Standing Before Hell's Gate

by William Alan Webb

  Caution ingrained from decades of living in a combat zone sent him behind a broken building to relieve himself before heading out for the night’s driving. By unthinking reflex, he wore his Desert Eagles in their shoulder straps.

  He had finished and was adjusting his clothes when voices came from the other side of the building, near the Humvee. Sinking into a crouch, he drew a pistol in one huge hand and stopped breathing to listen. The voices were loud and indiscreet, seeming to come from only two men. They argued over his gear, about who got what, and neither one seemed concerned that it all might belong to somebody else. With great care, he picked his way through the building’s debris to where both men stood twenty feet away, pawing through his stuff.

  “I’d appreciate you boys not doing that,” he said. Both men whirled. One started bringing a rifle to bear. “Don’t do it!” Angriff said. “I don’t want to kill you but I will. I’ve got a burning madness to hurt somebody, but it’s you and there’s nothing here worth dying for. Now, you boys leave your guns here and get on down there, at the base of the hill. I’ll leave and you can come get your guns back. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

  “You might not have noticed,” replied the shorter of the two men, “but it’s dark out here and there’s two of us. I can’t even tell if that’s a real gun or not, so it’s you who needs to hightail it outa here, not us. You shoot one of us and the other one will sure as hell shoot you back. You go in peace and we’ll leave you be.”

  “Just let me get my things and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Naw, can’t do that. We found this stuff abandoned and it’s ours now. You be happy we let you live.”

  The wind shifted and Angriff was hit full in the face with their smell. Sour body odor made his eyes water, even blown on a breeze. He knew he didn’t smell like roses, but those boys took stink to a different level. “Not gonna happen. I’ve gotta get going, so I’m telling you one last time, get away from the car.”

  “Looks like we got us a problem.”

  “I don’t understand,” Angriff said. “I’ve got a powerful handgun pointed right at you, and at this distance I can’t miss. Both of you will be dead before you know you’re going to die. You can’t survive. So why do it? Just step away and you’ll be the same as you were twenty minutes ago. I don’t want to kill you.”

  For a moment, Angriff thought they might do it. The one on the left, the taller one, took a half shuffle-step sideways, but then stopped when his partner didn’t follow.

  “I wish I could do that,” the shorter man said. “But out here you can’t do it and survive.”

  “Dying’s not surviving.”

  Without warning, the man reached for his rifle, followed by his buddy. Despite the darkness, Angriff only had to fire twice to put both men down. With the Humvee at their backs, he’d hoped the bullets wouldn’t be through-and-throughs. Both were. The man on the left had moved far enough so the fifty-caliber round that blew a softball-sized hole in his back only spewed blood and bone over the hood, while the bullet itself spun harmlessly into the desert. But the other man was slammed into the Humvee’s side and crumpled to the ground, while the round shattered the rear window and sprayed the interior with his blood.

  “Damn!”

  He stood a moment, breathing hard. Without him realizing it, rage had boiled up within him, a burning anger at Tom Steeple that shooting the two men had done nothing to assuage. Angriff had killed many men during his years in combat and always felt empty afterward, regardless of how much bravado he showed, and so it was now. Why couldn’t they just leave?

  He felt the pulse at their necks and both men were dead, which spared him the choice of whether to put them out of their misery or not. But if he didn’t clean all the blood out of Humvee, he’d be swarmed with feeding flies. Using a small flashlight Strootman had put in the vehicle, he first found the casings for his bullets so he could reload them, and then tore strips off the dead men’s clothes. At sunup, he would stop and clean up the blood as best he could. In the meantime, he tossed their guns into the passenger’s seat and headed east.

  #

  Chapter 50

  In this world the unseen has power.

  Apache proverb

  2243 hours, April 28

  2 miles east of Gallup, New Mexico

  “Cap? Captain Sully?”

