“The Apache take orders from Govind, not from Sergeant Piccaldi.”
“All right, let’s try it your way first.”
As Piccaldi lay back on the hillside, Govind couldn’t help whispering and getting the final word. “The big man I understand being as quiet as a buffalo, but you should know better, Lara.”
#
Her first impulse was to defend Piccaldi, but she had to first stifle a giggle. Then, before answering, she thought about it long enough to realize Govind was right. As snipers, they both knew better than to make so much noise… she certainly knew better. So why had Piccaldi argued with the Apache? Something was bothering him.
Regardless, they all focused on the task at hand. Gosheven slipped back into the darkness to relay the plan to the other Apaches. The night stayed quiet except for a chorus of cicadas.
“When do we open fire?” Piccaldi whispered as he turned the IR scope back on and centered the reticule on the head of a green figure leaning forward on a dune about fifty yards away.
“Wait for the signal.”
“What’s the signal?”
“The bark of a bobcat.”
“Don’t they meow?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Snowtiger found her own target and adjusted her scope during the brief conversation. She took her eye off the scope only long enough to stare at Piccaldi’s outline. Why was he being more of an ass than normal?
#
It was time to shoot. Something in Piccaldi’s mind clicked into place, and he forgot Snowtiger and Govind and once again became the killer he’d been trained to be.
The Sevens had pitched camp in a bowl-shaped depression surrounded on three sides by low dunes, leaving only the lookout on the north side, facing the cave, visible. It was sloppy security but Piccaldi wasn’t complaining. The man showed up bright green in his IR scope.
“Target acquired,” Piccaldi said in a voice lower than a whisper.
Nevertheless, Snowtiger heard it and replied. “Negative acquisition. I’m tee-double-oh.” Target of opportunity. After Piccaldi fired, she would shoot the next target to appear while he chambered another round and sought a new target. Both went into automatic mode, with heartbeats and breathing slowing and fingers barely touching their triggers.
The faint bark went unnoticed by Piccaldi amid the background of desert sounds, but not by Govind.
“That was the signal,” he whispered.
The crosshairs centered one inch in front of the man’s ear, where the upper and lower jaws met. Head shots had a higher risk profile than body shots, but his only other choices were the man’s right shoulder and neck. The neck was an even more difficult shot and the shoulder wouldn’t kill him, so the head it was.
Gently he squeezed the trigger like he might brush the lips of a lover with a first kiss. The rifle’s report sounded to his ears like that lover moaning in orgasmic ecstasy and its recoil like the culmination of their love making.
The reality was different. A 7.62 x 51mm NATO round traveling at more than 2,500 feet per second struck exactly at the joint of the man’s two jaws, drove through bone and brain while it also partially splintered, and exited by smashing through bone again while leaving an exit wound the size of a baseball. The force of the impact knocked him sideways to his left, so Piccaldi didn’t see the top of his head fly off and roll down the dune.
Experienced warriors would have suppressed the reflex to look up and would have gone to ground at the sound of the gunshot. The man named Qadim had said they’d trained all winter to be better soldiers, but training was no substitute for experience. So when a face appeared over the crest of the dune facing east, toward her, Snowtiger wasted no time in putting a round into his forehead. Then the Apaches opened up.
#
0320 hours
Sara Snowtiger’s Cave
“Skip, Skip!”
Dennis Tompkins woke and sat upright at the report of the first gunshot, and hadn’t needed Thibodeaux to alert him. Fifty years surviving in the desert had left even his aging reflexes sharper than those of most men half his age. At the cave’s mouth, he dropped to all fours and crawled to the lip of the ledge beside Thibodeaux. The rest of his men lay spread out with rifles at the ready. By now a fusillade of gunfire echoed in the dark desert night.
“Any idea what’s going on?”
“Near as I can tell, they’s three groups got them Sevens boxed in.”
“No sign of who they are?”
Thibodeaux shook his head and picked up the binoculars.
