Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds

by Joe Nobody

  Four burly cowboys appeared, carrying a man in chains. Bishop knew instantly it was the leader of the force that had assaulted him in the basin – the imposter.

  The Texan watched as they hauled the barely-conscious prisoner to a nearby hay wagon where he was secured using heavy rope. The man was still bleeding from the scalp, nose, and mouth, his clothing ripped and filthy. It was clear the fake-Bishop hadn’t enjoyed the hospitality of the Baxter ranch.

  “Shit,” Bishop hissed, knowing his infiltration and risk had been for naught. There was no way he could get to the captive.

  Again, a round of shouted orders and moving bodies rang over the area, “Load up! Come on now! We’ve got to get moving!”

  Bishop spied a narrow gap between the toolshed and a pen. After glancing around to make sure no one was nearby, he rolled quickly under the fence and then crawled to the outbuilding.

  After waiting for several seconds to make sure no one had noticed his movement, Bishop moved to the back of the small storage building and then sprinted toward the hills and the spot where he’d hidden his gear.

  “I’m going to a town meeting,” he announced to the rock as he began gathering his equipment. “And this time I’m going to make sure I’ve got a loaded weapon.”

  Chapter 9

  It was easy to find Kathy Baxter’s meeting. To begin with, Fort Davidson wasn’t that big of a place. This, combined with the huge bonfire roaring into the night sky, made it easy for Bishop to locate the gathering.

  For such a small berg, a surprising number of people were in attendance. Evidently, Katherine had been true to her word, as the lack of parking was a sure indication that many of the attendees had driven into town. Bishop had to abandon his pickup almost a quarter of a mile away.

  There was a quiet anticipation among the people Bishop encountered as he walked toward the center of town, hushed voices and nervous laughter drifting through the calm Texas evening.

  “Even the Fourth of July parade doesn’t draw this many visitors,” the Texan mumbled as he followed the crowd. “I should have gotten here early and opened a beer stand. Pete and I could have made a mint.”

  Next to the bonfire was the hay wagon, complete with the still-shackled prisoner. Bishop could see several people hovering around the captive, a few of the onlookers pointing and gawking like they were at a zoo.

  Just as he reached the edge of the throng, Bishop saw someone helping Katherine into the bed of a pickup. Facing the crowd, she held both hands wide to quiet the low background of voices and announce that the festivities were about to begin.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” she shouted over the onlookers. “As most of you already know, the Alliance out of Alpha… our supposedly elected government… is about to embark on a program that straightens out the mess of private property ownership in the wake of the collapse.”

  Kathy scanned the crowd, noting many of the heads were nodding north and south.

  “We’ve all heard rumors and speculation about the rules and processes involved. I, as one of the county’s largest landowners, had initially adopted a wait and see attitude. After the events of the last few days, that is no longer the case.”

  A rumbling shot through the crowd, Kathy’s statement surprising several of the attendees. Obviously used to speaking to large groups, the lady rancher waited until her words had sunk in before continuing.

  “Three days ago, we found squatters in the valley that separates the Baxter and Pomelos ranches. We were in the process of moving them out when a heavily armed Alliance SAINT team, led by a man who identified himself as Bishop, informed both Abe and me that they would take care of the problem for us. We agreed.”

  Scanning the crowd, Katherine paused for a breath, the fire in her eyes enthralling the listeners.

  “The very next night, the old ranch home was burned to the ground by those men. They couldn’t produce the squatters. They refused to leave the property, warning Abe and me to stay away or there would be violence.”

  The reverberations grew from the listeners, several people able to predict where Kathy was going.

  “When we came back in force to claim what is rightfully ours, those Alliance thugs began shooting at us, killing several of our men. Their intent was clear; occupy that valuable land and its precious water. They intended to seize it for that so-called government.”

  The reaction from the crowd was growing sharper, more defined. Kathy’s words were striking a sour cord with her neighbors.

  “We’ve all heard what’s coming out of Alpha,” she said, raising her voice to a new level while sweeping an arm through the air. “Everyone knows that possession is going to be a huge part of the new law. But what good is any claim to ownership given what we’ve seen in the last three days? Any right is meaningless if the Alliance can send in heavily armed enforcers to take whatever they want.”

  Now she had them going, Bishop noting a couple of men on the fringe shaking angry fists in the air.

  “I say we tell those heavy-handed, power hungry hooligans down in Alpha to stay out of Davidson County. I believe we should stand up for our rights as freeborn Americans! Let’s band together to fight this evil, and keep our liberty and individual rights!”

  The woman’s energy was spreading through the throng, her words striking at the heart and minds that surrounded the bonfire.

  Katherine’s voice then returned to a less-rousing pitch, now projecting as a friend and neighbor. “But… don’t take my word for it. Abe and I have brought along several eyewitnesses. Talk to our men one on one, look them in the eye, and make up your own minds.”

  With that and a helping hand from Mack, she hopped down from the wagon and began circulating among those closest to the makeshift podium.

  Bishop was pivoting to leave, certain there wasn’t anything he could do. His frustration was due to several different factors, not the least of which was the fact that the Alliance was getting a bad rap.

  As he began strolling toward his truck, he noticed two men standing and watching the gathering. He recognized one of the men as a deputy.

  Marching up to the pair, Bishop asked, “Do you know who I am?”

  After studying the Texan for a second, the man nodded, “You’re Bishop…. But then… who’s that man the Baxter woman has tied up?”

  “An imposter,” Bishop replied. “How many men does Sheriff Watts have here?”

  “Just us right now,” replied the lawman. “We’ve asked for backup, but there're not that many men in this area.”

  Bishop rubbed his chin, an idea forming in his mind. “Do you know where the 11 men we captured at the old Baxter place are being held?”

