The Last Pilgrims

by Michael Bunker

  “If you do not trust me, Phillip, I ask you to kill me now. I am not here for fame, or fortune, or heroism, or adventure. I am not even here for a kingdom, which would be the most plausible reason for me to be at war with my father.”

  “Then why are you here, Prince Gareth?”

  Gareth looked back over his shoulder to the northwest, squinting as if he could see all the way to Aztlan. Then, he looked into Phillip’s eyes. “I am here because, as every man born into royalty ought to do, I love my people, and I desire to serve their best interests. I want them to be free of the tyranny and imperialism of my father. I want them to be free to live as you live, and as the Vallenses live.”

  “A lesser man could rationalize sacrificing us at this point, to save his own skin… all to ‘help’ his people, of course,” Phillip said.

  “It will be no help to me or my people for freedom to perish anywhere.”

  “You have no selfish motives?” Phillip asked.

  “All of my motives are selfish,” he replied, exhaling deeply. “I selfishly want you, the Ghost militia, and the Vallenses to rise up and snatch my father from the throne. I selfishly pray that the King of the South States will see our valiant and heroic efforts and come to our aid. I selfishly look for help in our cause from every quarter. I selfishly do not care how many men are lost in overcoming the evil my father represents on this earth.

  “I must admit, Phillip, that I dream of sitting on the throne of Aztlan, ruling benevolently, as our friend and my teacher Sir English taught me. I admit that there is some ego involved with believing that I am born to this greatness, and deserving of this power. I am just egotistical enough to believe that I am able and worthy to rule Aztlan.”

  Phillip nodded. “I have to say, Prince, that such questions of government and rule are now beyond me. My life is very provincial, and I cannot see afar off. I am no Napoleon.”

  “This is why you are compared to Stonewall.”

  “Those comparisons miss the mark entirely, but I am powerless to stop them.”

  The two friends sat silently for some time, before Phillip began to speak again. “I hope you won’t be offended if some small details of my plans remain private. The success of my plan requires that there be a ‘need-to-know’ application here.”

  “I understand.”

  Phillip looked out over Harmony, and began to point with his hand. “Our plan is to arrange our forces in rings, spreading outward from Harmony, which will be at the center. The outermost forces will confront the enemy from dugouts, trenches, and reinforced emplacements. The duty of these forces will be to cause Aztlan, from whatever side he approaches, to expend himself on an enemy he cannot see, and cannot quantify.

  “These forces will not be able to hold out for long, maybe only minutes, but they will confuse and delay the enemy. When Aztlan breaks through, the first ring of defenders will scatter and form up behind the enemy. From there, the second ‘ring’ of forces will engage in what will look like a frontal defense, facing the oncoming armies; but the center of each line will collapse in the middle, much like what we did at the Penateka Dam, but with a substantive difference. We will draw the enemy in at the center of each line, while our flanks hold out and maintain their positions.”

  “Won’t Aztlan suspect this move? Will they have intelligence from Penateka that you have done this before?”

  “It won’t matter. Perhaps they suspect it, perhaps they do not. If they do, then they will hesitate, and we will gain advantage. If they do not suspect that they are being drawn in, then they will come hard, and our flanks will surround them.”

  “This sounds very familiar to Hindenburg’s brilliant defensive victory at Tannenburg in 1914.”

  “In some ways it is, though we will not likely have the benefit of Russian incompetence and arrogance,” Phillip laughed.

  “Don’t underestimate Aztlani incompetence and arrogance, Phillip!”

  “The advantage we have,” Phillip continued, “is that the Aztlanis—despite your wonderful speech—are not a monolithic ‘people’ in the ethnic sense. The warriors of Aztlan are mostly mercenaries and slaves. They don’t fight for your father, they fight for food, money, booty, or just because they are forced to fight. They lose heart easily, as we saw in your battle in the woods near the Wall ranch.”

  He nodded his head. “There will be many of them, Phillip.”

  “I know.”

