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

by Nathan Jones

  He was immediately glad he did; the bloodies must've either heard him, or one of their scouts had spotted the volunteer squad. Either way, both fireteams had crested the ridge a bit farther up the ravine, and were now getting into position to fire at the men and women scaling the steep opposite slope. The volunteers were getting closer to safety, but a quick judgment call confirmed they wouldn't make it in time.

  Cursing silently, Skyler unslung his rifle, stomach churning with reluctance and dread.

  He'd promised his mom he'd avoid combat if he could, and even promised he wouldn't shoot his gun. But that was just stupid, couldn't she see that? Why let him go out at all, if she was just going to tie both hands behind his back and leave him no option but to watch helplessly as friends died?

  Because that was exactly what she'd done, all in the name of keeping him alive. She didn't seem to care about whether he'd still be able to live with himself.

  Well, he did. He was pretty sure at some point he'd heard his parents talk about not obeying when someone told you to do something bad. In fact, he was almost certain he remembered his mom telling him when he was a kid that it was better to break a bad promise than to keep it, if it meant doing something wrong. Although better still to not make a bad promise at all, of course.

  Or maybe that was all justification. Either way, he refused to believe that standing by doing nothing while his friends got shot in the back was the right thing to do, even if it meant he had to put himself in danger to help them. And if it did, then he'd rather feel guilty about a broken promise than a dead loved one he could've saved.

  Besides, the bloodies were all in position with their backs to him, not expecting any enemies to have managed to sneak around behind them to the south. He could pick a few of them off, take potshots at the rest while they scrambled for new cover, and buy the volunteers time to get up and over the ridge to safety.

  At that point he could run east along the ridge, the last direction Sangue would expect him to go with their own people now in complete control of the ambush valley a bit farther along. He'd reach the bend in this ravine long before he ran into trouble, and once beyond it could cut north and then west to meet up with his friends.

  Sorry, Mom, he thought, raising his rifle to point at the back of a soldier crouched behind two dead trees leaning against each other. Another soldier was hidden less than four feet away from the man, and he hoped to hit his first target and snap off another quick shot at the second before either had time to respond.

  Struggling to steady his breathing, he cemented his aim and let his finger drift down to the trigger, gently squeezing it to the break point. Same as he had countless times before in the last five years.

  Skyler's first shot hit his first target between the shoulder blades, just below the neck where his crouched position made his body armor gape open. His second hit the second target in the side, between the protective plates in the front and back of the flak jacket, as the man whirled to respond to the unexpected threat.

  At that point, Skyler ducked behind cover and whistled sharply in the prearranged signal telling the volunteers to get out of there. It was almost guaranteed they'd hit the dirt and sought cover the moment they heard the gunshots, but right now that was the worst thing they could do. They needed to move, before Sangue finished getting into position and pinned them down.

  Whistling was a dead giveaway of his location, but since he'd already fired two shots the bloodies probably knew anyway. He ducked back down the opposite side of the ridge, the one they'd just come over, and scuttled to the new position he'd planned before taking his shots, cautiously poking his head up just enough to check the slope below.

  As expected, the soldiers had scrambled to find new cover. On the opposite slope, he saw the volunteers flitting through the trees, getting closer to safety by the second. The copse of trees they were moving through covered most of the slope right up to the ridgeline, and over it down the other side.

  Even better, at least one person on the opposite slope, probably Logan, seemed to have figured out where the bloodies were located and was shooting to keep them pinned down, buying the others the time they needed to get clear. Skyler joined him, not able to find any targets beyond the occasional flash of an arm or leg or the protruding muzzle of a rifle pointed his way or, much worse, towards Logan or the fleeing volunteers.

  He didn't think he hit anyone else, and it was anyone's guess whether Logan did. But in less than a minute the volunteers were clear. Skyler fired a last shot at a flash of uniform below, gratified to hear a scream of surprise and pain, then backed away down into the gulch.

  He heard the gunfire he guessed was his friend's also die down as the ranch hand got out of there, and then the crash of people moving on the far slope as the Sangue soldiers relocated to pursue them both.

  Good luck, Skyler thought wryly as he bolted along just below the ridgeline, sliding from cover to cover with the ease of years of practice. He kept his eyes moving constantly in search of threats, not just from the fireteams behind him but also from any other bloodies in the area, and strained to hear anything beyond the slight noises he made as he ran, and his heart thundering in his ears.

  At first the crashing from the far side of the ridge seemed to be keeping up with him, and he felt a moment of concern that somehow these soldiers who already had to be dead tired from sprinting all this way were somehow in better shape than him, even though he'd spent years clambering around on these mountain slopes like a goat.

  Then the sounds of pursuit gradually fell back, farther and farther, until he couldn't hear them anymore. By the time he reached the bend in the ravine, he thought it was safe to risk slowing and looking over the ridge to assess the situation.

  Everything seemed good. He spotted a pair of bloodies guarding the mouth of the ravine, where it joined with the ambush valley near the top. But aside from flashes of uniforms and sunlight glinting off rifle barrels half a mile up the ravine in the other direction, the last of the bloodies he'd outrun as they made their way north in pursuit of the volunteers, he didn't see any immediate threats.

