Mountain War: Defending Their Home (Mountain Man Book 4)

by Nathan Jones

  Well, that had gone fantastically. Tom bit back a sigh and continued on to the other recruits, smiling for their behalf even if he didn't feel it.

  “Welcome back, Trapper,” one of them called. Thankfully he left it at that, and didn't say anything that might be taken as an insult against Skyler.

  “Good to be back,” he called in return, taking a few minutes to move through the group, shaking hands and slapping backs. Once he made his way to the front of the recruits, near the firing range, he hopped up on his usual firing perch bench to address the few dozen men and women who'd volunteered to join the fight to defend their home.

  In light of how they'd behaved with Skyler, it was important to remember that fact as he looked around at the upturned faces. They were energized to have him back, eager. He couldn't blame them for resenting having a kid ordering them around, but he was still disappointed that they'd been so selfish and shortsighted.

  From the sounds of it, Coby hadn't been the only one causing problems in the group. But the teenager had definitely been the worst one and needed to go, and hopefully seeing him get kicked out for his behavior would make the others tread more carefully.

  This wasn't a game, it was life and death. Not just for them but for everyone in Camptown.

  “Before we begin,” he said quietly. “I'd like to call for a moment of silence for the volunteers we lost in this most recent fight against Sangue . . . Al Bradon, Candace Sherridan, Ryan Wellings, and Micah Lawson.” Micah had died of his wounds on the way back to Camptown, a tragic shock for everyone who'd hoped they could save him in spite of how badly hurt he'd been.

  The new volunteers hung their heads, some sniffling and all shaken and sober. No doubt they were dealing with the possibility that they might soon join the list of those lost in this fight, once they finished their training and got out there facing the bloodies.

  Tom let the silence go for a while before continuing firmly. “They were good people, and their sacrifice kept us all safe for the time being. We're going to honor that sacrifice by continuing to defend our families and homes in this valley no matter the cost.”

  He paused, looking around and meeting people's eyes. Especially the recruits who'd caused the most trouble for Skyler. Speaking of which, his son had finally arrived and was standing at the back of the group, a bit on his own away from the others.

  He gave the teenager an encouraging nod before continuing firmly. “I'm committed to this fight. I have a lot to live for, a wife and children and another baby on the way soon, and the last thing I want is to leave them without a husband and father. But to protect them, I'm ready to face death if it comes. How many of you feel the same?”

  A forest of hands sprang up, most barely even hesitating. Tom wasn't sure they'd feel the same once they actually found themselves in a fight; he knew the horror of battle sometimes threatened to make him forget his courage. But it was a good response from them.

  He wished he could leave it there, but unfortunately he couldn't. “Good, I'm glad to see it. Now . . .” he paused significantly, “how many of you are willing to follow a leader you don't approve of or respect, even if that leader is the most qualified and the situation is life or death?”

  There was a much longer hesitation now, as people began to realize where this speech was going. Not everyone raised their hands this time, not even close. A few began to look sullen, especially among the troublemakers who'd disrupted training along with Coby, even if they hadn't left with him.

  “That's a pity,” Tom said with genuine regret. “You see, I may be in charge of the volunteers, but there are squad leaders who report to me, and team leaders who report to them. If we get enough people, we'll probably have platoon leaders as well.

  “Odds are very, very good you're not going to like, or respect, every single leader up the chain of command. Or if you're in a position of command, you might not like or respect some of your subordinates. You might not respect your squad or team mates. That's why military training focuses on discipline above all else, because however you may feel about people, it's paramount you're able to work with them when lives are on the line.”

  He looked around again. “I left Skyler Graham in charge of training because he could've taught you how to move unseen and unheard through this terrain, and how to track the enemy, and how to shoot, and even how to hunt and forage for edible plants in emergency situations. Skills that could've saved your lives in the days to come. I can't think of anyone better to teach those things to you when I can't be here.

  “However you may feel about his age, or him personally, by letting that get in the way of your training you wasted a valuable opportunity. One you might not have again before Sangue comes back and you're called to fight them.” He paused, making his voice even sterner. “More importantly, you showed me just how piss poor your discipline is.”

  A lot of people in the crowd were shuffling their feet and looking at the ground guiltily. Tom paused, letting the silence hang as the discomfort of the recruits grew, while he kept his own appearance calm and unflappable. He wanted these people to remember this lesson, because it could mean the difference between life or death for them very soon.

  Their lives, his life, the lives of everyone in the bowl valley.

  When he finally felt the mood shifting from guilt to impatience he clapped his hands sharply, making a few people jump, and looked around with a grim smile. “So put away your weapons, you won't be using them today. If you're not in the mood to learn the useful things we have to teach you, you can learn some discipline instead. I think a five mile hike with backpacks loaded with rocks will do wonders for this group.”

  Groans and loud complaints erupted from the gathered men and women. Tom let it go on for a few seconds, then raised his fingers to his lips and blew a piercing blast, making the nearest people cringe and cover their ears.

