Lightning Wolves

by David Lee Summers

  “What do you think you’re doin’?”

  “Gettin’ outta here.”

  “They’ll shoot us if they catch us.”

  “What do you think’ll happen when they try us for shootin’ two soldiers? We’ll have the choice of firing squad or dancin’ at the end of a rope, that’s what. I’d rather take my chances gettin’ out this way.” Bresnahan looked at the gap. “Do you think you can fit through there?”

  Martin nodded quickly. He crouched down, then pushed and shimmied through the gap, minding his wounded hand. Once on the other side, he grabbed the door with his good hand and pulled it back. From the outside, he had better leverage and could pull the steel-strap door just a little further out, making room for the bigger man. Once through, Bresnahan dusted himself off.

  “We’re not going to make it real far in these prison outfits,” said Martin, noting their black-and-white striped shirts and trousers.

  Bresnahan snorted. “We ain’t gonna make it very far past that door at the end of the hall.” He inclined his head toward the steel door that led outside.

  “Then why the hell did we push our way out of the cell if we’re just as trapped on this side?”

  “‘Cause it’s almost supper time,” said Bresnahan. He indicated the empty, unlocked cell across the way. He entered and beckoned for Martin to follow. They pressed themselves against the wall in the shadows.

  A short time later, the heavy steel door creaked open. A guard entered carrying supper on a tray. He looked in the cell where Bresnahan and Martin had been. “Hey, where’d they go?”

  “We’re over here, idjit,” called Bresnahan.

  The guard turned and peered into the cell. Bresnahan sprang from his place against the wall and kicked the cell door open and into the guard’s face, scattering the tray of food. As the guard staggered back, stunned, Bresnahan and Martin leapt from the cell. Martin held the guard’s arms back and Bresnahan delivered a right cross, knocking him out. Martin lowered him to the floor while Bresnahan grabbed his revolver and then ran to the door.

  Alerted by the noise from within, a second guard entered, his weapon drawn. Bresnahan sprang from behind and swung the revolver full force. The butt made a wet, crunching thud as it connected with the guard’s skull. He crumpled to the floor. Bresnahan waited a moment to see if anyone else would come through the door. When no one did, he gently pushed it shut.

  “Okay, we’ve got an unlocked door. What do we do now?” Martin clutched his wounded hand, which started to bleed through the bandages again.

  “Correction. We have an unlocked door and two uniforms,” said Bresnahan with a glance at the two men on the floor.

  A smile eased across Martin’s face. They stripped the two men of their coats and trousers. Once done, they dragged them into the cell across from theirs and locked the door, then changed out of the prison garb. Satisfied they could pass as soldiers, Martin stepped to the door and peered out. “I see the front gate. I say we hightail it out of here and put as much distance as we can between us and this fort before they discover we broke out.”

  Bresnahan frowned. “The reason we’re in this position is that we wanted to lay hands on those lightnin’ guns.” He looked through the bars of their former cell and out the window. “I have a feelin’ we’re closer than ever before.” He looked down at his uniform. “An’ we might just be able to go pick one or two up and be out of here before anyone notices.”

  Martin gritted his teeth. “I ain’t so sure, Curly Bill. I don’t think we have much time.”

  “No we don’t, that’s why we can’t waste time yappin’ about it.” He stepped up and patted Martin on the back. “Don’t worry. If the guard was bringin’ us supper, that means most of the men’ll be in the mess hall. If those lightnin’ guns are locked up too tight, we’ll skeddadle.”

  Martin swallowed, but nodded. With that, the two men left the stockade and did their best to stroll casually around the corner of the building, continuing toward the main courtyard. The late afternoon sun cast long, dark shadows around the compound. As they entered the courtyard, they saw light from several windows and heard boisterous chatter and the sound of chairs and silverware clattering. Bresnahan took a moment to get a feel for the layout.

  They stood across the courtyard from the mess hall. To the left, at the far end of the courtyard, a guard stood just outside a wooden door. The sign next to the door indicated it was the armory. The stables stood to its left. Bresnahan nodded slowly. “All right. Follow my lead.”

