When All Hell Broke Loose

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Becker moved back to where he’d been crouching in the brush, behind Lomax and the two dragoons. Lomax wished the Prussian would just settle down. It wouldn’t take much to set off the dogs in the village, and once that happened, the barking would roust out some of Stone Bear’s warriors to have a look around and see what was going on.

  Lomax wasn’t sure what warned him. Maybe he heard movement again, or maybe it was just instinct. But he pushed up from where he had been lying on his belly and turned his head to look behind him.

  A dark shape loomed over him. A man grunted with effort as he struck.

  Lomax threw himself to the side.

  His eyes were adjusted to the darkness, but shadows were thick under the trees and onrushing clouds had swallowed up the moon and most of the stars as a cold wind sprang up, so he still couldn’t see very well. He heard something strike the ground where he had been only a second earlier.

  “What the hell are you—” Before Corporal Conroe could finish that startled question, a shot roared, slamming shut like a gate on any more words.

  In the bright orange glare of the flame that erupted from a pistol’s muzzle, Lomax saw Conroe jolted backward by the lead ball that smashed into his chest at close range.

  In that same muzzle flash, Lomax saw Feldwebel Becker rip his saber from the ground where he had just tried to skewer the bullwhacker. The just-discharged pistol was in his left hand, the saber in his right as he whirled around.

  Private Willis lunged at him, exclaiming, “You fool! You’ll—” He screamed as Becker rammed the saber into his belly with so much force that it went all the way through and the bloody point ripped out of his back.

  Lomax pushed himself onto hands and knees and dived at Becker, tackling him around the knees. The feldwebel bellowed a German curse as he went down, his saber lodged so securely in Willis’s body that it was pulled out of his hand as he fell.

  Lomax had no idea why Becker had gone loco, killed the two dragoons, and tried to kill him, all while raising such a ruckus that it was bound to wake up the whole Blackfoot village. Lomax didn’t care what Becker’s motive was. He was just so mad he wanted to beat the Prussian’s head in and hammer wild punches to his face. The attack was so swift and ferocious Becker couldn’t fend off the blows.

  However, Becker wasn’t the only enemy Lomax had to worry about. Shouts came from the Blackfoot village. Even in his rage, he heard them and knew that Stone Bear’s warriors would be on top of him in a matter of minutes. He smashed his fist into Becker’s face again and felt the Prussian go limp underneath him—out cold.

  Lomax took his only chance to get away, and leaped to his feet, grabbed the rifle he had dropped, and dashed into the woods as howling figures ran from the village toward the trees. As he rushed through the shadows, hoping he wouldn’t dash his brains out on an unseen tree limb, he heard gunfire from the other side of the ridge.

  All hell was breaking loose over there, too.

  * * *

  After Preacher and his four companions left the main group, the soldiers, American and Prussian alike, settled down to wait while their commanders stood near the crest and talked quietly. The Prussians kept to themselves, as usual, and therefore, by necessity, so did the American dragoons.

  Helmuth sat by himself on a rock, not really part of either group. His head was down and he muttered constantly to himself, but nobody knew what he was saying.

  In answer to a question from Baron von Kuhner, Jamie said, “If Preacher comes back with those captives, we’ll head back the way we came, making as little noise as we can. Once we’re out of earshot, we can mount up in the dark and ride like hell . . . or as much like hell as possible in terrain this rugged.”

  “In other words, we will not be able to put much distance between ourselves and our pursuers, even under the best of circumstances,” von Kuhner said.

  “Not as much as I’d like,” admitted Jamie. “But we’ll do what we can. Luck may be with us. You never can tell.”

  “A strong man makes his own luck,” snapped von Kuhner. “That is what too many of my countrymen fail to understand.”

  Jamie didn’t feel like arguing with the baron, and besides, there was some truth to what he had said. A man had to be strong to survive on the frontier. Jamie supposed it was the same way in the German Empire, even though Europe supposedly was civilized. From what he had seen of Europeans, that veneer of civilization was actually pretty thin. Most men, no matter where they came from, were either barbarians at heart—or they didn’t last very long.

