by D. I. Telbat
"I see . . ." He nodded, narrowed his eyes, and stared thoughtfully at the trees on the edge of our camp. "You're talking about the Source of it all, even of wisdom and philosophy."
"The Source, that's right." Finally, this aged man's eyes were opening! I pressed on. "We're men who recognize the need to make tools and felt and dels as well as we can. And we make these things for ourselves, our children, and our clan. Why then, would we choose to worship something less than the best available?"
"Your God?" he asked.
I nodded.
"And all of this is in your Bible? All that you speak of—the stories, the history, and the end of days?"
"It's all there."
"Can you leave one of your Bibles behind when you leave tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"I want to read that story of Samson and the Philistines as well."
We continued to talk as we ate the evening meal, and it was a fitting end to the last night before our departure. Since we were leaving before sunrise the following morning, we said our good-byes that night. Our plan was to be gone only a week, hopefully less. But one never knew in that land, so there were tears shed, especially by Beveg as she was sure she'd never see Zima again, of whom she'd grown quite fond.
In southwestern Mongolia, all you have to do to see a spectacular sunrise is gaze to the east. The Gobi is mostly sand, especially the eastern section, one thousand miles across. The sky is usually cloudless, but the sand in the air gives the sun a shimmering, red haze that you can stare directly at before it rises far above the eastern horizon.
It was this sunrise that greeted us an hour after Zima and I left North Camp. Riding along the tree line with the plain to our left, we stayed within a few feet of forest cover in case the Chinese vehicles came toward us threateningly. We rode two horses and had another two to carry our gear. Since the temperature was too bitter to sleep exposed, we'd packed one ger, minus the stove. Taking four horses with us would've set North Camp back if they were traveling, but they weren't, so we'd chosen either young males mostly too rowdy for their own good, or mares too old to milk. The clan would miss them little.
Every couple hours we stopped to scout the land ahead with my binoculars, and we took our time to enjoy each other's company. We missed our morning rides together when we could talk alone. Oddly, we were planning very little for our future as a family. Our time on earth as man and wife was limited, we understood, as the Rapture was drawing ever nearer. I suspected that every other honest believer around the world was feeling the same urgency to finish their work in this realm and get ready to go home. In light of Mark 12:25, Zima and I felt blessed to have found each other when we did. Similarly, in John chapter 14, another quote from Jesus was ever-present in our minds: "I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also."
That first day, I paused often, sitting tall in my saddle with my binoculars pressed to my brow to study the plain for sign of Gan-gaad's clan. I knew they couldn't have been more than three days ahead of us when we were initially attacked. But if they'd escaped the murderous advance of the Chinese troops, then they'd be well to the southeast at the edge of the Gobi already. But the chances of that were slim since the Chinese had intentionally traveled the nomadic migration route to secure meat for the troops' winter stores.
However, throughout that day, we saw no sign of another clan or camp slaughter. We made camp early with plenty of daylight available to set up our ger, so we moved deep into the mountain forest to find shelter from the wind.
In under an hour, we'd erected our humble ger. We built a large fire with little concern for drawing curious visitors since the tree branches overhead dispersed the smoke adequately.
We sat in front of the fire, my arm around Zima's shoulders and our backs against a log, and read the Word. As we prayed, we focused on safety for the two clans we knew, and for Kandal who was so interested in the Bible that he'd asked for one of ours. When our fire had dwindled, we crawled into our ger and whispered to each other as the silence of the forest closed in around us. Slowly, Zima drifted off to sleep, and I listened to her breathe for a while since it was too dark to see her. I'd given up all prospects in America to come here to serve my Lord, and He'd still given me more than I expected.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I was startled awake, it was still dark. Perhaps I'd only been asleep for a moment. Yes, that was all; the fire's embers were still popping, though their glow was long gone. But what had startled me awake?
Quietly, I sat up. The horses were loosely picketed a stone's throw from our ger. One of them snorted at being disturbed and shifted its feet.
Leaning over Zima, I put my hand on her shoulder and my mouth brushed her ear. She stirred at my touch.
