“Keep behind your barricade. Remember we’re fighting for the lives of our families they’re fighting for loot. A stout defense may discourage them from pushing forward. We’re depending on you to hold the west gate.”
“You can trust us to give a good account of ourselves,” replied William with a stiff lip.
Placing his hand on William’s shoulder, Ben said, “I know you will.”
Ben turned to Youngblood and looked him in the eyes. He touched his arm and said, “Get to the east river and don’t let them cross!”
Youngblood flinched at the strong emotion in Ben’s voice.
Ben said, “There’s less cover and fewer barricades to the east, and the fence is weak in several areas where the river runs through it. You’ll have to move your men around to reinforce it and hold out against the assault. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ben.”
“You have about 50 men and women with the same weapon shortcomings as William, but you’re going to have to be more selective about where you place them. They must maintain overlapping fire and cover the more vulnerable positions. Bows and arrows don’t have the range or accuracy of guns. You’ve got to keep your wits about you and respond quickly. Can you do that?”
Youngblood nodded, already thinking how to deploy his forces to their best advantage.
Ben’s authoritative mask fell, replaced by his familiar warm smile. Squeezing Youngblood’s arm, he said, “Keep us safe.”
“Will do, Ben,” replied Youngblood, wondering how he was going to keep his promise.
Ben said, “I’ll remain here in the center of town with our reserve of 30 people led by Pyro. I will deploy them as the battle progresses. The Branch Water Saloon will be our command center and our field hospital. Those who cannot fight will use the firefighting equipment and help the wounded. The elderly and children will be sheltered with the wounded in the general store across the street. We’ll fly a Red Cross over it and hope the gang will honor that.”
They looked to Ben for reassurance that they would live through the day. He said, “I hope to see you all here for a drink tomorrow. Now go to your positions, and God be with you.”
Each captain repeated, “God be with you” and went to his post with the heavy weight of responsibility on their shoulders.
The streets were normally packed with noisy people and animals, but now they were silent and covered with discarded items left behind by the remaining frightened inhabitants seeking shelter wherever they could.
Youngblood left the saloon and walked through the streets, briskly stepping past the barricades. When he reached the east river defenses, he asked, “Kira, what’s the status?”
Huffing from exertion, she said, “I’ve placed the men and women as you instructed. Two-thirds of our men are in the first line of defense dug-in in two-man foxholes along the river bank. The rest are thirty yards behind protected by stone bunkers. I’ve distributed the guns in key positions.”
“Great. I’ll be with the first line. You direct the second line. If I need to pull the first line back, they’ll fill in the second line positions.”
Kira nodded, her face drawn and tense.
He said, “Keep your eyes on me for signals.”
Then he touched her arm and added, “Stay safe, Kira.”
She pressed her lips and nodded once more.
Youngblood opened a weapons locker and distributed the remaining ammunition, stuffing extra magazines into his pockets. He visited each of the foxholes and quickly reviewed their last-minute preparations for battle. Finally, he reassured each man.
Next came the waiting. The anticipation caused his pulse to quicken, his heart to race, and sweat to form on his brow.
The animals in the surrounding forest had fled, making the night strangely quiet. Light rain showers came down for an hour and then abruptly stopped as if the clouds also were waiting.
Ben came by at 4 AM for a final check of the position before returning to the Branch Water Saloon.
At the first flicker of grey light on the horizon, there were new sounds and moving shadows. The first thing Youngblood thought was that the attack was imminent. He licked his dry lips. His instincts were fully alerted to the noises around him. He subconsciously took note of the shadowy figures in the distance and the dust blown up by the gusting wind. He maintained his attention on the developing situation of the enemy’s movements. His mind ran back through his evaluation of his placements, but that no longer mattered. They where were they were—there was no time to change. Better to concentrate on adjustments after the enemy engaged.
After all the waiting, the inevitable happened.
The storm broke over the militia’s eastern river defense when the first of Jarod’s men encountered the tripwire, setting off the planted homemade mines. Along a 50-yard split at the mouth of the river, several hundred screaming men poured forward.
Everything remained suspended for several seconds, then raucous gunfire and explosions exploded.
BANG! BAM! BANG! BAM!
Youngblood expected to be afraid but was surprised that he was not. After the nervous anticipation, the event caused his pulse to return to normal and he relaxed. The thought of an abrupt and violent end did not disturb him. In fact, he viewed it with relief because if it would put an end to his worries about illness and isolation. He was oddly detached as if he were merely a spectator at a loud, brutal event. His mind became calm and lucid, and he examined the details of the engagement as if he were answering questions on a test for which he was well prepared.
In the same way, he was aware without taking special note of the movement of his own men as they reacted to the threat. His troops likewise refused to be rattled and fought the enemy toe-to-toe, killing them with rifles, arrows, and knives.
The militia didn’t need to be told to open fire. They started blasting away and kept up a steady fire, killing several of the enemy and momentarily stalling their thrust.