  “And, don’t forget that a larger army will be coming from New Rome. Maybe it is already here,” he added.

  “We will deal with the army from New Rome when they get here. First, we will fight the enemy we see.”

  Phillip looked down and saw that a militia signalman was messaging him from near the hidden entrance to Harmony. He pulled on the reins of his horse. “Shall we?”

  As the two men rode slowly back down into the artificial canyon, Phillip continued to explain his plan. “As the enemy breaches through each concentric circle, the far ends of the line will flank them, while the inner portions give way and draw them in. Then those forces will disappear as they join the flanking forces. In this way, we draw Aztlan and the Louisianans into the center of the centermost circle.”

  “Harmony?”

  “Harmony.”

  “Your plan is to make Aztlan defend this hole in the ground?” Gareth asked.

  “That is my plan.”

  “My goodness!” Gareth exclaimed. “Who ever thought of such a thing? That is like opening the door of your indefensible castle to your enemy while you escape out of the windows… all so you can be the attacking force, while your enemy is forced to defend!”

  “Precisely.”

  “Wow.”

  “It may not work, Gareth.”

  “Well,” he said, “no one will ever accuse you of being overly cautious. It may not work, but it is brilliant nonetheless.”

  “It all comes down to execution, Gareth. If we can execute—and there is no promise that we can—it can work. Most of our force is made up of newbie Vallenses who have never fought a day in their lives. But if they can follow orders, then we can prevail against a much larger force.”

  “But what of the Vallenses? What of the refugees… the non-combatants? I see you are making plans to house them inside the Harmony complex. How are you to defend them when you let the enemy in the front door with them?”

  “That, my friend Prince, is one of the secrets that is on a need-to-know basis. And, unhappily, you do not need to know.”

  Gareth shook his head heartily. “It boggles the mind, Phillip. How long did it take you to come up with this plan?”

  Phillip looked at Gareth and smiled, “Thirty years.”

  “You aren’t joking, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Stunning,” Gareth said, smiling. “Simply stunning.”

  As they approached the entrance to Harmony, Phillip began to shout orders to his officers.

  “I want everything that is not mission-critical removed from the facility! We may have to get more than 10,000 people into this stinking cave!” Phillip turned to Pachuco Reyes, who was unloading boxes from a wagon drawn out from the armory. “You there! Pachuco! You make sure our guests are well received and comfortable! I want everyone to be comfortable, and we may have to pack them in like sardines!”

  “Yes, sir!” Pachuco shouted back, saluting with a very slight nod of his head.

  “Enos Flynn! You take Longbow and you make sure the trenches and emplacements are ready in two hours! Then make sure that the Vallensian units know exactly what is expected of them, exactly what the signals are, and exactly how to NOT mess this up!”

  Gareth was impressed with the activity, and the high spirits of the militia. It would be hard to find a numerically inferior defensive force more cheerful than were the Ghost militia men when they knew that battle was near. He turned to Phillip and reached over to tap him on the shoulder in order to gain his attention. “Ghost… if you please. When will the Vallenses arrive? I am
growing concerned that they are delayed.”

  “They are in good hands, and making good time. They will stay ahead of the Louisianan army. I have scouts who will keep an eye on the enemy and keep the Vallensian refugees on a tight schedule. Remember, Gareth, that our Vallensian brethren are quite experienced and adept at fleeing from conflict. And I don’t mean that disrespectfully.”

  The militia continued diligently in their preparations, and Phillip and Gareth rode a circuit around the Harmony canyon supervising the building and digging of defensive fortifications as well as the distribution of weapons. Scouts arrived now and again with messages for Phillip, and before long Gareth watched as militia wagons began distributing and stowing caches of ammunition.

