Despite the odd flyover by lumbering bombers and the sporadic sound of gunfire, it was hard for Pierce to believe they were actually in a war zone. Their trek through the Spanish countryside had been uneventful as they made their way towards Merida. They remained within sight of the road, ensuring Bufford and his men couldn’t pass them unnoticed.
“There’s a stream up ahead where we can stop at and rest,” announced Sean riding up to the rest of them. He was once again on point and scouting the area ahead. “Water’s good, so we should take the opportunity.”
“Well if you’re tired…” Liam mocked his friend good-naturedly.
Sean ignored Liam as he reined in beside him. They rode for another couple of minutes before dismounting and approaching the stream on foot, the water snaking its way through a small gully with tall prickly shrubs on either side. The horses were led to the water, where they leaned down and began drinking; meanwhile their riders did the same from their canteens.
“I wonder if they’ve fixed their truck yet?” Pierce thought aloud as he emptied his canteen in one gulp and proceeding to refill it from the stream.
“Unless they found a mechanic, I doubt any of his goons would be able to fix anything,” observed Liam with a hint of distaste. Without being told, Pierce could tell there was a rough history between his men and those of the Grey Pack.
“We have to assume they did and that their truck is fixed already or very nearly so,” replied MacDuff thoughtfully. “That being the case Sean, have you found a good perch for us to wait for them outside Merida?”
Sean nodded and pulled out his map, motioning for the rest of them to gather round. As he began explaining their current location and their probable route towards Merida, their mule began to stomp around and then let out a sharp wail. Pierce immediately sensed a rising tension in his companions, but didn’t understand why. He had very little experience with animals, let alone mules. So he didn’t know that mules, donkeys, and their kin had been used as guard animals for centuries.
“I should have placed someone on guard,” MacDuff muttered in annoyance as he looked skyward. “Everyone remain calm and wait for my signal.”
Sean and Liam replied with slight nods, but Pierce was still confused. He tried to ask what was going on, but he was silenced immediately.
“Well we’re lost!” MacDuff cried out with exasperation and without his usual accent.
“I’m sure the road is around here somewhere!” rebuked Sean, much louder than was necessary. Pierce looked from one to the other, thinking they had lost their minds.
“You said you knew the way to Seville!”
“I do! It’s south, that way!” Sean pointed past MacDuff’s head and then jumped in surprise. Pierce followed the direction of Sean’s gaze and found three armed men in uniform facing them. All of a sudden Pierce realized the significance of his men’s strange act. The mule had sensed the presence of the intruders and MacDuff had immediately begun an act for their benefit.
“Ahh good, soldiers, they should know the way,” MacDuff clapped is hands together and then wrenched the map from Sean’s hands and approached them. “Do you know where we are? Which way to the road to Seville?”
Pierce had to work hard to keep his face straight. MacDuff’s highland brogue had switched to an English public school accent. He was acting like the incompetent aristocratic Englishman abroad perfectly. Despite raising his voice and speaking slowly, none of the soldiers responded to him.
“You,” he pointed to Liam, clearly annoyed. “You speak Spanish, get them to tell use how to get to Seville. We haven’t got all day.”
Liam walked over and began speaking to the soldiers in fluent Spanish. They didn’t even react to him until he pointed back at MacDuff and said something that elicited a brief smile from them.
“You said you spoke Spanish,” MacDuff complained accusingly to Liam. “Why won’t they tell us what we want to know?”
“Because I told them to block your escape and say nothing,” announced a voice from the stream. The Brown Pack turned in unison to see who was addressing them. A small man with a clipped mustache and glasses approached from the stream. He was flanked by three more men carrying rifles. The state of his uniform and the fact he bore a pistol in a holster rather than carrying a rifle signified he was an officer and in charge of this small patrol.
“Good you speak English,” began MacDuff unfazed and acting oblivious to the threat the officer was trying to convey. “Perhaps you could be so good as to tell me where the road to Seville is?”
“Who are you?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It matters because I say it does. And because I have six men here with rifles that answer to me.” He said all of this calmly while removing and polishing his small wire framed glasses. He replaced them carefully and then arched an eyebrow inquisitively.
“If you must know I am Sir Walter Brackenreid-Smith, a newspaper publisher. This man here is my assistant and those two are my journalists,” he explained pointing to Sean, then Liam and Pierce.
“Ahh, so you are here to cover the fight against the socialists?”
“Precisely.”
“Then why are you going to Seville? The fighting is in Madrid. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. There has been talk of English socialists joining the enemy.”
“Nonsense,” harrumphed MacDuff waving the map. “Patrick, show him your notes.”
Pierce reacted slowly and nervously, which actually made the officer more at ease. Feeling in control he motioned for Pierce to approach him.
“So what are you writing about?” inquired the officer with a mixture of curiosity and doubt.
“Well it’s not so much a piece on the war,” he struggled as he removed the notebook from his jacket pocket. “But more about the benefits to Spain without the Republicans in power.”
“You’re American?” asked the officer hearing Pierce’s accent. Not knowing what to do, he merely nodded and handed the notebook over.
“How long have you been here? There aren’t many notes written…” Before he could finish the sentence, the officer’s head rose up in reaction to the sound of six quick gunshots. His face immediately turned to horror as he looked down upon the bodies of his men, all with single fatal gunshot wounds. He dropped the notebook and struggled to draw his holstered pistol, but was thrown back as a dagger flew into his shoulder. He fell backward onto the ground from the combined shock of the strike and the force with which it was delivered.
“Is this all of your patrol!” shouted MacDuff immediately descending on the officer, shaking him with a grip on his collar. When he refused to answer, MacDuff pulled out the dagger, eliciting a shriek in response.
