Final Stand: Last Ditch (Mountain Man Book 5)

by Nathan Jones

  Then those muzzle flashes, too, disappeared. Brandon spotted a few dark shapes scurrying in the night and aimed after one or two, with dubious success. Then he decided to take the victory before they inadvertently backed some very dangerous soldiers with unguessable nighttime combat skills into a corner, and ducked behind cover so he could bring his fingers to his lips and whistle a few sharp blasts.

  It was a basic signal Trapper had drilled into them and Gray had adopted for all the fighters after taking over, an order to withdraw in the direction they'd been traveling and regroup after a mile. He suited the signal by turning and clicking his tongue softly, listening for the responding clicks from Andy and their scout teammate nearby.

  He heard one and made for it, spotting a silhouette through the trees. “Brandon?” Andy hissed.

  “Here,” he hissed back. “Where'th, um . . .”

  “Devin,” his friend replied, sounding worried. “Hopefully juth got far enough away from uth in the fighting that he can't hear uth.”

  Brandon hoped so too; it made him feel sick to think he'd led a man to his death without even knowing his name, or anything about him.

  He let Andy lead the way southwest, while he kept an eye peeled behind them for any bloodies appearing out of the night to have another go at them. Instead he spotted a lone figure, one of his fighters who'd been separated from his team.

  That, or the other two hadn't made it; fog of war was always an obstacle, and an almost complete one at night. He also knew that in a night battle there was every chance the scope of the losses had been inflated, even on the side of the massed bloodies riding out in the open, and they'd all just been shooting blindly until the enemy managed to safely withdraw.

  Reality was rarely so kind, but Brandon let himself hope that when they got a mile away to the impromptu rendezvous, everyone would be there.

  That hope was shattered when he arrived at a prominent clearing where only a handful of people waited. Considering the fact that Brandon's team had been closest to the riders, and farthest from this spot, that worried him more than he cared to admit.

  Andy seemed to sense it, even without being able to see his face, and clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Nobody ever reaches a made up meeting spot on time,” he said with forced cheer. He clapped his shoulder again. “I'll head back out and guard the retreat, make sure no bloodies are sneaking up on us and that the stragglers know where to go.”

  Brandon briefly gripped his shoulder in thanks before heading in to make sure none of the fighters who'd already arrived needed medical care or other attention.

  True to his friend's word, over the next fifteen or so minutes over two-thirds of his fighters trickled in. Only a few were wounded, all but one of those self-inflicted, bruises and gashes and turned ankles from running through the woods at night. The remaining man, one of the last to arrive, had been shot in the leg, and it was an ugly wound. One that, as it turned, no one there had much experience in treating.

  They did the best they could, and Brandon squeezed the man's shoulder in reassurance. “We'll send two fighters with you to help you rejoin the refugee column at the crack of dawn,” he assured him.

  “Well that's why I let myself get shot,” his fighter joked, lighthearted tone strained. “Wanted to get carried back to my family.”

  “You'll be back with them in no time,” Brandon promised. He squeezed his shoulder again, then gathered up Ray and a few of the others and set out to find Andy and get a proper watch going so the others could bed down for the night.

  “What's it looking like?” his friend asked when they found him nestled behind a tree a few minutes up the valley. He sounded more worried than he likely wanted to let on.

  Brandon shook his head, then realized it was pointless in the dark. “Nineteen people so far, four wounded. One gunshot, the rest scrapes and barked shins.” He hesitated. “Devin hasn't come in.”

  Andy was slow to respond; nineteen, out of the twenty-nine they'd gathered on the south peak. “He and the others are probably lost in the dark,” he said. “They'll keep straggling in, and the rest we'll round up in the morning, or meet them when we join up with Jonas and our families.”

  Ray snorted. “Right. Because this would be the first battle we've been in where we didn't lose a single soul. And at night outnumbered almost two to one, to boot.”

  “Shut up, Mickelson,” one of the other fighters growled.

