Obligations

by Kevin Ikenberry

  I have to buy time.

  As quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he smiled. It could be done. All he had to do was sell it to Sergeant Whittaker and Aliza Turan. She’d wanted to check out the higher ground for trails and viable passes. Well, now she would have her chance.

  When he turned the corner at the bottom of the pass, Bo saw the dust cloud from the enemy advance rising higher than before. He caught sight of his patrol hooking up the third vehicle under the watchful eyes of Aliza and Whittaker. As he closed the gap, he saw her looking at him and his stomach churned. She would not like what he had in mind. Using her and the bulk of the patrol—the rest of the newbies—as bait didn’t set well with him. Something in his gut said she would like it even less, and he realized that was exactly why it bothered him.

  * * *

  “You want me to what?” Aliza asked Moorefield, dumbfounded. She raised her palms to him. “Just so I understand you, please.”

  The young captain licked his lips and started again. “You and Sergeant Whittaker will take your sections north along the skirts of the tableland at a gallop. I want you to raise as much dust as you can and make the enemy think there’s more of us with you than over here at the pass. A lot more. It will buy us additional time to get these last two vehicles up to the recovery team.”

  She shook her head and a nervous laugh came out. “You’re making a big assumption.”

  “More than one; I am aware,” he replied. “But the whinnies will find a way up into the middle slopes at the edge of the plateau. All you have to do is to attract the enemy’s attention for fifteen minutes. The whinnies will do the rest. When the J’Stull turn and chase you, we’ll counterattack into their exposed flank.”

  “And what about when the enemy storms our position on the slopes of the tableland, Captain Moorefield? What then?” The anger in her voice surprised her, but she’d seen firsthand the consequences of poor planning and uneven execution.

  “You let me handle that, Aliza.” He lowered his chin and frowned, but there was still a twinkle in his eye. “Whittaker has command. All you and the newbies have to do is make your patrol look like a herd of elephants.”

  “And if we don’t find a way up?”

  “You will. We’ll be there before they can attack you with any strength, I promise.”

  The calm, confident look on his face and the slow smile threatening to crease it made Aliza smile involuntarily. A sudden grit-laden gust made her blink and sweep her hair away from her face in one movement. When she opened her eyes, not more than a second had passed, and he was still looking at her in the same manner. In the next heartbeat, she realized that she liked it, and it only made her smile wider.

  “Well…” She paused. “We’ll have to raise some dust and find a way up between the cliffs.”

  His smile widened and his teeth shone. “You do that, Aliza. We’re counting on you.”

  She nodded. “We won’t let you down.”

  “Trust the whinnies,” he blurted. She frowned, not certain what he meant. “I think they’re smarter than we think.”

  She squinted at him. “In what way?”

  “When I took that other mount…well, whatever Scout and Athena vocalized got through to it. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the one who calmed him.”

  “They are very vocal animals,” she replied, but the rest of the thought stopped on her lips. They’d casually assumed control over the whinaalani, as if they were little more than clever farm animals trained to submit to human dominance. She took in a breath in a sudden flash of realization. “What if we’ve gotten them all wrong?”

  Moorefield nodded and took a long breath. His voice was low when he said, “I think we have from the very start. I’m not sure if they understand what we’re saying to them, but I think they understand our emotions somehow.”

  “That’s fascinating.” She shook her head even as recollections of Athena’s behaviors when being ridden and called played through her memory, like quick clips from a newsreel; the speed and surety of her responses were unlike any horse she’d even known. “You think they are sentient?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly, we don’t have time to think about it. Just trust them. Get ready to move out as soon as Sergeant Whittaker is ready.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Thank you.” He tipped the brim of his boonie hat and nodded to her. “Just one more thing? Call me Bo.”

