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

by Nathan Jones

  Unfortunately, the man wasn't done. “And those are just the scouts. At any sign of serious resistance the bloodies are poised to send in hundreds more, as well as any squads in the immediate area. They don't want us slipping back to our hiding place here like we have been, and intend to hound us relentlessly until they either hunt us down, force a confrontation, or make us lead them back to the valley.”

  The leaden weight of despair settled on Tom's shoulders with near physical force. To his surprise Skyler, obviously just as alarmed, went so far as to step closer to him seeking reassurance. He put a comforting arm around the teenager's shoulders.

  “What do we do?” his son asked quietly.

  Leaden silence greeted the question. Finally Gray spoke up. “Guess we hope our skirmishers do their job, and send out as many more as we can spare. That, and be ready to hit any bloodies who come sniffing our way hard and fast, then retreat just as quickly before the rest can swoop in on us. We'll need to have everyone who can hold a weapon manning the farthest out fortifications and ambush points you set up around the valley, ready to act as fallback positions for our fighters when they go out, in case things turn sour and they have to withdraw. And our fighters are going to have their work cut out for them. It's not going to be easy, I can tell you that.”

  Easy? It didn't even sound possible. “How long do you think we have before they find Camptown, and we're facing a determined siege?” Tom asked.

  The militia leader sighed, face as gray as his name. “I won't lie, it'll take a miracle to hold out until winter.” He snorted bitterly. “Heck, we'll be lucky to last a month.”

  Before any more could be said, Tom spotted Kristy storming their way from the direction of the summer retreat, at a pace that was a bit concerning considering she was over eight months along with the baby. Beneath her visible fury, her face was drawn with stress and exhaustion. Back by the cabin Keri Dennison, one of the women Skyler rescued, was holding a squirming Molly, keeping the toddler from running after her mom or coming to welcome home her daddy and brother.

  Obviously, his wife had a different sort of reunion in mind.

  He felt Skyler tense, and tightened his grip to keep the teenager from bolting if that's what he planned. “Time to face the music,” he said quietly, starting forward with his arm still firmly around his son's shoulders to meet Kristy halfway.

  The others noticed the brewing storm and politely made their farewells, starting back for Camptown with a bit more haste than was strictly necessary.

  The first thing Kristy did when she reached them was throw her arms around them both, kissing the top of Skyler's head before pressing her cheek against it. Tom could feel her trembling, either from anger or fear or possibly both. He tried to think of something to say, then decided silence was the best option.

  His son seemed to have reached the same conclusion, and for a few eternal minutes they just stood like that.

  When she finally drew back she wasted no time grabbing Skyler by the shoulders, shaking him with pure frustration writ on her drawn features. “Skyler Dale Graham, what do we have to do?” she demanded. “What do we have to do?” Tears glimmered in her eyes, and one slipped down her cheek.

  The teenager looked away with a mixture of guilt and defiance. “Let me go.”

  Tom had a feeling he didn't mean her fierce grip. Kristy seemed to realize it too, because she shook him again, raising her voice. “You're not invincible, Skyler! I know you're smack dab in the middle of puberty and you think you can run face first into bullets, but you can't!” She shook him a third time, tears falling freely now and voice taking on a tinge of desperation. “Don't you realize volunteers die just about every time they go out? Don't you realize how easily that could be you?”

  Her son shook his head numbly, shaken. “I-”

  Kristy sobbed and pulled him into another hug, clutching him as if he was all that was keeping her up. “I can't, Sky. I can't lose you. Don't you know what it does to me when you disappear, and I know you've gone off to get shot at by bloodies? It kills me!”

  Skyler hugged her back tightly, although he finally seemed to regain some of his determination. “We can't all stay in the valley, Mom! Some of us have to go fight them. Otherwise there's nothing standing between them and-and you. You and Molly and the baby.”

  She pulled back, expression fierce. “Don't you dare use me as an excuse to go and get yourself killed. Don't you dare!”