  Colonel Sutton said, “What if Preacher locates the captives tonight but isn’t able to rescue them?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Jamie said. “Probably what we’ll have to do is come up with some sort of distraction to get Stone Bear and most of the warriors away from the village—” He stopped short and his head jerked up in alarm as a gunshot blasted on the other side of the ridge, followed a heartbeat later by a scream of agony. He started to utter a startled exclamation, but before the words could emerge from his mouth, shots thundered on his side of the ridge, too.

  The gunfire came from the area where the soldiers had settled down to wait. Jamie whirled in that direction, and in the flickering muzzle flashes that came from two dozen pistols, he saw the Prussian troops on their feet, mowing down the American dragoons. The first volley had come from the Prussians’ rifles, a withering hail of death that had scythed through their unsuspecting American counterparts. Rather than reloading, the Prussians had dropped their empty rifles and yanked out pistols to continue their killing spree. Each man must have had two revolvers hidden under his uniform. They poured out a tremendous amount of bullets. Taken completely by surprise, dragoon after dragoon fell to this well-planned, treacherous attack.

  Outnumbered as they were, it was the only way the Prussians could hope to win—by striking swiftly and savagely with utter ruthlessness, killing as many of the Americans as quickly as they could.

  Only one man could be behind it: Baron Adalwolf von Kuhner.

  Jamie swung toward him, palming out the Walker Colt. He eared back the hammer as the gun came up. No matter what else happened, he was going to blow a hole in that so-called aristocrat.

  Unfortunately, Jamie couldn’t pull the trigger. Von Kuhner had already grabbed Finlay Sutton and jerked the colonel in front of him as a shield. The Prussian pressed the razor-sharp blade of his saber against Sutton’s throat, hard enough that the cold steel drew a trickle of blood. The dark trail was thin enough that most men wouldn’t have noticed as it crawled over the colonel’s flesh.

  Jamie did, and knew how close to death Sutton was.

  “Lower your gun, MacCallister,” ordered von Kuhner, “or I’ll cut the colonel’s throat. You, too, Lieutenant.”

  Curry had drawn his revolver, as well, but the barrel sagged at von Kuhner’s threat.

  “Don’t listen to him, either of you,” Sutton forced out through clenched teeth. “Kill him! Kill this double-crossing snake!”

  The thunderous gunfire had begun to taper off and came to a stop completely, leaving the echoes to roll away across the rugged terrain. The night wasn’t silent, though. Wounded men groaned, gasped, and cried.

  Jamie hadn’t lowered his Colt. It was still trained on the shadowy shape formed by von Kuhner and Sutton standing so close together.

  “You kill the colonel and you’ll be dead a split second later,” said Jamie. “I reckon you know that, von Kuhner.”

  “Yes, but your friend will still be dead.” Von Kuhner laughed. “I do not think you want that, MacCallister. You are too weak and soft to stand and watch him die, just so you can shoot me.”

  “K-kill him—” Sutton urged again. His voice choked off as von Kuhner dug the blade harder against his throat. The trickle of blood grew wider.

  “Drop your guns, both of you,” von Kuhner said. “I will wait no longer.”

  Sutton managed to say, “Tom, I order you—”

  “I’m s
orry, Colonel,” Curry said as he bent slightly to drop his pistol on the ground. “I’m going to have to disobey you.”

  “A wise decision, boy,” said von Kuhner. “Now, draw your saber and throw it down, as well. And MacCallister, I’m tired of waiting for you to drop that gun.”

  “Take it easy,” Jamie said. He lowered the Colt’s hammer and dropped the weapon on the ground at his feet. He could still make a grab for it if he got the chance.

  “That knife of yours, too.”

  Jamie slid the knife from its sheath and dropped it next to the Colt. Curry had tossed his saber on the ground next to his pistol.

  “Excellent.” Von Kuhner eased off a little on the saber pressed to Sutton’s neck. “Now you, Colonel. I want you disarmed as well.”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Sutton said as von Kuhner used his free hand to take the colonel’s revolver and saber and toss them aside. “I don’t know what kind of double cross this is, but you’ve overplayed your hand. You should have made your move before we got here.”

