He looked over his shoulder. “Things just went to shit, Aliza. There are only two options and neither of them are good.”
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Two
R’Bak
“Halt!” Bo called as soon as he handed the radio handset back to his RTO, Specialist Sublete. He frowned at the wide-eyed young man before turning to the patrol and making eye contact with his leading two section leaders. “Set a coil. Leaders on me.”
The riders and their whinnies formed a circular position with their noses pointing out in all directions for security. No one raised a weapon and there was no threat identified, but the simple action kept everyone involved in the patrol’s security. All eyes were alert and everyone quiet enough to listen to the surrounding environment. All Bo heard was the blood rushing through his ears in anticipation.
There were two options. The first was the most dangerous—rush the patrol down the trail to the bottom of the pass to rendezvous with Seeker Six’s raiding party ASAP to determine how bad things were. But if the enemy came swooping down on them, his small cavalry force wouldn’t be able to hold off the attack long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
The second option was the least palatable. Remaining on the high ground gave Bo the freedom of communications with the observation posts and the ability to see and command the field. Staying in place, however, didn’t provide security or covering fire to the friendlies limping through the valley toward them. He’d seen far too many soldiers die outside the protection of their nearby units, but the risk to his small force was great. Probably too great.
For a split second, he remembered watching Somalis scampering through alleys with their assault rifles and RPGs to swarm the next convoy from behind. Frantic radio calls to speed up went unheeded or unheard. The leaders of that second convoy had never known why, thirty seconds later and on the block Bo’s convoy had just passed through without issue, the vehicles from their nonprofit medical organization were destroyed. With no survivors.
Bo’s leaders—the four section leaders, Whittaker, and Turan—gathered. He met Whittaker’s questioning eyes. “We move further down, to the next overlook. Set a hasty defensive perimeter. We need to see what the enemy forces are doing. If they’re really coming or not.”
Whittaker nodded and his facial expression didn’t change. “Yes, sir. How are you intending to figure out what the enemy might do?”
“Observation,” Bo replied. “And we’ll be in radio contact with our guys soon.”
“But they’re at least a terrain feature away.” Sergeant Cook from the first section blurted. “They may be out of sight when an attack comes, sir.”
“Noted,” Bo frowned. “Look, I’m not happy about this situation either and—”
“We need to go down there,” Turan said. “You’re leaving them out in the open. Abandoning them.”
Jaw clenched, Bo tried to hold back the comment that burst through his lips. “And what would you know about protecting friends in combat, Miss Turan?”
Her eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
“How about you leave military operations to those familiar with them? I don’t need any advice drawn from your experience as a terrorist,” Bo snapped.
Turan stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “You have no idea what I went through, Captain Moorefield!”
“Keep your voice down,” Bo replied.
“I will do no such thing. You know nothing about why I did what I did. You cannot imagine what I lost.” Her arm shot out and pointed down the hill. “We must go get them!”
Bo wasn’t listening. The bluish numbers tattooed on the inside of her arm stunned him silent. He’d not known she was a Holocaust survivor, only that she’d tried to emigrate to Palestine after the war and violently resisted the British authority. His mouth dropped open, and he closed it before looking up at her eyes.
“I had no idea.”
“You don’t care,” she snarled. “Like you don’t care for those men out there. You sit here and wait, doing nothing when we should search for water. Medicinals, too. You preach about gathering your—your ‘intelligence requirements,’ but now, when your men are in great danger, you will not make them the first priority? You will not help them?”
Impatience flashed into anger. Bo stood. The woman took a step back as his hand came up and pointed at her chin. “Make no mistake, Miss Turan, I know there are soldiers down there who need our help, and that supersedes any other mission on this godforsaken planet in this future we didn’t want. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes for my friends, and while it might seem contradictory that I am not presently doing so, you are still on this patrol and under my orders. The simple fact is that I can’t order this patrol to the bottom of the pass until I know more about what we’re facing.”
She blinked. “But you said that helping them is your priority, that it supersedes—”
“I know!” Bo blurted. “You’re missing my point.”
Aliza flinched back. “Does this ‘point’ mean we must sit up here and wait, instead of—?”
“Yes, damn it: that is exactly what my point is. I can’t risk something catastrophic happening to this untrained and lightly armed unit.” It was the truth, but it sounded—and felt—weak; he pushed harder. “Hell, we’re little more than a bunch of trainees on mounts with pistols and rifles. If we’re going to remain a functional unit, there is no other tactical choice. We set a defense, care for the whinnies, and let the situation develop. Let’s make it happen.”
The group broke up. Bo turned back toward Scout and prepared to climb into the saddle. The feeling of a stare burning two holes in his back was so strong that he turned around. Aliza Turan’s flashing eyes followed his every move. But the voice in his head was not hers.
You said you cared, and you wanted to make things work, but your actions never showed it. You were too busy waiting for the right time.
Bo Moorefield sighed and shook off the memory as best he could. He turned and mounted Scout, then moved down the trail with Specialist Sublete to reconnoiter the immediate surroundings. He didn’t see Aliza Turan do the same.
