War World: Jihad!

by John F. Carr

Their stay at Fort Abomey over, Company A was on the trail again. They were three days out and at the end of a truenight so chilly that it brought a light frost. As the company broke camp, they saw a cloud of dust on the horizon ahead. They sent a couple of scouts ahead, Corporal Gonzalez and Trooper Kowalski from Second Platoon. About an hour later, Kowalski came riding hell-bent for leather, shouting as he came, with Gonzalez hot on his heels.

  Kowalski reined in, his horse almost sitting back on its haunches as it came to a halt.

  “Yak. A whole herd of them. A huge herd. Heading across the trail, moving north. Good hunting!”

  It was unusual to run across a yak herd, since they were usually protected by nomads. But they were much better eating than muskylope.

  Captain Flint didn’t give it much thought. “I want the bulk of the force to continue on with the march, stay with the mules. Lieutenant Patterson, take two squads from Second Platoon, your choice, be careful, but happy hunting.”

  Patterson began to gather the hunting party. Groans erupted from the troops who wouldn’t be going. Flint turned to Andre. “Lieutenant, why don’t you go with them? Part of your education.”

  Andre whooped with joy and Flint grinned at him. He wheeled his mare, Lizzy, around and headed after Patterson.

  After days of slow travel, it was a joy to move at a gallop, feel the wind in their faces. The dozen men grinned like schoolboys, and even the horses seemed to enjoy the chance to stretch out and run. They unsheathed their long guns; pistols wouldn’t do much against an animal the size of a yak. Ahead of Andre, the first men began to reach a ridge line, and came to a halt. Andre did the same, his mouth gaping in surprise. It was one thing to imagine a stampede, but another thing to see it, to hear it in the distance. The animals carpeted the valley ahead, their numbers stretching from south to north. The dust from their passage cloaked the hills around them. The thunder of their hooves was deafening.

  Andre began to feel a little nervous. It was hard not to, with the huge animals thundering along next to them. He rode along beside the herd, guiding his mount with his knees as he had been trained, twisting to aim his rifle at an especially large animal. He fired twice in quick succession, barely able to hear the rifle in the din, and the yak tumbled and disappeared into the herd.

  Lizzy tossed her head, and let out a sound that was more screech than whinny. Her eyes were wide and panicked. He decided not to press his luck, put his rifle across his saddle bow and took the reins in one hand. He pulled away from the herd and headed toward a small rise. As he crested it, he wheeled Lizzy around so he could watch. It was hard to see because of the clouds of dust that surrounded him. The hunting party was scattered along the side of the herd. Some, like him, had pulled to the side, waiting for a chance to get to their kills. Others were still finding targets and firing.

  The herd began to thin, and the noise to diminish. It took a half hour, but soon there were only a few stragglers running along. The hunters put ropes on the downed yak and began to drag them together into one place to dress the carcasses.

  Andre looked across the path of the stampede, and saw some ragged and primitive looking people standing on the crest of a ridge overlooking the path of the stampede. He rode toward them. They raised bows, nocked arrows. He sheathed his rifle and raised his right hand.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

  “Who are you?” one of the men asked.

  “Lieutenant Andre Bourque, CoDominium Marines,” he replied. “And you?”

  “I’m Tim.”

  “Were you hunting?” Andre asked.

  “Not very well,” Tim admitted.

  He lowered his bow, and others did as well. A few had spears instead of bows, and none had a rifle. They were emaciated, dirty, and scared. A sad looking lot. People living like this were rare these days in the Shangri-La valley, but Andre was beginning to realize that they were common on the steppes. He made a quick decision, wheeled his horse, and said, “Follow me.”

  It was a sorry group that followed him, seven men, four women and three or four children. Lizzy picked her way carefully across the ground torn by the stampede. As they reached the spot where the soldiers were beginning to butcher their kills, the rest of the unit started to crest the hill behind them and Andre heard a murmur of fear among the group behind him.

