Final Stand: Last Ditch (Mountain Man Book 5)

by Nathan Jones

  In spite of her pale, drawn features his wife gave him a fierce look. “Well enough to keep going as long as we have to.”

  Tom hoped so; a woman who'd just given birth and a newborn baby shouldn't be traveling, and he had to admit he spent almost as much time that morning fretting for their condition as he did worrying about the enemy pursuing them.

  “You tell me if you're having problems,” he said. As she straightened stubbornly in the saddle he continued in a firm tone. “This isn't about how much you think you can handle, Kris. I know you could keep riding as long as any of us under most circumstances. But you just went through childbirth! If you're having trouble and keep quiet about it, that's just going to slow us down in the long run.”

  Kristy continued to stare at him for a few more seconds before her shoulders slumped and she let her exhaustion show. “I'm holding up for now,” she said. “I'll let you know if that changes.”

  Nodding, he stretched up on tiptoes to kiss her. “We'll get through this,” he promised her.

  “We will.” She looked around for Tabby. “It's about time to feed Miles again.”

  Tom intercepted the young woman so he could hold his son for a few moments, setting Molly down in spite of her complaints and pouting. He gently cradled Miles with his head resting on his shoulder. “You're doing great, little guy,” he said quietly. He glanced up at Kristy. “He been fussing?”

  “A bit, earlier this morning.” She reached down for her son. “I think the constant motion of being carried has soothed him, though.” Tabby passed her up a light blanket, and she awkwardly covered herself and the baby and shifted her blouse around so he could latch on.

  Tom wondered if she'd had to feed Miles in the saddle all morning, and felt a fresh surge of empathy. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should've planned ahead to get his family out before now, so she wouldn't be in this situation with a newborn baby.

  Then again, getting her out would've been a bit of a trick with Skyler gone doing his own thing; they would've had to abandon their son, which she never would've gone for, and honestly he wouldn't have been happy about it either.

  He reluctantly left his family, giving Molly a last hug. Then he clapped Skyler on the knee and passed the toddler up to him, offering another stern reminder to look out for their family.

  That done, he hurried back up the column to rejoin his scouts, hoping they wouldn't be waiting with news of Sangue bearing down on them from more directions.

  Their situation was already grim enough.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Turning Tail

  Brandon felt like he was leading the freed slaves as they prepared to fight with just pistols and shotguns again.

  Granted, Jonas had passed out rifles to just about all of them, and the rest had kept their shotguns but now had rifled slugs. The militia leader had even given them all the available body armor; they were as well equipped as could be hoped for, under the circumstances.

  They were also almost completely untrained. Some had learned how to shoot at some point before being captured by Sangue, which was something. But very few had actually taken part in the fight against the bloodies, and fewer still had been trained for it.

  As it stood, in any straightforward battle against Sangue, the enemy's hardened soldiers would punch through Brandon's people like a landslide. Bravery wouldn't help for much more than to ensure his people kept fighting as they were massacred, and Brandon wasn't sure what to do about it.

  He had no time to train them, not while they were all running for their lives. Even having them take potshots at convenient targets as they passed seemed like a terrible idea, since the only things the refugee column really had going for them were knowing these mountains and, hopefully, the enemy not yet knowing where they were.

  Although that was bound to change sooner rather than later.

  Towards the end of the first day Brandon had rejoined the column, Jonas sent a runner around to him and his small army of freed slaves. “You're up, Gerry,” the young woman said briskly. “The bloodies following us to the northeast are making a move, and he wants you in position to do something about it.”

  He glanced back at Carl, who'd come up to join him, then back at their inexperienced army. There were over a hundred bloodies in the group pursuing them from the direction of Camptown. “He giving us some fighters?”

  The runner shrugged. “If you need them, I suppose you can ask. Although it looks as if it's just an advance squad or two we have to worry about right now. I'll come along with you to pass messages if the threat's bigger than we think.” She offered her hand. “I'm Emma.”

  Brandon returned her handshake. “You were with Gray when he saved us, weren't you?” he asked. Grief flashed across her features. She nodded, but said nothing. “Well, get ready to go for reinforcements, even against just a squad or two.”

  Emma nodded and headed back to join the freed slaves farther back. As she left Carl stared at Brandon hard. “Nice vote of confidence,” he said flatly.

  “You think possibly outnumbering the enemy two to one, or at least having even numbers, will make it a fair fight?” he replied as diplomatically as he could. “I've seen raw recruits go up against bloodies before, and it painted an ugly picture. We need Jonas's fighters mixed into our squads to put some iron in our spines, believe me.”

  The freed slave shook his head, mostly mollified. “I guess it's hard to forget how our last fight with Sangue went, even if we've got better guns and body armor now.”

  Brandon clapped his shoulder, then called for his people to move. They detached from the back of the refugee column and started east-northeast, guided by Emma.

  After about two hours his recruit army met up with Jonas's scouts, who gave the most recent news on enemy movements. It wasn't the most hopeful report: two squads had sped up ahead of the rest of the force of bloodies, approaching along a valley and both overlooking ridges. From the speed they were moving they seemed determined to catch up to the refugees, or at least the screen of fighters guarding them.

