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

by Nathan Jones

  He understood that Brandon respected his parents and refused to go against their wishes, and so did the volunteers and even Gray's people. He understood that he had no chance of going out with them to defend the valley, no matter how skilled he was or how persuasively he argued.

  And he understood that he really wasn't grown up yet, that he was young and headstrong and he'd made mistakes. He understood that putting himself in danger made the people who cared about him worry, and felt bad about that.

  He understood the entire situation, he just didn't agree.

  His adoptive dad had spent the last five years teaching him that he needed to be able to solve his own problems, because he couldn't expect anyone else to. He'd been taught to be independent and able to care for himself and others, including when it came to a fight. His mom had heartily approved of those lessons, back when there'd been no real trouble.

  And now that there was, when he most needed everything he'd learned, his parents wanted him to forget all of it and become a helpless child again?

  Sangue had been proving more and more dangerous as time went on, making each fight against them that much more likely to end in failure, like the disastrous ambush and being chased for days. This attack on Emery would literally mean the life or death of hundreds of people, not just in the attack itself but whether or not they could bring back enough supplies from it.

  Now wasn't the time for Trapper to bench any of his fighters, and while Skyler didn't want to be arrogant that especially went for one of the volunteers' best. Especially not over flimsy reasons like his age or concerns about his safety; all the volunteers risked themselves just like he did, and nobody else was demanding special treatment.

  But whatever the reason, the mountain man had hamstrung him by refusing to let him so much as go out to scout with a squad. That left only one option, which was the one he planned to take now: sneaking away alone and trailing the volunteers on this big attack on Emery.

  On the plus side, neither his mom or Trapper had made him promise not to leave this time, they'd just delivered their ultimatum and expected him to follow it. It was a surprising relief not to have to worry about breaking his word.

  Skyler just wished they'd allow him to be as useful as he knew he could be. His hands would be tied scouting since he couldn't really report in anything he found, not unless it was an emergency that was. But he had his gun, and hundreds of rounds of ammo, and Surly. And food and his gear and all the skills he needed to survive long term. He could shadow the volunteers and be ready to join the fight, sniping any Sangue scouts sneaking up on them, pinning fireteams trying to flank them, taking out enemy officers, that sort of thing.

  After all, Brandon may not have ever intended to let him go out skirmishing with him, but he had let him help with the training because of his expertise. Skyler had all the skill and experience the skirmishers did, and then some, and he was ready to put it to use. That way, the next time the volunteers had a disastrous fight he might be able to tip things in their favor with some well placed shots, instead of just standing there watching helplessly as good people died and the monsters who were invading their home got to win.

  As for putting himself in danger, well, sniping from an extreme distance during the chaos of battle was about the safest place to be, wasn't it? His mom would still throw a fit, but he could do at least that much for her.

  So as the days passed, and everyone ran around like chickens with their heads cut off getting ready for the big attack, Skyler meekly joined in helping however he could. And all the while he made his own plans.

  Sheriff Gray took over for Trapper when it came to organizing the militia, volunteers, and even some of the defenders into eight squads of twelve, with careful thought given to pairing the least experienced fighters with the most experienced.

  Skyler might have resented Gray for casually taking over the mountain man's role, if Trapper hadn't so clearly deferred to him. And any potential resentment he may have felt vanished when he saw just how much more effective the militia were, especially when it came to the discipline, efficiency, and coordination with which they operated. The sheriff proved that point with unit drills on the first day before they even began, as if establishing his credentials.

  Not that the leader of Grand Junction's militia needed to do any such thing, to be fair.

  After his demonstration, Gray got to work preparing the nearly a hundred men and women for the attack, training them hard and using his own people as an example of what he expected. To Skyler's surprise, almost none of that training was in target practice. Instead, nearly all of it was focused on discipline, unit cohesion, and walking them through simulations of the battle for Emery and each individual person's place in it, using maps scratched into the dirt or on rare and precious pieces of paper.

  All the sheriff's focus was specifically on the attack on Emery, scenarios for if they won or lost, and how they'd get back to Camptown afterwards. With Trapper's help, he carefully planned the route Brady and a group of civilians with just a handful of defenders to protect them would take, bringing all the bowl valley's pack animals along the shortest path to the eastern edge of the mountains, well north of Emery.

  He planned a different route for the fighters, Trapper's suggested route south to the ranch valley, where they'd pause to take out the Sangue stationed there before continuing on to stage their attack on the occupied town.

  With Gray's style of training, there was a lot of just sitting around talking about the attack, which wasn't all that interesting for Skyler. Especially since it focused completely on the eight squads becoming as close to unified units as possible in the short time they had, which meant they trained together, ate together, strategized together, and even slept as separate units outside of Camptown, not allowed to return home to families until after the attack was finished. Skyler wasn't really welcome in any of those squads, which left him on the outside looking in.

  He would've been more frustrated if he didn't have his own role to play in the attack, one he'd thought out as carefully as Gray and Trapper and Mitchells had with theirs.

