Traveller Probo

Hami turned to Pokere and smiled. “I thought they’d never leave.”

Pokere smiled and nodded. They then both laughed hilariously until, wiping their eyes and further smudging the camo paint on their faces, they turned to the imminent attack.

Their laughter and the disappearance of two of the strangers had the predicted effect on the Maori villagers who had gathered for the anticipated slaughter. Some cried out in wonder and fear, after all, they had watched as the two strangers had vanished. They hadn’t slid down the slope, that was certain but one moment they were there and then, gone! By the look on their faces, some began to doubt their anger against their mysterious foes.

Hami watched the uncertain and fearful faces and he hoped they wouldn’t have to kill any more of these brave people. He felt he now understood in part how his ancestors lived and behaved. If he went far enough, his ancestors would have been just like these.

Max saw the disappearance, frowned and turned to speak with a couple of the warriors nearby. There was some head shaking but, his mind made up, Max bellowed as his muscular arm twirled the head on its chord and heaved it at the two remaining soldiers. Hami yelled and fired a warning burst but the severed head flew at him like a missile and he was forced to block the gory projectile with the body of his weapon.

It had a surprising weight and fell heavily with a thump at their feet. Fluid, be it blood or other, splattered their faces and chests. Rather than cow them, their comrade’s thrown head caused the soldiers to react angrily. They directed short, sharp bursts of gunfire at the villagers as they ran in for their final attack. Hami saw everything clearly, though it all happened so quickly. A woman hurling a rock was hit by three rounds, one piercing a fleshy breast and two just beneath her throat. A warrior leapt with his taiaha poised to slash and was hit in his stomach and his thigh, spinning him as he fell. A rock was dodged but another hit Pokere heavily on his foot, causing him to stagger. Another warrior was hit in stomach, chest, and face.

They stood in the Area of Convergence in a desperate, last ditch battle. Ammunition was dangerously low and these big, strong people were taking a lot of punishment before they fell.

As he took aim at a woman running at them with a sharpened digging stick, a shape, huge and deadly, slammed Hami from his right side, his blind side. He fell hard against Pokere and then hit the ground with a massive warrior on him. He used his gun as a club against the attacker’s head but it seemed to bounce off. Hami then received a savage elbow to the forehead that had been directed at his nose. If that blow had struck where it was intended, it would be all over. They rolled around, two big men grappling for supremacy, each a warrior, each knowing there would only be only one victor this day. Teeth locked onto his webbing while he tore out a chunk of hair. Markus’ severed head was knocked sideways and became enmeshed in the tussle, when suddenly Hami realised they struggled on a white-tiled floor.

The misty drizzle and bare hill had vanished. The shock of the transition caused the big Maori to hesitate only a moment as he looked at Hami in surprise. Hami recognised the blunt and bloodied features of Max, the new war chief. A solid thump struck the back of the warrior’s head and he fell forward, blood from a gashed forehead pouring onto Hami’s face and into his eyes. He vainly struggled until the limp, almost naked deadweight was dragged from him. As he wiped his eyes with his sleeves, he saw Ngawa holding a NZ Army issue Steyr, the rifle wrested no doubt from one of the stunned guards at the facility. The butt of the weapon had been smashed into Max’s head and the unconscious man lay next to Markus’ bloody head.

Hami groggily wiped the blood from his eyes. Pokere! Where was Pokere?