  “Then I would not have known what I need to find out,” said von Kuhner.

  Jamie said, “You know, in just a few minutes, Stone Bear and all his warriors are going to come boiling over the top of that ridge, and they’ll be looking to kill every white man they see.”

  “Are you so certain of that, MacCallister? Are you willing to wager your life on it?” Von Kuhner laughed. “Oh, wait. You already are.”

  Jamie didn’t know what the baron meant by that, but he was all too aware that the situation had spiraled out of control.

  And it was his fault, he told himself. He had never liked or even trusted Baron von Kuhner, but he hadn’t imagined the Prussian was capable of this level of perfidy.

  Such thoughts served no purpose, though. He had to figure out a way to turn the tables back on von Kuhner before it was too late.

  It might be too late already. Despite being outnumbered, with surprise on their side the Prussian soldiers had been able to wipe out a large part of Colonel Sutton’s command. One of the men kindled a fire, and as the flames began to climb higher, their hellish glare revealed dozens of dragoons sprawled on the forest floor in limp attitudes of death.

  It had been a slaughter.

  The survivors, most of them wounded, were huddled together under the guns of von Kuhner’s men. Even though there were still more of them than Prussians, they weren’t capable of putting up much of a fight.

  Jamie hadn’t heard any more gunfire from the other side of the ridge after that first shot, which had been followed immediately by a scream. He didn’t know if Lomax and the two dragoons who had gone with him were still alive, or if Becker had killed them. Considering the double cross von Kuhner had pulled, it seemed pretty safe to assume Becker had been in on the plan—whatever it was.

  And Jamie had no idea what had happened to Preacher, but he found it hard to believe that Becker could ever get the drop on the mountain man.

  Von Kuhner transferred his saber to his left hand and used his right to draw his revolver. He kept it pointed in the general direction of Jamie, Sutton, and Curry as he ordered, “All of you, step back away from those weapons. Move over there next to the others.”

  “I’m telling you, you’ve made a bad mistake, Baron,” Jamie said. “You’ll need every fighting man you’ve got once Stone Bear gets here.”

  “We’ll know soon,” von Kuhner said, smirking in the glow from the fire. “I believe he’s coming now.”

  Jamie looked up at the ridge crest. Buckskin-clad figures swept over it, some carrying rifles, some armed with bows and arrows. The firelight didn’t reach far enough for Jamie to make out the details right away, but he had no doubt who was approaching. That was confirmed as the Blackfeet stalked toward them warily.

  At least the warriors hadn’t attacked yet, although that surprised him. Maybe they were just curious about the commotion that had rousted them out of their robes and blankets. An Indian could be more unpredictable than usual when something piqued his curiosity.

  One of the warriors moved out a little in front of the others. Tall, lean, with a dignified bearing, he carried himself with an air of command that told Jamie he was Stone Bear, even though he had never set eyes on the chief before. Stone Bear held a single shot rifle and looked ready to use it.

  As if that potential threat didn’t bother von Kuhner at all, the baron walked toward the Indian, pistol held down at his right side, saber on his left. He called in English, “Stone Bear, my old friend! It is good to see you again.”

  Stone Bear stopped where he was, frowned at von Kuhner, and said, “I remember you. You are the one who called himself... baron?”

  “That’s right.” Von Kuhner half turned to indicate Jamie and the others with a sweeping gesture of his saber. As flakes of snow began to swirl down and dance around, borne on the strengthening wind, he went on.

  “And I have brought you more white men to kill!”

  Chapter 35

  The first shot was still echoing through the night as Preacher jerked up the hide wall at the back of the Blackfoot lodge, hoping the captives were all together and at least one of them remembered how to speak English. “Ladies!” he said as he thrust his head and torso into the lodge and pushed himself up on his left hand so he could beckon with the right. “I’m a friend! Come with me!”

  A couple of them cried out in surprise.

