Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “That’s fine, Sergeant,” Gavin said calmly. He patted Douglas on the shoulder in a reassuring way. “Not to worry.”

  Some shouts could be heard from the Comancheros. Immediately, they jumped into a full gallop coming straight at the dragoons.

  The troopers all turned their heads and looked at the lieutenant and sergeant to see what they should do.

  “Sling carbines and draw pistols!” Gavin barked.

  “We got to get into that damn creek bed, sir!” Douglas implored him.

  “Please sling your carbine and draw your pistol,” Gavin said, pulling his own Colt revolver from its holster.

  “Yes, sir!” Douglas said. “Goddamn it!”

  Gavin spoke calmly, saying, “Look at those Comancheros, Sergeant Douglas. They’ve broken down into three distinct waves. Very nice tactics on their part.”

  “I’m just full o’ admiration for them no-good butt heads, sir,” Douglas said sarcastically.

  By then the pounding of the outlaws’ horses made the ground shake. Wild yells and yips could be heard coming from the attackers as they continued to close in rapidly.

  The first wave swept in, then suddenly dropped out of sight amid the screaming of men and neighing of horses as they galloped into the invisible gully.

  The second group immediately went in on the first, adding to the din of horror and fear coming from men and animals.

  The third line of Comancheros, alerted by the disappearance of the first, managed to turn away at the same moment the middle line plunged into the creek bed on top of the front one.

  Gavin ran as fast as he could toward the creek bed, with a very pleased Sergeant Douglas following.

  “Follow me!” the lieutenant yelled.

  When he reached the edge of the dry waterway, he wasted no time in firing at the crawling, moaning mass of Comancheros who were wrapped up in each other and their mounts.

  Douglas quickly caught on, imitating the officer as he yelled, “Fire at will!”

  The other dragoons, with Karshchov watching excitedly because he had no revolver, began to pick targets of opportunity, sending .36 caliber slugs into the heads and bodies of both injured and uninjured Comancheros.

  Within moments, all had been shot. They lay still, some twitching in death, their blood now running where water had flowed in ancient times.

  “By God, sir!” Douglas exclaimed. “You’re one smart son of a bitch! And I mean that most respectfully.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Douglas,” Gavin said. “I rather appreciate being called a smart son of a bitch by another smart son of a bitch.”

  Douglas laughed out loud and pointed to the other Comancheros, who had drawn off. “I’ll bet those bastards are about to go crazy in trying to figure out just what the hell happened.”

  “Lock and load your carbines, aim, and fire at will,” Gavin said.

  The dragoons, and Karshchov, quickly turned to loading their long arms. Within a few minutes a ragged, uneven volley leaped out at the surviving Comancheros. Two dropped to the ground while the others galloped away toward safety in the south.

  “I’ll call this one in our favor,” Gavin said, grinning.

  “Me, too,” Douglas said. He motioned to the dragoons. “Get down there in that creek bed and gather up weapons, ball, and powder. Also check for canteens and rations in the saddlebags. Bring the uninjured mounts up here. Now move!”

  Karshchov rushed over to Gavin, then caught himself, offering his hand. “You are to be congratulated, Gavin! A great victory! We are free!”

  “I’m afraid not quite, Basil,” Gavin cautioned him. “This is only a part of the Comanchero band. The leader will return to his camp to gather up the remainder and make an all-out attack on Nadezhda.”

  Douglas suddenly remembered something. He rushed to the rim of the old creek, shouting, “See if them two son of a bitches McRyan and Costello is down there.” A few moments later, Corporal Steeple hollered back, “They ain’t in this group, Sergeant.”

  “Bad luck, that!” Douglas complained. “Well, hop to it, my lads. We’re not at Nadezhda yet.”

  Canteens were gathered up first and examined. Those considered too dirty were thrown back in with the corpses. Others were looped around the saddle horns of captured horses. The Comancheros’ weaponry turned out to be a big surprise. There were many types of handguns that included ancient single-shot flintlocks and a few more modern percussion revolvers. But the long guns were a pleasant discovery.

  “They’re all the same, Lieutenant!” Douglas happily reported.