“It is Govind,” Sara Snowtiger said. She stood beside him. Terrified for her safety, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down to her knees. Snowtiger stared at his hand and then met his eyes. Embarrassed, he let go.
“I’m sorry, Sara. You scared me.”
“It is well,” she said. Was there a slightly confused tone in her voice? “You did it to protect me, and I am unhurt. I did not mind your touch.”
For nearly a minute they stared into the shadows of each other’s face.
“Skip, I likes romance as much as the next fella, me, but right now we got’s a problem.”
It took several seconds for Thibodeaux’s words to sink in. Tompkins’ brain felt sluggish. Feelings washed over him that he’d forgotten, a sensation of longing unlike anything he could remember. “What, John? What did you say?”
“Quit moonin’ over the girl like a damned teenager, Skip. What’re we gonna do ’bout this shootin’?
Tompkins tried to act mad, but his men had known him way too long to believe that. Fortunately they couldn’t see his face very well. “Can anybody pick out a clear target?”
“I get a glimpse when they fire,” Hausser said.
“We don’t have ammo to waste. If we can’t get a good look at ’em, we can’t shoot. We’ve gotta wait for dawn. The Apaches should have been here soon after that, but now we’re on our own.”
“Is Govind coming here?” Snowtiger asked.
“Not those Apaches, Sara. I’m talking about the helicopter gunships. Remember, I told you they weren’t coming any more?”
“Oh.” She stopped a minute and closed her eyes. “It is just as well. Govind is already here.” Without another word, she crawled back into the cave.
“She’s a fine lookin’ woman, Skip, but ’scuse me for sayin’, she kinda gives me the creeps.”
Tompkins couldn’t help watching her crawl away. “Yeah… me, too.”
Thibodeaux glanced at Tompkins, then Snowtiger, and then back at Tompkins. “I don’t t’ink it’s the same kinda creeps.”
#
After three minutes the firing died down to an occasional shot. Snowtiger and Piccaldi each nailed two Sevens apiece, after which no targets presented themselves.
“Are you seeing anything?” Govind asked.
“Nada,” Piccaldi said. “Lara?”
“Nothing. They’ve gone to ground.”
“Why are they not firing from the cave?” Govind asked. “I know the men are still up there.”
“I’m guessing they don’t have that much ammo. It’s unlikely they can pick out targets in the dark from that far away.”
“Yet if we wait for daylight, we give up our advantage in the night.” Govind went quiet for a moment. “What is this plan you had in mind?”
Piccaldi pushed up into a crouch and walked toward the Humvee, which they’d left behind a low hill two hundred yards to the east. “Tell your people to wait for my diversion, then do that ghost of the desert thing you do and wipe those fuckers out.”
“Zo!” Snowtiger hissed.
He kept walking.
“I’m going with you!”
That stopped him. “No, you’re not, Lara. Stay here. Kill.”
“I outrank you.”
“Yes First Sergeant, you do. And I’m more expendable. Trust me, I’ll be back.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she answered, “You’d better be.”
B
ut he hadn’t gone more than ten more paces before Govind called him back.
“What?” he said, squatting next to the Apache; from somewhere Govind’s brother Gosheven had materialized.
“We have a new problem.”
Gosheven took over. “More Sevens are coming up from the south, another group of twenty or more riders. They will be here soon.”
“Damn.”
“We are now outnumbered and cannot fight them in the open desert. Come with us to our village. You will be safe there.”
Before Piccaldi could speak, Snowtiger answered. “I am going to my sister.”
“You will be trapped with her,” Govind said. “I cannot guarantee that my people can help you. We are few in number now.”
“I do not care. I am going to Sara. You go with them, Zo. Take the Humvee, but first take me to the base of the mountain so I can climb to her.”
“I’m not doing that and neither are you. It’s a fool’s play.”
Snowtiger’s voice took on a steely tone he’d never heard before. “I am going to my sister.”
He responded in kind. “No, you’re not! You’re going with Govind!”