  He turned away to direct his soldiers. Heart trip-hammering in her chest, Aliza turned back to Athena and heard the distinct purring sound the female whinaalani made when content. Athena’s angular head turned toward her; the wide, dark eyes studied her for a moment before their focus turned back to the others. Soldiers from the third and fourth sections who’d dismounted to assist with the tow operation climbed aboard their whinnies. Across the road, Whittaker spoke with Moorefield and pointed first in the direction of the game trail they’d used to descend from the tableland and then out across the ragged bluffs to the north and east.

  “Third and fourth sections, mount up,” she heard Whittaker call. She climbed aboard Athena smoothly and nudged the whinnie toward the soldiers. Astride Scout once again, Moorefield trotted toward her.

  “One more thing,” he called.

  “Yes?”

  His lips were a tight, thin line. “If Sergeant Whittaker asks you to do something, please do it. There will be a good reason he’s asking. I know you’ve had some experience in the field, but this is one time I can’t have you not following Top’s orders—or even his advice or requests. So if, for example, he tells you to stay somewhere, we need you to stay the hell there. Do you understand, Aliza?”

  A bolt of electricity shot down her spine. Aliza’s mouth fell open, and she snapped it closed. With a nod, she acknowledged Moorefield’s request without trusting herself to speak. Her words wouldn’t have been something she could explain in the time they had. Try as she might, she could not stop hearing Ben Mazza’s voice insisting she do the same thing, just before he’d disappeared over the hill above the Nahal Kziv.

  And never came back.

  * * *

  Bo watched the screening party under Whittaker and Aliza gallop east along the edge of the bluffs. He hoped they would quickly find a viable route up the steep sides of the tableland. He chuckled. “Hope” was not a term he associated with combat. His last Army squadron commander, before he’d done his tour in Mogadishu, had been a career light infantryman placed in charge of a cavalry unit almost against his will. His view of mounted operations skewed far into the negative range. Lieutenant Colonel Peabody wasn’t a negative person, but his view of things was both realistic and memorable. Among his favorite sayings was that hope was not a method. No real come-back for that axiom, Bo admitted.

  He gave the departing patrol one last long glance and then turned back to the towing operation, intent on getting the last two vehicles up the hill as quickly as the first two so he could support—and protect—his screen as soon as possible.

  Sublete was waiting, radio handset outstretched as Bo turned in his direction. “Sir? OP Two.”

  Bo took the handset from Sublete. “Saber Six, go.”

  “Saber Six, OP Two. Relay from orbital assets via Glass Palace. Regimental-sized enemy force moving your direction. Estimated distance to your location is twenty-three kilometers. Estimated speed of lead elements is forty-one kilometers per hour. ETA to you is less than three zero minutes. Acknowledge. Over.”

  The gnawing sensation in his gut threatened to burgeon into nausea.

  “OP Two, roger. Relay to Glass Palace: acknowledged. We are Charlie Mike. Over.” Charlie Mike meant continuing the mission. He’d picked up the slang from the Vietnam veterans and while not established procedure, it seemed to fit best.

  “Saber Six. Acknowledged and wilco. Out.”

  Thirty minutes.

  Shit.

  There wasn’t time to lament the timing or the situation. The third stalled vehicle, towed by tw
o whinnies and their riders from the second section, strained against the straps for a moment before the broken platform rolled forward slowly.

  Bo watched the creeping progress. Every rotation of the platform’s wheels produced a squealing sound.

  “Sounds like a bad bearing. Maybe a few,” Sublete said.

  “You have a maintenance background?”

  The young sandy-haired soldier shook his head. “Not in the army, sir. But around the farm, everything had a bad bearing at one time or another.”

  Bo nodded and analyzed the entire operation for a moment and tried not to wince. The pace of the third vehicle was nothing like the previous two. Bo calculated the two whinnies had towed both previous vehicles up the pass in less than fifteen minutes. That would not be the case with the remaining two tacticals.

  “Sergeant Cook?” Bo called over to the section leader. “Get the last one tied up and moving. We’re short on time. Might be tight up there, but it’s necessary to reduce the interval.”

  “Aw, hell,” Bo heard Sublete mutter under his breath.