  The two strode up to the guard outside the armory. Bresnahan tipped his hat. “Colonel’s asked us to uh...check that the powder’s dry.”

  “What?” The guard blinked. “You men get on outta here.”

  “I don’t think so.” Martin slipped behind the guard and held a revolver to his back. At that range, he didn’t have to be accurate with his one good hand. “Let us into the armory real quiet-like and this’ll go easy for you.”

  The guard opened his mouth to say something, but Bresnahan clobbered him with the revolver butt. He glanced around to make sure no one had seen. They took the guard’s keys, opened the armory, then went inside, dragging the guard behind them. Bresnahan took a minute to let his eyes adjust to the gloom within. After a moment, he saw a gated area at the back. Behind it were several strange looking devices. They resembled long-barreled pistols attached to backpacks by some kind of cable or hose. “Those must be the lightnin’ guns,” he said.

  Using the guard’s key ring, he unlocked the gate, then took a moment to study the devices. Shoulder straps allowed the devices to be worn on the back. He grimaced as he swung one onto his shoulders. “Okay, turn around and I’ll help you with this one.”

  Bob gave a curt nod and turned around, holding his arms out. He swayed backwards from the weight, but adjusted the straps to distribute it better. “I hope we don’t have to carry these things too far.”

  Bresnahan nodded. “Let’s git on out of here.”

  Martin nodded and the two stepped to the door. So far, no one had noticed the missing guard. They closed the door behind them, and went to the stables, where they removed the devices and each selected a horse and saddled them. Bresnahan peered into the courtyard to make sure no one was looking for them, then they helped each other heft the devices onto their backs again. Once done, they led the animals out and into the courtyard.

  Just then, an alarm bell jangled to life. Bresnahan and Martin pulled themselves onto their horses and rode toward the front gate, whipping their mounts up to full speed. Men poured out of the mess hall in their path. Bresnahan and Martin spurred their horses on and the men scattered. They rounded the corner and continued toward the gate even as guards ahead lifted their rifles. Bresnahan ignored them and rode on. Bullets whistled around him. Blood sprayed in his peripheral vision. He turned his head just enough to see Martin fall from his horse. Bresnahan leaned forward and kept going.

  As he passed the gate, a bullet clanged against the metal device on his back. He rocked sideways and fought to recover his balance. Looking up, he saw the Franklin Mountains. He turned a corner and rode on until he came to a southbound street. He paused for just a moment. The street opened onto the banks of the Rio Grande. Water, just a few inches deep, trickled over visible stones. Behind him, horses clattered through the fort’s gates. He snapped his horse’s reins, rode down the street and splashed across the Rio Grande with bullets whistling around him.

  <<>>

  Colonel Johnson hitched up his pant legs so he could crouch beside the lightning gun a soldier had pulled from Robert Martin’s corpse. He ran his fingers along dents left by bullets. Unstable as the machines were, they could take a pounding. That much was certain.

  Sergeant Lorenzo stepped up and saluted. The colonel stood and returned the salute. “What have you learned?”

  “Bresnahan’s crossed the river.”

  Johnson frowned. “I was afraid of that. We need to get that device back.”

  “I co
uld gather a few men and go across and get him,” said Lorenzo. “He won’t be riding long distances with the weight of the lightning gun on his back.”

  The colonel shook his head. “We have enough problems right now with Russia. We don’t need to compound things by causing an incident with Mexico. We can’t send a force in.” He thought for a moment. “Why don’t you go up to Las Cruces and hunt up Billy McCarty. He’s good in a fight and could use some reward money. Maybe he can track down Bresnahan.”

  “Xander Middleton has already volunteered.”

  “Yes, but he feels he has something to prove after Bresnahan knocked him cold,” said the colonel. “I need someone who’s thinking clearly and I want to keep this operation low key. McCarty proved himself in Denver. We can trust him and as you say, Bresnahan isn’t going anywhere fast. I think there’s time.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sergeant Lorenzo snapped a salute.