  Once he had silence again he looked around, expression stern. “Anyone who refuses to come, or drops out before we're finished, is gone. The volunteers need to know we can trust you to have our backs and not run off doing your own thing. I'm not going to let you goof off and get yourselves killed, and I'm sure as heck not letting you get anyone else killed. So load up, make sure you've got plenty of water, and get ready to sweat.”

  The recruits weren't happy, but then again they shouldn't be. At least some had the grace to look embarrassed, even ashamed of themselves. But however they felt, they all followed him back to Camptown to retrieve packs if they had them, or borrow some from Brady as the volunteers' quartermaster if they didn't. Many of them also borrowed water bottles from the former trader.

  As they were all working to load the packs, using piles of rocks stacked up around the town from construction projects, Skyler, Jenny, and Mer returned from the retreat with their own backpacks, the two young women probably having borrowed theirs from Kristy and Fiona.

  His son had also thought to bring Tom's, which he was grateful for. He led the teenager out of earshot of the others and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Make sure your pack is well loaded down, as an example to the others. You'll be joining me at the front of the line when we head out.”

  Skyler glared, outraged. “In front of everyone? Why're you singling me out for this punishment when it's everyone else's fault?”

  Tom met his son's eye firmly. “Because leaders lead from the front.”

  The teenager's outrage turned to sullenness. “I'm pretty sure this last week proved I'm not a leader.”

  “Maybe not yet. But if you ever want to be, you have to prove you're worthy of it. Respect is earned, not given.” He lowered his voice. “What I didn't tell those folks back there, but is certainly true, is that no matter how disciplined soldiers are, a bad leader is going to cause trouble.” His son's sullenness ratcheted up a notch, and he hasted to continue. “Not that I'm saying you're a bad leader. But much as I hate to say it, right now your age is a serious obstacle that most won't have an easy time overlooking. I can order them to obey
you, but I can't order them to respect you.”

  Skyler mulled that over, although he wasn't happy about it. “So Brandon and Logan can just walk into leadership roles, but even if I do as good as them, or even better, I have to work my butt off twice as hard to prove myself?”

  Tom chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder again. “Pretty much. Life's not fair, is it?”

  Chapter Four

  Downtime

  This was shaping up to be some day off.

  Tom had been out for almost a week running himself ragged to find those Sangue squads, then trail them while staying hidden. That was a lot more tiring than most people would think, even though the bloodies had been moving relatively slowly to thoroughly search the area.

  The five mile hike up and down steep, treacherous mountain slopes with backpacks full of rocks was supposed to be a punishment for the recruits, but Tom was the old man who was already at the end of his rope. He should've just had someone else take the recruits out and ride them to make sure they didn't slack off, but who else would they have listened to? Besides, a leader was supposed to set a good example by being willing and able to do everything he asked of his people.

  Didn't make the day suck any less, though.

  It was after noon before they finally hauled their exhausted keisters back to the bowl valley. Tom wanted nothing more than to clean up, grab a hasty bite, and then maybe take a page from Molly's book and enjoy an afternoon nap. Unfortunately, as they were dropping their heavy backpacks and slumping to the ground beside the shooting range, a few recruits even giving the rock-filled packs resentful kicks, Brandon came around to grab him.

  The young man had already found six more people to go with him and Pine to try to take out Highway 29, and wanted Tom to come with him to talk to Brady about supplies and weapons, as well as whatever explosives Camptown still had available.

  His friend was ready to leave as soon as they had what they needed, with no more vacation than Tom himself had gotten. So he stifled a groan that wouldn't have sounded very leaderly to the recruits sprawled across the trampled grass around him, and hauled himself back to his feet to head to the town's storehouse with Brandon.

  He tried to seem as energetic as usual, to set an example as he paused to address the weary men and women around him. “I hope this bracing hike helped clear your heads. I'll see you all bright and early tomorrow morning so we can really get to work.”

  That was met with heartfelt groans, although at least the lesson in discipline seemed to have stuck since no one complained. Tom wasn't exactly happy about the prospect of getting up early for another long day either, but he clapped Brandon on the shoulder and started towards Camptown at a brisk walk.

  “Scouting's your first priority once you're up there,” he told the young man. “We have no idea what Sangue's response is to a threat close to Highway 29, and they may be swarming around that road to protect their route through the mountains between I-70 and Highway 31. If they're protecting it too well, there's no point even considering trying anything.”

  Brandon snorted. “Don't have to tell me twice. I wouldn't mind throwing a wrench in their plans, giving them something to worry about besides looking for us here, but I won't take any chances with my people.”

  That's what Tom wanted to hear.

  It turned out explosives were a bit thin, just the captured grenades and a few scraps left over from the trip to take out I-70. Pine obviously wasn't happy with the haul, scowling to himself as he looked over what Brady had assembled.

  “Not sure why you need me along if this is all I've got to work with,” he groused.

  Brandon gave him an unhappy look. “Are you saying we can't do anything with this?”

  The explosives expert snorted. “I'm sure we could do something. Dislodge boulders, if nothing else.” He sighed. “Might be other ways we can block the road off, though. We won't know until we head up there and see.”