  As the heat of the day began to sit upon them like a heavy woolen blanket, the work trailed off, and militia soldiers erected a tent city to the south of Harmony, where Phillip’s command and control center was to be headquartered. He wondered why Phillip was not bunkering up in some hidden quarter of the underground Harmony facility, but then he remembered that Phillip had suggested that they may have more than 10,000 Vallenses to stuff into the subterranean complex. By contrast, the command headquarters were placed on the far side of a low mesa, so that they were obscured from armies to the east and west, while the officers could still scale the mesa to watch the battle and send messages and commands at will.

  At about 3 p.m. messages began arriving at a rapid pace. The Louisianans had been spotted approaching rapidly from the east, with banners flying. Not long after that, scouts arrived with tidings from the west. In the distance, Gareth and Phillip could see the large army of El Paso approaching purposefully in full battle array. Phillip sent outriders to circumnavigate the enemy armies and to determine their size and strength. He sent more messengers to each of the leaders in the concentric circles with last minute commands and instructions.

  At around 5 p.m., hostilities commenced. The first attack was from the east, as the army of the Duke of Louisiana led his forces in a direct frontal attack towards Harmony. When this news reached the command center, Gareth’s eyes grew wide and he stood up straight, looking around.

  “The Vallensian refugees have not arrived!” he shouted.

  Phillip looked at him seriously, but just shrugged his shoulders. “It seems that we must proceed without them.”

  “Proceed without them? They are the reason for this battle, Phillip!” he found himself shouting. “Without them, there is no moral victory! They are the reason we are here!”

  “Calm down, Gareth. If they are not here, then they are somewhere else. We have no word of a slaughter of the Vallenses, and we have had scouts following the Louisianans all the way from the Piney Woods. The Vallenses are one more thing we will not have to worry about. Besides, our enemy is here on the field. We will fight him here. God protects the Vallenses.”

  “I don’t understand your attitude, Phillip.”

  “It is not necessary that you do, Prince. As I said earlier, we are on a need-to-know basis. What you need to know has been made known to you.”

  Gareth was incredulous, and he found himself shouting even louder at Phillip. “I am the Crown Prince of Aztlan, Phillip! I have placed the Vallenses under my own personal care! Yes, I wanted them all to fight, but I will not allow them to be slaughtered by forces subject to my father while I am still alive! Do you hear me? You mark my words, Ghost, if something untoward happens to them and you knew about it or you let it happen, I will hold you personally responsible!”

  Phillip smiled calmly, and raised his eyes at Gareth. Throughout Gareth’s tirade, he had merely looked at the ground, but now, he stared defiantly at the Aztlani Prince. “Do not ever, good Prince,” he said quite coolly, “question my loyalty to Jonathan and the Vallenses. I’ve given my life to their defense; whereas you, with all due respect, are a johnny-come-lately with a chip on your shoulder trying to get out from under the shadow of your father. If something happens to the Vallenses, you can be certain that I will take responsibility.”

  Gareth looked at the ground as Phillip continued to stare at him. Then he raised his eyes and nodded at the militia leader. “I apologize, Ghost, for doubting you. I know that you have always been a friend to Jonathan and a faithful defender of the Vallenses. I am truly sorry. I guess maybe my feelings were hurt that you have evidently not trusted me enough to share with me all of your plans.”

  “It is not a matter of trust, Prince, and I appreciate your apology—it is accepted. This is a matter of mission security. You are a target of high value for the enemy, and parts of the plan needed to be kept from even you.”

  As the conversation ended, the command area began to take heavy fire. Phillip and Gareth ran to their horses, and in moments they were climbing the mesa in order to get a better view of the field. From the top, as bullets whizzed by them and shells exploded ‘round about, they could see through the dust that the Aztlani army from the east was, according to plan, heading thoughtlessly towards the pit while the militia forces were forming up behind them and forcing them into the canyon.

  Things to the west were not going as well. Part of the Aztlani army had broken off and had placed themselves between the command center and Harmony, and were beginning to entrench themselves there. Almost 1,500 men now formed up below the command mesa, and Gareth slowly realized that the command area was now cut off from the battle. The flanking move by the El Paso army had surprised many of the militia defenders to the south of Harmony, and the plan on that quarter of the field was now in total disarray.