  The colonel returned the salute, then spun on his heel and walked toward the post telegraph office. One missing lightning gun wouldn’t hurt the war effort even if it fell into the hands of the Mexicans—or anyone else for that matter. They would likely blow themselves up trying to figure out how the device worked. What he needed was someone who could deliver a working weapon. He thought Ramon Morales would have been able to persuade Professor Maravilla to help. Even though he failed in that regard and General Sheridan had declined his request to make a better offer, he did succeed in finding out where the professor had taken lodging. Sergeant Harris would leave Flagstaff soon. The colonel wanted to make sure he picked up the professor on his way back to Fort Bliss.

  <<>>

  The next evening, Ramon received a telegram from Colonel Johnson: “APPRECIATE YOUR EFFORTS -STOP- PAYMENT WILL BE SENT TO ESTANCIA ON NEXT STAGECOACH”

  Ramon received no reply from Sergeant Harris in Flagstaff, but he really wasn’t surprised. He suspected the colonel ordered him to return to Fort Bliss as soon as possible.

  Satisfied that he’d done the best job possible under the circumstances, he retreated to the saloon next to the San Xavier Hotel and ordered supper. He sipped his beer while waiting for the meal and considered his next course of action. He felt bad that he couldn’t persuade the professor to accompany him to Fort Bliss. Perhaps he could return and try again in the morning before he left town, but what would he say? A little voice in the back of his mind seemed to tell him that was a pointless endeavor.

  By the time supper arrived, his thoughts had turned to the bigger question of what was next in his life. As he dug into the steak and beans on his plate, he took a moment to look around the saloon and absorb the sights and smells. It was similar to other saloons he’d been in, but what really struck him were the little differences—things like the feel of the air, the songs the piano player knew, and the scents worn by the ladies who occupied the rooms above the saloon. He realized he liked being on the road and experiencing new places. Perhaps that was part of the answer he sought. Whatever he would do for the rest of his life would involve travel of some kind.

  Later, back at his room, he had just enough light from the gas lamps outside that he didn’t bother lighting the room’s own lamps. Instead, he removed his jacket and waistcoat, then opened the window so he could get a little fresh air.

  After undressing, he lay back and closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted to Fatemeh—the soft, silkiness of her skin, the scent of her hair, the little dimple that formed by her mouth when she gave a wry smile. He thought of her green eyes, which had seen so much of the world. Yes, he would see the world, too.

  Perhaps becoming an ambassador wasn’t such a bad goal. He had run for office as a sheriff. Perhaps he could get a little more education, then seek territorial office. From there, he could find opportunities to demonstrate his interest in diplomacy. Another possibility was that he could look for a job with an embassy in Mexico or South America. With those thoughts running through his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

  The next day, he awoke refreshed. After breakfast in the hotel restaurant, something compelled him to walk across town to Professor Maravilla’s hotel again. The professor, Larissa and Gird loaded their gear into a wagon.

  “Good morning,” said Ramon.

  “Are you here to try to talk me into working for the army?” asked the professor, warily.

  “Not at all. I just wanted to let you know that I respect your decision.”

  Larissa struggled with a big piece of boilerplate. Ramon took one end and helped her lift it into the wagon.

  As they went in to retrieve another load, Larissa looked at him. “So, where are you off to now?”

  “The stagecoach for Estancia leaves this afternoon. Time to get home and start making plans for the future.” Ramon held open the door to room 13 while Larissa entered.

  “Have you settled on any specific plans?” asked the professor.

  “I’m thinking of pursuing a career in diplomacy,” admitted Ramon.

  “Somehow, I think it would suit you well,” said the professor.

  Ramon helped them take several more loads to the wagon, until it was full. At that point, he looked at his pocket watch. He had just enough time to get back across town, check out of the hotel and catch the eastbound stage.

  A little over an hour later, he sat in front of the station with his hat pulled down, shading his eyes. He looked up at the clopping of hooves, but realized it was the westbound stage, not the eastbound. He started to tip his hat back over his eyes when skirts rustled nearby. Curiosity getting the better of him, he tipped his hat back again. His hat fell completely off when he realized Fatemeh’s green eyes stared down at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “We have a few days before the westbound train comes through.”

