El Mofty sighed, another exaggerated gesture he knew Muhdin would miss but which felt good in the moment. “Typically, no, they are not. And we are not saying that women should interact with men who are not their husbands or families. But Tracy Gollins is no ordinary woman. She is a beast from Hell, sent to us by Allah to be used as we see fit, and I choose to use her to kill our enemies, as I would any other beast.”
“She is evil, my lord. There is nothing but hatred in her heart.”
“You speak of evil as something to be avoided, and yet Satan exists at the whim of Allah, does he not? Does our beloved New Prophet not teach that evil in the hands of a righteous man is a weapon to serve Allah?”
Muhdin nodded.
“Therefore, evil has a purpose in this world. It is to be used by the righteous to expand the Caliphate to the unfortunates who have not yet heard the teachings of the one true faith. Once we have achieved our goal, Gollins will be disposed of as the trash that she is, but in the meantime it is my responsibility to use her in the best way to serve our beloved Prophet.”
“Her aggression will yet endanger us, my lord.”
“Yumkin,” he said. Maybe. One of the Arabic words el Mofty felt comfortable using, after which he switched back to English. “But I know she will endanger the infidels.”
“She does not fight out of allegiance to our beloved New Prophet. She fights because she likes it.”
“Yes, she fights because she cannot help herself, and because she loves death. She fights for us because we give her the means to do so. Like an attack dog, she bites whoever her owner tells her to bite. The owner is only in danger if they neglect to feed the dog. I will not make that mistake.”
El Mofty had backed Muhdin into a corner and both men knew it. The general couldn’t argue further without impugning the judgment of the Emir, and that could be fatal.
“Your word is law, Blessed One.”
“Good. The matter is settled then, so let us speak of it no more. Now, the time has come for you to move forward toward Shangri-La. According to the plan you drew up, I gave General Gollins the Mecca Regiment to flank the enemy from our left, their right, moving through the old town of Cuba down Highway 126 toward Jemez Springs. My nephew Sati has regiments Rasūl and Ayyub, and is attacking them through the city of Los Alamos and the Valles Cardera Preserve, down Highway 501. Both are strong enough on their own to break through to Shangri-La itself, so the enemy will have to divert great strength to stopping them. They should be in position now, which means it is time for you to drive north using Highway 4 through San Ysidro.”
“Have you decided whether or not to give me the Life Guards?”
“For now, no.”
“Neither regiment?”
“No. That still leaves you with 4,000 men, Muhdin, more than enough to destroy the enemy. And you have all of the human shields. But I intend to keep reserves this time. Rest assured that if you need them, you will receive them.”
“Your word is law, Blessed One.”
The general bowed, which was the equivalent of a salute in the Sword of the Prophet, and turned to leave.
“Muhdin.”
Stopping, Muhdin turned back. “Yes, my lord?”
“Do not fail this time. There are no Americans here to stop you. Bring this place into the Caliphate.”
The general swallowed, nodded, bowed, and left.
#
Chapter 61
I’m positive about the negative, but a little negative about the positive.
Curly Howard
Junker Jane’s house near Dardanelle, California
1613 hours, April 29
The damaged shutter near Junker Jane’s front door still hung from two of its three hinges, but the brute strength of the bear that had gouged the wood with its claws nearly took it all the way off. The next time, it would have ripped it away with the first swipe and been free to climb through the window and ravage her house and all of her stored food. Nor would simply replacing the damaged shutter with another like it solve the problem permanently, so she’d spent the morning searching the pile of scrap metal for a thick sheet of iron or steel that could seal the window for good. An old piece of cast iron did the trick, but she needed old Tenuhci’s help, plus that of his son, to lift it into place while she attached the hinges. It took hours before they’d secured it and now she only needed to attach the locking bolt to the inside.
A pile of the largest nails she possessed dwindled as she hammered them into place both inside and out. As the afternoon waned, the light under her porch grew dim. She finished as the first mosquitoes emerged to search for blood. Dinner was going to be potluck stew the way pioneers did it, with family members throwing whatever they’d found during the day into the bubbling cauldron. Tenuhci had thrown two dressed squirrels into the mix and his son had brought a basket of spring porcini mushrooms, which despite trusting his eye she inspected anyway. Eating the wrong mushroom could be fatal. Simple corn tortillas grilled in a cast iron skillet used up last year’s corn flour. A salad of miner’s lettuce, clover, dandelions, pine nuts, and pine needle tips completed the meal.
One of the first things she’d scraped in her career was an old style whistling stainless steel teapot from the ruins of Carson City. Decades later, scorch marks blackened its bottom and dents rippled the metal sides, but it remained watertight and therefore ideal for boiling water for tea. Tenuhci mixed the ingredients to his own recipe, mostly herbs, aromatic leaves, berries, and flowers, all of which he dried and crushed together in a pestle. She sweetened it with honey and poured three cups, with hers being the familiar mug with Union Bank of Fullerton written on the side in gold script.