  He slowed Lizzy and turned to them, “Don’t worry, we mean you no harm.”

  The Captain saw the group, and kicked his horse to a gallop, riding toward Andre.

  “Who are they?” he asked, reining his horse in.

  “Don’t know, sir,” Andre answered. “Hungry people, who weren’t able to bag anything during the stampede.”

  The Captain looked them over, and then looked over at the row of dead yak, ready to be dressed down. He appeared deep in thought, maybe running figures in his head.

  “We’ll take the best cuts for ourselves, but we have more than we can use. And we certainly don’t need bones or hide. Everything we don’t take, they can have,” the Captain said. “In fact, light a fire, and let’s get something into these poor souls before they keel over.”

  Andre grinned in thanks, rode over to order one of the troopers to start a fire, and dismounted. He told Tim and his group what they planned to do and was surprised by a fierce hug. He realized that most of the group, men and women alike, were weeping.

  “Thank you, sir,” Tim babbled. “Thank you, Jesus. Oh, Lord, you have no idea how desperate we are. We were thinking that we’d have to start eating our seeds before we even finished the spring planting, and….”

  The man couldn’t continue.

  “You transportees?” Andre asked, and was answered by a nod. “Where do you live?” he continued.

  “About half a mile northeast of here, back behind those hills,” Tim said, pointing. “We call ourselves the Tombstoners. We weren’t cut out for mining, and didn’t feel comfortable among all those Muslim people, so we lit out on our own, hoping to support ourselves by farming or hunting. We carved out a couple of houses set into a hillside, found enough wood to put a roof over them, and covered that with turf. So we had a roof over our heads for the winter and you’ve given us food for weeks, hide for shoes and clothes, bones for tools. It’s spring and with all your gifts, we now have a chance.”

  “Glad to do it,” Andre said. “Just remember that it was the Haven Militia that did this for you, and let others know. They’re going to be showing up more often in the future. They saved a caravan from bandits last week and plan to do what they can to make life better around here.”

  “Well,” said Tim, “they’re certainly welcome to call on us any time they want, we’re in their debt.”

  Andre shook Tim’s hand, made his farewells, mounted Lizzie and started heading back toward the ridge, where he saw the company beginning to settle in early for the evening. As he rode up, he saw two men bearing another in a stretcher. Another led a horse. He reined in and asked, “What’s the problem?”

  “While we were hunting, my horse threw me, and my leg’s broken,” said the trooper, a short man named Palozi. “They’re going to ask the villagers if I can stay with them until I heal, and then I can ride back to Fort Abomey. That way I don’t slow you guys down.”

  “Well, Palozi,” Andre said. “They seem like nice folks, so they should treat you well.”

  Palozi thanked him for that, and they wished each other luck. As Andre rode toward the unit, he saw them making camp and lighting cook fires. It looked like the Captain wanted the men to get some fresh food in their bellies and a little extra rest. He smiled to himself. It made him feel good to help out people like these Tombstoners, good to be part of a unit that was willing to do something like that. He had a feeling his report wasn’t going to match Colonel Shawley’s view of the militia’s cavalry experiment, not by a long shot.

  * * *

  A’isha’s secretary came into her office.

  “Master Irfan is here to see you,” she said.

  A’isha
was surprised that he had arrived without making an appointment first. She rose to greet him, and gestured him to the two comfortable chairs in the far corner of the office.

  He looked a bit uncomfortable.

  She sensed that he had news and he got right to the point.

  “I have confirmed your fears of human trafficking in the transportee camp. Someone is bribing Bureau of Relocation officials for help in identifying the young women without a family or male relatives to protect them, and then abducting them.”

  “And you know who these men are? Do you have enough evidence to make arrests?”

  Irfan did not answer, but instead looked pensive. “Have you ever felt that Barbarossa engages in illegal activity in addition to his military duties?”

  “Yes,” she said, “I have always suspected that, but also thought that he was too clever to ever be caught at what he was doing.”

  Irfan remained silent, looking at her intently.