  Brandon quickly stepped in before it could turn into a fight, splitting everyone up and sending them out around the impromptu camp in all directions to keep watch, setting them to come in and wake the next shift when the moon set in a few hours.

  “I catch any of you sleeping, you'll wish the bloodies had caught you,” he warned once everyone knew their job.

  “Wasn't born yesterday, Gerry,” Ray growled. Without waiting for a response he slipped away in the night.

  Despite Andy's reassurance, only one more fighter came in during Brandon's shift, merely shaking his head in response to Brandon's query about anyone else out there before continuing on to camp, where he collapsed onto a tarp wrapped in a blanket to sleep.

  Before going to sleep himself, Brandon told his replacement on duty to pass on word to the third shift to wake him before first light. To his disappointment, when the fighter shook him awake it was to the news that no one else had come in after he went to sleep. Which made for a somewhat dispirited group as they struck camp and prepared to head out.

  While they were doing that, Brandon grabbed Andy and sought out a high spot to the northeast, where they could check their back trail to make sure Sangue wasn't stealing a march on them.

  To his relief, the somewhat misty slopes were empty of movement. Even after spending a few minutes carefully going over the surrounding terrain to make sure, he didn't see anything to raise any red flags. That was good news, for now.

  “Guess it worked,” his friend said grimly as he stared through his scope. “They're probably still back in the bowl valley, licking their wounds and waiting for reinforcements.”

  Brandon nodded. “For now.” He turned away wearily, poorly rested from what little sleep he'd gotten last night. “Let's catch up to our families.”

  Andy followed him as he started back to their small band of fighters, although his expression was troubled. “We'll be able to do that pretty quickly, since they're a slow moving group of injured, elderly, and children, bogged down even more by having to haul just enough supplies to feed them all for a few weeks.”

  The point he was making was clear: if it didn't take them long to catch up, the bloodies would do it just as easily.

  Brandon bit back a sigh, more weight settling on his shoulders. “Then I guess we'll have to be the rearguard, and make sure the refugee column stays ahead of what's coming after them.”

  His friend nodded in resignation, although he cursed quietly. “I was kind of hoping we were done with skirmishing.”

  “Skirmishing?” he said with a bitter snort. “I doubt we'll have it that easy.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Untimely Arrival

  “I'm not unsympathetic to the plight of these folks south of 29,” Captain Raleigh said, tone infuriatingly reasonable. “But we both know that as long as they're in the mountains, we can't do anything for them.”

  Kristof grit his teeth. It had been a long shot, hoping to convince his company commander to stage a major operation on the spur of the moment. But he hadn't felt like he had any other choice, when Hobbs had come to him last night with what he'd overheard from the storm of radio activity Sangue had been filling the airwaves with all day yesterday.

  The news that not only had the bloodies apparently learned the location of the group that had rescued Tanner and his men from that slave camp, but that they'd found that home base deserted and were in pursuit of hundreds or even thousands of fleeing townspeople, had put a sick feeling in Kristof's gut.

  He'd already had to witness more than his fair share of
atrocities committed by Sangue and their Pantera leaders in his time fighting them. Had to slog through the gory aftermath of bloodbaths and scenes of horrific torture and inhumanity. And most of those had simply been little towns the bloodies had caught unawares.

  For a group that had been determinedly, and by all accounts successfully, fighting them for months now, he could only imagine the horrors the bloodies would visit on them if they caught up to them. Which seemed inevitable, all things considered.

  Unless the League did something.

  “It presents a difficulty,” he said stiffly, “but there must be some way we could help them. After everything they've done, most of it heard from the mouths of Sangue themselves acknowledging the significant role they've had in this war, don't they deserve some aid if it's at all possible?”

  Raleigh narrowed his eyes. “Some might argue, Lieutenant, that you're pushing this farther than decorum can excuse.”