“Yes! Just us! We were on our way to patrol the Portuguese border.”
“Are there any other patrols between here and Merida?!”
“I’ll tell you nothing you red scum!”
“We’re not here to fight with the Republicans,” MacDuff answered fiercely, putting the dagger within an inch of the officers right eye. “But you will tell me what I want to know regardless.”
“None! There are no other patrols!” he wailed while staring at the blade.
“Do you report to anyone once you reach the border?”
The answer was a simple shake of the head.
“Good. So you won’t be missed,” replied MacDuff, dropping him and walking away, nodding at Sean as he passed.
“You killed my men you communist bastards! I’ll hunt you down and…”
“No you won’t,” Sean interrupted as he walked up and put a single bullet in the officer’s heart.
“Liam, here’s your knife,” offered MacDuff handing the blade over. “But did you really have to throw it? There was no chance that clumsy prick was going to get his pistol out in time.”
“What can I say; I never pass up an opportunity to practice my skills.”
“What the hell just happened?” whispered Pierce as he sat down shaking beside his ho
rse, staring at the executed officer. Despite all the training he had received during his time at the Manor, he wasn’t prepared to confront death in such a shocking manner. Within a few quick seconds his men had ended the lives of the soldiers whose bodies lay around him. “What the HELL just happened?!”
“Is this the first time you’ve seen someone killed?” asked MacDuff standing over him.
Pierce tried to reply but couldn’t find the words, so he just nodded staring at the lifeless gaze of one of the bodies. He had left the Manor prepared to track Bufford and find information. But he hadn’t been prepared for the possibility of serious violence and it showed.
“They were going to execute us,” offered Sean pragmatically.
“You don’t know that,” whispered Pierce as he finally found his voice. “Maybe they were going to let us go.”
“No, my Lord, they weren’t.”
“But you can’t just… What are we doing here? What am I doing here?” Pierce dropped his head into his hands. He heard MacDuff instruct the other two to pack up and head out towards their next checkpoint. The feelings of disorientation he had ignored since arriving at the Manor suddenly crashed down upon him in a powerful wave and he began to shake uncontrollably.
The weight of a blanket placed around his shoulders brought his head up, though it didn’t stop the shaking. MacDuff sat down across from him and took a pull from a small flask he removed from the inside his jacket. He then passed it to Pierce, who grasped it with both shaking hands. He lifted it to his mouth with concentrated effort and took a drink, feeling the warmth trickle down his throat.
“When I was fifteen James Campbell stole a cow from my uncle Fergus. My uncle tracked him down, but he was killed while taking the beast back. The Campbell’s said he was cattle rustling and the MacDuff’s said he was killed in cold blood retrieving his property. So the long standing feud began again and we were off to fight. My father said it was time I learned the ways of battle and I travelled with the rest of my clan to fight our foes.”
MacDuff took the flask back from Pierce and put it back in his jacket.
“Were you scared?”
“No, I was proud. I was off to fight with my clansmen, every young boys dream. I was too young and stupid to be scared. I felt exhilarated as we marched along the hills, but it quickly left as I saw our opponents gathered before us. All I could see was the shining points of spears and swords and became afraid.”
“So what did you do?”
“What could I do? Run away or hide? I’d have been shamed out of the clan. No, I charged with the rest of my kin, but I was not prepared for the carnage that ensued. I got knocked out early on and was found by my brother the next day as they collected the bodies. He said that it had only been a hearty skirmish, but it had been a terrifying battle of epic proportions to me. I shook for a week and had nightmares for many weeks after that.”
“You were fifteen, I’m a grown man. I bet Sean and Liam have similar tales of induction by fire into manhood. But I don’t want to kill anyone and I don’t think I could ever get used to it like the rest of you. I mean you killed these men without even blinking.” Pierce was over the initial shock and was no longer adrift in a sea of confusion. Instead he was looking directly at his new mentor with renewed awareness. “I don’t want to kill anyone, so if that makes me a bad leader, so be it.”
MacDuff smiled and slapped him on the shoulder, then grabbed the blanket and pulled it off. He rolled it up as he stood and then leaned over and offered a hand to Pierce to pull him back up.
“The reason you will be a good leader is the fact you don’t want to kill anyone. Don’t let their bravado fool you, Sean and Liam don’t like killing anymore than you. They’ve had to find ways of dealing with it, as you will. Why do you think Liam’s always joking around at the wrong time or Sean boxes? Those are coping mechanisms for the lives we lead.”
“So what’s your coping mechanism?”
“Alcohol,” he replied smiling, then turned serious. “Lord Lodge is the best judge of character I have ever seen. He picked you to come to the Manor and act on his behalf. That means something to me and the others; Sean, Liam, Melrose, even Tiberius. Not wanting to harm others is a noble sensibility; however you have to be prepared to defend yourself and others.”
“Sean was right, wasn’t he? Those men were going to kill us?”
“Aye.”
“But how did you know? What if he was actually going to help us and let us go?” Pierce knew it sounded ridiculously naïve after he said it.
“When you’ve been around as long as we have, you gain a sixth sense for these things. I don’t need an answer now, but for the sake of my men I will need to know if you’ll be able to pull the trigger if the situation arises. When we’re out here, we only have each other. Our safety rests on the will and abilities of each other. We do not exist, so no police, soldiers, or anyone else can help us without causing more trouble. Leaving that officer alive would have put us all at risk. It was necessary for our survival that he be silenced. Sean knew that and did what he had to do. I need to know, will you be able to kill if necessary?”
“I understand, but I don’t really know,” Pierce responded with truthful frustration. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 66