  “You don’t mean?” she asked, feeling a shiver of nervousness.

  “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “But we have some firm evidence linking some people who we think are his associates to this.” He paused again, and looked at her intently. “What do you think your husband would do if this is true, and we presented evidence to him?”

  She paused for a minute herself, her thoughts awhirl. Barbarossa was her husband’s closest associate and had been with him for years before they had been transported to Haven. Her husband had few people he gave his full trust. She felt she was one of them, Irfan was another and Barbarossa was a third.

  She herself had never liked the man, with his violent temper and boorish behavior. Given a choice between allowing her daughter to marry him, and sending her off, never to see her again, A’isha had chosen the latter.

  “I, I honestly do not know what he would do,” she admitted.

  “Well,” Irfan said, “nor do I, which is why I will not move on this until I am absolutely sure.”

  “I agree,” she replied. “My husband’s instincts would be to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but my husband also would not turn a blind eye to solid evidence. And my husband values justice too much to allow such a heinous crime to go unpunished.

  Irfan rose, and gave her a bow. “I will keep you informed,” he said, and let himself out of the room. A’isha did not return to her desk, instead she remained in her chair, deep in thought.

  * * *

  The company headed out the day after their yak hunt during a dim-day, the reddish glow of the planet Cat’s Eye giving the rocky terrain a sinister cast. They were well fed, well rested and content. A squad of troopers had given the inhabitants of the little village called Tombstone some help in moving their yak carcasses and dressing them out. They reported that the village was heartbreakingly poor, but clean and orderly. The men felt good to be helpful.

  They made their way slowly through a terrain that was growing rougher as they got closer to their destination in the Girdle of God Mountains. The day went slowly as they fell into their routine of riding, walking, riding and walking.

  Around noon, one of the scouts came riding in from the north. He reported that he had found a caravan moving through a series of ravines that ran parallel to the larger, more frequently traveled trail. He reported a group of about twenty men riding guard over two wagons with a long line of young women. There were fifty or more of them and he said that they looked like they were fastened together with ropes or chains. He had seen the men whipping several of them, urging them to move faster.

  The officers had him repeat his story three times, pressing him for details. Andre couldn’t believe what he heard. Life on the steppes was hard, and the people who lived there were harsh and sometimes cruel, but this was something new.

  Captain Flint knelt with the scout, pumping him for details about the terrain. He developed a plan and explained it to the other officers. They would move out at the trot, pushing their horses for a couple of hours of hard riding, then move ahead of the caravan. They would find a point in the ravines where the cavalry could hide on either side of the caravan’s path, and all show themselves at the Captain’s signal. The Captain didn’t want to go in shooting. While things sounded pretty damning, he wanted to give them a chance to explain themselves and their actions.

  After all their drills and riding around the countryside, the company moved quickly and quietly. They left their horses and supply train with a couple of squads from First Platoon who were angry at being left out of the action.

  Andre found himself crouching beside the Captain, a whistle in his mouth, and his rifle gripped in his hands. His mouth was dry and his fingers trembled on the rifle. After a tense half hour, the caravan came around a bend and he saw a scene pretty much as the scout had described it: twenty hard men, all mounted and all armed, leading a group of dispirited and ragged young girls.

  They drew closer and, after a nod from the Captain, Andre blew the whistle. Both of them rose up with rifles aimed and ready, while troopers rose from behind rocks on both sides of the ravine and trained their rifles on the mounted men. The men reined in their horses, their faces showing shock at the sight of armed men.

  Andre saw some of them levering rounds into their rifles.

  “Put down your arms,” Captain yelled.

  In reply, one of the men raised his rifle, and fired off a shot.

  The response was devastating. The troops to either side of the ravine fired down in volley. They had obviously counted off before hand, because it seemed that every man in the ravine went down at once. There was some return fire, but it was ragged and ineffective. Andre brought his own rifle to his shoulder and fired at the leader, who went down quickly. Andre wondered if he or someone else had hit him.