  Kristof knew he was treading on thin ice, but he couldn't back down. “That's not my intention, sir. I just can't forget that our orders were to find the group that has been causing Sangue so much trouble in Central Utah. All evidence points to this group being the one we're looking for, and with just a bit of help they can continue being a thorn in our enemy's side. If we do nothing, on the other hand, they'll almost certainly be wiped out. I just can't understand why we wouldn't act.”

  “Because they're out of our reach!” his captain snapped. “Do you know anything about fighting in mountains, Lieutenant? Do you?”

  He hesitated, thinking of the few engagements he'd had in the foothills and lower mountain slopes. But when it came to abandoning their trucks and hoofing it into unknown territory, that was another beast entirely. So he shook his head reluctantly.

  Raleigh didn't seem to get any satisfaction from his capitulation, just shook his head grimly. “If what we've heard is correct, the bloodies have over a thousand soldiers committed to this hunt of theirs to wipe out that group. We have just over two hundred fighting men, a good quarter of them enlistees recruited from the refugees who are still trying to catch up with training. We poke our noses into the boondoggle in those mountains, the best we can hope for is to get swatted down right along with those poor people.”

  Kristof floundered a bit helplessly. “That might not be the case if they can make it out of the mountains, or at least close enough for us to safely operate. We might be able to swoop in, hit whatever force is waiting for them, then get them out of there.”

  “Try to evacuate hundreds or even thousands of people?” 26th Company's commander demanded, tone incredulous. “With a single company's vehicles, while bloodies swarm after us in full fury?” Before Kristof could respond he shook his head in dismissal. “In any case, although I hate to sound callous, from the looks of things it's looking bad for them reaching the edge of the mountains at all, so it's a moot point.”

  “If they-”

  Raleigh abruptly stood, silencing him. “Thank you for your input, Lieutenant.”

  Kristof bit back his frustration and stood as well, taking his abrupt dismissal with as good grace as he could manage. “Sir,” he said, saluting. The captain's return salute was curt, and he wasted no time ushering Kristof towards the entry to the command tent.

  Just past the flaps, as Raleigh was turning to head back inside, he abruptly paused and sighed in irritation. An emotion which, unexpectedly, wasn't for Kristof for once, and he turned as well to see what had his superior officer looking so resigned.

  It turned out to be Tanner, headed their way with a determined expression on his bullish features.

  Since the freed prisoners had come in with the gear and vehicles to support a full platoon, and they'd practically demanded a chance to join the fight, 26th Company's commander had enlisted them with few questions asked; that sort of windfall of fighting men didn't drop into their laps every day.

  Raleigh had assigned a junior officer from his staff and transferred a couple of the company's best noncoms to the new platoon, to keep discipline and facilitate their training, but Kristof had heard that even though Tanner was technically just a squad leader in the new command structure, his men looked to him every time Raleigh's lieutenant or sergeants gave an order.

  In other words, although the freed prisoners' leader had obeyed orders without balking up to now, his influence presented a potential problem within the company's new platoon. A problem which looked as if it might end up rearing its ugly head right about now.

  “Lieutenant,” Raleigh said out of the side of his mouth as Tanner closed the distance. “You are an officer of the Northern League, a leader of one of my platoons. Whatever this is, I trust you to fully support your superior officer.”

  Kristof was insulted the man even had to say it. Even if Tanner had come to insist on the very thing he wanted, which was to help the people the bloodies were chasing to the south, he wouldn't even hint that he agreed with the new recruit when it might undermine his captain's command. “Yes, sir.”

  Tanner stopped in front of them with an impressive salute for his superiors. Which is to say, impressive considering he'd been a civilian not long ago. “What can I do for you, Corporal?” Raleigh asked with forced politeness.

  The freed prisoner kept a thousand yard stare, tone crisp. “Sir, it's come to my attention that Brandon Gerry's group in the mountains south of Highway 29 is in dire circumstances. My men are wondering what we plan to do about it.”