  Brandon could only assume the two squads intended to do some skirmishing, picking off fighters or trying to sneak in close enough to unload on the weary townspeople strung out in the long column. Either would present huge problems for the refugees, if nothing else by demoralizing them and slowing them as they constantly looked over their shoulders.

  He motioned curtly to Emma. “Time to run get us some reinforcements. At least twenty, if possible.” The young woman nodded grimly and bolted off, and he turned to Carl and the scouts. “Let's go take a look at what we're dealing with.”

  It only took another fifteen minutes or so to reach a spot where they could get eyes on the Sangue squads. Like Trapper had reported from the northwest, these bloodies were moving quickly and with only the barest efforts to check any places where large groups might be moving or hiding. That made them vulnerable to ambush, if Jonas could spare the fighters to do that without leaving the column vulnerable.

  Or the time to set up a proper ambush.

  “They're not wasting any time,” Carl observed sourly. “At this rate, judging by how fast your refugees are moving, they'll catch up to them sometime around noon tomorrow unless we stop them.” He motioned to the several dogs moving with the soldiers in the valley. “And we're not going to throw them off again by changing direction or trying to hide our tracks.”

  Brandon nodded grimly. With the speed this advance group of bloodies traveled, if he tried to withdraw his force to stay ahead of them for too long, they'd soon run smack dab into the back of the column of refugees. That was a terrible place to have a fight, which meant he was going to have to find a better one.

  Worrying as the enemy's aggressive advance was, he still had plenty of room to maneuver. Less than he would've liked, with how slow Mitchells was keeping the refugees moving, but it wasn't an emergency or anything.

  Yet. It would be if he didn't turn these Sangue back soon.

  He nodded
to the others. “Let's get back to our force and set up camp. I want to spend what little daylight we have left doing dry fire drills and practicing using cover.”

  Carl snorted. “That'll certainly have us ready to fight by tomorrow morning.”

  “Every little bit helps.” Brandon turned away, motioning for them to follow.

  In spite of his optimistic answer, he was less than satisfied by the practice his ragged army managed before dark. Although in a small bit of good news, Emma actually brought back some fighters from Jonas as they were settling down to go to sleep.

  Ten.

  Andy led them, looking almost apologetic about the small number. “Guess we'll have to work with it,” Brandon told his friend quietly. He got to work splitting them into the various squads he'd created for his forty-odd freed slaves, setting them as squad or team leaders. Then he had the more experienced fighters spend a half hour or so before bed acquainting themselves with their new squad mates, talking them through small unit tactics for the fighting they might face tomorrow.

  The morning dawned chilly, even for early September. That didn't do much for his poorly outfitted freed slaves, who'd been forced to huddle together for warmth through the night. Brandon wished he could've let them have fires, but even Trapper's small, smokeless fires were too much of a risk with the enemy not far away.

  The best solution was to get them up and moving as quickly as possible, warm their blood. He and Emma and a few of the scouts headed out to check out the two approaching enemy squads, while he had Andy retreat with the army in search of a good ambush location they could use if Brandon judged the bloodies were still coming on strong.

  They were. In fact, if anything they were moving faster than they had been yesterday.

  “Full on attack, or just testing our defenses?” Emma asked, lowering the small pair of binoculars she held.

  “Probably a bit of both,” Brandon replied. “I'm guessing they'll decide once they actually find us.” He started backing away down the incline he was on. “We'll have to make sure to give them a warm welcome when they do.”

  He left the scouts and Emma behind to keep track of the enemy's progress, while he hurried back to rejoin Andy and Carl with the freed slave recruits. His stomach was churning at the thought of what was coming, and he had to admit his hopes weren't high.

  If he had fifty of Jonas's fighters, or even that many defenders who'd trained with weapons to defend the valley as a last resort, he might be more confident. But much as he respected Carl and his men, well . . .

  He could fret about how unprepared they were until the cows came home, it wouldn't matter. It was what it was, they'd just have to make the most of it.

  After about an hour and a half of moving fast he found Andy. His friend had picked out a decent ambush spot: accounting for the fact that the enemy was on the ridges as well as the valley, he'd chosen the spot where the valley climbed sharply and both ridges sloped uphill to all join at a higher peak, giving his army a good high ground advantage.

  It wasn't perfect, mostly because the bloodies would probably be wary of it. Assuming they were wary of anything at the pace they were going. Still, it was the best they could hope for under the circumstances.

  Brandon split the army on either ridge and the peak, with him leading the force on the peak and Andy and Carl leading those on the ridges. They all quickly got to work preparing concealed emplacements, using every scrap of usable terrain like dips in the ground and outcroppings to speed up the process.

  It took longer than he would've liked, with few tools to work with and none of his men in particularly good shape after everything they'd endured. Mostly they piled rocks behind underbrush, or simply trusted in the protection of the dips and outcroppings and maybe dug shallow trenches to lie prone in. More than a few of his men found large logs to position themselves behind, which he supposed was better than nothing.