She stalked off toward the Humvee, not caring that she was standing. “Like fuck I am.”
That shocked both men silent. Only when she was out of sight did Govind say anything. “I did not expect to hear such language from Sara’s sister.”
But Piccaldi had to smile. “Why not? She’s a Marine, ain’t she?”
#
Chapter 52
In the land is found the ancient wisdom of life.
Native American proverb
Painted Desert, Arizona
0349 hours, April 29
Piccaldi followed her into the darkness, but only Gosheven went with them, since he knew how to drive and could hide the Humvee after they unloaded at the cave. Govind stayed behind to organize cover for them.
Driving with the lights off, Piccaldi risked hitting a deep hole rather than creeping at a safe speed. The distance was only about half a mile from where they’d parked the Humvee, but it was impossible to know how much time they had. A trick of the land hid them from the Sevens most of the way.
Snowtiger held on tight as they bounced from gopher hole to antelope squirrel hole to bigger depressions, like badger dens. Piccaldi couldn’t see Gosheven, sitting in the back seat, although he heard him grunt whenever the Humvee bottomed out. They pulled up to the bottom of the cliff and got out quickly. A distant shot came from somewhere, but just one.
Piccaldi cupped hands around his mouth and tilted his head back as far as he could. “We’re coming up!” he yelled, and then helped Gosheven and Snowtiger unload their gear. “Where’s the rope ladder?”
“It isn’t here,” Gosheven said. “They must have pulled it up.”
“Throw the ladder! Throw the ladder!”
The voice shouting from above sounded thin. “Who are you?”
“We’re Marines, damn it! Hurry up!”
Two more shots rang out closer, followed by two more and then another three.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Piccaldi said, tapping his foot.
“Take the Humvee,” Snowtiger said to Gosheven.
Even in the dark, Piccaldi recognized the actions of her unslinging her rifle, turning on her sight, and preparing to shoot. “No, Lara,” he said. “You go first. I’ll cover you.”
“Negative. I’m lighter and faster than you are. If one of us has to go up under fire, it should be me.”
“No way I’m gonna let you do that.”
“Quit arguing with me. That’s an order.”
“I—”
“An order!”
Gosheven wasted no time pulling away at less than half the speed Piccaldi had driven.
“C’mon…”
Thunk, thwip, thunk, thwip… falling down the cliff face, an intricate and heavily-knotted rope construction bounced and unraveled until stopping four feet above the desert floor. It wasn’t a rope ladder as much as it was a pulley system, with a wide and sturdy plank at the bottom like the seat of a swing. The wooden board was fire-hardened oak, and while it showed extensive wear from hitting the rock over and over, stainless steel strips nailed to each side and cross-braced across the bottom kept it intact.
A second item dropped down beside it, lowered slowly and not thrown from above. This was a large pulley about two feet across that appeared to have come from an industrial site. A large hook held a looped coil of steel cable and it only took Piccaldi a few seconds to realize there had to be an anchor somewhere nearby. He found it soon enough several feet to the left, and the cable slid perfectly over a granite point near the base of the cliff. He began piling equipment onto the plank, securing it with leather straps and buckles attached to the board, and tugged hard to indicate to those above to pull it up. Just as he turned to get his rifle and rejoin Snowtiger, something hissed nearby, struck the cliff, and splattered with a loud chit.
“Fuck me!” he said as something tiny struck his jaw.
“Not tonight, big boy,” she answered. Two seconds later, she fired one round. There came no screams to indicate a hit and Piccaldi knew there wouldn’t be any. He simply assumed the target died a millisecond after she pulled the trigger.
Once he’d gotten his own rifle and turned the scope on, they both saw and heard a small knot of horsemen heading their way.
Ten seconds later Govind reined up, no more than a dark shadow against the overcast night sky. “I will gather my people and we will come back for you, but it will be after nightfall tomorrow. You must hold out until then. The cave is deep; you should all be safe there.” Two of the Apache riders near the back of the group squeezed off solitary shots. Govind paused and Piccaldi sensed a shift in his position atop the horse, but it was impossible to tell what he did as the nervous animal stepped and snorted in its eagerness to get the hell out of the shooting zone. In his mind’s eye, however, he thought the man was staring at Snowtiger. “I will not abandon you.”
