by Nathan Jones
Crowded as these mountains were, finding a single teenager in them all on his own was a blasted needle in a haystack. A complete fool's errand. The most likely outcome was that Tom would spend weeks or even months wandering around, searching for someone who was as good at hiding on these slopes as he was. And he'd probably have zero success, only to go back to Camptown one day and discover Skyler had long since returned and he'd been wasting his time.
Tom grit his teeth. And there was nothing else he could do, because the alternative was that when he finally got word of his son it would be bad news. Or they might never see him again, and would always wonder what had happened and secretly know it was something bad.
If he didn't do everything in his power to find Skyler, Kristy would never forgive him. And he'd never forgive himself.
His finger edged a bit closer towards the trigger as he watched the Sangue squad creeping cautiously along the mountain slope, doing their best to stay hidden. He'd been trailing them for over an hour, now, circling around and keeping a sharp eye out for any sign Skyler was also stalking these soldiers. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the teenager, which meant it was about time to continue his search.
But not before he finished up here.
Every single Sangue soldier in these mountains represented a threat to his son. One the headstrong teenager was actively seeking out. That meant that every enemy Tom took out was one less danger to Skyler, so it looked as if his hunt for his son was also going to involve some skirmishing of his own.
He couldn't do what the other skirmishers were doing and try to lead the bloodies away from Camptown after sniping at them. That would take time he didn't have. But he could at least hit them hard, make them scramble and hopefully rethink the idea of wandering around in his mountains, before he disappeared to continue his search.
It would have to be enough.
Tom had been following the squad for long enough to guess where they were headed, and had carefully picked the spot where he'd ambush them. It didn't seem like a likely ambush spot, still in the cover of the trees with only one relatively open direction upslope to attack from, but that was part of the plan.
As was his own position, which he'd picked just as carefully. He'd also spent time choosing which targets to go for first; now, as his finger shifted to gently begin pulling back the trigger, he fixed the crosshairs firmly on the chest of the first enemy soldier.
It was a tricky shot, because he was hitting the man from behind while trying to make it look like he was hitting him from the front. Which was only possible because the soldier was briefly turned sideways navigating an obstacle. As the soldier started to twist back to face forward, Tom's finger on the trigger hit the break point, and with a sharp crack of his rifle his target jerked and went down.
The Sangue soldiers, disciplined and experienced, took only a moment to assess the situation. In that moment they were vulnerable, but Tom held off firing because another shot might give them a clue to his position, which would cause them to come to a different conclusion than what he was hoping for.
He held his breath, rifle ready to shift aim and finger still on the trigger, as he waited to see what they'd do.
The bloodies exploded into motion towards the nearest cover. Based on where their friend had been shot, and the terrain around them, they'd come to the obvious conclusion that the enemy was sniping at them from the single open direction upslope, rather than threading a shot through the closely spaced trees as Tom had actually done.
Based on that conclusion, they rushed to get behind cover from that direction, ducking behind trees and dead logs and a small dip in the ground. Once in more secure positions some began searching for their hidden enemy, while others slid through the trees to try to flank where they thought he was.
Meanwhile Tom, downslope in the opposite direction, had clear shots at a dozen backs through the trees between him and the squad. Shots he began snapping off as quickly as he could while still having some confidence in his accuracy, which was still pretty darn fast.
Behind their completely misjudged cover, bloodies began screaming and going down.
Now, it was an odd trick of the human mind that once a person had settled on a conclusion they were pretty stubborn about sticking to it, even in the face of evidence to the contrary. That was an obvious weakness for soldiers, who had to be ready to adapt quickly to new circumstances in life and death situations, and one that competent militaries did their best to train out of their men.
Sangue were competent, no question about that. But even the learned ability to quickly adapt had to fight against human nature, and in the confusion of combat facts weren't always clear, so even the best soldiers couldn't be sure what new circumstances they had to adapt to.
So as more bloodies began going down to Tom's well placed shots, the first reaction from the others was to duck even farther behind their sources of cover. A few actually scrambled farther down the slope to better spots, or so they thought, although that just made them even easier targets for him.
Gunfire echoing from mountain slopes could be hard to place, and it could sometimes be hard to determine an entry point for through-and-through wounds. By the time the enemy began figuring out from the various clues that the sniper was actually behind them, picking them off behind their incorrect sources of cover, three or four had already gone down.
Then they were frozen for a moment, unsure if there had also been a sniper upslope, at which point finding a new source of cover to protect them from both directions would be much harder. Tom managed to hit another man in the leg during that time, before the enemy soldiers once again burst into action to find new sources of cover. Some tried to protect themselves from both directions, but most were fully focused on getting away from the enemy below them; more than a few simply ducked around the trees or logs they were using as cover to hide behind the other side.
In that confusion as they sought new cover, Tom backed away from his firing position and eased through the trees, quickly and quietly, on the path he'd picked beforehand. After a few hundred yards he was far enough along the forested slope from the enemy to be out of line of sight of anything but an impossibly lucky shot, and that was assuming the surviving soldiers had immediately hopped up and charged this way the moment he stopped firing.