Kira shouted, “They’re closing and moving fast. Keep to your positions.”
The gang reacted viciously to the initial impact and resumed its attack, but Youngblood coordinated fire and that stalled the gang yet again.
Then an explosion went off near Youngblood.
A mortar? A grenade?
It took several minutes for him to shake off the effects.
He took a deep breath.
Where is Kira?
He ran from one fox-hole to another, coordinating fire at the leading enemy elements, but many of his men were already wounded. He heard shouts. Men were struggling to remove the wounded. The first line of defense was being overrun. The enemy troops were not aware of the defensive layout, nor did they have a cohesive plan for taking the town, but they were attacking through the perceived gaps in the defenses in large numbers. They were well-organized and well-armed.
A blast splattered near Youngblood and shrapnel struck his left shoulder. He yelled in pain from the injury.
The battle went from one horror to another, but he wasn’t raising a white flag. He sent reinforcements, who arrived just in time to shore up a hole in the defenses.
Little doubt remained among the survivors; they were teetering on the edge of disaster.
The battle ebbed and flowed for an hour before the sheer weight of the enemy numbers broke through the second line of defense on the east river. With so many badly wounded and unable to repel the enemy or fight effectively, Youngblood realized there wasn’t anything more he could do along the river.
He shouted, “Kira? Kira?”
She was nowhere to be found.
He shouted, “Fall back to the edge of town!”
He repeated it several times and those that were able fell back with him to the nearby buildings on the edge of the town.
I’ve got to go to help Ben—got to get moving.
Youngblood ran, gasping for breath.
He hoped to reach Ben in the center of town with his remaining men.
Peering over his s
houlder, he tripped on a broken branch. As he crashed to the ground, he saw the enemy flowing behind him—he had failed to hold the east river.
He lay still bleeding from the shrapnel wound.
Thoughts flashed past him.
We’re failing.
The enemy drew closer even as he gasped for another breath.
Who’s left?
Trembling from exhaustion, he pulled himself up. Standing was brutally painful.
Nevertheless, he ran.
The buildings on the edge of town were indistinguishable. As he twisted around a corner, he crashed into a wall. He continued his breakneck run through the deadliest battle he had ever imaged while firing his gun at the enemy. The noise was thunderous, and a flash of light gave him a chance to get his bearings. He smelled the acrid fumes rising from the explosions, followed by smoke. Looking away, he crawled under a house’s decking. Losing himself in the smoke and confusion, he retreated and listened to the turmoil around him.
Finally, he was able to clear his head of sensations. He had no idea where the rest of the militia was; many were probably dead. His left shoulder was throbbing.
The town’s weak forces fought against them, but the town’s barricades and communications sustained so much damage in the initial assault that a coherent defense soon became difficult.
Closing his eyes, he called upon his inner resolve.
Got to fight! They’re depending on me!
He got up and ran again, turning and firing to slow them down.
Ben would rally the militia around the town center, so he kept going in that direction.
I can still fight. Others will join me.
The edge of town was now a disaster zone. The enemy could have taken advantage of its vulnerability at any time, the battle was not yet decided.
After a few minutes, he reached a point where several streets converged into a funnel-like area.
This spot is defensible.
Then he had another thought.
How is William fairing at the west gate?
He reassessed his opponents. They were disorganized and resorting to looting. He hesitated only a few seconds before adopting a risky strategy. He hid behind a door and waited. He heard footsteps and held his breath.
Are they coming this way?
He stood up and moved quickly behind the man.
WHACK!
He stabbed the gang member. Not a shot was fired; no noise was made. Looking down at the lifeless body, Youngblood thought.
It was necessary.
He waited again. After several more minutes, he similarly dispatched two more.
Youngblood fought hand to hand for several more minutes. Several of his men joined him. He exhaled in relief.
Ever since he had started running, he had been operating on raw nerves. Now he tried to gather his thoughts and the remaining men to mount a defense near the center of town.
He hoped he could give Ben enough time to organize the militia’s remaining defenses. He expected all the surviving men to rally around at the saloon.
Youngblood waited near the converging streets for the enemy’s next move.
KABOOOOM! KABOOOOM!
The explosions seem to come from all directions. The earsplitting detonations rendered Youngblood deaf. As he fought to shake off the concussion, an acidic stench of smoke and ash invaded his nostrils and causing a spasmodic cough. He touched his chest, feeling for wounds. Then he touched his face and head. He blinked his tearing eyes. His chest heaved as his lungs gasped for air. He was still in one piece.
What happened?
Sound was the first of his senses to return. Thoughts flowed through his mind in a chaotic fashion making no sense. It was several minutes before he recovered his wits. His mind searched the possibilities and shook off the confusion. He began moving again. His hit-and-run maneuvers had paid dividends, but they were no longer viable. Feeling he had achieved all he could under the circumstances, he decided to direct the remaining men to the saloon.