“I never thought you would,” she answered, without removing her eye from her scope.
With that the Apache rode off, followed seconds later by the plank being lowered again.
“Lara…”
“Go!”
Still hesitating, he started to blurt out what he’d been trying to say for weeks when a bullet passed two feet to his right and ricocheted. That was all the encouragement he needed. Sitting on the board, he pulled on one of the ropes and shouldered his rifle. He’d never before tried a shot while being hoisted 300 feet in the air, but if one of the Sevens gave him the least target to aim at, there would be a first time.
#
It seemed hours before the ledge came in sight and hands reached out, grabbing his arms and pulling him to safety, although in reality it was about four minutes. Despite the number of people pulling the rope, they were all aged and he weighed more than 180 pounds. The trickiest part was unbuckling without losing his balance.
Once he was on solid ground, they all got down on hands and knees and pushed the board back over the ledge. He took over the job of lowering it. Even up that high, it was too dark to make out facial details, but the panting and wheezing of the other men told him all he needed to know.
A thin smell of smoke came from within the cave. As he let out lengths of rope, Piccaldi realized it was carried outside by a draught from inside the mountain. Hauling so much wood using the pulley system took nothing short of incredible dedication. If Snowtiger’s sister really lived up there, she had to be even more amazing than Lara herself.
He felt the plank touch bottom and weight pulled the ropes taut. Then Snowtiger tugged to be hauled up.
“All right, boys, she’s on.”
Without a word, the six old men grabbed the rope with him and began pulling. It required standing up, exposing themselves to anybody who could see them from below, and when shots echoed off the cliff, several of them nearly let go. But nothing hit close enough to hurt anybody even
with flying splinters, such as had happened to Piccaldi earlier, nor for Snowtiger to expose her own position by returning fire.
A chill breeze dried sweat on his cheeks and turned his damp collar cold. Heat built up under his armpits and he could feel wetness running down his back and stomach, but when more firing erupted, he redoubled his efforts. Some of the shots came closer as the Sevens got the range, but fortunately for them all, him helping to pull, combined with Snowtiger’s lesser weight, got her to the ledge in less than two minutes. He pulled her off the plank and pushed her prone, then fell beside her to the right. The others also took cover.
“Welcome to our little slice of the world,” Dennis Tompkins said from her left.
Both Snowtiger and Piccaldi half-rolled to salute. He returned it, although Piccaldi judged that more from sensing movement than seeing the actual gesture.
“What are you two doing here?” Tompkins said.
“We heard you were in trouble, General,” Piccaldi answered.
“Did you now? Who told you, the Indian? What’s his name?”
“Govind, General Tompkins,” Snowtiger said. “He told us you were pinned down up here with… others.”
“Others?” Tompkins voice seemed to carry a note of humor. “Or other?”
“Well…”
“She’s in the cave, First Sergeant. She’s waiting for you.”
#
Lara Snowtiger didn’t stand until inside the cave. The floor angled slightly downward about five feet from the mouth before flattening out again. It was just enough to put the interior out of line-of-sight from below, making it safe against almost anything save a heat-seeking missile.
The smooth floor had none of the pebbles or dust that would normally be found in a cave. Nor did the interior smell of mold or wet, despite water she could hear falling somewhere down the tunnel. Light flickering on the walls came from a fire down the passage, where a rock basin acted as a hearth.
In a small wooden chair near the fire, surrounded by stacks of books, sat a tall woman dressed in well-made animal hide pants and what looked like a white wool shirt. Her back was straight. Dark skin contrasted the clothing and black hair streaked with white fell past narrow shoulders in a braid. When she looked up, Snowtiger saw the sharp cheekbones and brown eyes she saw every day in her own face.
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