"Zima, wake up. Quiet. Get dressed and put your coat on."
"It's just an animal," she whispered, but I urged her again, as I quickly dressed.
Our ger door was covered by a felt flap, which I crawled halfway through and froze, listening. It was much too dark to see anything. The tree cover was too dense and the moon had set already, but I heard voices. Though it was nothing discernible, the noise was close enough to give me chills. A friendly visitor announces himself from afar when advancing on a camp. A foe prowls around, unannounced.
I reached into the ger and pulled Zima out next to me where she indicated she heard the voices as well. Then they were suddenly quiet. She pushed me ahead to lead the way, and I crawled forward. Moving along behind me, she lay her hand on my shoulder as I placed both hands and knees carefully on the ground. Closing my eyes, I tried to mentally picture our simple camp—surrounding shrubs here, a stand of young cedars over there, a dragged log from—
Automatic gunfire split the night. Eerie flashes of gnarled trees and shadows danced around us, lit by less than a handful of muzzles flashes.
Fit and strong from weeks of cutting wood and other chores, I rose to my feet, whipped Zima into my arms, then threw her like a man throws a sack of flour. In strobes, I could see our surroundings, and she landed behind a fallen birch tree that still bore its branches. Diving, I leapt on top of her to pin her down and hold her ears. But the gunfire lasted only five seconds. Then darkness settled on us again.
"Don't . . . move," I mouthed into her ear.
She panted fearfully beneath me, but my breath was a little steadier. Calculating the odds always calms me, and while Zima was praying that we wouldn't be found, I wondered how we could safely get farther into the forest. In mere seconds, the assailants would find the ger empty and begin to search for us.
A flashlight flicked on, then another. The now familiar sharpness of Chinese words drifted to our ears. One of our horses whinnied, and a man laughed. They were ten yards away. I counted three distinct speakers. As yet, they hadn't reloaded their weapons. We could run, but they'd give chase. Maybe we could circle back for our horses, but if not, then what? The chill of the air was below freezing, but we had grabbed our coats. As cold as it was here, it would be even colder on the plain where the wind blew.
Someone lifted back the ger's flap. A fourth voice voiced an alarm. Now, they reloaded their weapons. This was our chance. I started to rise when gunfire from the trees behind the horses spat in our direction. Again, I held Zima down.
A man screamed. The flashlight beams drifted across the trees around us. Someone stumbled, then fell and sighed his last.
"What's happen—"
I clamped my hand over Zima's mouth to silence her question. How would I answer her, anyway? What were the chances of two opposing parties attacking us on the same night? Maybe the large fire hadn't been such a good idea after all. The Chinese were possibly starving. Maybe they had seen us during the day on the plain, and were now fighting each other for our horses. That would mean someone had been watching us talk at the fire, waiting in the darkness for us to go to sleep. It was a violating thought.
"You can come out," a voice called in Mongolian. "They're all de
ad."
We didn't move right away, though I knew that voice. It was someone from my past—our past. I peered over our birch tree, but I couldn't see anything, not even shapes.
"Dusbhan?" I whispered, then ducked back down, fully expecting a barrage of bullets to impact our hiding place.
Even though I'd whispered, he heard me clearly for not even the forest's night creatures were stirring after all the noise.
"Yes. It's me and Uncle Gan-gaad. Do you have any food?"
I pulled Zima with me as we found our feet and crept back into camp. It took me a few seconds to find my lighter and start a fire. Zima huddled close to me. When the flames leapt high enough, I grimaced at the sight of our two old clansmen. Both were filthy and shivering, their coats in tatters, and their fingers clinging like claws to two foreign-made rifles. My foot bumped something and I glance down to see a dead man in uniform staring up at me. It was a Chinese soldier, and he wasn't the only one.
Dusbhan kicked at another body on his side of the fire.
"This one said something about a radio. My Chinese isn't good, but I believe they wanted to see if you had a radio to transmit something."
