by Joe Nobody
Bishop bolted.
In Castro’s world, bravado dictated that Bishop should hold his ground. He was a man, wasn’t he? He had been attacked, assaulted, challenged. He should fight.
The local strongman was absolutely stunned when rather than turn and defend himself, the gringo had scurried away like a young maid being chased by a wolf.
Bishop already had a four-step lead by the time Castro recovered from his surprise. Ducking his head, the enforcer gave chase. “Are you running to your wife? Does she protect you?” he snarled as his target accelerated.
Ignoring the insult, Bishop was trying to regain control of his right arm as he ran. The pain was getting worse, and a quick check via his good hand revealed a bone protruding from the skin between his wrist and elbow. “Fuck,” he grunted, now understanding the searing, white-hot agony that bored into his brain. Castro had managed to gain the element of surprise, reduce his enemy’s capabilities, and a now held a weapon with the longest reach.
“Coward!” Castro taunted while giving chase, “Stop and fight, little girl.”
I’m going to stop soon enough, ass clown, Bishop thought. On my terms, not yours.
A large piece of machinery provided the Texan the opportunity he was looking for. He cut hard around the rusting hulk and then stopped and ducked.
Castro barreled around the corner a moment later. Bishop was waiting.
The Texan sprang at his nemesis, bounding out of the shadows like a striking snake. With his good arm wrapped around Castro’s waist, the two men when down, a heap of straining, grunting, cursing, tackling flesh.
Bishop, despite his handicap, now had surprise on his side. Grappling eliminated his opponent’s advantage. It’s tough to swing an axe when you’re rolling in the dirt, he thought.
As the two combatants struggled for the upper hand, elbows flew, fists jabbed, and muscles strained. Both managed to deliver their fair share of punishment, but the Texan’s strength, conditioning, and skills were too much for Castro to handle.
Time and again, Bishop punched with his good arm, each blow draining more of Castro’s energy and focus. The Mexican was getting sloppy, his timing off, his balance wobbly.
Somehow, Bishop managed to roll away and stand, panting hard from the pain and exertion. Castro remained on his back, beaten and moaning in pain.
Out of the darkness, Bella Dona emerged, her brother’s axe handle wielded held high above her head. Snarling like a tigress trying to protect a cub, she launched a vicious downward strike at Bishop’s head. He turned, partially blocking the blow with his one functional arm. Again and again, she hacked and swung, driving the Texan back until he finally stumbled and fell.
With eyes glaring with hatred and stringy hair glistening with perspiration, she looked like a crazed demon as she towered over Bishop. He tried to rise, strained to roll away, but his body was at its limits. The pain from the broken arm and exertion of combat were inducing shock.
“Now, you die,” Bella snarled and coiled for the final strike.
The barn was filled with a thunderous roar, the front of Bella Dona’s chest exploding outward in a crimson cloud of blood, flesh, and bone.
Again Terri’s pistol fired, the second bullet spinning the plantation’s mistress a quarter turn. The third shot knocked her over, tearing out another section of lung, rib, and flesh.
Before Bella Dona’s body had hit the ground, Terri was rushing to Bishop’s side. One look at her husband’s arm and battered face nearly sent her into a panic. He finally smiled, whispering weakly, “Hello there, pretty girl. Come here often?”
“How bad?” Terri asked, running her hands up and down his torso, checking for blood … or holes … or both.
“Just my arm,” he replied. Then added, “And my chest, and my head, and my shoulder, and my.…”
“I’m sorry, Bishop. She got away from me as we made the root cellar. She threw the torch into a puddle in front of me … and then ran like hell up the ladder, knocking it back into the room once she reached the exit. I couldn’t see … didn’t know where Castro was, or you, or her for that matter … and had to regroup very carefully.”
“It’s okay,” he managed. “Just let me sleep a while.”
“No. You can’t go to sleep. We need to get you help. Right now.”
“But I’m sleepy. Let me rest. I’ll be fine.”
Blood was pouring from his arm. Several small cuts and lacerations added to the drain on his system.
Terri wondered where she could get help. She had no idea of the layout of the plantation, nor was there any way to ascertain who was winning the battle outside.
Something rustled near the shed’s opening. Someone was coming. Terri raised her pistol. She couldn’t run with Bishop in his current condition. She wasn’t about to leave him. The barn was their Alamo.
The outline of a small boy appeared, and Terri exhaled. Her relief was only temporary. More and more shapes began to emerge from the darkness, at least a dozen men standing outside.
Someone produced a lantern and then called out a demand in Spanish. “Surrender with your hands in the air, or we will shoot you.”
Terri didn’t know what to do. If she called out, they might simply fire at the sound of her voice. If they were Bella Dona’s supporters, the sight of the lady of the house’s dead body wasn’t going to win Terri any brownie points. If they were the rebellious militia, she was dead anyway.
“Come out!” the agitated man ordered. “This is your last chance.”
Castro managed to stir with a grunt, startling Terri. She had forgotten all about him.
Bracing for a fight, Terri managed to palm her weapon, but Castro limped right past her and headed for the barn’s door. “Put down your weapons, you idiots. It is Castro. The gringos are inside the shed. Kill them,” he growled.
