pretty new to the business of being a general. The lads have waited three months to have a second go at the British soldiers. They're spoiling for a fight. Me, I'm not so keen no more, not after Waireka and the farmhouse. When we comes back from that raid the rangatira called us heroes. Our attacks on the settlers be proof to them that we are of true value to them in this war. I'm not so sure. Waireka just about finished us off - Tommo Te Mokiri lost six good men that day. Now me boys are waiting for another chance to meet the British, and their turn will come soon enough if Hawk be right. He reckons the redcoats will run to the swamp for cover. I hope he's right. I can't hold me lads back much longer.

Suddenly it happens. I watch, hardly believing my own eyes, as the first soldier comes running towards the swamp. He's stumbling out of the smoke towards us, not charging with his bayonet, just running for cover, scared witless, fleeing the shotguns what's pumping hot. I pray the lads will wait, not take him at once in a rush and give the game away to the rest. I send out the word to let him come right up to us, right up to the bulrushes where we hide. The redcoat is splashing through the shallows, knees pumpin' high, trying to go faster, floosh, floosh, floosh. It's heavy going, 'cause his boots stick in the muddy, sucking bottom of the swamp, and he's panting and gasping, eyes popping.

Then they's all heading our way, coming thick and fast through the smoke. I can hear the Maori shotguns. Bah-bam! Bah-bam! It's a different sound from the muskets what sounds more like a ba-boom-whup. The shotguns are working fast and the redcoats are turning and making straight for the swamp. Any moment now there'll be ten or fifteen of them upon us and twice as many more behind. 'Hold it lads, not now, let them come in deeper, nearer, take yer time,' I orders under me breath.

My fear has left me, drummed out by the pounding of me blood. Next instant there's a face in front of me. It's black from gunpowder and almost comical-looking, the eyes red-rimmed and showing white eyelashes. The soldier's in up to his waist, with half of his musket under water. All he wants to do is get to the safety of the reeds and rushes. He's looking directly at me, but his eyes show no recognition of what they see. The axe in me hand seems to know its own way, and I feel the blade bite into the man's head, soft as butter. The poor sod don't have time to think, from the moment he sees me to the moment he's dead.

Now the British be everywhere around us. Some is trying desperately to fire, but most has come into the swamp with their muskets unloaded and not ready to use their bayonets. They're belted and booted, and their shako caps sit high and awkward upon their heads. They be weighed down with their packs and most clumsy-like. With us bare to the waist and carrying nothing but our light fighting axes, it ain't no contest. The men at the front are forced towards us, as others come in behind them, pushing them forward in their haste to gain what they think is the safety of the swamp.

Another redcoat comes at me now. He's seen his mate die and he's got his bayonet at the ready. 'Bastard!' he shouts, and tries to run me through. It's clumsy stuff in the water and I brush the bayonet aside, hitting him on the jaw with the butt end of the axe handle. His head goes back at the impact of the blow, baring his neck with the strap of his shako biting into it. It's clear and clean-shaven, and me blooded blade finds its mark. It is all too easy, and he don't even have time to cuss again before he's a gargle of frothy blood sinking into the water. His eyes look sort o' surprised, though his neck is almost cut through and he's already dead before his head hits the drink.

All around me there's screaming from the British, and shouting and grunting and whooping from the Maori lads. The strange thing is that the redcoats keep coming. They can see us clear as daylight now - well, maybe not that clear given all the smoke - but they must not know that trouble lies ahead. They're at the edge of the mud, not yet in the water, but they doesn't turn back. They just keep coming, shoving on those in front as they line up to die at the hands of the Maori axe fighters.

And then I hear the shotguns on the flanks driving them towards us. Bah-bam! Bah-bam! If they keep coming like this, we'll soon be too weary to kill them all. We're fighting in the water and the mud is heavy going, and there's too many o' the dumb bastards for one afternoon's killing!

From the corner of my eye, I see a soldier coming at one of my lads from behind. The Maori don't see him 'cause he's fighting another trooper with a big yellow moustache what's trying to stick him. 'Die, nigger!' shouts the moustache. The redcoat behind has his bayonet ready to run me lad through his back. I got no choice and my axe leaves my hand. It flies through the air and takes the trooper in the back of his head, splitting his skull, and lodging itself tight. The other man sees this and stops for one second, and that's enough for the Maori's axe to take him.

I starts moving towards him, shouting to the Maori lad to grab my axe. The trooper I've hit has sunk slowly into the swamp. He is dead, but he must be resting on his knees somehow, his head still showing above the water. My axe handle pokes up out of the crimson water still stuck in his skull. But in all the noise the lad I've saved don't hear me and moves forward to take on another redcoat.

In the back o' me mind I think I hear Hammerhead Jack shouting behind the smoke on the higher ground. There are bodies floating everywhere, troopers' jackets stained dark from the swamp water with little air pockets of brilliant scarlet bobbing above the surface, bright lilies in a blood-red stream.