  “We have trouble,” Phillip said, matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, it seems we are cut off,” Gareth replied as he peered through his binoculars. “If we had cannon, we could clean them out. We don’t have cannon do we?”

  “No, I think our troubles are worse than that.”

  Gareth looked up, and then followed Phillips finger as it pointed off to the south. From the mesa, they could see an army of over 2,000 men approaching Harmony from directly behind them. “Who is that?” he asked.

  Phillip looked at him and shrugged, “I have no idea.” The militia commander then shouted at an outrider who had just arrived and pointed at the army marching in from the south. “Who is that?”

  “I don’t know, sir!”

  “Go find out!”

  “Yes sir, I will.”

  Phillip motioned towards the approaching army. “Perhaps we should abandon this position, seeing that we’re now sandwiched between two armies, and our plan seems to be coming apart.”

  Gareth looked off to the south, almost as if he hadn’t heard Phillip. “Who the hell is that?”

  As Phillip gave orders to strike the camp, and secure any sensitive materials or maps, two riders approached from the south with a white flag flying on a staff, and were intercepted by militia outriders. Gareth watched as the two men were brought to the foot of the mesa where he and Phillip were ready to ride.

  Phillip nodded towards the white flag and shouted to Gareth, “Perhaps this army is surrendering to us?”

  Gareth shook his head, “I doubt it.”

  When the two riders were within shouting distance, Gareth hollered down towards them, “Who are you, and what army is this?”

  “Ah, Mate!” the reply came back. “It is I, your old friend English! Have I changed so much that you don’t recognize me?”

  Sir Nigel Kerr, spy and traitor to the King of Aztlan, good friend to Phillip of the Ghost militia, and mentor to Crown Prince Gareth of Aztlan, had arrived at the Battle of Harmony with his 2,000 man army, sent by the good graces of the King of Mexico.

  “Perhaps we are too late to do any good?” he said good-naturedly, after greeting his two old friends, and introducing his adjutant Pano to both of them.

  “Actually, English, your timing could not have been better,” Phillip replied. “On the other side of this mesa, an Aztlani force of 1,500 men has just begun to entrench themselves, after they preemptively flanked our flankers. I need yo
u to take your men and push them into that huge hole in the ground.”

  English smiled, “That sounds like fun!”

  Gareth looked at English and shook his head. “How did you get put in charge of a Mexican army?”

  “It’s a long story, young Gareth, and it involves tunics, and torches, and tunnels, and ghastly castles, and a perfect gentleman soldier named General Rodrigo Loya.”

  “Not to mention a trusty sidekick who is both loyal, and clever,” Pano added, brusquely.

  “Oh, yeah,” English added, jerking his thumb in the direction of Pano, “there was him, too.”

  “You’ll have to tell us the story after this is over,” Gareth said, smiling.

  “It will be my pleasure, my esteemed Prince.”

  In short order, the battle was joined, and the tide again turned in favor of the militia. The attacking enemy armies, from every side, thought that they were gaining the upper hand, and they all had orders to breach and enter the Harmony compound to destroy all of those who were harbored there. The militia forces allowed them to proceed, while circling back to form up again behind them. Before long, the bulk of both enemy armies had gained access to the canyon, while facing only token resistance. The only enemy forces that were not willfully and gladly entering the pit, were those that English and the Mexican army forced into it.

  The militia troops who were defending the Harmony entrance gave light battle, then fled out of the canyon before they too were boxed in. The enemy, delighted by the evident rout, and finally seeing plunder and rape on their horizon after days and weeks of endless marching across Texas, forced access into the entrance of Harmony, and wave after wave of the soldiers allied to New Rome fought one another to make their way into the underground complex.

  When fully half of the invading armies had made entrance into the facility and the other half were now down into the canyon, the leaders of the enemy forces gathered to determine what to do with the material that they fully planned to seize.