  He glanced toward the moving vehicle and saw that’s its forward momentum was half of what it had been in the loose soil. Even with four soldiers pushing it at ground level, the vehicle barely moved forward.

  “Cook! Get a third whinnie on that vehicle. Push it if you have to.”

  “Copy, sir.” The young sergeant whirled his mount and called for another whinnie and rider to get behind the vehicle and push. As awkward as that position was, the whinnie used its chest and left front leg to grab the rear of the platform near the ammunition supply deck and pushed. Moving on three legs didn’t seem to bother the animal, and several of the other whinnies made low, rumbling sounds. Bo heard and felt Scout make the same sound, and he instinctively patted the animal’s neck.

  “You like what you’re seeing, don’t you?” Bo said in a low voice. “You get us, don’t you? I don’t think you know what we’re saying, but you get it, huh?”

  Scout turned his long neck hard to the left and faced Bo for a short moment. He snorted once and returned his gaze to the towing of the third platform, as did Bo. It was moving at a better pace, made the first switchback turn, and headed up the winding, two-kilometer trail. Bo looked around. There were a few indigs and soldiers left from the raiding party along with two whinnies from the second section and himself. It would have to be enough.

  “C’mon, Scout.” Bo nudged his mount toward the rear of the fourth vehicle. “We’re gonna do the same thing, buddy. Give it a push.”

  Scout moved forward without being nudged, and Bo shook his head. Murphy and the others needed to know what they’d discovered. There was no doubt the whinnies understood the situation. Several of them stamped their feet anxiously.

  If we had more harnesses, we could lash up a whole damned team of them. That would get these things moving.

  “Hey, sir?” Sublete called behind him. “That one’s in pretty bad shape.”

  Bo glanced back over his shoulder. “The vehicle? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Sir, I ain’t sure it’s gonna move much at all,” Sublete said. “Both of the back wheels look shot and the axle is bent. Looks like it took a hit or two on the retreat. Got shot up good.”

  Bo turned back to the vehicle and saw exactly what Sublete meant. He hadn’t had the time to give the vehicles more than a cursory look at first. But as luck—or Murphy’s Law?—would have it, the first two vehicles had been the good ones. It was the last two that were much worse for wear. In fact, where the rear axle should have run straight through the rear of the fourth vehicle’s frame, there was a definite curve.

  The damned thing’s gonna wobble like one of those wooden duck toys. Bo shook his head. We’re lucky it made it this far.

  “Sergeant Cook!” Bo yelled. “Give me one rider back here. We’re gonna double the push on this one with the whinnies.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cook replied and spun his own whinnie toward the soldiers who remained at the base of the trail.

  Bo looked over the dismounted troops left from the raiding party: they looked tired and dehydrated, but still ready. “You men, get moving. Stay between these two vehicles in case we need your help to recover them. Lock and load. Grab anything else that needs to get up the trail and move out.”

  Scout took his position next to another whinnie, a lighter-colored female, behind the fourth vehicle. With two whinnies in front and two behind, the vehicle lurched forward and moved up the trail. It wobbled worse than Bo had predicted, but it kept moving. After a minute, they lurched into the first of the winding turns, clearing the close rock outcroppings on either side by scant inches. Bo risked a glance at his ancient ticking watch.

  We’re gonna make it.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  Away from the tight draw where the main trail ascended to the lip of the tableland, the scrub brush thinned. At the head of the column, Aliza saw Whittaker gesture with his arms out like wings and the rest of the experienced riders swung outward in a triangular formation the soldiers called a wedge. As she rode, she saw at least a couple of her section looking at her for instruction or direction. She repeated the same gesture as Whittaker at the front of the formation. Her section of six riders swept out behind her in a similar wedge of their own, doubling the amount of dust kicked up by the formation.