  “It's not an excuse!” he yelled back. Now tears glimmered in his eyes, too. “You're trying to tell me I'm not allowed to protect you, when I know exactly what horrors I'm protecting you from! When I still have nightmares-”

  He cut off abruptly with a strangled noise, then tore free of her grip and fled towards the retreat.

  Kristy turned to Tom with a helpless look, so lost and frightened his heart broke for her. He stepped forward and gathered her up in his arms. He thought he was exhausted, but his wife looked alarmingly haggard considering her condition. “When was the last time you slept?” he asked gently.

  She snorted bitterly. “Who says I did, after I realized Skyler had run off after you?” She stared at him, sky blue eyes narrowed. “Which I trust you knew nothing about.”

  “Well, I'm glad you trust me,” he said in a wry voice, maneuvering her towards the retreat. “Come on, let's get you to bed. You shouldn't be working yourself up like this in your condition.”

  “You think I want to?” she demanded, sagging against his side and resting her head against his shoulder, shoulders shaking with sobs. “What can we do, Tom? Cut an aspen sapling and thrash him until he sees reason?”

  He honestly didn't know, although he was pretty sure spanking wasn't going to solve anything. He just wished Skyler would quit being so stubborn and see reason. With hundreds of Sangue scouring the mountains searching for them, he really didn't have time to be reining in a rebellious teenager.

  Although it looked as if he might not have a choice: they were almost to the retreat when Kristy abruptly stiffened, staring towards the corral. “Tom,” she said, voice sharp.

  He turned to see that Skyler hadn't run far. The teenager was in with the horses too young to be put to work in Camptown or rotated out to rest, fitting Sulky with reins before leading the young, energetic mare over to where he already had a saddle waiting.

  Cursing softly, Tom started for him with Kristy hot on his heels. “Just what do you think you're doing?” he demanded.

  Sulky shot him a nervous look and danced slightly against the reins, and he felt a moment of chagrin; horses, especially young ones, needed a calm approach and gentle words from their masters. The mare wasn't to know it wasn't her she was shouting at.

  Skyler kept her firmly reined in, tethering her to a fencepost and getting to work calming her so he could put on the saddle. “I lost Surly thanks to you. I'm going to train Sulky to replace him.”

  Tom didn't think it was quite fair to blame him for losing the horse. Even if Skyler could've outrun the Sangue riders if he'd been alone, it would've been a dangerous chase. Probably not as dangerous as trying to climb a cliff while being shot at, admittedly, but . . .

  “And what exactly do you plan to do with her?” Kristy demanded.

  The sandy-haired teenager shot them both a disgusted look. “What, you think I'm going to take a half trained horse out to fight the bloodies?” He fetched the saddle. “You should be happy . . . training Sulky should keep me occupied for a few weeks, keep me from “getting myself killed.” He paused, then added sourly. “No telling how many other people might get killed since I'm not out there helping, though. Has Trapper told you yet that I saved his and Gray's lives?”

  Kristy sucked in a furious breath, as if about to really let him have it, then winced and rested a hand on her belly as if the baby had just kicked. “I can't deal with this,” she muttered, sounding almost plaintive. She looked at the end of her strength.

  Tom gently nudged her towards the retreat. “Come on, you need slee
p,” he told her quietly.

  He expected his wife to balk, but she just nodded and let him support her as he led her back to their home. “So do you. And maybe having my husband beside me for once will let me sleep better.”

  The chance to fall asleep with his wife in his arms sounded like heaven right about now. He felt a surge of guilt, and not just at her hint about how much he'd been gone lately. “I can't,” he said gently. “I can get you settled down, maybe spend a few minutes. But there's hundreds of bloodies out there searching for this place, and I need to organize with Gray and Mitchells to make sure they don't find us.”

  Kristy crumpled at that, leaning more of her weight against him. “Does it ever end, Tom? Will it?”