She had set the dining table with places for three, even using some of the real napkins she’d found at a casino buffet in Reno, and hummed while dishing out bowls of stew. For anyone else, she would have waited until her fellow diners arrived, but somehow Tenuhci, the old Miwok of the Southern Sierra tribe, always showed up within seconds of her placing food on the table. And right on time she heard footsteps on the wooden slats of her porch, but it wasn’t Tenuhci. Instead it was his son, Tuketu, Bear Making Dust.
“Where’s your father?” she said.
“He’s watching. He sent me to get you.”
Clarifying questions could wait; the tone in his voice told Jane that danger was close. The first order of business was choosing a rifle to take with her, but with only one clean, there really wasn’t much choice. She limped over to the high table under the east-facing window, where her Winchester 70 Coyote Light lay in pieces after she’d cleaned and lubricated it. By sheer reflex she began screwing the firing pin assembly back into the bolt. As she spoke, she continued re-assembling the gun, including the integrated base, and selected the best scope she owned to attach to it, a Nightforce Optics NXS 5.5-22x56 Tactical ZeroStop with MOAR reticle.
“Where is he?”
“North of Topaz Lake, overlooking the old highway.”
“That’s Highway 395, leading up from the south… that’s the American relief column heading for Sierra! This is what I’ve been waiting for, Tuketu!” For a brief moment, she considered swapping out the scope for something easier to replace if something happened to it.
“They have stopped for the night and made camp.”
“This is great. My friends at Sierra will be so happy…” Tuketu’s broad, dark face scowled but he kept quiet. “What’s the matter?”
“Should you go with your injured foot?”
“My foot is fine. That’s not what’s troubling you.”
“There are many men and women in uniforms I do not recognize.”
She described the standard American field uniform and he nodded. “Yes, that sounds like what I saw.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Two of the people wear Chinese uniforms.”
“Oh.” She decided not to change out scopes.
#
Jane followed Tuketu along narrow paths through roug
h country under the light of a waxing quarter moon. For those two, who’d grown up riding at all times of day or night, it was simply a watchful three-hour trip at moderate speed. No sense wearing the horses out by riding too fast when dawn wouldn’t arrive for another eight hours.
She’d taken the time to spoon stew into a camping pot with clamps on each side. The tortillas she baked and threw into a leather pouch, while the tea filled two canteens. Tuketu promised to return bowls and cups to her home if she needed him to. Enemies would have heard her clanking along from miles away but so would predators, and neither cougars nor bears tended to hang around long in the face of loud metallic noises.
They arrived on a ledge overlooking the highway where Tenuhci stood atop a boulder watching the camp below.
“Get down!” she called up to him.
“It is dark, even with the moon. I am but a shadow among shadows to anyone who sees me.”
“They can see in the dark!”
He turned, sure-footed despite the curve of the huge rock. “Is this true?”
“Yes! Get down from there.”
Tuketu helped his father slide down the boulder. Full night had fallen by then and the shadows on the mountainside under the trees made for impenetrable darkness. Camped in the open on both sides of the highway, however, the Americans might as well have been lit by spotlights to the sensitive eyes of Tenuhci, who besides a flashlight had not seen an electric light since his childhood.
“How can they see in the dark?” he said. “They’re not demons; they’re men.”
“They see you the same way a rattlesnake does, by the heat of your body. They have devices that allow them to do this. You said there are Chinese among them?”
“I said that two men are wearing Chinese uniforms.”
“Can you show me which tent these men were in?”
“We will have to risk being seen by these snake devices you spoke of.”
“It is a risk I must take.”
The downward angle of the mountain allowed them to crawl through dense grass on a slope which eventually joined the desert below. Five hundred yards from a group of tents surrounding a large campfire, they halted and Jane took out her binoculars. It took a while to locate the men Tenuhci had referenced, but eventually she spotted them talking to another American, and between the moonlight and the firelight she got a good enough look to be certain — they were definitely Chinese.
Once back behind the boulder, Tenuhci asked her the question she couldn’t answer. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I know someone who will.”
#
Chapter 62
Now underneath this drowsy tree I lie
And turn old dreams upon my lazy knees,
Till ghostly giants fill the summer sky
And phantom oars awake the sleeping seas.
Robert E. Howard, Dreaming on Downs
East of Gallup, New Mexico
0517 hours, April 30
Captain Sully heard the voice through a fog of sleep and thought it was part of a dream. “G’way,” he mumbled, and rolled over in his sleeping bag. Semi-conscious, he heard a zipping sound, but his brain didn’t translate it as the bag being opened from the outside.
“Captain? Captain Sully?”
“I’m awake.” He didn’t feel awake. Opening his eyes seemed like too much effort. “What is it, First Sergeant?”
“A rider from Shangri-La, Captain. They’re requesting help.”
“I’m coming.”
Because he was still dressed from the previous day, including boots, the joints and torso of his uniform were wet from sweating during the night. Despite temperatures in the forties overnight, they all slept buttoned up to keep out snakes and scorpions, while their breath and body heat created a warm, wet environment inside the bag.
The chill of pre-dawn made him shiver, so he slipped on his jacket and followed First Sergeant Meyer to a Stryker with an open rear door. Seated on the bench inside, lit by red battle lamps, a young man of fifteen or so stared at him wide-eyed. Sully noted the homemade clothing, dirty white pants with leather knees, thighs, and trim. His shirt was a simple one-piece white cotton pullover.