  Sully rolled over in his foxhole and looked up at the man standing at the edge. The day’s operations had left him with an aching back, while partial dehydration gave him a grade-A headache. “What?” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “Sorry to wake you, Cap. We’ve got visitors.”

  Sully pushed the button on his watch to illuminate the numbers. “Who is it?”

  “It’s that Indian again, the same one as last year. Right before the battle, remember?”

  “I’m coming.”

  He needed to pee but held it. The temperature had dropped as it always did during desert nights and he wanted nothing more than to crawl under his blanket again, but the company came first.

  A clouded moon left the land dark under wan starlight. With reports of any enemy force in the area, no campfires or lights were allowed, so all Sully saw of the Indians were black silhouettes. They numbered five, with the tallest standing in front of the others.

  “Govind, isn’t it?” he said, extending his hand.

  “Yes,” came the response. “And you are Captain Sully.”

  “That’s right. So… may I offer you something?”

  “No, thank you. I would speak with Lara Snowtiger, but first I come again with a warning. You heeded my words once and I hope you do so again. The men behind me are friends of my people. Two are Jemez Pueblos and two are Mescalero Apache. One is my cousin. I trust their words.”

  “Is this about the army of Sevens coming up from the south?”

  “You know of them?”

  “We encountered a scout group of horsemen west of Gallup,” Sully said, standing with arms crossed and eyes shifting side to side as his brain worked to think of his situation while maintaining the conversation. “One of them claimed to be from Shangri-La who joined the Caliphate as a spy, and he told us of this army. He said they’d sent other out other groups, too.”

  “Other groups? Did he say where?”

  “No.”

  “Is he near? May I speak with him?”

  “I thought you wanted Snowtiger.”

  “I would speak with this man first.”

  Sully half-turned his head but kept his eyes on Govind. “Sergeant Meyer, please bring the prisoner up here.”

  No one spoke for several seconds, then Govind said, “Your man is injured?”

  “You mean Meyer, because he limps? That’s from last year’s battle. He was severely wounded and only returned to service a few weeks ago.”

  “He must be a true warrior to be out here with you, so soon after his return.”

  “He’s a Marine,” Sully said, as the only explanation needed.

  While they waited for Mohammad Qadim to be brought forward, Govind changed the subject. “The Choctaw is still under your command, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Snowtiger is here. You’re a regular man of mystery, aren’t you? Why do you want to see Snowtiger?”

  “I mean no insult, Captain, but the message is only for her ears.”

  “Not in a Marine unit in a combat zone, it’s not.”

  “Then I shall leave it up to her whether she wishes to hear it.”

  Scraping boot steps alerted them to Sergeant Meyer’s return with Qadim. Sully introduced the Indians and stepped back to listen.

  “You are from Shangri-La?”

  “That’s right,” Qadim said.

  “I am Govind, chief of the Coyotero Apache.”

  “I know. I’ve seen you there.”

  “Who is the chief of Shangri-La?”

  “It doesn’t have a chief, but Johnny Rainwater runs things now that Steve Higdon died. You know, the same Johnny Rainwater that’s your
nephew. Abigail Deak leads the Pueblos.”

  “Steve is dead? If this is true, then I’m sorry. He was a fine man. And yes, Johnny is my sister’s son, but you could have heard that from others. What do you do at Shangri-La?”

  “I tend the animals and help with the greenhouses.”

  “The pigs as well?”

  “Yes. As I’m sure you know, the few Muslims there help with the pigs if we must. We consider them unclean, but Shangri-La means everyone must pitch in to do everything. They took us in when no one else would. Thank Allah we are rarely expected to deal with the pigs.”

  Govind shifted his attention to Sully for a moment. “He is truthful.” Then, to Qadim again, “Why did you ride with the Sevens?”

  “The Caliphate’s patrols started showing up near Santa Fe and Steve, he was still alive then, thought we should try to find out what was going on. If they were moving our way, we needed to know. As a Muslim, I volunteered. I trained on riding a horse for two months before I rode south. During that time Steve died and Johnny took over. The Caliphate gave me a hard time at first, but they need trained riders to go in front of an army and see what was out there.