A few wounded redcoats try to beat a retreat in the shallows, but they don't last long. The mud sucks at their boots, and most slip and fall to their knees. The Maori lads has stopped their whooping and has turned into a killing machine. The axe kills more surely than the musket and more swiftly than the bayonet - its aim in a good warrior's hands is always to the head or neck.

I'm wadin' towards my own axe, its handle now only six inches above the surface. The trooper's head has gone under. I hear a shot ring out and suddenly I'm knocked over. I'm down under the water, kicking out wildly, trying to catch me breath. Bloody hell! I've been hit. There is a terrible pain in my head and I tries to come to the surface, kicking and flailing my arms. The top of my head bumps against somethin' and I push against it. I try with all what's left in me to push me noggin past whatever's in me way but I can feel my strength failing. Then it's lights out for yours truly and I don't remember nothing no more.

*

When I come to, all is blackness and I can't open my eyes. Around me frogs is croaking and crickets chirping. I know I'm in water, suspended-like, not floating, though I'm not sure how my head comes to be above the surface. I am frozen stiff, so I can't tell whether me feet touch the bottom or whether I float upright. I try to force my eyes open but they's stuck closed. Perhaps, I think, they are open and I'm dead, or I've been blinded by the musket ball what hit me. Me head aches something terrible, but I have my senses about me. Only I can't move or see nothin'.

Slowly it comes to me. My eyes are stuck with blood, dried blood, my eyelashes glued together. In the distance I can hear singing. It's the singing what brings me back. The Maori is singing in the forts, singing their victory chants and shouting their fierce war cries. I must try to get my arm up, but it too seems stuck. How is my head held up out of the water? Why don't I sink? I try to work my eyes open again but cannot.

Then I hears me name. It's Hawk, shouting, 'Tommo! Tommo!' His voice is hoarse, as though he has been shouting a long time. I try to answer but nothing comes. Then I hear a swish of water as if someone passes nearby, and small waves lap against me head. Hawk is passing me! Calling for me and I can't say nothing! I can't lift my arm or kick or shout out or move me head. Inside, I'm screaming and, for the first time, I truly know how it must have been for Hawk when he were dumb.

An hour or more passes and then someone goes by again, calling out in a desperate voice. It is Hawk, still calling my name, though his voice be near gone.

Suddenly there is a bump as Hawk brushes into whatever is holding me. I hear a gasp and a great howl, like the cry of a hurt animal. Hawk pulls frantically at me, sobbing in big gasps as he lifts me from the water in his arms. 'Oh, Tommo! Oh, Tommo!' he bawls. 'Oh, Tommo, what have I done? I have killed you!'

He splashes out of the swamp and I hear others shout, then Hammerhead Jack's voice. I am laid down on firm ground and a head is put to me chest. It is Hammerhead Jack again. 'Tommo good!' he says. He starts laughin'. He can't stop and others join in. Then everything goes dark as I fall asleep or pass out.

When I awakes, I can see again. I'm lying beside a fire, wrapped in blankets, and my whole body aches as though it has been clubbed. But I ain't cold anymore, though my head still hurts fierce. Hawk is seated cross-legged beside me, his head on his chest and his hands in his lap. He is asleep. I am so tight-wrapped, I cannot move, though I can wiggle me toes and move me fingers. Best of all, I can see, but my throat's terrible sore from the cold and I doubt I can talk.

I look at Hawk sleeping and the tears run down me face. I dunno why, but I can't stop crying. Maybe it's relief 'cause I can see again. Maybe it's seeing Hawk. He has deep lines under his eyes and his mouth is pulled down from tiredness. Hawk and his stupid conscience got us into this bloody mess. Why can't he just be like other folk and not care, not give a bugger for naught, like his brother Tommo?

Then I think of Makareta and the baby what's due any day now. Maybe it's even come. God bless me soul, I could be a father already! Makareta were nearly a widow! With a shock, it hits me that I do care. I cares about the two young lads we axed, about Makareta, my unborn child, Hawk, even Mary! But, still and all, I don't know how much I care. Would I have done anything different if I'd known those two settlers were mere lads, even if one was pointing a loaded musket at me gut? Would I risk me life to save his? I don't think so. Hawk, he would. But not yours truly, that I doubts very much.

That's the thing about me brother - he don't measure how much he cares. If a man is kicking a dog he's gunna stop him, whether it be a flea-bitten mongrel not worth tuppence or a squatter's prize sheepdog. It don't bother the big bloke. Hawk just gallops to the rescue, bugles blowing, nostrils flaring, huffing full of indignation!

Hawk can't bear what's unfair in this world. I, on the other hand, knows everything's unfair. There ain't nothin' fair about this sodding world. The mongrels don't never go away. We has beaten the British but I know it's only this time. They'll be back. The Maori cannot win. The pakeha wants their land and they'll get it, come hell or high water.

Hawk opens his eyes and sees me looking at him, sees me tears. 'Tommo?'

I smile.

'Tommo, speak to me!' He reaches out and shakes me. 'You all right?'