  She couldn’t help but grin. Athena galloped forward at a steady, manageable pace, and the sensation she was truly and absolutely free washed over her. R’Bak was a far cry from southern Germany, but that didn’t matter. In fact, maybe that helped. For the first time since Palestine, she felt like she belonged. The joy of their ride was palpable. Every time she’d been astride a whinnie, she’d almost forgotten about Dachau.

  Back on Earth, all she’d wanted to do was go home, but there hadn’t been a home. She’d listened to Ben Mazza and others that their future was in Palestine, but ultimately that hadn’t even been an option. Alive in a future so removed from that earlier time and place, it was easier to simply focus on moving as one with Athena and, for the first time in as long as she could remember, being in and enjoying the moment. Just that and nothing else.

  The dust cloud to the west continued to grow. Riding hard, they kept a steady pace that would have fatigued a modern horse within twenty minutes. They pushed north, following the near vertical face of the tableland’s margin. Red-orange cliffs glowed in the light of R’Bak’s star. Along the edges, at almost symmetrical distances, bluffs extended from the escarpment into the lower plains. Whether wind, water, or something else had carved them, the rocky spurs shielded at least a part of the terrain between each. One of those tight, dark draws had to have a trail up to the tableland and from there, a way home.

  A way home.

  That she considered R’Bak and the Lost Soldiers as her home didn’t strike Aliza as ironic. It was a progression, of sorts. Acceptance of the fate dealt to her was no small task. Yet, with no one around her dedicated to the project of exterminating her and the people from which she was descended, there was hope, once again. And as long as there was hope, she remembered her father saying often, there was light. And light would always prevail.

  Given time and heart, Aliza, anything is possible.

  Racing east along the bluffs, Aliza saw Whittaker turn his whinnie to the right, toward one of the rocky bluffs. There was enough of a curvature to the hump of rock that a pass, whether washed out by erosion or something else, was likely. That would give them a way up to the higher ground. Above the draw, the pitch of the terrain increased to near vertical in places. If they could get up there, the enemy might not give chase. In the shadows of the morning light, there seemed to be some open areas near the bluff. Perhaps they were even enough to maneuver around and through.

  Aliza felt her mount pivot toward the draw without any pressure on the reins and grinned. Bo was right. They knew. Somehow, the big friendly animals knew more about humans and their intentions than should have been possible
.

  Let’s hope that’s enough to save the day.

  * * *

  A kilometer up the pass, the tight scrub brush along either side of the trail dwindled enough that Bo could see the entire northern horizon. What he saw chilled him. The dust cloud marking the enemy’s approach hadn’t only doubled in size, but it appeared to be broad enough that it might still span the distance between the ready vehicles and his patrol, and the screen line being raised by Whittaker and Turan’s rapid transit across the front of the tableland. Time was always the most perishable resource in a combat operation, and now, with the enemy already maneuvering to intercept, it was against them.

  “Sublete!” he called over his shoulder. The RTO had taken up a position a few meters behind the center of the vehicle that Bo and Scout were pushing from the left rear. “Call OP One. They are to fall back up the game trail and plot TRPs along the way. Authorize them to call for fire as necessary. I want our mortars covering that pathway. Got it?”

  “Word for word, sir,” Sublete replied. Almost immediately, Bo heard the young radio operator giving OP One the instructions to shutter their operations forward and race back to the tableland proper. Target reference points would provide the limited mortar support from the rear with a means of rapidly zeroing in on that likely avenue of approach. Every single way up the tableland’s escarpment had to be targeted, just like the pass they had been operating in. Every good defensive plan provided a contingency to deal with every possible avenue of attack. In this case, they had to rely upon mortars. The only other way to deter enemy advances would have been minefields and obstacle emplacements, but they hadn’t had the time, supplies, or equipment for those. The lack of emplaced obstacles was particularly unfortunate because that meant there was no way to slow down attackers. The only option was to distract and lure them into a pre-selected engagement area. Assuming Whittaker and Turan found a way back up to the top of the tableland. And assuming it was a place where contingency Charlie could be applied to maximum effect.