  On the morning the combined group of fighters set out, all armed with weapons and gear from his dad's scavenged hoard, or looted from slain Sangue, Skyler was there to wave goodbye with the others, wishing those going out the best.

  He could tell his mom was seriously worried about her husband going out to attack a Sangue outpost, although she tried to hide it for Trapper's sake as she kissed him goodbye. Still, there was an uncomfortable moment while his adoptive dad was hugging Molly tight with the faintest hint of tears in his steely gray eyes, when Skyler wondered if the man was also afraid he might never come back to his family.

  It made him doubt his own plans for a moment, if maybe his parents weren't right to keep him in the valley where he'd be safe.

  He tried to pretend he hadn't noticed the moment of vulnerability when Trapper stepped over to pull him into a crushing hug, sternly admonishing him to take care of his mom and sister while he was gone. Skyler nodded lamely, feeling like there should be a big sign hanging over his head announcing the truth of his unspoken lie.

  Then the mountain man moved to the front of the column of fighters, leading them as they marched away. In a different direction, Brady and a group of civilians rode off with every single spare horse in Camptown carrying empty packsaddles that would hopefully soon be full.

  It had been a bit of a trick to keep Surly from being looped into pack duty with the others, especially without raising suspicions about what exactly he needed his horse for. But he'd managed to argue that the remaining livestock still needed to be cared for, and if an animal happened to run off he kind of needed Surly to catch it.

  That was a pretty weak argument, but maybe his parents had wanted to give him some sort of win given his involuntary confinement to the valley, so they hadn't pushed the issue.

  Skyler stood with his mom and Fiona and Tabby and the most of the rest of those who'd be remaining in
Camptown, waving goodbye. They all stayed that way, fear for the safety of their loved ones hanging in the air like a heavy pall of smoke, until the two groups finally moved out of sight to the south and east.

  Even then, the mass of townspeople was slow to break up, as if still focused on lending their silent support to the no longer visible people out attempting the impossible.

  Eventually Skyler got impatient, deciding he didn't care if he drew notice by slipping away early. So, ignoring the concerned looks his friends and loved ones shot his way as he walked off, he made for the northern peak like he was visiting Sulk Point, which wouldn't really surprise anyone who knew him.

  Only instead of taking the narrow, difficult path up to the outcrop, he circled right around the mountain to where he'd left Surly hidden in a stand of trees earlier. “Hope you're ready to ride hard for a while,” he whispered as he mounted, his horse flicking an ear indifferently in response. “We've got some catching up to do.”

  * * * * *

  Brandon tossed his broom aside and stepped away, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. It was also sweaty, so the gesture was more symbolic than actually effective.

  He didn't let that diminish his satisfaction at the sight of the nearly hidden cache he'd just finished digging. It was well concealed under a thick bed of pine needles, in a small stand of trees near the top of a steep slope about a day and a half's ride west of Camptown.

  Over the last two weeks they'd circled almost all the way around the bowl valley, starting south and going east, then north dangerously close to Highway 29, and finally finishing up here. They'd buried six different caches at roughly even distances, where he and Trapper had agreed beforehand so the volunteers could use them as well if needed.

  “So that's it,” Andy said, picking up the broom and tucking it with the other tools on one of their horses, which were now mostly empty of supplies and could be ridden. “Preparations are complete . . . time to start going after the enemy?”

  “None too soon,” Brandon agreed. It had taken what felt like forever to prepare the caches, although he couldn't completely begrudge the time since he'd used it to have his skirmishers train and practice, especially things like following each other's trails.

  But with every day that had passed he'd felt that antsy itch on the back of his neck, that he and his people were just wasting time out here when they were needed back home. For all he knew, Sangue could've sent dozens of patrols towards Camptown at once. It was even possible the valley had already been attacked, while they were out here uselessly digging holes and days away from being able to help.

  He knew the fear was irrational, since they hadn't seen any sign of Sangue or their tracks as they'd circled around the bowl valley, covering a huge swath of territory. Still, irrational or not it continued to nag at him.

  “Where should we start?” Andy asked. “Head back to Highway 29 and raise a ruckus?”

  “Good question.” Brandon spat out a bit of grit raised by sweeping around the pine needles. “Kind of expected these mountains would be swarming with bloodies by this point, and we could basically throw a rock in any direction and find a fight.”

  His friend snorted. “Wouldn't we look like a bunch of jokers, working our butts off in elite skirmisher training and heading out to wage an intense guerrilla war on the enemy. Only to stumble around like morons for a few weeks doing jack all because there's no one out here but us, before heading home with our tails between our legs.”

  Considering that scenario involved his family and friends back home not being threatened by vicious animals, that embarrassment seemed like a small price to bear. And speaking of bears . . . “Trapper would probably prefer us not poking the bear, if for some reason Sangue really is leaving this area alone. We should head back to Camptown and see if there's any threats to deal with, then we can head back out.”

  “So we basically go from skirmishers to glorified scouts.” Andy sighed. “You're the boss.”