  Gavin examined the muskets and found them to be British “Brown Bess” muskets, but with Mexican stampings on the lock plates. He chuckled. “I suppose some arsenal down in Mexico was looted to get these.”

  “Or live folks were traded for ’em,” Douglas said. He made a quick count. “At any rate, we got ten of ’em and ball and powder, too. They’ll be of help.”

  Gavin shrugged. “I estimate that those Comancheros are going to come up to Nadezhda about eighty to a hundred strong.”

  “I’d have to agree,” Douglas said.

  “We’re not out of it yet,” Gavin warned.

  “Sir, I never figgered we stood a snowball’s chance in hell,” Douglas said. “And we still ain’t!”

  “You’re right,” Gavin said. “We’ve only delayed the inevitable. We could never make it back to Fort Leavenworth.”

  Douglas gave the weaponry another survey. “But at least now we’ll be able to take more of ’em with us.”

  “We’ve still a ways to go to our last stand, Sergeant,” Gavin said. “Let’s get moving again. I don’t want to get cut off before we reach the Russian settlement.”

  Douglas quickly turned to the chore of organizing the new equipment and animals. Within fifteen minutes, the little column moved out with all the women and children and a good number of the men mounted.

  The dragoons, happy to be back in their own saddles, rode on as good soldiers always do, ready to accept glory or death—or a combination of both.

  Eighteen

  Paddy O’Hearn was the first dragoon to reach Nadezhda, and he had Irena Yakubovski behind him on his saddle.

  Gavin MacRoss had sent the pair ahead of the slow-moving column to let Count Valenko and the rest of the Russians know they were coming. As soon as O’Hearn and Irena were near enough to the settlement to be heard, the stout young woman shouted in a happy, shrill voice:

  “Myeh zdyes! Kazhdye!”

  At first there was no reaction. She repeated the call as they drew closer, and eventually someone heard the young woman’s strong voice. A lone peasant man, carrying buckets of water, looked toward them from the interior of the settlement. For a moment he stood motionless; then he dropped his load and waved his hands over his head, yelling happily as he hopped around like a lunatic.

  “Myeh zdyes!” Irena repeated. “Kazhdye!”

  Now a group of peasants ran out toward them, shouting and gesturing in unrestrained joy. Irena once more called out the words. “Myeh zdyes!” Then she began speaking rapidly, gesturing and pointing toward the south.

  O’Hearn didn’t know what she had hollered at the other Russians, but he knew from their reactions that it was something they wanted to hear. When they reached the settlement, the people crowded around them, giving the soldier’s horse such a case of nervousness that he had trouble controlling the animal.

  Count Valenko, with tears streaming down his face, made an inquiry of Irena. O’Hearn heard Natalia’s name in the middle of what was only gibberish to him, but he knew the old man was asking after his daughter. The answer the count received caused him to dance and sing in his hoarse, loud voice.

  Other Russians, now hearing the news that all those kidnapped had survived, leaped around and broke out in impromptu dances. A mandolin and harmonica soon appeared, and everyone joined in singing.

  A quarter of an hour later, when they sighted the dragoons and former captives, shouting erupted from bo
th groups. Some of the men leaped aboard plow horses and rode the gigantic beasts out to escort the returning people back into Nadezhda.

  The liberated serfs were embraced and kissed, almost to the point of creating a minor riot out on the open prairie. Sergeant Ian Douglas, never one to give into happy emotions, had absolutely no tolerance for the situation.

  “Stop dancing around and move on!” he bellowed in anger. “We ain’t safe yet! There’s about a hunnerd damn Comancheros that want to slit your throats. Move it, damn your eyes, move it!”

  He urged his mount into the crowd, forcing the people to move toward Nadezhda. Basil Karshchov, under more self-control than the others because of already liberating Natalia Valenko, began to help the sergeant. He shouted instructions in Russian, grabbing and pushing people to continue the trek toward the settlement.

  More chaos erupted a half hour later when the main body reached the town. Everyone was embraced and kissed—including the disgusted dragoons—as an orgy of happiness swept across the community. Reunions were tearful and loud as husbands, wives, children, and parents reunited.