Zima and I exchanged glances. The Red Army was beginning to hunt the woods for the spy and radio that was making troop reports. Unless winter itself froze the soldiers in place, they would reach South Camp within a couple weeks as they searched the woods. But I said nothing of this at that time. I studied Gan-gaad who hadn't spoken yet. He held his bare hands to the fire. His cheeks were sunken, as were Dusbhan's, and I knew they hadn't eaten well in days.
"What of the clan?" Zima asked Dusbhan. She unwrapped a frozen block of cheese and meat.
"Gone. The Chinese . . ." Dusbhan shook his head and shivered.
"It's okay," Zima said. "You don't have to say any more."
"And we wouldn't be alive, either, if we hadn't gone to the forest to hunt," Dusbhan said. "We left the clan on the plain. The Chinese saw us awhile later, but they ignored me and Uncle, even after they'd butchered and left the clan like that. And the livestock, they . . . Luyant must've gone crazy. When we returned to camp, we could read all the sign. Luyant killed ten of them, I think, before he was gunned down."
"Sit down." I rolled up a couple logs. Zima gave them food and a wooden bowl of milk to share. "We were coming to find you, hoping you were far to the south along the Gobi already."
Without speaking, they gobbled up the food. Gan-gaad stared into the flames, too stricken, it seemed, to respond any other way. Once, these two men were fierce and courageous, but now they seemed like frightened children trembling in shock at what they'd witnessed.
"They need rest," Zima said to me. "Perhaps they should sleep in the ger, and you and I—"
"No," Gan-gaad stated, but his eyes remained on the flames. "We'll sleep here by the fire where it's warmest." He pulled his rifle close. "I won't inconvenience you."
Zima raised her eyebrows. Here was a truly beaten man. He'd once had everything, commanded men and beasts alike. Now, he begged for food and slept in the dirt. Compared to what these men now possessed, Zima and I seemed wealthy.
From the ger, Zima pulled two felt blankets and draped them over the backs of the men. I stepped around the bodies behind us and fetched one of their flashlights.
"What of the bodies, Pond?" Zima asked.
I studied the four deceased. Even though many in America taught that killing was justified under certain circumstances, I felt it was wrong for any reason. But we were a long way from American justifications, and I was left with quite a predicament. We would've been dead for certain if Gan-gaad and Dusbhan hadn't killed them. Our ger alone looked like a noodle strainer, the canvas dome speckled by a hundred holes.
"The ground is too hard and frozen to bury them," I said, "but if we're found with them, we'll be executed for sure."
"They must've come in a vehicle," Zima said.
"It's in the plain partially concealed against the woods," Dusbhan said. "When we saw it, we followed them in. We knew they were up to no good."
"I'll get started," I said and kissed Zima's forehead, then went to saddle the horses I'd need. Pausing, I pointed at the two men at our fire. "Zima, I know these two. Don't let them eat too much. We don't know how long it'll take us to get back to camp since we're one horse shy due to our load of gear."
Loading the four dead men onto the horses was distasteful, messy, and an endeavor I hope to never have to do again. Zima held two flashlights to give me light as I hefted the bloody corpses onto the horses' backs. I was sure the animals were not too thrilled, either, about the night's bone-chilling venture with the smell of death in the air.
When I left, I took no flashlight with me, though I was tempted. Hiking, I led the horses west rather than east to the soldiers' vehicle. The forest thinned, and the stars came into sight as I emerged from the trees that rimmed the range. From the stars, I could see the shape of the mountain and its precarious curves and shadows above me. The horses' sight was better than mine, but I left nothing to chance. Rather than attack the mountain straight up, I led them on a traversing route with quick switchbacks. Up and up we climbed until I could see over the trees into the plain below where even Siberian timber wolves shivered in the northeasterly wind, and where the Chinese traffic still crisscrossed the country. But I saw no other lights or headlights near the forest, and I prayed the four I had on horseback were the only radio hunters that night. Most likely, they were killing anyone they found in the woods, hoping to silence the secret operator along the way.