  “They suffered a defeat last year that left many of them dead. I was told Americans defeated them, but that had no real meaning to me as we hadn’t heard of any Americans. As far as I know, Shangri-La still hasn’t. The Sevens learned from last year’s fighting and didn’t want to be surprised again. I was in one of ten patrol groups scouting ahead. The army stopped about sixty miles south to await our reports.”

  Sully thought of a question and interrupted. “Where did the rest of these scout groups go?”

  Qadim was only a dark shadow, so when he shrugged, Sully couldn’t read his body language. “I don’t know. Some to the west of us, some to the east.”

  “To the west? How far to the west?” A slight note of fear crept into Govind’s voice.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s the matter?” Sully said to Govind.

  “May I speak with Lara Snowtiger now?”

  “How did you know her first name?”

  Govind was quiet for a long while, but Sully knew better than to say anything else. If he waited the Apache chief out, he would eventually answer, and it would be the truth. “We have met several times before. But I also know her sister.”

  #

  Govind, Sully, and Snowtiger separated themselves from the group by moving fifty yards into the desert. Sully used a flashlight to avoid stepping on a rattlesnake.

  “Do you remember this man, Sergeant?” Sully said.

  “Aye, Cap. We met again when I was at FOB Junkyard.”

  “Yes, but I hope the circumstances of our meeting today brings you happier tidings. I bear a message for you.”

  “From my sister.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Do you also have the Sight?”

  “No, but of late she’s been in my dreams. Is her spirit in danger?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She comes to me when I sleep and I see fear in her face. I was asleep when you called for me, but I dreamed that I saw her high up on a mountain, standing in front of something dark. A cave, perhaps, and a tall man stood with her. He looked familiar, as if I should know who he is.”

  “Was this man Indian?”

  “No, he was white, but with dark skin as if he’d spent many years in the sun… wait, now I know who it was! The face I saw was General Tompkins’.”

  “Tompkins? A major by that name has roamed these lands for many years. I hear that he is a good man.”

  “That’s him! Why did I dream of those two together? And I also saw… horse riders. They were at the bottom of a cliff.”

  Those words galvanized the Indian chief. “Never say that you have not the Sight… but now I must go.”

  Snowtiger reached out and grabbed his arm. “What is going on?”

  “It is not my place to say.”

  Snowtiger’s normally polite speech crumbled in the face of her fear. “Like hell it’s not! I’m not letting go until you tell me what going on!”

  Sully decided to intercede. “She’s a Marine, Govind. You’d better do what she says. She’s tougher than anybody I’ve ever met, including you.”

  Govind inhaled so deeply Sully heard it, and then exhaled with a snort. “I’m betraying a trust by doing this. Your sister is alive, Lara. And based on what you have told me, she is in great danger.”

  “Alive? Her spirit lives, right?”

  The Apache chief slowly swung his head from side to side. “No, she is alive.”

  “You mean, like… alive alive?”

  “She yet walks this Earth, yes, in her physical body. She is a seeress. In the language of your people an Ohoyo, and we Apache have protected her for many, many years. But your dream was her reaching out for aid, and now I must ride throughout the night if she is under attack by Sevens.”

  “Oh, my God! Why didn’t you say this right away? We’ve got to go help her… I mean, I request permission to accompany Govind to aid my sister, Captain.”

  Sully had no illusions about whether he could legally detach her from the mission; he couldn’t. But if anybody had earned the right to pursue a private matter, it was her. And there was a slight justification. “Sergeant Snowtiger, I need you to go with this man and investigate whether General Tompkins, third in command of the Seventh Cavalry, is in danger. Take a radio.”

  “Thank you, sir. May I also take Gunny Piccaldi?”

  If you’re in for a penny, you might as well be in for a pound. “Take him and the Humvee. Draw extra fuel. But I need you back by dawn the day after tomorrow. And remember the governing ROEs. You may not fire on the Sevens unless they fire on you first.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Rah.”