“His name is Billy,” Meyer said. “He’s been riding for two days to get here from Shangri-La. He says there’s an army of Sevens in Albuquerque and moving north, and he was sent out to scout their flank.”
Sully nodded and stepped into the APC, taking a seat opposite the young man. “Billy?”
The boy looked up and gave a short nod. “Billy Two Trees.”
“That’s a cool name, Billy. What tribe are you part of?”
“Jicarilla Apache.”
“Apache, good. Do you know Govind?”
“Yes, sir.” Billy’s face changed into an expression of pleasant surprise. “He’s a chief, a great warrior. He doesn’t know me, but I know him.”
Sully returned the smile. “He is a great warrior, I just saw him the day before yesterday. Now what is this about an army of Sevens?”
Billy licked his lips, started to speak, then stopped to clear his throat.
“You want some water?”
“Yes, please.”
Someone handed Sully a squeezer of water and he passed it over. Billy inspected it, unsure how to use the unfamiliar device.
“See this little thing?” Sully reached over and flipped open the inch-long spout. “Put that near your mouth, not in it, then squeeze.”
The boy did, squirting water into his nose first but then finding his mouth. He drank the squeezer dry and passed it back.
“More?”
“No.”
“Good. Now, what about those Sevens?”
“What are Sevens?”
Sully glanced up at Meyer. “First Sergeant Meyer spoke of an invading army from the south, and I assumed they were the ones we call Sevens. Part of a Caliphate down in Texas.”
“Oh, the Indaa.” He pronounced it in-dah-ah. “Yeah, they’re in Albuquerque now, thousands of them. Moving north toward Shangri-La. I spotted them first.” Billy leaned back, obviously proud.
“Wow, that’s pretty amazing, Billy. Thousands of them, huh?”
“At least.”
“And they’re moving north?”
“Well, not yet. But they will be.”
“How far is Albuquerque from Shangri-La?”
“A hard day’s ride.”
“Do you know what a mile is?”
The teenager looked at him like he was a talking donkey. “Of course I do.”
“Good, good. So how many miles do you think it is? Thirty?”
“More than that. Fifty at least.”
“You can ride fifty miles in a day?”
“More. I got here in a day and two nights.”
“You’ve got a good horse.”
“He tells me the same thing.”
Sully squinted. “Who does?”
“My horse.”
“Oh… how far do you think it is from here to Shangri-La?”
“Depends on how you go. The big roads all go to Albuquerque first, then they turn north and you take Highway 4 to Jemez Springs. That’s where most of us live, around there. That’s a long way to get there… probably five days riding, maybe six.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Heck, no. I went straight from there to here. Horses ain’t got tires and don’t need roads.”
“Go on.”
“You could go up through Crownpoint and Torreon, but that’s not a lot shorter.”
“What if we went the way you went?”
“These cars will do that?”
“We call them armored personnel carriers, and yes, they can do that. It’s kind of what they’re made for.”
“Huh… you could take the old I-40 to Thoreau, then go cross country to San Ysidro and get on Highway 4. That takes you right into Shangri-La. Or maybe it would be shorter to pick up Highway 126 further north, if those things go faster on road
s.”
“Who all lives there?” He was losing Billy’s attention. Sully knew it from the boy’s fidgeting and looking around.
“Lives where?”
“Shangri-La. Who all lives there?”
“I don’t know. The people.”
“You hungry?”
“Yeah. I didn’t get a chance to hunt.”
“I’ll have First Sergeant Meyer find you something to eat. How would that be?”
“Great!”
“Good… so while he’s doing that, tell me who all lives at Shangri-La.”
“Mostly the Jemez Pueblos, then there’s my people, the Jicarilla—”
“Are you Pueblos also?”
Billy gave him the weird look again. “No, we’re Apaches.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“There’s others, but they don’t have a tribe. Unless you count the Muslims as one.”
“Muslims? How many are they?”
“I ain’t counted ’em, but twenty or thirty, maybe.”
“Do you know someone named Qadim?”
The boy jumped like he’d been stuck with a cattle prod. “Qadim? Yeah, sure, we’re friends. Is he here? Is he okay?”
Meyer appeared at the open rear of the Stryker, holding an MRE. Sully stood and smiled down at the boy. “He’s here and he’s good. I’ll send him in. Oh, one last thing. When you saw us, how did you know we were friends of yours?”
“The flag painted on your thing here… your armor something. That’s how.”
“The flag? You recognize that flag?”
“O’ course. It’s the same one that flies at Shangri-La.”
“You fly the American flag?”
“We’re Americans, ain’t we?”
#
Sully stared at the lightening eastern sky until he saw First Sergeant Meyer leave the APC and return a minute later with Qadim. Seconds later, Meyer looked around, spotted him, and walked over.
“Officers’ call in ten minutes,” Sully said. “That includes Echo Company, but not our First Platoon. Get me Lt. Hakala, now. Then get me Captain Jones on a private call.”
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