I reached a rocky ridge rimmed with fresh snow, and sunk up to my knees in the drift as I continued leading the horses through a narrow gorge with steep, vertical walls. The pass ended abruptly at a landslide of rocks and ice. Overhead, I glimpsed terrifying boulders that could crash down on me at the slightest tremor of seismic activity. But this place would serve its purpose, if I wasn't crushed first.
Hastily, I dropped the four bodies to the ground and dragged them over against the gorge wall so they were in a seated position. Then, I led the burden-free horses out of the narrow pass, and picketed the lead aduu at the snowline where they could nip at the snow.
From there, I climbed the mountain, but this time, I worked my way above the gorge on the high northern wall. After testing my footing before applying my body weight, I found the ledge above the four bodies. Stabilizing myself, I pushed my shovel into an icy crack a foot from the ledge. To gather all my strength, I took a deep breath, but the shale had already begun to give way beneath my feet. Dropping my shovel, I twisted around to dive for safety. My feet kicked wildly in midair. Weakly, I clawed at the wall of rock as it crumbled around me, before me, and under me. A shrill gasp escaped my throat and I felt my death very near. I'd never survive a fall to the floor of the gorge—especially not with boulders hailing down upon me.
With one last desperate effort, I threw my right arm toward the ledge. My fingers caught at jagged ice. I hung there for two breaths, but my hand was already slipping inside my dog hair gloves.
"Lord, I—"
My hand slipped from the ledge. My other hand reached up to replace it on the falling rock, but it was no use. I only slapped the rock face.
Suddenly, a firm hand clasped around my left wrist. For a moment, I dangled there, too tired to even kick or flail. I breathed a sigh of relief as I was pulled upward. My feet walked up the sheer wall, trying to find footing to help my rescuer.
"Thank God! I was hoping one of you might've followed me out of camp!" The hand let go of my wrist and I steadied my quivering nerves on my hands and knees before standing. "My shovel was lost, but I—"
My eyes narrowed as they swept the quiet mountainside. Behind me, a few pebbles continued tumbling into the deep ravine. The horses chomped thirstily at snow a hundred yards below me. The wind whistled through a crevice to my left.
I forced an acknowledging swallow through my dry throat.
No one was there. I was alone.
&nbs
p; What can one say at a moment such as that? What words can express the joy and relief, yet not without some tingling fear?
Before they turned to ice, I wiped away tears from my cheeks.
"Thank You, Lord." I breathed it in a whisper, but He heard me. He hadn't left me alone.
I descended the mountain with my horses.
*~*
Chapter 23
Back in camp, Zima rolled two more logs onto the roaring fire in front of Gan-gaad and Dusbhan. Gan-gaad had turned sideways in his sleep, his head against his nephew's shoulder.
"I'll see to the horses," she offered, and took the reins.
After warming myself at the fire for a few minutes, I strode out of camp again, this time to the east. It took me twenty minutes to find their Chinese-made SUV. After finding the keys, I started the engine, laughing as I revved the gas pedal and turned the heater on high. The fuel was at half. Plenty for what I had in mind.
In the back of the SUV, I found a propane tank and a box of packaged troop rations—rice and chicken meals including a cookie the size of a half-dollar coin. With two extra men now, the additional food would help. I dumped the rations onto the ground outside, but left the box in the SUV. It would've been a mistake to be found with anything that could link us to the missing soldiers. We could burn the packaging after we ate the food.
Munitions and radio gear were also in the back seat, but wanting none of that, I left it.
Trembling from the busy night's excitement, I climbed into the driver's seat again and turned the vehicle northward. From a bag of fatigues in the passenger seat, I drew out a nylon belt from a pair of pants. When I'd gotten the SUV up to thirty miles an hour, I tied the belt onto the steering wheel, then set the cruise control and aimed the vehicle east. I tapped the break to decrease speed so I could easily jump out, and finally tightened the steering wheel's belt against the seat belt strap so the vehicle would go straight while unmanned. Opening the driver's door, I initiated the cruise control again, and stepped onto the ground with a couple skips.