  A few of the horses screamed, hit by shots or possibly ricochets. A few of them bolted. One galloped past Andre, a man’s body bouncing beside it, one foot twisted into a stirrup. The women all went down to the ground, cowering with fear.

  Andre turned to the Captain and a grin of excitement died as he saw him standing there with gritted teeth, his right hand clutched to his left side and blood leaking from his fingers.

  “Get the surgeon,” Andre screamed, and put his arms around the Captain, lowering him to the ground. He pulled his shirt open to reveal a nasty looking wound, blood oozing from it. The Captain’s breath was labored.

  The surgeon came dashing up, pulling a pack of medical gear from his back. He pulled out an ampule of morphine, but the Captain shook his head.

  “Just use something topical, if you can. I don’t want to be sedated.”

  The surgeon nodded, and went on with his work, injecting some anesthetic near the wound, and after a short wait, probing it with a metal tool.

  “Found it,” he said after a minute. He pulled out a device that looked like a pair of pliers crossed with a set of scissors.

  “Want me to try for it?” he asked the Captain, who nodded, his face lined with pain. After another few moments of probing, the surgeon pulled the device back out and held it up proudly, showing a distorted slug. He put the device down, and started probing the Captain’s chest with his fingers. The Captain grimaced with pain.

  The surgeon had the Captain sit up. He held a piece of gauze to his mouth and told the Captain to cough. He looked at the gauze, and asked the Captain if he tasted any blood. The Captain shook his head.

  “Looks like at least one or two ribs are broken,” the surgeon said, and helped the Captain take his shirt off, put an antibiotic ointment on the wound, bandaged it and then tightly wrapped his chest with another long bandage.

  Lieutenant McKenna, as ranking officer, had taken charge of the operation while the Captain was down. He came over to make a report. “The good news is that you’re our only casualty, sir. All the bandits are dead. We’d captured two, but they were wounded, and bled out before we could get any information from them. The wee girls are all Muslims, and Fakeh and Dafiq are interviewing them and doing their b
est to keep them calm.

  “We put Jacobs and Swenson alongside them; hopefully seeing other women will help relax the girls—they’re pretty well spooked by any sudden moves. We have thirty horses, two wagons full of food and water, and fifty-two girls.

  “I recommend taking them back to that little village, Tombstone. Dumping this many people on that small town might be a burden, but it’s spring, there’s the food in the wagons, and that bunch certainly could benefit from some horses and the weapons these folks were carrying.”

  Captain Flint nodded in agreement. “Radio the Marines at Fort Abomey with the news. We don’t want word of this to wait until we return.”

  McKenna shook his head. “Sparks says he can’t get the radio to work. He says he hopes it might be weather or sunspots or something, but he’s also worried that there’s something wrong with his transceiver.”

  The Captain wasn’t surprised by this. Haven was a notoriously poor environment for radio transmissions. “Then put together a written report, and send a man back to Fort Abomey to deliver it.”

  The Lieutenant nodded and went off about his business. The Captain did accept an oral pain pill from the surgeon, but then got help getting on his feet. The men around him began to cheer and clap. Andre did as well.

  The Captain just waved his hand at them and said, “Cut it out.”

  The company split up, with First Platoon staying with the Captain and their supplies, and Second Platoon escorting the women, now free of chains, back to the village. They came back a day later, reporting a joyful scene; the villagers, once they understood the full situation, gladly welcomed the young women into their midst. A few of the women knew a smattering of English, and one of them, Raneem, knew enough English that she was able to translate for the others.

  She reported that Trooper Palozi, limping around on crutches, and surrounded by a surplus of women, was grinning from ear to ear. He offered to give the villagers training with the weapons they had captured from the caravan. The troopers reported that the horses also got a very warm welcome.

  There was some grumbling among the men about not being able to benefit from the girls’ gratitude. Andre doubted that any trooper, no matter how much charm they applied, would find it easy to win over a girl who just a day before had gone through God knows what kind of indignities with the slavers.