  Douglas glanced over at Gavin. “Accepting things calmly ain’t exactly in their nature, is it?”

  “I suppose not,” Gavin said.

  After Count Valenko finally finished welcoming his daughter, he turned his ardent attentions onto Lieutenant Gavin MacRoss, grabbing the young officer in his massive arms and hugging him tightly to him. He planted wet kisses all over Gavin’s face as the officer struggled to escape the wild expressions of gratitude being forced on him.

  “You’re welcome! You’re welcome!” the lieutenant hollered in hopes of putting the demonstration to an end. “I appreciate your gratitude, but enough is enough!”

  “You are vonderful man! Vonderful man!” Valenko yelled out between kisses and hugs.

  Gavin had to literally fight off the man to free himself. He came close to using his fists before he finally broke away. He shouted out, “Basil! Basil! For the love of God, get over here!”

  Karshchov responded, wisely putting himself between the blubbering, laughing old man and the disturbed young officer. He spoke rapidly in Russian, pushing the count away until finally the old nobleman calmed down enough to listen to Gavin’s words.

  “We are not out of this yet,” Gavin said.

  “What are you sayink, my brave friend?” Valenko asked. “Ewerybody is home! My daughter! My people! My future son-in-law!”

  “Listen to me, goddamn it!” Gavin yelled. “Those Comancheros are going to be here in another day or so, and they’ll be numerous, determined, and mad as hell! We are in great danger! Danger! Do you understand?” Suddenly the count was quiet. “Danger, you are sayink? Those bad men come back? Vhy? They are not defeated?”

  “Hell, no, they’re not defeated!” Gavin snapped. “They are far, far from being beaten, believe me!” Gavin grabbed the count by the sleeve and pulled him along to get him out of earshot of the celebrating serfs. Karshchov helped by pushing the old man along until they were well-separated from the crowd.

  Karshchov, his face serious as hell, grabbed the count by the shoulders and began speaking to him in a low, yet impassioned tone of voice. He spoke for a full five minutes as Valenko’s face slowly lost its color. When he finished, the older man staggered back as if struck by some invisible club.

  Karshchov turned to Gavin. “I have explained everything to him. He now knows we are doomed. I told him of our pact to make sure Natalia does not fall into the hands of the Comancheros.”

  Valenko looked at Gavin. “Is nothink ve can do? Ve make a pact vith them. Pay money, eh? Lots of money, I am havink.”

  “It won’t do any good, Your Grace,” Gavin explained. “I have dealt with Comancheros before, and know their customs and twisted sense of honor.”

  “Explain it to His Grace, Gavin,” Karshchov said. Gavin continued, saying, “The leader of the band has been doubly embarrassed and shamed by the escape then the loss of men in the attack at the old creek bed. If the son of a bitch wishes to maintain command of his men—and that also means keeping himself alive—he must wipe out Nadezhda.”

  “Ve can do nothink?” Valenko asked.

  “Our only choice is how do we die,” Gavin said. “Fighting or skulking like cowards.”

  “Russians die fightink!” Valenko shouted. Then he calmed down. “Vhy don’t you ride away, Lieutenant? You can safe yourself and your men. Take my daughter vith you, eh?”

  “I can’t do it, as much as I wish I could,” Gavin said. “There is a duty here that has been forced on me by the circumstances. To leave here would be the same as desertion in the face of the enemy. I am bound by my oath as an officer and as a soldier to defend Nadezhda. That I intend to do.”

  Valenko asked, “Are ve tellink the people that all vill die?”

  “There is nothing to be gained by that,” Gavin said. “It would make any resistance almost futile and useless if they thought they had no hope. I don’t even want my dragoons to know, though they have probably figured that out themselves.”

  “Then, ve act like a great wictory is soon to be ours,” Valenko said. “Ve are the leaders. Ve must be brave.”

  “There are some muskets from the Comancheros killed at the creek bed,” Karshchov said. “Gavin will give those along with powder and ball to our men. He will teach them to shoot like soldiers.”

  “That will at least hold the Comancheros off for a while,” Gavin said.