  So he shimmied up over the ridge and made his way down the far slope, heading north himself.

  * * * * *

  “Go due north until you're west of Camptown,” Tom said. “Then spend at least fifteen minutes thoroughly scouting the terrain around you, to make sure you weren't followed and there aren't any bloodies in the area. Only then do you head in. And ride your horse into the ground if you have to, to get the message there in time.”

  Mel Carver, one of the two recruits he'd left behind with the horses at the fallback position to send word to Camptown if needed, nodded resolutely. “What should I tell them?”

  He looked around grimly at the exhausted volunteers slumped on the ground around him, the survivors of his and the recruits' squads. Some were eating, some were seeing to their five wounded, but most just lay staring listlessly ahead. “Tell Brady to take every gun we have and put them in the hands of anyone who isn't crosseyed and has a trigger finger. We need them to be ready, in case the bloodies realize we're leading them on a wild goose chase and break north.”

  The young woman paled. “Do you think they will?”

  Tom gave her a reassuring smile. “If they do, we'll be the mouse chasing the cat and hit them from behind. Still, better safe than sorry.”

  She gave him a determined nod and climbed into the saddle, ushering the horse north at the best speed she could manage. He hoped it was fast enough.

  “Five minutes, people!” he called to the men and women around him. “We won't keep killing ourselves like we have been to stay ahead of the bloodies, but we need to keep going.”

  Most people were too dispirited even to groan. Teddy, who'd been seated with the few remaining recruits still alive from the squad that had cut and run, pulled him aside a short distance. “What about Ron Marshall's squad?” he asked quietly.

  Tom was seriously fretting over that himself. That was ha
lf of their remaining force, assuming they hadn't lost even more people. Not to mention that Logan, Jenny, and Mer were with that squad, and he had to admit that he was worried for them.

  Not very leaderly to play favorites, probably, but there it was.

  And for that matter, where was Skyler? His son could run circles around anyone here, and even though he'd been farther back, set up to keep an eye on Sangue in case they tried to spring any surprises, he should've been here by now.

  Tom would never forgive himself if something happened to the kid. In fact, if Skyler didn't show up by the time they had to leave, he was seriously tempted to put the survivors in Teddy's hands and go off searching for the teenager on his own.

  That wasn't very leaderly either, he supposed. “We'll leave someone behind to keep an eye out for them,” he replied. “Someone who's got the energy to run to catch up with us, if necessary.”

  That turned out to be unnecessary, because less than a minute later the missing squad limped into view, although from the northeast rather than the southeast like they'd been expecting.

  Logan led the group, limping slightly. He didn't look as if he was bleeding, so Tom assumed the normally fleet-footed young man had sprained an ankle or something while retreating from Sangue. That, or the brutal run pushing to stay ahead of their pursuers had exhausted even the youngest and strongest of the volunteers. If so Tom could sympathize; his leg muscles were rubber and he had to fight not to limp himself.

  His relief surged when the last person to come into sight, warily watching the terrain behind the volunteers for signs of pursuit, was Skyler.

  Tom had dreaded every minute that passed without news of his son, even though rationally he knew that given the teenager's position, and his task watching Sangue, he'd probably be among the last to arrive. Still, he'd feared the bloodies might stumble across Skyler hovering around them and somehow trap him.

  Or, more likely, the headstrong young man would see the fight going badly for the volunteers and try to intervene in spite of his promise, getting himself into trouble in the process.

  Although truth be told, who was to say the kid hadn't? Tom wasn't sure whether he wanted to press him on the issue, when he was just happy to see him alive and well. He hurried forward to pull his son into a fierce hug, then drew back and gripped him by the shoulders. “Still in one piece?”

  Skyler nodded, although he looked grim. “I'm fine.”

  Tom was relieved to hear that, although he had to wonder at the sort of emotional toll this was all taking on the young man. He decided to fish for some news to bolster everyone's spirits. “You probably got the best look at the bloodies during the ambush. How did we do?”

  His son grimaced. “From what I saw, w-” he cut off and somewhat guiltily cleared his throat, “the volunteers, that is, got maybe sixteen or seventeen of them, dead or mortally wounded. Maybe half that number more wounded in some way or other.”

  So at best, twenty-five of the enemy out of the fight, although more realistically probably only a squad. That left an entire squad of Sangue left, victorious and tasting blood in the air and chasing the volunteers hard, determined to finish them off.

  And there were who knew how many more squads out there threatening Camptown. Hard not to feel like things were a bit hopeless.

  Neal spat off to one side. “So we got the jump on them, fired the first shots from carefully prepared hiding places, and we barely killed more of them than they got of us?”

  Skyler jumped in shock. “What? How many did we lose?”

  Tom shook his head grimly. “Thirteen, dead in the fighting or who died of their wounds while we were making our way here. We've got another five wounded, although they should all pull through if they get a chance to properly heal.”