  The captain's lips twisted slightly in displeasure. “I realize you're new to the command structure, Corporal Tanner, but you should have taken this up with your platoon sergeant, or with Lieutenant Cassini.”

  Tanner's expression darkened for a moment before he forced it smooth again. “I did, sir. I didn't like his answer.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Raleigh said, more incredulous than stern. He glanced at Kristof.

  Kristof stepped forward, scowling. “With me, Corporal,” he snapped. “Ignorance of proper military etiquette is no excuse for this sort of behavior. Please excuse us, Captain, I'll sort the recruit out.”

  “Good,” the company's commander said coolly, starting to turn away. “You might remind him this is why we usually refrain from giving recruits, even ones in his particular leadership position, any sort of elevated rank until they've earned it.”

  “Sir!” Tanner said sharply. Raleigh stiffened, then reluctantly turned. Kristof wasn't blind to the fact that in spite of the captain's cold fury, he looked at least slightly uneasy at the man towering almost half a foot over his head.

  The freed prisoner made his tone mild again. “I understand the company has no intention of helping Gerry's group.”

  “Corporal,” Kristof growled, tone promising dire retribution. Tanner ignored him, staring down at the company commander with grim determination.

  “We do not have the means to do so at this time,” Raleigh said, obviously hating having to be forthright to a noncommissioned officer who'd been a civilian less than a week ago. No doubt he was going to come down on the big man like a ton of bricks the moment this confrontation was resolved.

  Tanner stiffened to even more rigid attention. “Then requesting permission to take my platoon to their aid. We'll go alone if we have to.”

  The captain's tone became iron. “Lieutenant Cassini's platoon is needed elsewhere. Should he come to me with that request, it would be denied.”

  The freed prisoner scowled, took a breath, then spoke reluctantly. “Then I'm sorry to tell you that my men will be leaving 26th Company immediately.”

  “Are you suggesting, Corporal,” Raleigh said in a quiet voice, “that if I do not give in to your demands, you plan to defect?”

  Tanner's heavy brows furrowed in frustration. “Why do I have the feeling there's a firing squad waiting at the end of the wrong answer?” he growled. “Sir, me and my men owe your company for pulling our bacon out of the fire. On top of that, I gave my word to fight for the League and I don't break my word.”

&nb
sp; “Setting aside that you're suggesting doing exactly that, get to the “but”, Corporal,” the captain growled.

  The freed prisoner threw back his shoulders. “But Gerry and his people snuck into a rotting Sangue camp to free me and my boys. Risked death for us. Without them we'd still be getting worked to death, beaten bloody on a whim, more than a few of us getting buggered every night. I owe Gerry's people, and I won't forget that the first chance I had to repay that debt, I ditched them and stole a bunch of Sangue's vehicles to save my own skin instead.”

  There was a long, terrible silence. Kristof was all but certain that at the end of it, Raleigh was going to order him to arrest Tanner, and that the rest of the morning would be filled with the turmoil of trying to quell the inevitable protest of the other freed prisoners at the treatment of their leader.

  Assuming it didn't turn into a brawl or even an outright firefight in the middle of camp.

  “Lieutenant Kristof,” his captain finally said in a quiet voice. He stiffened, ready for whatever was about to happen. “Escort Corporal Tanner back to his platoon. I will . . . deliberate on your recommendations.”

  Kristof nodded and grabbed the big man's arm, dragging him around and marching him back towards the recruits' section of camp.

  To his surprise, Tanner went along without protest. “What did he mean, “recommendations?” the big man asked once they were out of earshot.

  He hesitated. “I also had input about the developing situation south of Highway 29.”

  The freed prisoner snorted. “Tried to convince him to go too, huh?”

  Kristof couldn't think of a way to answer that without undermining Raleigh's authority, so he kept silent.

  “I meant what I said,” Tanner growled after realizing he wasn't going to say anything. “If your League won't help, we'll go on our own. Unless of course you want to waste a platoon's worth of good men by lining us up in front of a firing squad for desertion.”