Given another aspect of human nature, that of staying behind cover when threatened for long enough to assess a situation and develop a plan, he seriously doubted they'd done anything else. So he picked up the pace to a loping run, still moving as quietly as possible and sticking to cover, mostly to avoid the unlikely chance of being spotted by the enemy and potentially pursued.
Or, considering what had happened to Brandon's skirmishers, the equally unlikely chance that he'd somehow missed another group of bloodies sneaking up on him.
After five minutes he was confident he'd left pursuit behind, and shifted to a ground-eating stride that would let him travel long distances without exhausting himself before the end of the day. It was a pace he'd become familiar with after over a decade of wandering the Southwest, one as comfortable as breathing, but given a choice he would've far rather had Horse or Mary with him. Or better yet both; he needed to cover ground quickly if he was going to have any hope of catching his son, especially since the kid had taken Sulky.
Given that need for haste, Tom only paused when he needed to check the terrain around him for any other enemies lurking about.
And to look for Skyler, of course, although realistically he could've run right past his son hidden out there. He just had to hope that the kid would be lurking around the enemy, and anyway groups of Sangue soldiers were easier to find than one crafty kid on these steep forested slopes.
So he'd continue searching out groups of bloodies as he made his way to locations Skyler might have decided to operate near. And he'd continue to hit those groups where he could, doing his part to leave them in disarray and thin their numbers.
Like the five or six enemies he'd taken d
own back there.
* * * * *
Skyler watched the two trucks that had just pulled up to the Joes Valley Campground disgorge dozens of Sangue troops.
Unlike the other convoys that had used the camp for its intended purpose before moving on, these were clearly here on a mission; almost as soon as the soldiers had disembarked, officers began shouting them into smaller groups. Then each group was assigned a dog and handler from the camp, and within minutes was sent marching off.
Out of the camp, wary and alert, to circle the lake and climb up into the surrounding hills. Their purpose was obviously to hunt down the skirmisher who'd been taking potshots at the camp's patrols over the last few days. And considering they'd brought in two full squads, with dogs, they were really taking the task seriously.
That was forty less bloodies who'd be sniffing around Camptown. Forty less soldiers who'd pose a threat to Brandon and Andy and Mer and the other skirmishers, making it less likely the enemy would get past them and press in to find the bowl valley. Even if Skyler hadn't already taken out a dozen or so enemy soldiers in his attacks, not to mention sneaking in and setting fire to a few buildings a couple nights ago, pulling that many soldiers away from their search for his loved ones would've been a major contribution in its own right.
But it also meant it was time for him to move on. Before he left, though, he figured he'd leave a few last presents for the bloodies who'd inevitably be following him.
In spite of his name, Trapper hadn't used all that many actual traps. Or at least not the metal ones that snapped shut on springs; aside from those being hard to come by, he'd always got by with his snares. However, Skyler's dad had included several traps as part of his cache of things gathered from scavenging in the fallout zone, and Skyler had brought a couple with him.
His plan had been to use them for their intended purpose, if the opportunity ever presented itself to lay them on small game trails. Bagging a rabbit or two to supplement the truly nasty Sangue ration bars he was surviving on seemed like a good option, if he could take the time and risk while skirmishing against the enemy.
So far he hadn't, truth be told. And now that he had a better use for them, he was prepared to lose them to make his escape just a little easier.
So Skyler headed northeast, traveling on foot leading Sulky behind him. He made no effort to hide his trail, scent or visible, and moved quickly in a line. If possible, he wanted to convey the image that he was finished operating in the area and, now that Sangue had brought in serious manpower to chase him, he was breaking off and getting out entirely.
After about a half hour, he paused in a likely place and concealed his traps along his trail. It was in a choke point between trees, where pursuers would be funneled to walk right over them, but his preference would've been if the traps took out a couple of the dogs sniffing after him; not only would it remove some of the biggest threats, but it would also force the bloodies to leash the rest of their trackers to prevent them from wandering into more traps, as well as causing them to move more slowly and cautiously in general in case there were more traps.
And who knew? Maybe, if he was confident enough in his lead, he would pause to set out some snares. Those were easier to spot, but it might keep the enemy cautious and he'd brought several of them, too.
Skyler pushed northeast for another half hour or so after that, keeping his pace fast and his trail obvious. He constantly checked his back trail to make sure Sangue troops weren't already in sight and closing in, but as far as he could see there was nobody, even when he found good vantages higher up that let him see much farther.
Once he was really confident he was well ahead of pursuit, and he'd found a convenient area of loose scree on the other side of a stream passing through a high valley, he went all out to hide his trail.
Most of that was confusing or erasing his scent to throw off the dogs, but he also picked a brutally steep spot to climb up the slope, leading to an even more difficult cliff he'd have to work his way around leading Sulky. Once the dogs lost him, he wanted Sangue to assume that he'd gone any of half a dozen easier ways before they even looked at a trail that would be almost impossible to lead a horse along.