  Along with Pine and two of the volunteers, one of them Brandon's friend Andy Warrens, the young man had talked four townspeople into going with them. They all knew how to shoot a gun and had some experience hunting, at least, but it was obvious Brandon had picked them for their strong backs: along with the explosives, they'd be bringing along shovels, picks, hammers and wedges, and axes and saws.

  It would probably be hard work, whatever way they found to block the road, but the men seemed determined. Tom helped Brady get them geared up for a trip that could last up to a week, then shook everyone's hand and gave them a final warning to be careful up there. He watched with the temporary leader of Camptown as the group set out to the northwest, taking the slightly more difficult trail to leave the valley in that direction.

  The reasoning was that Sangue would be focusing their efforts around Joes Valley, so the road would be more vulnerable farther west. Tom just hoped they were right, and the saboteurs would be okay up there; Brandon was one of the most levelheaded people he knew, but the pressure to get the job done might push him to take risks he otherwise wouldn't.

  With the group safely off, he clapped Brady on the back and made his way over to the summer retreat. Kristy had saved lunch for him, and she settled down beside him to keep him company as he ate. They kept the conversation light, which was somewhat hard to do considering the situation the valley was in and the silent treatment their son was giving his mom.

  After lunch, his wife urged him to head inside for a nap. Tom was certainly tempted, and if he decided not to take this chance to rest he knew he had better things to do. In spite of that, once he was in the retreat's main room he couldn't help but veer off to the corner, where the guts of the first radio they'd captured from Sangue were spread out neatly on a clean cloth on top of a makeshift workbench, ready to be reassembled at any time. The second radio they'd just captured was sitting beside it, unopened and ready to be tinkered with.

  He wanted nothing more than to get the stupid thing working again, since being able to listen in on the enemy would be an overwhelming tactical advantage. Unfortunately, the bloodies had prepared for the eventuality of one of their radios being captured: the thing required a password to be punched in before it would transmit or receive, and he couldn't even begin to guess what it was.

  Although he'd certainly tried, punching hundreds of random number sequences in, even though he knew that there were a mind-boggling number of possibilities it could be and guessing might take decades. Especially since he didn't even know how long the code was supposed to be.

  Tom's other idea, taking the thing apart and ripping out whatever circuit controlled the password protection, was proving equally useless. He'd been confident his background in electrical engineering would help him here, but unfortunately, he didn't have a schematic for this radio, or any radio for that matter, and wasn't certain just what he was doing.

  He could guess, of course, and he had. It wasn't too hard to identify the power source, the wiring for the number pad, the transmitter, the receiver, etc. But nothing seemed to stick out as the radio's security measure, and he was worried it might actually be built into one of the other circuits.

  Probably the receiver, meaning he'd have a hard time removing it without turning the device into junk.

  It was a problem he could solve, he was sure of it. But he needed more parts, radio schematics or a book about how to repair them, or both. And frankly, he was surprised Sangue had gone to that much effort to protect their devices, when so few of their enemies would have access to radio technology, or for that matter be able to speak Portuguese or even Spanish. Especially since some sort of encryption would've been better to avoid having their communications intercepted anyway.

  But maybe they'd figured that since nobody else had radios, the most important thing was protecting theirs. Either way, it was blasted frustrating; even a few minutes of staring at the delicate little wires and circuits made him want to claw his eyes out.

  Fifteen years of hunting and trapping had done a pretty good job of driving out all
the old world knowledge he'd gained to get his electrical engineering degree. Especially since he hadn't expected to ever need it again.

  Too bad Miles Graham hadn't included textbooks and instruction manuals along with the other stuff he'd scavenged; that sort of knowledge might be less valuable on the surface than guns or precious metals, but if they were going to rebuild back into the 21st century they'd need it.

  Or, for that matter, make Sangue's technology work for them. Like this blasted radio.

  Tom wearily got to work opening up the second radio, if nothing else to see if the insides of the two were identical. He didn't see why they wouldn't be, but that might give him clues about whether the nation that had sent Sangue was making these things by hand or had some sort of factory or industrial capability to mass produce them.

  Kristy came in after about an hour, jumping in surprise when she saw him tinkering with the radios instead of resting. “Guess there's always hope for an early night, so you're not completely hating yourself in the morning?” she asked dryly.

  Tom sighed and set down the transmitter he'd been fiddling with. “I might as well have been napping for all I accomplished here.” He noticed Molly toddling inside after her mom, and held out his arms in invitation. The two-year-old rushed over and he scooped her up into his lap, kissing the top of her head.

  His wife shook her head wryly. “Well, I was coming in because Brady is here with news from the scouts you sent south to watch the ranch. Seemed important enough to wake you for, but looks like that's not a problem. You want to talk to him in here, or should I give you a minute while I get him a glass of water?”

  “Poor guy's got enough on his plate without being left twiddling his thumbs.” He raised his voice a bit. “Come on in, Brady!”

  The former trader ducked inside. “Sorry to disturb you, Trapper. No rest for the weary, huh?” His eyes fell on the disassembled radios, and his expression brightened with interest. “How you coming with that?”