From the ring of shadows outside, Terri noticed a large shape emerge as Castro strode into the moonlight. “I know you,” a voice declared in English. “You like to beat and rape prisoners.”
“Butter?” Terri whispered, “Can it really be?”
Castro recognized the mass of muscle at the same moment. Turning to escape, he managed two steps before the flash and roar of a rifle’s blast split the night.
“Revenge is mine, sayeth the guy with the gun,” Butter announced.
A freight train was rumbling through Bishop’s head, its massive engine rattling every cell between his ears. The pain was nearly unbearable, but it told the Texan he was alive.
Terri noticed her husband squint with discomfort. “Hey there, are you finally awake?”
The sound of his wife’s voice managed to penetrate the wall of agony inside his head, its tone helping relieve some of the pain.
“Yes, but I wish I wasn’t. God, what a headache. How long was I out?”
“Almost a full day,” her words reassuringly jingled. “Some guys will do anything to get out of work.”
Still uneasy in anticipation of the additional misery that was sure to come if he opened his eyes, Bishop ran a mental check of his body. He was sore practically everywhere. When he tried to tighten the muscles in his right arm, the train in his head revved its mighty engine.
One thing he did manage to ascertain was that the plantation had the most comfortable jail beds he’d ever felt.
“Now or never,” Bishop groaned, forcing his eyes to open.
As expected, the light hurt, but it was a different discomfort. Terri’s smiling face was worth it.
“Hi, babe,” she grinned. “Welcome back.”
Without thinking, Bishop tried to raise his right arm and touch her face, but the train sounded its angry horn in protest. His left hand, however, managed to rub her cheek.
Bishop took in his surroundings. Instead of bleak, grey confines and prison bars, he found white walls, a large window, and the softest sheets that he’d ever encountered. “Where?” he started to ask.
“While you were out, I moved our reservation to the Castle,” she
grinned, brushing his hair with tenderness. “Room service … king sized bed … a bathroom with so many showerheads, it looks like a Home Depot … and valet parking for the convoy right outside,” she teased.
Bishop smiled at her effort to brighten his day. “And the damage?”
“Your arm is badly broken, and you went into shock. You’ve lost a good bit of blood, but there is a doctor here, and he seems to be taking good care of you.”
“Grim?”
“Grim is just fine, running around here fussing and griping at everyone and everything. He’s trying to get some of the convoy’s trucks repaired and loaded with food.”
“Butter?”
“Butter saved us all,” Terri stated. “He managed to lead the slaves in revolt. None of us would have survived if it weren’t for him.”
She began her high-level account of the events that had occurred at the plantation the previous night. When Bishop learned that Bella Dona and Castro were both dead, he merely nodded. When she told him that the lunatics now ran the asylum, he managed a smile.
“Wow, I missed out on everything,” Bishop commented after she was done. “How many did we lose?”
Terri stared down, sadness in her voice as she reported, “We lost 14 very good men.”
For the next 20 minutes, Terri reviewed the casualties, both she and her husband fighting back the tears as she reported the dead. Bishop had grown to like the truckers during the weeks they had trained together. A still melancholy overtook the mood.
“Brave men, going above and beyond,” Bishop stated, finally breaking the silence.
“The Alliance will take care of their families just like fallen military,” Terri stated with certainty. “I’ll see to it. A lot of people do, and will, owe their lives to those men.”
“And the wounded? There have to have been a lot of wounded?”
“The worst of them are in bedrooms right down the hall. April has ordered the Castle be turned into a hospital for those wounded during the battle.”
“April?”
“Yes, April the schoolteacher. She and May, along with a man named Julio, have been running the show since the fighting stopped. I don’t think any of them have slept a wink for two days, but they’re trying to hold things together in the vacuum.”
“And the militia? I can’t believe they’re all dead.”
Terri shrugged, “Some of them fled into the hills; some surrendered. I think April wants to grant them amnesty, but I think a lot of the former slaves want blood.”
The door to Bishop’s room opened, Grim sticking his head inside. The SAINT member was freshly shaven, his fatigues crisp and clean. “You’re back among the living, boss! That’s great news.”
After a quick greeting, Grim glanced at Terri and announced, “The final count of Alliance citizens is 214. So far, April has scrounged up four plantation trucks that can make it back to Texas, as well as a dozen trailers. She wants them back.”
“Final count?” Bishop asked. “You mean 214 causalities?”
Shaking his head, Grim said, “Oh, Lord, no, boss. That’s 214 former workers here at the plantation that are Alliance citizens and who want to go home. They’ve been coming in droves since the battle ended.”
“I’m surprised there aren’t more,” Terri replied. “Last count I heard is there were over 1,000 Texans here. Why only a few hundred?”
Grim shrugged, “Evidently, some don’t want to leave. I talked to a few of them, and they said that there was food here, education for their kids, and medical care. More than one said that there was nothing for them to go to in Texas. Now that Castro and Bella Dona are out of the picture, a lot of the former workforce is looking at this plantation as a great career opportunity. I heard someone was drawing up plans for new housing, and even a permanent school for the kids. April is outside right now, talking about giving over parcels of land for private ownership. She’s quite the whirlwind.”