  #

  As they loaded up the Humvee, Govind brought his horse close to give Piccaldi directions in case they became separated. Snowtiger dumped some equipment in the back seat and when she went to retrieve more, Piccaldi saw Govind’s eyes following her.

  “Are you married?” he asked to the back of the Apache’s head.

  Govind immediately turned back to him. “Is that important?”

  Piccaldi smiled. “Just being friendly.”

  Govind’s eyes narrowed. “No, I am not married.”

  “Oh. Too bad.”

  “Why?”

  The big gunnery sergeant clapped him on the arm. “It’s just an expression.”

  #

  Chapter 51

  It was the Marines who taught me how to act. After that, pretending to be rough wasn't so hard.

  Lee Marvin

  Painted Desert, Arizona

  0302 hours, April 29

  Lying on the dune, Piccaldi flipped on the IR sight for his rifle. He’d grown used to the sounds of the desert at night and no longer jumped every time a small creature dislodged a pebble, or a cactus pygmy owl sang, or the wind rattled a bush. But while he consciously heard nothing unusual, his brain picked out a faint scrape that was out of place and flashed a warning to his body. He tensed, sensing nothing specific, only danger. Through the infrared sight, a mere twenty yards out from their position, a man moved their way in a crouch.

  He nudged Govind, who slept beside him. The man who led those referred to by others as the Ghosts of the Desert woke as he slept, without making a sound. The overcast night blocked most starlight, but when Piccaldi pointed to the approaching man, Govind saw him.

  Looking over the rim of the little hill using only his eyes to see, he touched Piccaldi’s arm and leaned close to whisper. “It is my brother Gosheven.”

  Seconds later the second Apache slid beside his brother without making a sound. Piccaldi gently shook Snowtiger awake, realizing for the first time that, while safe in camp or back at base she snored when sleeping, out in the desert she never did.

  Once they all huddled close, Gosheven filled them in on what he’d seen. “I count twenty-one riders
and twenty-five horses. They have guards aiming at Ohoyo’s cave. None face in other directions.”

  “Keeping their fire high tells us they fear the Honághááhnii more than men,” said Govind.

  “The hona-what?” Piccaldi said.

  “One Who Walks Around Clan,” Govind answered. “It is a word the Apache gave the Navajo. It means the mountain lion.”

  “Why can’t you just say that?”

  Govind didn’t move, and Piccaldi couldn’t make out details of his face in the dark night, but his voice sounded confused. “The Apache call it Ndotlkah, if that is what you mean,” Govind said.

  Snowtiger slapped his arm. “Ignore him, Govind,” she said, careful to keep her voice low. “Their camp is vulnerable. What is your plan? Are the others here to help us attack the camp?”

  “Others?” Piccaldi said. “What others?”

  “Six of my people are in the desert two hundred yards to our left.”

  “How did I miss that?”

  “Sshh!” Snowtiger said. “Keep your voice down. Govind?”

  “I wish to drive them west, where five more warriors await them. They are surrounded but do not know it. If we attack their camp, we are likely to suffer heavy casualties, but if we can drive them out then we might kill them in the open. When we start shooting, my people to the south will, too. I am hoping the men with Ohoyo will realize what is happening and also take them under fire. This should drive them in the only direction from which no one is shooting at them, to the west. Then we move in on their rear and side as my warriors to the west open fire.”

  “What if they don’t pull out?” Piccaldi said.

  “Then we will devise a new plan.”

  “Can we wait that long? For all we know, they have wounded up there at the cave.”

  Once again Govind’s expression lay hidden in shadow, but his voice left no doubt that the Apache chief was not used to having his authority questioned. “Since you take issue with mine, then I trust you have a better plan?”

  “I don’t take issue with it,” Piccaldi said. “But you’re depending on the enemy to do as you need them to do. I’m more direct.”