The gyrocopter is proof that dwarf conservatism is not the same as dwarf timidity. Held aloft by a shrieking steam-driven rotor and flown by engineers of questionable seniority and unquestionable nerve, it does what no dwarf has any business doing — it flies — carrying word between holds across passes that would take a marching throng weeks to cross.
In war, gyrocopters range ahead of the army, mapping the enemy's line and then unstitching it: steam guns scald packed ranks and bombs tumble onto war machines whose crews never thought to look up. Longbeards mutter that no proper battle involves the sky. The engineers keep flying, and keep being proved useful, which the Longbeards find considerably worse.
Order of battle