  Before his makeshift army finished their preparations, Emma and the scouts returned with the warning that the bloodies were only a half hour at most behind them. Which meant they'd be close enough for Brandon to spring his ambush a couple hours before noon.

  Since the scouts had more combat experience than any of his people, Brandon tossed them into ambush positions with his people. Even Emma had trained with the defenders, but judging by her expression as he gave the scouts their assignments, he had a feeling she wasn't mentally ready to join the fight herself.

  Which he could forgive her for; battle was a nightmare he'd just as soon avoid himself, if he had a choice. “Go let Jonas know we're engaging the enemy,” he told her. “See if you can convince him to send reinforcements.”

  “Gotcha,” she said with visible relief. She turned and bolted away.

  Brandon called for his people to finish their preparations with all speed, before the advance scouts from the approaching squads arrived and spotted them. Just to be cautious, he only gave them another ten minutes before he called everyone to take their places and wait for his signal.

  Then, like with every other ambush he'd been part of, they spent twenty minutes that felt like twenty hours waiting tensely for the bloodies to make their appearance.

  The first glimpse of the enemy was a hopeful one; the soldiers coming into view were still moving exactly like they had been when Brandon saw them earlier. They kept that deliberate pace as they made their way along the valley and ridges, coming to 500 yards, then 400, then 300.

  Brandon waited tensely. The longer he held off before springing the ambush the better, since it would give his inexperienced fighters a better chance of hitting their targets. But it also gave the bloodies more time to realize the danger and change their plans, and he knew from hard experience that they adapted quickly enough even when caught completely by surprise.

  At a hundred of fifty yards he saw the leading soldiers begin to slow, although he didn't see any signs of alarm. Even so, he had a feeling he'd pushed his luck as far as he could. He closed his eyes, dreading giving the order for his people to open fire.

  This was going to be a disaster. Maybe not on the scale of that Sangue ambush Gray had given his life to save them from, but it was going to be ugly and brutal, and even the element of surprise would only do so much for them.

  How many of his people was he going to have to bury here? Would he even be able to get the survivors out if things went wrong and they were forced to run?

  No sense worrying about that now. Brandon opened his eyes, sighted through his scope at one of the bloodies approaching along the northwest ridge, and raised his fingers to his lips to whistle piercingly. Then he opened fire.

  The battle was even shorter than he'd feared.

  With the first volley several Sangue dropped, and the rest ducked for cover and began returning fire. But before Brandon could get off more than a few shots, he realized that the enemy was swiftly and smoothly withdrawing back the way they'd come.

  He heard a scream from one of the emplacements near him and grit his teeth as he fired off a few more shots, hitting a soldier in the vest. It barely slowed the man before he scrambled back to his hands and knees and kept going.

  Then the two squads of bloodies were out of range, or at least the effective range of his less than skilled shooters. At that point they turned and nearly sprinted back the way they'd come, until almost before he could come to grips with the fact that the battle was over they were out of sight.

  Brandon stared through his scope for almost a minute to be sure, not quite able to believe his eyes.

  Sangue really had withdrawn. Sure, Carl's people had fought bravely, he couldn't argue that. But the bloodies had always dug their heels in before now, turning more dangerous ambushes than this one into a slugfest and more often than not coming out ahead. For them to tuck their tails and run at the first sign of resistance was completely unlike them.

  Suspiciously unlike them.

  He jumped slightly as Carl slapped him on the back. “You're looking awfully grim about this victory,�
�� the freed slaves' leader said cheerfully. “We only have one casualty, a grazing shot to the neck that isn't serious.”

  Brandon shook his head. “We need to send someone back to find Jonas. Let him know we made contact with the enemy and they backed off almost immediately.”

  “Is that unusual?” the freed slaves' leader asked with a frown. “We had a good ambush set up on them.”

  “They've smashed right through worse, or at best maneuvered to hit us from a more advantageous position. In fact, I've never seen or heard of them turning and running like this unless they were either ordered back or they found a juicier target.”

  “Or they're planning something,” the other man concluded grimly. Brandon nodded, and Carl grimaced. “I'll send someone to find Jonas, get his take on things. Until then, what do we do?”

  That was a good question. “I guess we keep an even sharper eye out, and make sure everyone's as prepared as possible for any unpleasant surprises.”

  The freed slave shook his head. “Wanted nothing more than to fight the bloodies ever since they attacked my town and took me. But I've got to admit, I sure do hate fighting them.”

  Brandon knew how he felt. “After all the times we've bloodied their noses, I hope the feeling is mutual.”

  * * * * *

  Tom's sense of trepidation grew over the next few days, as the refugee column pushed to stay ahead of the bloodies coming up behind them, and those approaching from other directions. First northeast and northwest, then due north, then due east and southeast.

  The arrival of the new forces was always sudden, a band of a few to several squads. But after the initial alarm of their arrival, and perhaps a single tentative push from the newcomers that was quickly pushed back, the enemy forces always fell back to pursue the column from a distance of a few hours.