  “Is good!” Valenko said. “I am former officer of Imperial Czarist Infantry, so already I am knowink what to do.” He nudged Karshchov, saying, “Gather up the men. Ve must start this instruction immediately.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Karshchov said. “I will have them all ready with the muskets within the hour.”

  “I’ll get Sergeant Douglas,” Gavin said. “We’ll need an interpreter, Basil.”

  “My friend, I am at your service,” Karshchov said. He rushed off to gather up the men.

  “Care to join our little army, Your Grace?” Gavin asked.

  “I vill fight with you, my brave friend, and I vill die with you!” the count vowed. He lowered his voice, “Now is three of us to see that Natalia is kept from those animals!”

  “That’s a cheerful thought,” Gavin said sullenly to himself as he walked away to find Sergeant Douglas. The noncommissioned officer, knowing something would be required of him, had kept himself conspicuous. He noticed Gavin motioning to him, and he joined the lieutenant.

  Gavin MacRoss and Ian Douglas sat down for a serious discussion of how they planned to handle the entire situation. Douglas agreed that the Russian peasants, in spite of their lack of military experience, could at least be trained enough to load, aim, and fire on command if a translator was available. Volley fire was the answer to delaying the ultimate defeat and slaughter they faced.

  “But we ain’t gonna be able to stand out there alone like a brigade o’ infantry, sir,” Douglas pointed out. “We’re gonna need things to hide behind. Remember, too, that we’ll be surrounded by them son of a bitches.”

  “In that case, I suggest we have our men start digging and setting up cover,” Gavin said. “We’ll have to tear down some of the structures here, use overturned wagons, and throw up dirt mounds to get behind.”

  “I’ll go along with that,” Douglas said. “But we’ll have to keep the perimeter small. There ain’t no way in hell we’re gonna spread ever’thing out to cover the whole town. We’ll just have to give up part of it.”

  “That area will have to be burned down, or the Comancheros can use it to put snipers behind the cabins and pick us off,” Gavin pointed out. He sighed. “Doing that is going to give these folks an idea that things are extremely desperate.”

  “I take it they don’t know we’re all gonna die here,” Douglas said.,

  “I don’t see any point in telling them, or the dragoons either for that matter,” Gavin said.

  “Our troopers know what’s what,” Douglas said
. “But, like any good soldiers, they figger there’s hope in this mess somewheres. So they’ll fight like hell.”

  “Those bastard Comancheros are going to pay a terrible price,” Gavin said. “If nothing else, I’m sure they’ll lose enough men to make them lynch that leader of theirs.”

  “He’s Italian or Spanish or something,” Douglas said. “Name o’ Lazardo.” He laughed. “Mr. Lazardo, that is.”

  “I believe I spotted the gentleman right after McRyan and Costello pointed you out,” Gavin said.

  “That’s two more that’s gonna pay dear,” Douglas vowed. “One of us dragoons is bound to get a shot at ’em.”

  “We’d better get to work,” Gavin said. “I’ll tend to setting up the musketry drill while you set our boys to work.”

  “I’m gonna need some help once we start burning them cabins over there,” Douglas said.

  “I’ll have Count Valenko help you out,” Gavin said. “He’s been in the Russian infantry, so he can afford to come late to our training.”

  Douglas saluted, and the two parted company to set the defensive plan into action. Gavin found that all the men had been assembled by Karshchov at a spot a short distance from the village. Each held a musket along with ammunition.

  “Our men are ready for to learn,” Valenko said.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Gavin said. “Sergeant Douglas requires your assistance in setting up our defensive positions.”

  “It is pleased I am to be helpink,” Valenko said. He left the group to seek out the dragoons to find out what was required of him.

  The first thing Gavin had to do was acquaint the peasant men with the workings of the Enfield musket. It was similar to their hunting muskets and blunderbusses, so they learned that part quickly. Loading, cocking, and inserting the percussion cap was easy for them. They went through some dry runs, then actually rammed home powder and ball.

  “Ready!” Gavin shouted.

  “Gotovyei!” Karshchov repeated.

  “Aim!” Gavin continued.

  “Imet!” Karshchov echoed.