He squeezed behind a crate. Calmer now, he peeked out to observe a large group of gang members swarming into the street. They passed his previous hideout and continued through the funneled passageway toward the saloon. After a few minutes, the sound of a raging battle made it clear that Ben and Pyro were mounting a robust defense in the saloon.
Youngblood heard shots and screams. He went forward until he had reached a point behind the enemy. As he clutched his gun, he ordered his remaining men into the battle.
He caught a glimpse of Pyro jumping from spot to spot to rally his men.
Youngblood targeted the enemy.
Keep firing.
The saloon was now the focus of the battle. He looked into the darkness with uncomprehending eyes. His ears told him the battle was going badly.
Pyro defended a makeshift barricade inside the building and maintained a steady fire.
The enemy emerged from the street and spread out sending a steady stream of fire into the saloon.
Youngblood saw William with a small group of men defending the west corner of the saloon.
The west gate’s been breached!
The enemy had completely penetrated to the center of Jamestown.
Several men laid down heavy covering fire while Pyro hurtled forward and dragged an injured man back behind the barricade.
Thank goodness.
Youngblood rose once more into the action. He started shouting, “Here! Here!”
A few men rallied toward him and together they charged forward one more time, but they were insufficient to make a difference and the gunfire drove them back.
Youngblood gave a sharp cry and fell back when he was, once again, grazed by a bullet. Agonizing pain shot across his shoulder blade.
Weak from pain, he concentrated on thinking clearly. Weapons were being pointed in his direction. He moved farther behind the wall before an irregular volley of fire streamed toward him. Once again, he found himself lying flat on the ground. His arms had no strength to lift him up. Still, the bloody battle continued to be waged with undisciplined surges back and forth between the dwindling numbers of remaining combatants on each side.
Youngblood surreptitiously worked his way forward. As he emerged, he fired his handgun and hit his target. He moved along the floor, stepping over the corpses of fallen enemies and comrades alike.
Shouts echoed from the fighting men.
From his position outside the saloon, he was able to pick off several of the more vulnerable enemy. They couldn’t shift their positions to get a good shot at him without exposing themselves to a crossfire. His shots continued to be surprisingly effective. After an agonizing few minutes, he was able to drive away the nearest ones by firing from a prone position.
Youngblood could see Pyro at the center of the battle inside the saloon with a ragged group of men. The ferocious battle was being waged as a wildly irregular series of personal combats. The struggle favored first one side, then another. The action was close as the heavy fire continued.
The outcome seemed to be teetering.
Youngblood continued to move closer to the fiercest fighting. The flash of gunfire gave him just enough warning to throw himself flat, and then the wave of action washed past him, and he found several men moaning nearby on the floor.
He tripped on a mutilated body whose vacant eyes stared up at him.
The struggling, wounded men sought shelter behind whatever objects they could find as the fighting madness ebbed away.
Youngblood found shelter behind a wall. He leveled his pistol once more and fought his way into the thick of the chaos. He crept along the street, firing as he moved. The firing continued nearby.
Fatalistically, he ran out of ammo, forcing him to duck down as Pyro charged the remaining enemy. Time stopped for Youngblood as Pyro was shot and fell.
All sides were exhausted. At last, some of the enemy began pulling back to regroup outside the town. As they retreated to lick their wounds and loot whatever they cou
ld find. However, pockets of gang members remained.
Youngblood gathered the remaining militia and attacked the last pocket surrounding the saloon.
When he broke into the saloon, he heard the staccato of several guns firing.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Then there was silence.
◆◆◆
Youngblood crashed through the front door of the saloon.
He found Ben curled in a fetal position in the center of the room, his body riddled with a dozen holes all oozing blood.
I’m too late.
Youngblood knelt and turned Ben’s body over and found what Ben had been curled around.
It’s Lorrie!
She’s supposed to be at the general store.
There are many shades of horrible, and Youngblood found what he most feared—crimson flowers growing across Lorrie’s chest.
She was still alive, but there was no chance for survival. Her golden-brown eyes grew wide as saucers. Without crying or uttering a sound, she grasped Youngblood’s finger and held it tight, her other hand kept a firm grip on her doll, Annie.
His throat was tight, hoarse from fatigue and strain, but he cradled her in his arms and rocked back and forth as he recited the familiar words,
Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord, my soul, to take.
Lorrie’s eyes fluttered shut; her chest no longing moving.
Everything was still and eerily quiet as Youngblood touched his lips to her temple. He whispered tearfully, “Goodbye, Lorrie.”
Standing up with the youngster in his arms, he faced the crowd gathered around him.
He said, “The murder of a child is unforgivable.”
Chapter 25
Access
Nearly five months had passed since Youngblood had woken, gasping for breath in the underground bunker. The bright sun above continued to reflect against a parsley sky, the trees cast dreary shadows, and the wind deposited gray ash from far away burnt-out cities, yet he’d returned to tease out more of the underground shelter’s mysterious secrets.
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