  He could only rub her back, feeling helpless. “Things'll look less grim once you've had a proper rest. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  He finally had a chance to retrieve Molly from Keri. His daughter immediately buried her face in his chest, holding him with all the strength her little arms could manage and refusing to let go. He held her and Kristy both as he led them inside. Under most circumstances, his wife would've been furious at him for collapsing into bed before changing out of his dirty clothes and washing up. But tired as they both were, and with Molly acting so clingy, she didn't even mention it as they all cuddled together.

  Tom wanted nothing more than to sink into blessed sleep. Molly wasn't in the mood for a nap, though, so about the time he heard Kristy begin snoring softly, curled up peacefully against him, he reluctantly disentangled himself from her arms. Stifling a groan at the effort required for the simple task of standing up, he paused a moment to see if he'd accidentally woken up his wife.

  Apparently she was so exhausted an earthquake wouldn't stir her, which hopefully meant she'd get some proper rest. He carried Molly back outside to where Keri was seated at the outdoor table, busily patching a hole in a dress. “I need to get back to it,” he told her. “Would you mind watching Molly while Kristy sleeps?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, setting aside the dress and holding out her arms to the toddler. To Tom's embarrassment Molly immediately began fussing, refusing to let him go. The raven-haired woman gave him a sympathetic smile as he reluctantly peeled his daughter away and handed her over.

  “Thanks.” He wearily straightened his shoulders and started for Camptown.

  Tom found Mitchells, Gray, and a dozen volunteer and militia leaders in the center of the growing town, near the storehouse. Or storehouses; apparently more buildings nearby had been commandeered to hold the supplies and weapons they'd taken from Emery. They were full to bursting, with people busily coming and going as they catalogued and organized everything.

  The valley's leaders were gathered around a carefully drawn map of the area between Highway 29 and Emery spread out on a table. At the moment Gray was listening to one of his people who was reading from a report, and using a pencil to write on the map. A brief look suggested the militia leader was marking the tentative locations of enemy forces, their estimated numbers, and their direction of travel.

  Scouts couldn't have provided such specific information without it being at least a day old, which would make it effectively useless unless they could trust the enemy was moving in the same direction the entire time. Which, to be fair, they did tend to do. Although Tom had a feeling this was all intel they were getting from the radios.

  Proving their worth already, looked like.

  “Thanks for joining us, Trapper,” Gray said, pausing his work. “We need to get to work immediately, planning our defenses and developing a strategy for keeping Sangue away from Camptown.”

  Tom nodded. “Speaking of that, what's going on with your skirmishers?”

  “Gathering up people and supplies now. Once they have your guides they can set out.”

  “Already on it,” Teddy Knudsen said. “Dennis is out talking to our best people, handing out assignments and getting them ready to go. Once we finish planning here I'll go check on him.”

  “Sounds good.” Tom looked closer at the map, doing his best to judge distances. “Looks like the nearest enemy squads are still at least a day out. Not much time to prepare.”

  “Assuming they come right for us,” Mitchells agreed. “We were thinking we'd grab every available defender and Grand Junction citizen who can use a gun and put them in the farthest out defensive emplacements and ambush positions around the town, make sure they have supplies and put them on permanent postings. They can deal with any enemies who slip through the cracks, while we send our fighters directly after the enemies Gray's radio operators point us to.”

  “We should have scouts out, too,” Tom suggested. “I don't want to rely completely on intel eavesdropped from the enemy.”

  The militia's leader looked a bit irked. “Was planning to. I was thinking we could send one or two mounted scouts with each skirmisher squad to report in on anything they find. And have proper patrols out as well.”

  “We'll need to coordinate to make sure our people aren't shooting each other out on the mountain slopes,” Teddy said.

  “Right, that's always a concern,” Gray agreed. “In any case, we also need to be working on training more people even as we're sending our fighters out to turn back any bloodies that get past our skirmishers, or lead them away. We just don't have the numbers right now, and the people we do have are going to need chances to rest and see their families. Although it might take more time than we have to meld a solid, disciplined group out of our combined fighters, no offense to your training intended.”