  The skirmishers hastily packed up and prepared to leave. Then they got to enjoy a brief but much needed rest from the labor of digging, on top of training and nights with less than optimal sleep, as they waited for the return of the scouts they'd sent out to patrol the area as they dug the cache.

  Unfortunately, two of the four scouts Brandon had sent, Neal and Reina, had decided to go off the agreed on route; they returned from the east, in the direction of Camptown. And apparently they had news.

  “Hey Gerry!” the bartender called as he hurried forward, waving excitedly. “You want to know how much we suck at tracking?”

  Brandon glared. Aside from the insult, the two weren't even supposed to be moving in that direction. “What's the number one rule we're supposed to be following?” he demanded. “No heading towards Camptown for any reason!”

  Neal waved that away impatiently. “We're far enough out to maneuver. That's the right word, isn't it? One of those fancy ones you use to make things sound more military?” At Brandon's intensifying glare the man held up his hands. “Anyway we have to scout in all directions at least a little ways, don't we? Otherwise the bloodies could sneak right up to us and we wouldn't even see them coming.”

  “Would you two forget that already?” Reina demanded, slapping her lover's shoulder. “We didn't come bolting back here to argue. We found a massive trail an hour or so east of here!”

  “We did!” the bartender agreed cheerfully, remembering his previous excitement. “Had to be hundreds of people passing by from the north headed south, not even trying to be sneaky either. And the funniest thing is, we completely missed it when we walked across it headed out here to dig this last cache. Which brings me to my previous point . . . do we suck at tracking, or what?”

  Brandon bit back a curse. Had they really missed a trail like that? They had been moving at night quite a bit of the time, both for practice and in case there were enemies out there. He'd accepted that night travel would limit their ability to see what was going on around them, but he hadn't realized they'd be quite that blind.

  They needed to be careful that moving at night didn't end up with them passing a stone's throw from bloodies they wouldn't even know were there, at least until the bullets started flying; if not right at that moment, then in the morning when the enemy could see them better after following them all night.

  Well, this sort of thing demanded their attention, assuming Trapper and the volunteers hadn't already discovered and dealt with it. “Let's go take a look.”

  Sure enough, after a bit over an hour of riding Brandon confirmed with his own eyes that there was a wide, trampled path stretching from north to south across the landscape, worn by hundreds of feet. They really must have passed it by in the night, since there was no possible way they could've missed this even with their modest tracking skills.

  Not that that stopped Neal from using it as an opportunity to get on their case about it. The man didn't seem to care that he was insulting himself along with them, either.

  Brandon cut him off irritably, motioning towards the trail. “We'd better follow this, see where it leads and who made it. And let's try to be a bit more stealthy about it than they were.”

  Fortunately, they didn't need to go much more than an hour or so longer before finding something. Or perhaps unfortunately, considering what it was.

  “Holy cow,” Brandon whispered, staring at the cut up slope. It looked as if dozens of people had attacked it with axes, but he spotted the clear mark of bullets on some trees and logs. Big bullets, fired fast enough to nearly saw down some trees. And there were splashes of dark brown and black all over the place that looked suspiciously like gore. A sickening amount of it.

  Neal scratched the back of his head. “Should I be happy or disappointed that I missed this?”

  Brandon stared at the bottom of the slope, where a large pile of disturbed earth marked a mass grave big enough for dozens of bodies. Volunteers? Sangue? The bodies of that large group of people whose trail they'd fol
lowed to find this place? All of the above? How many people had died here? Who'd won?

  More importantly, what had happened afterwards?

  If Sangue had massacred a bunch of people and kept going, they might already be in Camptown now. After Trapper had lost against even numbers, everyone's confidence in facing the enemy in a head to head fight was shaken. In any case, an army of bloodies big enough to cause this sort of carnage could potentially roll right over every volunteer the mountain man could gather to stop them.

  The trail continued south past the scene of the obvious battle. And oddly enough, it continued on in a way that suggested the battle itself hadn't caused the huge group of people to move any differently. Or maybe it had been made before the fighting started?

  He and his skirmishers were still scratching their heads over that one when a couple of Trapper's scouts found them.

  It turned out the two had been stationed there to keep watch, in case Sangue came sniffing around to discover what had happened to the people they sent in pursuit of the large group. The scouts quickly filled the skirmishers in on everything that had happened while they'd been gone.

  “Gray's militia is here?” Andy demanded incredulously.

  “They took out eighty bloodies and only lost six people?” Neal added. “With a .50 caliber machine gun?”

  Brandon pushed aside his own shock in favor of more pressing concerns. “Trapper set out to attack Emery today?”

  “That was the plan,” Mel Carver agreed. “I think he sent people out to find you and bring you back to help, but it looks as if they never did.”

  Brandon did the math. From where they were, it would take about two days pushing hard to reach the ranch, even trading off riding their packhorses like they had been. According to the scouts, that was when Trapper planned to begin his night attack on the Sangue there.