After taking a minute to digest all that had happened, a nagging question popped into the forefront of Bishop’s thoughts. “Butter?”
The Texan knew something was wrong after the look exchanged between Terri and his second in command. “Well? What’s wrong?” he asked. “Where’s Butter?”
“He’s under house arrest,” Grim responded with a grimace. “He turned himself in and pretty much demanded that I file charges.”
Nodding, Bishop responded, “Good. That was the right thing for him to do.”
“Bishop, you’re not going to pursue this are you?” Terri asked.
Terri recognized a grimace accompanied by deep pain flash across her husband’s face. She had never seen him look like that.
“I have no choice,” Bishop mumbled.
Three days after the battle, Bishop was finally deemed strong enough to make the trip back to Alliance territory.
After gathering his equipment and belongings for the journey home, he issued the order that he had been dreading for days.
A knock on the door brought a sigh to the Texan’s throat. “Come in.”
Kevin entered first, his carbine held at port arms. Behind the SAINT team member trudged Butter, followed by one of the surviving deputies.
Butter looked like hell warmed over. Wearing a face thick with stubble, the man was covered with lacerations and bruises … along with the saddest eyes Bishop had ever seen on the kid.
“Reporting as ordered, sir,” Butter stated, standing stiffly at attention.
Bishop ignored the big man, instead turning to Kevin and saying, “Leave us.”
“Yes, sir,” came the automatic reply. A moment later, Bishop was alone with his youngest team member.
“We are going back to the Alliance in a few hours, Butter. You know that you’ll face some very serious charges once we are back in Alpha.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m so pissed at you, young man. You violated standing orders, displayed a clear disregard for my command and for the safety of your teammates. You endangered everyone on this mission, and perhaps even the future of the entire Alliance.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yet,” Bishop said, softening his tone, “you also saved all of our asses, as well as the tens of thousands of people working on the plantation. In the past few days, I’ve interviewed a dozen witnesses to your heroics the night of the battle, and if even half of what I heard was true, your bravery and actions were worthy of being taught to school children.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So here’s the deal, Butter. You are well within your rights to go to May and request asylum. I will have little choice but to honor that demand. You can stay here with the girl who is evidently very important to you and be with people who think you’re a great man and a hero. You can avoid a court martial, and the possible punishment if found guilty. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir. But I decline. I am a Texan, sir. I am not a coward. I need to deal with the consequences of my actions.”
“I see,” Bishop replied. “Then I have no choice but to formally place you under arrest and file charges. You will face a court martial in Alpha when we return, son.”
“I understand, sir.”
“One last thing, Butter. You have the right to representation. I would highly recommend that you secure the services of a military lawyer at Fort Hood. I will try to ask around and make sure you are assigned the best.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir. I’ve already picked someone to stand beside me,” the big kid stated.
“Oh? And who might that be, son?”
“Why, Miss Terri, sir. She agreed to represent me just this morning.”
Bishop was stunned, a stream of hot protest forming in his throat. Butter, noting his commander’s dam was about to burst, added, “After all, sir, you’ve told me repeatedly that she was a mean woman. That sounds exactly like what I need when I face these charges.”
“What on earth were you thinking?” Bishop snapped at his wife, clearly upset.
&nbs
p; Shrugging in innocence, Terri looked like the cat who had just swallowed the canary. “Because I think this whole military tribunal thing is absolutely ridiculous. That kid made a mistake of the heart. He didn't act in the name of personal gain or wasn’t trying to deliberately harm the Alliance or his team. He was hoodwinked by a pretty face and an honorable cause. Diana should be pinning a medal on his chest, not putting him on trial.”
Bishop shook his head in frustration, “You don’t understand. The rules Butter violated have been a necessary part of military life for hundreds and hundreds of years. Armies can’t be effective without that kind of discipline and restriction. Their governments wouldn’t trust them. The entire system would fail.”
“SAINT teams aren’t the Army,” Terri countered. “You may be paramilitary in form and function, but you also play the role of law enforcement, diplomats, and trade envoys. On this specific mission, you were providing security for a foreign trade delegation, while secretly playing the part of intelligence agents. How can you possibly try to impose such narrow rules on men who fulfill such a wide variety of missions?”
Bishop didn’t want to have the trial right then and there. His arm throbbed constantly, his team was exhausted, and there were still hundreds of individuals and tons of food to deliver. He had at least a dozen reports to write one-handed, and would be answering Nick’s questions for hours. “If you want to represent Butter, that is your decision. As long as you don’t get so deeply involved that it affects us, I’m good.”
She waved a hand through the air, dismissing his concerns. “This will be easy,” she smiled. “I got this with one hand tied behind my back,” she teased, pointing toward his slung limb.
At first, Bishop thought his wife was making a huge mistake. Diana and Nick were their friends, yet both of the government officials had taken an oath to serve the Alliance. The families of the fallen deputies and truck drivers deserved justice.
During the drive back to Texas from the plantation, Terri informed him of her strategy. “We are going to plead guilty,” she announced. “I’m going to save all my powder for the punishment phase of his hearing.”