  Tom did feel a bit, and it was obvious so did Mitchells and Teddy and the other volunteers. But he was willing to acknowledge that he wasn't a soldier and neither were any of his volunteers or defenders, and they'd done the best they could under the circumstances. “How many people do we have willing to sign up to join the fight?”

  “Plenty, actually,” Mitchells replied. “Apparently taking out an occupied town and bringing back a bunch of supplies and nifty weapons makes people more willing to believe we have a chance.”

  Gray cleared his throat. “Speaking of nifty gadgets, there's a potential threat more immediate than the enemies our radio operators are pointing us towards.” He pointedly ran his finger along a line circling southwest of Camptown, which after a moment Tom realized was a rough estimation of the path they'd taken getting back after the Sangue riders chased them. “You know those riders that almost ran us down? They're mobile, dangerously close to the valley, and possibly with a trail to follow if they know how to look for it. How'd you feel about tracking them down, Trapper?”

  Tom frowned. “There's got to still be at least a couple dozen, probably twice that, and those horses give them an edge. Do we have the manpower to hit them while organizing our defenses?”

  The militia's leader smiled grimly. “No. But as I was saying, we have the firepower.” He tapped what Tom assumed was his guess of where the Sangue riders were at the moment on the map. “I'd like to send one of my lieutenants, Jonas, and a couple militia fighters with you, along with one of the RPG launchers we captured. You'll find the bloodies, pick an ambush spot where you can do the most damage, lob two or three grenades at them and wreak some carnage, and send them running for the edge of the mountains with their tails between their legs. While you're doing that, I'll send another team out to see if those two enemy squads who were following us on foot up from your ranch are still sniffing around nearby, and if so give them the same welcome.”

  Tom whistled softly. Aside from movies, he'd never seen a grenade launcher at work. But he could imagine hitting the enemy riders with one from a safe distance and utterly crushing them. Even so . . . “Think four of us will be enough against dozens, if the grenades don't take out enough to scare the rest of them off?”

  Gray gave him a surprisingly serious, almost haunted look. “You ever been on the receiving end of explosives?” he asked, while his lieutenants nodded solemnly.

  He hesitated, thinking of the grena
des the enemy had used against them in some of their recent fights. Those hadn't been a picnic, and they'd likely been the reason the recruits had fled in that disastrous ambush.

  As he was mulling it over, the sheriff continued. “I'm talking rockets, mortars, even tank shells. Sangue are basically glorified scouts and raiders, if well equipped, trained, and disciplined ones. I can tell you right now that unless those rapist, bloodthirsty SOBs have spines of pure iron, once their buddies start exploding around them they'll bolt without a backwards look.”

  That might've been an optimistic judgment, given Tom's experience with the frighteningly professional invaders. Then again, Gray and his people had years more experience fighting them than he did.

  He bit back a sigh, reaching the obvious conclusion. Didn't look like he'd be getting a proper night's sleep yet. “We should probably head out immediately.”

  * * * * *

  “Come on,” Skyler said as patiently as he could when Sulky began making nervous noises and yanking back on the reins. “You've lived a few hundred yards from people shooting at this range for what, months now? We're just moving a little closer, that's all.”

  The feisty mare obviously wasn't buying it, staring at the dozens of people practicing at the shooting range with the whites of her eyes showing. He sighed and moved back to soothe her, rubbing her nose.

  “Come on, girl,” he whispered, painfully aware of Gray's militia, the volunteers, and the defenders doing various training not far away, both on and off the range. He didn't exactly want them to hear what he was saying. “You need to learn not to spook at gunshots, even ones I fire from your saddle if it comes down to it, and you need to do it quick. Not to insult you, but your big brother was really good at that and it saved my life more than once.”

  Sulky snorted, flicking her ears at him to show she still wasn't convinced, and he scowled. “I should've named you Balky, you know that? You can't replace Surly, I'm not trying to even do that, but you're what I've got. So like it or not, we're going to camp next to this shooting range for as long as it takes. Until I can ride you without you trying to dance around or toss me, even with rifles going off ten feet away. And I need to finish training you to respond to my signals, especially the unspoken ones.”