  “Westbound?” He shook his head. “I was headed back to Estancia.”

  She shook her head. “We need to find out why the Russians haven’t left America and I don’t know anyone more qualified for the job than us.”

  Ramon shrugged, then retrieved his bags and hat. He supposed there was no better time than the present to start his career as a diplomat.

  <<>>

  Professor Maravilla, Larissa Crimson and Al Shieffelin returned to the ravine near Goose Flats. Maravilla supervised the construction of a makeshift forge near the cave entrance while Larissa set to work assembling many of the mining machine’s smaller components. They soon had a frame and axles. The Shieffelins began work on the rotary digging tool that would be mounted at the front of the machine while Maravilla and Richard Gird used block and tackle rigs to haul the steam engine into its mount on the frame. That job completed, Gird went to work on the mechanism for sorting ores extracted from the rock. As the week progressed, the machine was formally dubbed ‘the Javelina’ because of its resemblance to desert peccaries.

  A week after their return, Larissa sketched out an idea on a notepad. She tapped her pencil on the paper for a few minutes while she thought about it, then looked up. “Professor, I think I’ve come up with a way to modify the armature that transmits power from the engine to the digging tool so it can operate at variable speeds.”

  Maravilla was attaching the drive train to the Javelina’s steam engine. He paused and poked his head out from under the machine. “Why do we need such a thing? This rock is uniform limestone. A variable speed transmission adds complexity and increases the chance of a breakdown. We don’t need it in this case.”

  Larissa walked over to the Javelina and crouched down. “There’s no way you can know how uniform the limestone is until you start digging into the rock.”

  The professor opened his mouth to say something but only sighed. “I just know it’s not necessary here,” he said with forced patience.

  Larissa stood and put her hands on her hips. “How exactly do you know? Did you perform a chemical analysis? Is there something in the topography that tells you what to expect?” She huffed. “You’re very good at sharing engineering knowledge with me, but sometimes you seem to know more
than you can explain.”

  Maravilla pulled himself out from under the machine. “I’m not sure I can explain how I know everything I do.”

  “Well, even if it’s not necessary here, it will be someplace else,” she persisted. “Besides, I think this variable speed transmission could be adapted to the ornithopters to make them lighter and give them more maneuverability.”

  The professor held out his hand and she gave him the plans. He examined them, muttering to himself. “I’m impressed.” He looked up at her. “It’s a clean, simple design. It could indeed make the mining machine better and allow us to sell it to others who could use it.”

  Larissa smiled. “Do you think it could be adapted to the ornithopters?”

  “The ornithopters...” The professor paused, and looked into the distance. “No matter how high you fly or how far you travel, you will never escape what you’re running from.”

  Larissa caught her breath, then narrowed her gaze. “What makes you think I’m running from something?”

  The professor sat down on the machine’s frame and folded his arms. “Trust me. I have been running for a long time. I recognize a kindred spirit.”

  “You told me that Maravilla is an assumed name. I know you’re running from something, but I don’t know what.”

  Maravilla remained silent for a long time. He took up his wrench and absentmindedly tightened a bolt. Larissa shrugged, figuring he was evading the question. She grabbed the notebook and peered down at the plans.

  “Bad memories,” said the professor at last.

  “What?”

  “I’m running from bad memories.” Maravilla didn’t look up from his work. “As you know, I was a professor at the Royal and Pontifical University of Mexico. I helped to design many weapons for Emperor Maximilian and he paid me quite well. I lived in comfort in Mexico City with my wife and my daughter. Ten years ago when General Juárez came to power, he not only executed the emperor and disbanded the university, his soldiers captured my house.” The professor’s voice grew tight and heavy. “My daughter was shot in the back when she ran to my laboratory to save my inventions. They made me watch while they raped and murdered my wife.” He looked up and a tear ran down his cheek. “The general’s rurales took me to the frontera—to the border—and let me go. I was an exile, never to return. Indeed, I have been running for a very long time.”