* * *
The descent proved more difficult than Aliza first thought. The white and brown scrabble reminded her of the rocky hills of Palestine, although much steeper. The loose rock made Athena rumble with discomfort as they made their way carefully down the slope and kept a good fifty meters distance from Moorefield and Sublete. Athena shuffled gracefully as the rocks slid out from under her feet before springing to solid rock in a fluid movement that almost took Aliza’s breath away.
“Easy, girl,” Aliza cooed and patted the lizard-like creature’s neck. “Easy.”
Reins in hand, she gently guided the whinnie back into the center of the trail while keeping her eyes on Moorefield’s back as he made his way down the hill. The whinnie responded like the best dressage horses she’d ridden as a child. The big animal wasted no energy. Every step was fluid and sure. It made every movement with purpose and intent—strong and agile. While a whinnie would never win a dressage competition, there was something about the animal that filled her with joy, and not merely because she had never known so wonderful and exhilarating a riding experience. Mounted on a whinnie’s flowing, almost serpentine, back drove away the memories and salved the loss and pain she fought to overcome during every waking moment.
Ahead of her, Moorefield stopped on an outcrop of rock and she instinctively pulled back on Athena’s reins.
Stay here, Aliza.
The voice was Ben Mazza’s, and it threatened to bring tears to her eyes.
His last words to her, before he’d disappeared over the small hillock toward the railway bridge, rung in her heart. The firefight there, between the British and the Palmach, erupted in seconds and caught them by surprise. From their position in over-watch, they had calculated the likelihood of a prepared British response was low. She and Ben carried rifles intending to eliminate any approaching threat as the Palma
ch moved to plant explosives. The appearance of the British platoon changed the dynamic. Pressed against the dirt with stray bullets whizzing through the air above their heads, she looked into the eyes of the only friend she had in the world.
“Stay here, Aliza.” Ben grimaced as machine gun fire tore into the small, narrow valley below. He’d tried to smile at her, but everything in his expression was pained. His dark eyes glittered in the dim moonlight. There was dust in his scruff of beard and dirt on his face. He placed a warm hand on her forearm and nodded once. Before she could respond in kind, or say what she’d wanted to say for weeks, he was gone.
She’d started to follow him when the firefight reached a crescendo. Her memory ended there. She wiped a sleeve at the fresh tear sliding down her left cheek. Eyes squeezed shut, there was nothing she could do for the sudden pain in her chest except to breathe.
A distant, crunching sound from the valley below snapped her attention back to the present. She opened her eyes and nudged Athena forward. Moorefield did not turn around as she approached. His eyes scanned the valley below. As she came alongside, she looked up at him and saw the concerned grimace on his face.
“Miss Turan,” he said without looking in her direction.
“What was that noise?” she asked.
Moorefield shook his head. “No idea, but it sounded bad. If the patrol can’t get up the pass…” He let the words trail off, and Aliza understood. Anything unable to get up the pass would be left behind, and the raid would have been for naught.
“There has to be something we can do,” she challenged, intending to add more. Instead, her eyes caught sight of several small flocks of nameless bird-like animals flapping toward them. As her gaze shifted in that direction, she caught sight of a smudge rising up over the horizon: the unmistakable sign of a dust cloud. “The J’Stull are coming.”
“What we do depends on the shape Tapper’s guys are in right now,” Moorefield said. “Without them, I’m not sure we can do much out here. This patrol would be really outgunned in a direct fight.”
“We have to go down there and help them.”
Moorefield turned to look at her. He acknowledged her comment with a solemn nod. “I’m sorry for what I said up there.”
She looked up into his blue eyes and saw something different. His intense eyes always seemed to stare at something far away, and yet they were softer somehow. More present. “I know you care for those men and women. I shouldn’t have said what I said, either.”
He looked back at the distant cloud. “I think this day is about to get longer than we ever imagined. So much for finding water and medicinals.”
She laughed. “The army conspires against us.”
“Captain Moorefield!” Behind them, the RTO approached waving the radio handset. “Sir, update from OP Two. They’ve got line-of-sight with the vehicle column now.”
She squinted at Moorefield and he saw her expression. “Means our radios can see each other, if that makes any sense.”
“It does. I think?” She smiled involuntarily. “What do you want me to do? Take the recruits back to base?”
“Hang on,” he replied and reached for the radio handset the moment Specialist Sublete got close enough to hand it over. “Seeker Six, this is Saber Six. SITREP, over.”
“Saber Six, we’re stopped two klicks from the bottom of the pass. I’ve got four vehicles non-mission capable at this point.”
“Good copy, Seeker Six. Report status of other vehicles.”
“Twenty vehicles mission capable. Full loads ammo and fuel. Minimal crews. I have four KIAs and six wounded to get up the pass immediately. Requesting assistance.”
Moorefield clenched his jaw for a long moment. As he turned to look at her, the softer look in his eyes was gone and replaced with something she hadn’t seen in the young captain before. “Miss Turan, return to Sergeant Whittaker’s position. Tell him to have the leaders ready for a mission brief when I get there. I’m going to figure out how to skin this cat.”