  In the dim glow from the embers of the fire in a circle of rocks in the center of the lodge, he saw several figures sitting up in their robes. “Come on!” he urged them. Casting his memory back to what Helmuth had said, he added some names. “Katarina! Gerda! Marion! Joscelyn! I’ve come to help you. We need to get outta here now!”

  One of the women thrust her robes aside and scrambled toward him. She spoke, swiftly and urgently, to the others in German.

  “Let’s go, let’s go!” Preacher held the hide wall up so the women could crawl under it.

  At first he thought the woman who’d responded to his urging was the only one who was going to escape. Then, as her words continued to lash at them in their native tongue, the others started to move, too. One by one, all six crawled out the back of the lodge.

  One of them cried out in fear at the sight of Dog, who had risen to all four legs.

  The first of the ladies whirled and clamped her hand across the other one’s mouth. “Quiet, Gerda! We must not draw their attention!”

  “Don’t worry about Dog,” Preacher assured them as he let the hide drop. “He’s friendly, too.”

  The woman who had silenced the other one clutched Preacher’s arm and said, “Walter! We must get Walter before we flee.”

  That would be the baron Helmuth had talked about, the fella he used to work for. Preacher said, “Where is he?”

  “There!” Her finger stabbed toward the neighboring lodge.

  Preacher felt cold, wet kisses against his leathery cheeks. It had started to snow.

  The air was also full of barking and strident yelling as commotion raced through the village. Preacher heard more shots, a nearly continuous wave of them that rolled like thunder across the valley. Something had gone badly wrong with the rescue attempt, but he still had a chance to let the captives get away.

  “You ladies run for the woods,” he told them as he surged to his feet. “I’ll get Walter.”

  “I must come with you,” the woman said. “He’ll be afraid and won’t listen to you or cooperate unless I’m there to help him.”

  “All right. Come on.”

  The other captives made it upright and stumbled toward the trees. Preacher and his companion turned toward the neighboring lodge.

  A shape loomed up to Preacher’s left, rushing toward them. Even in the bad light, Preacher knew it was a Blackfoot warrior, probably coming to check on the captives after hearing voices back here.

  As soon as he realized they were escaping, he would let out a yell, so Preacher struck first, yanking his knife from the sheath
at his waist and lunging with such speed and ferocity the man didn’t have a chance.

  Preacher buried the blade in the warrior’s throat, cutting off any outcry he might have made. The cold steel grated on bone as it found the Blackfoot’s spine and sheared through it. The warrior collapsed instantly, falling against Preacher, who stepped back and let his enemy crumple to the ground. Blood gushed from the ruined throat as Preacher pulled the knife free.

  The few desperate, blood-choked gurgles the warrior made as he died couldn’t have been heard more than a few feet away—and nobody in the village was interested in such things at the moment, anyway. The shooting and yelling elsewhere had all the Blackfeet in an uproar.

  Preacher swung back to the woman and made a guess as he grasped her arm. “Are you Katarina?”

  “Ja. Yes. How did you know?”

  “Never mind that now. Let’s get Walter.”

  They hurried toward the other lodge, Preacher keeping an eye out for more guards. Katarina led the way, circling toward the front of the dwelling. She thrust the hide entrance flap aside and called softly, “Walter! Walter, come here!”

  A frightened voice responded, “Mama?”

  “He thinks you’re his ma?” Preacher said as he stood close beside Katarina, watching for threats.

  “His mind is not right. It hasn’t been since he was hurt badly, five years ago.” A bitter note entered her voice. “When we were attacked and brought here.”

  A stocky figure shuffled out of the shadows inside the lodge and spoke in German. Katarina said something meant to be reassuring, then she took Baron Walter von Stauffenberg’s hand and led him out of the lodge as if he were a child.

  “We can go now,” she told Preacher breathlessly. Then she paused and quickly said something else to Walter. Preacher didn’t understand any of it except for the name Reese.

  Reese Coburn, he recalled, had been part of the original Prussian expedition, hired as a guide.

  “Are you talkin’ about Reese Coburn?” he asked Katarina. “Is he still alive, too?”