It was a precarious ten or so minutes to get past the rough spot, and he had to admit that he didn't know this area enough to be exactly sure what he'd find on the other side. Thankfully, once he made his way around the cliff he found a passable trail leading west, in the direction he wanted to go.
“Here we go, Sulky,” he said quietly as he climbed into the saddle. “Let's quit playing around and put some distance behind us.”
The mare snorted in a way he couldn't help but feel was a bit derisive. He responded by nudging her into a fast pace, eyes alert for any threats in the area.
For the rest of the day he changed directions repeatedly, and several times took measures to hide his trail and confuse his scent. But his general direction of travel was westward. At least until he finally found a good spot where he could head due south, and even dogs would have trouble following him.
He spent the night there, and at the crack of dawn headed back down to get to work along Highway 29.
Chapter Eight
Highway 29, Again
Getting to Highway 29 was the hard part. Not too surprising, considering it was the enemy's main way through the Utah Rocky Mountains this far south, unless they wanted to use I-70 even farther south or Highway 31 to the north.
From what Brandon had heard, the interstate was bottlenecking with Sangue convoys as it was, considering it was one of their main ways of getting to the west coast. And, judging by what Gray's people heard over the radio, the bloodies were running into some sort of major resistance in Northern Utah that required moving a lot of troops around.
So 29 was currently vital to their operations in the area.
On top of the highway being heavily used and well guarded, the bloodies searching for Camptown were pushing hard southwards from there. Gray's people had been forced into moving out to prepare for several conflicts while Brandon and his cobbled together group of volunteers and surviving skirmishers were getting ready for their sabotage, luring slaves in, and jailbreak mission; in fact, he and the thirteen people with him had actually had to dodge around a zone where the Grand Junction leader was setting up to hit one of the nearest groups of enemies.
Even after getting past the conflict areas, they had to constantly dodge Sangue scouts and squads in motion. It was almost unbelievable how many soldiers the enemy had pushed into their mountains, and there were a few close calls where Brandon was sure they'd be caught and forced to flee back to Camptown and try again.
Assuming the bowl valley lasted that long.
But somehow they made it through, mostly by sneaking at night, circling far around, and trusting the word of the Camptown scouts they ran into to point them to potentially safe routes north. By some miracle they weren't spotted and neither was their trail, and by some odd quirk the farther north they went the less bloodies they ran into, and the less vigilant those enemies were.
Brandon could only assume that with Sangue pushing south so hard with so many troops, anyone who managed to get behind that screen of soldiers was in a more or less clear zone, territory the enemy thought they held and weren't scouting as vigilantly. They did start to run into more patrols when they got within half a day's hike of Highway 29, but those patrols moved fairly predictably and were easier to get around.
His group made their way to a spot where the road cut through a hill, forming a tall cliff on one side and a low cliff on the other. The lay of the land hadn't allowed for the road to go around, which made it an even better spot to take out the road by dropping the cliffs on it. Or at least the taller northern one.
Brandon felt a bit of a pang as they got the explosives, some of those they'd captured from Emery, ready to do the job. He felt like Pine should be here, lending his expertise, but the old miner had never returned from the ambush Brandon had led his skirmishers in
to. In his place Gray had sent along his lieutenant, Jonas, who was apparently at least passingly familiar with demolition work, and a younger militia fighter named Benny.
Thankfully, the work of setting the explosives and preparing the cliffs didn't take days of digging like the last time they'd taken out Highway 29. Jonas looked the place over, conferred with Brandon about potential weaknesses in the rock face, then ignored his advice and sent him and his remaining skirmishers out scouting for potential patrols, while the rest of the volunteers helped him pound out a few quick holes in likely cracks and set the C4.
“No need to waste too much time prepping,” the surly lieutenant said as if talking to a small child. “We brought a whole bunch of high explosives so we wouldn't have to risk spending too much time around here. We can set them, take the cliff down by brute force, and then get out.” His lip curled slightly. “Or at least, we can get out while you get yourselves killed.”
Yeah, Brandon had already picked up that Jonas didn't think much of his jailbreak plan. The man had been happy enough to assist with the task of taking out Highway 29, since it would directly benefit Camptown. But he'd been even more happy to leave Brandon and his painstakingly assembled group of volunteers to try the truly dangerous gamble of sneaking into an enemy camp, arming a bunch of starving men, and fighting their way out again on their own.
On the plus side, even though Gray's two militia fighters weren't sticking around, they'd still help out by blazing an obvious trail away from the site of the sabotage. That would give Brandon and his people a chance to find a good hiding spot and hunker down, waiting until Sangue brought in the slaves before they continued with the mission.
He had to admit he was looking forward to the waiting part of the plan, since as long as the bloodies who swarmed the area after their road was once again taken out didn't find his volunteers, they'd probably have days to catch up on sleep and mentally prepare for the task to come.