  Logan, slumped down with the other new arrivals nearby, sighed, shoulders sagging. “Maybe fourteen.” At Tom's surprised look the young continued heavily. “Ron stayed back to hold the bloodies off, bought us a chance to escape. But he didn't rejoin us afterwards, and Skyler didn't see any sign of him while scouting behind us as we fled. Hard not to fear the worst.”

  A glance at his son, who nodded grimly, confirmed the bad news.

  Although Skyler didn't seem in the mood to talk about that. “How did this happen?” his son demanded. “I saw the battle go south, but we had plans to get away if that happened. We shouldn't have lost this many people with all the plans we made.”

  “It was the recruit squad,” Neal said, voice heavy with disgust. “Green as grass. They broke almost at the start, and the bloodies shot most of them in the back as they tried to run away.”

  A few resentful murmurs spread among the volunteers at the man's tone, although the survivors of the squad in question and their leader Teddy were curiously silent. For his part Skyler looked stricken; no surprise, when he'd worked closely with the recruits. Especially since he'd viewed that work as a failure, and might even consider his lack of leadership directly responsible for them not being prepared for this fight.

  Which was pointless, since a few extra days probably wouldn't have made much difference. Although Tom felt responsible for the disaster himself, and for a much better reason.

  He'd known the recruits were undisciplined, he should've personally led that squad to put some iron in their spines. Instead, he'd left them to Teddy Knudsen, and while the man was one of his best volunteers and had proven his leadership ability in the past, he didn't have the same respect from the recruits that Tom commanded. The poor man couldn't have kept them in line as well in the heat of battle, especially as the fighting started to turn against them.

  For that matter, an all-recruit squad had been a mistake in the first place. Tom should've split them up among the other volunteers, not just on a squad level but on a team level, paired the least experienced fighters with the most experienced. It would've lessened the effectiveness of the volunteers to change things up that dramatically, but they would've had days to get used to the new arrangement.

  Well, leadership failures in the past were no excuse for failures in the present. He shot Neal a stern look. “They ran,” he agreed. “But they also came with us to this fight, even though they hadn't enjoyed the same level of training the other volunteers have gotten. That takes a lot of courage, and whatever happened they died defending Camptown. I don't want to hear anyone speaking ill of them.”

  “So your inspiring lesson from all this is if we run away and get ourselves and other good people killed, you'll still praise us as heroes?” the former bartender said defensively. “The bloodies were caught in a near perfect ambush, out in the open with nowhere to run! For all we know they were just seconds from breaking themselves, and would've if they hadn't seen a bunch of us turn tail and run like cowards!”

  Standing beside her lover, Reina kicked him hard in the shin to shut him up. He yelped and shot her a wounded look, then withered under her furious glare and fell into sullen silence.

  Still, he'd made a point that was hard to argue. “I won't praise them running,” Tom snapped. “A lot of them paid the price for that, and if that doesn't haunt the rest then the knowledge that their loved ones back in the valley are in that much more danger because of their failure should.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some of the surviving recruits from that squad resentfully shuffling their feet.

  He hoped there was at least a bit of shame there, too. He continued grimly. “But we're all human, and it's hard to say what we'd do in the heat of the moment until we face the crisis. The recruits pretty much all broke and ran at once, and you can't pin that entirely on individual decisions. It's part of human nature . . . our courage emboldens those around us, and our fear disheartens them. If I had to guess, I'd say it was just one or two people who broke first, and the rest followed their lead.”

  Tom looked around, catching people's eyes. “I'm not interested in who those people were, if they even survived. What's more important is that the rest fix their heads, so they don't make the same mista
ke next time. In the meantime, let's respect the recruits for being willing to fight, and give them the chance to learn from their mistakes.”

  He turned away and reached for his pack, not waiting for anyone to raise any more objections or complaints. “Come on, it's past time to leave. We've got a long chase ahead of us, making sure the bloodies stay with us as we lead them well away from Camptown, then find a way to lose them. Let's try not to get shot in the process.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dogged

  Brandon accepted the canteen Andy offered him, swiping his sleeve across his forehead before gulping down a few swallows of tepid, metallic tasting water. Which was pretty good right about now.

  Following their plan, they'd spent the rest of the day yesterday making a visible trail north, finally stopping at a stream that not only made a good camping spot, but might suggest to the enemy that they'd decided to wade along it to avoid leaving any more of a trail.

  Then, starting that morning and for the last four or so hours, they'd quietly slipped away from the trail and started pushing hard south while leaving as few traces of their passage as they could manage.

  It had been going well, he had to say. So far there'd been no sign of the enemy, not yesterday and not today. The bloodies had to be royally pissed about their convoy getting taken out and their road blocked, but whatever wrathful pursuit they'd sent after his team hadn't come quickly.

  And was now going the entirely wrong way to the north, he hoped, while he and his people moseyed on south.

  So far, this mountain war that Skyler and Trapper had started didn't seem to be going terribly. They'd stomped the enemy at Gerry's Ravine, hit them hard the next time they poked their noses south of Highway 29, and now had really mauled them on the road. As icing on the cake, they'd given Sangue a reason to look in a direction opposite Camptown, and were now safely on their way back home.