There was nothing she could say to him. He meant business in every sense of the word. The sudden determination reminded her of Ben and the Palmach soldiers they’d supported. Committed to the task at hand, they would give their all to ensure the others survived. She shelved the uncertainties that persisted in her attitude toward the young officer. He’d trusted her with a task, and she would complete it.
“What are you planning to do?”
Moorefield stared at her, and she realized she liked the confident look on the man. “Whatever it takes.”
Aliza snapped the reins. Athena spun in place and trotted forward. They leapt from rock to rock as they climbed up the hill. Once again, Aliza felt the thrill, the joy, of riding the whinnie run through her. It didn’t matter that danger was close and everything she knew in this improbable future was at risk. She felt alive again, truly alive.
And she wasn’t going to let anything disrupt this second chance at life.
* * *
The rising dust cloud bothered Bo, but not nearly as much as the mechanical breakdown of so many vehicles. Murphy’s intent had been to grab everything that they could to assemble combat power. If they could not get the convoy to the top of the pass, amassing the key components of that combat power—specifically, fast vehicles equipped with heavier weapons—would not be an option. While they could attempt to defend their final approach with a mostly infantry force, everything in Bo’s experience told him that, whether or not his men had the high ground, it was a bad idea. What they actually needed was that most perishable asset in the universe: time.
Dammit.
Bo studied the valley below, noting the higher terrain stretching north and south to his right and left. The flat-topped bluffs resembled the familiar mesas of Colorado and New Mexico. While the vegetation was not the scrub oak and piñon of the higher altitudes, the terrain was not unfamiliar. That’s why it had been so easy to choose the ground where they’d established Camp Stark; as on Earth, they sought—and found—a site on the upper reverse slope of a wide tableland with rocky bluffs, cuts, and draws, protecting the summit. There was only one pass wide enough for vehicle travel, and that qualified it as an avenue of approach and key terrain.
Key terrain.
Bo wanted to slap himself. He’d been so accustomed to convoy operations in Somalia, following main supply routes back and forth and pulling security against the near targets close by in the rubble and war-torn buildings, that he’d forgotten a simple mnemonic device. OCOKA. Observation. Cover and Concealment. Obstacles. Key Terrain. Avenues of Approach.
You’re an idiot, Bo. He laughed at himself and studied the terrain around him once more, and a plan formed quickly. He couldn’t help but smile.
“You okay, sir?” Sublete asked him.
Bo met the concerned young man’s eyes. Sublete, like so many of the others, came from Vietnam and his short career hadn’t given him much trust or confidence in officers. “I am, Sublete. Let’s get back up the hill. You take the lead.”
Once the young soldier had moved a good thirty meters ahead, Bo nudged Scout, and they shot up the trail quickly. Bo looked back over his right shoulder as they passed into the concealment of some vegetation. The dust cloud in the distance had doubled in size.
No doubt about it. They’re coming.
As they climbed, he adjusted his hands on the reins they’d bought from the indigs with C-rations. He brought his right hand to his mouth and whistled like they had taught him on the farm as a boy. The shrill sound caught the soldier’s attention and Bo waved at him to stop in place. As Scout came alongside Sublete’s mount, Bo reached out for the radio handset.
“Seeker Six, this is Saber Six. We’re coming for you. ETA is fifteen mikes. How copy? Over.”
“Saber Six, good copy. We’re continuing repair operations and will be ready to move what we can. Seeker Six, out.”
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
R’Bak
Bo swung out of
the saddle into the center of the formation and stepped a few paces away from Scout. With a boot, he cleared a small piece of ground. Kneeling down, he drew the ridgeline they’d descended in the center and then added the path of the mountain pass just to the north of them.
There was a sudden crunch of footsteps rapidly approaching. “Why are you scratching in the dirt?”
Bo looked up and noticed something different. Aliza was talking to him with a little smile on her face. He smiled back. “Miss Turan, we call this a sand table. It’s a hasty, visual way to make a plan.”
She laughed. “And what are we planning? To save the day?”
I remember all those times you said you had a plan, but you really didn’t. I think you just wanted more time for things to sort themselves out in the hopes the Army would be done with you. You knew they wouldn’t, but you kept lying to me about your plans. You and your goddamned plans.
His own inner voice blotted out the ghost of his ex-wife. Aliza said “we.”
We.
The section leaders gathered. Bo caught the looks on their faces—something between amusement and worry—as they made their way to him. His temper threatened to flare, and he tamped it down. He’d not given them any reason to trust him beyond taking them on mock patrols, so he looked down at the sand table again and took a deep breath.
Whittaker stepped forward. “All accounted for, sir. What’s the plan?”
Bo met the older sergeant’s eyes and nodded. Without a thought, he fell into the familiar litany of a mission briefing. “We’re going after the raiding party. They’re stranded at the bottom of the pass with broken-down vehicles and some casualties. I’m taking first and second sections with me. Experienced riders only. For the first phase, we’re going down to rendezvous with Seeker Six’s lead elements and get a SITREP from them.”
Aliza moved to raise her hand, but Whittaker interrupted. “SITREP is a situation report. What’s their status and what can we do about it.”
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