  “”Yes, sir. We’re holding them at the ranger station up by the interstate.”

  “Can you bring them here?” Bishop asked, his mind now rolling at high speed.

  “Ummm… I guess. There are two deputies guarding them, and they both have trucks. I suppose we can get them here… but….”

  Bishop cut the man off. “Go. Please. Bring them back here as soon as you can. I’m going to stop a lynching and maybe turn the tide of public opinion to the Alliance’s favor.”

  The two deputies looked at each other and shrugged. “If you say so, sir. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “Hurry,” Bishop pleaded. “The sooner, the better.”

  After watching the two lawmen rush for their car, Bishop jogged quickly to his own ride. Twenty minutes later, he’d substituted his cowboy garb with his full SAINT loadout, including carbine, armor, vest, and balaclava mask.

  Bishop waited, watching the distant crowd as Kathy and her men circulated. When he thought it wasn’t prudent to delay any longer, he began moving toward the hay wagon, mounting a steady, confident stride directly through the middle of the throng.

  The first people that saw the Texan approaching simply stopped their conversations mid-sentence. A few managed to mumble, “Who the hell is that?” or similar inquiries.

  Bishop
was almost to the wagon when the first serious challenge occurred. It was Mack and one other man, “Who are you?” the muscular foreman asked, stepping directly into the Texan’s path.

  “A concerned citizen,” Bishop said calmly, sidestepping the roadblock of flesh. “Just a man who wants to exercise his right to free speech.”

  As Mack moved to intercept Bishop’s maneuver, the Texan flicked the safety off his carbine, the metallic “click” unmistakable. It froze Kathy’s man just long enough.

  The Texan climbed up on the wagon and instantly the crowd drew silent. He held up a single piece of paper, and said in a strong voice, “This is a wanted poster printed by the Army a while back. We all saw them. They were everywhere, offering a reward for a man named Bishop. This prisoner up here beside me doesn’t look anything like the picture of the man the military was looking for.”

  Bishop walked up and down the hay wagon’s edge, holding out the old paper for everyone up front to view. After he’d passed the entire length, he gave a nearby onlooker the poster and said, “Pass it around. See for yourself.”

  As the real Bishop’s picture began circulating, the Texan continued, “I was here the day the Alliance came into Fort Davidson and met with D.A. Gibson. I was also here when the trucks full of food arrived, delivered by those ‘thugs’ from Alpha. Doesn’t anyone else remember those ‘power-hungry monsters’ delivering a doctor and first aid?”

  Bishop scanned the crowd, noting that his words were having the desired effect. “And what about the electricity those ‘hooligans’ from Alpha delivered for everyone – free of charge? What about the relocation for the homeless? Am I the only one who remembers all of those charitable acts?”

  Just as several in the crowd were beginning to agree with Bishop’s words, the throng parted, Katherine and four of her men making for the stage. “Who the hell are you?” she challenged, hellfire and brimstone behind her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am,” Bishop retorted calmly. “I’m just another freeborn American, exercising my right to free speech. You’re not against that. Are you, Katherine?”

  “Why are you hiding behind a mask and a gun? Doesn’t seem like the actions of an honest man.”

  Bishop ignored her questions, instead pointing toward the prisoner. “I know Bishop. That’s not him. You’re the one not being honest with these people.”

  The look on the lady rancher’s face was as if Bishop had walked over and slapped her across the cheek. “How dare you call me a liar!” she shouted, pointing a shaking finger at the captive. “That man identified himself as such, a well-known enforcer and killer who works for the Alliance.”

  Bishop pulled off his hat, and then his mask. “Ma’am, I know he’s not Bishop… because my name is Bishop. I don’t know who you captured, Katherine, but it wasn’t me.”

  Most people would’ve been at a loss for words, or knocked completely off their game. Not Katherine Baxter. After glancing back and forth between the real Bishop and the imposter, she immediately turned to the crowd and said, “This man is one of the squatters. He is a liar, and murderer. He is responsible for killing 11 of my men! We should hang both of them from the old oak at the courthouse.”

  Bishop just shook his head, “You’re credibility isn’t running so high tonight, Miss Baxter. I’ve never murdered anyone. I would have thought by now you’d know better than to make unfounded accusations.”

  “You killed 11 of my boys!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. Then pointing at Mack, she screamed, “Take this man!”

  “Hold on there!” a voice from the edge of the mob demanded. “Are you talking about these 11 men?”

  All eyes turned to see a large group of cowpokes being led by two deputies. Mack unintentionally answered his boss’s question by rushing over and looking at new arrivals. “George? Red? You guys are alive? Praise be!”

  The big foreman was soon joined by several of his crew, all of them shaking hands with their friends and coworkers now back from the dead.

  Katherine was stunned, glaring back and forth between Bishop and her men. “If you’re Bishop, then who is that?” she spat, pointing at the mystery prisoner.

  “Now that’s one hell of a good question,” Bishop answered, walking over to the prone and bound man.

  Pulling his knife, Bishop sawed through the thick rope bounding the captive’s wrists and legs. The Texan knew the man at his feet was in trouble when his battered body didn’t move or acknowledge its new freedom.

  Kathy didn’t like it, “What are you doing?”

  “This man is almost dead,” Bishop responded. “He’s not going anywhere, except to see a doctor.”

  The Texan then looked at the two deputies, and said, “Carry him to my truck. I’m taking him to Alpha to see a doc.”

  It was all too much for the crowd, many of those attending completely confused by what they had just witnessed. Bishop detected it and quickly moved to the front of the wagon stage. “Please! Everyone! Please, listen to me. None of us know what the new Alliance process is going to entail. Doesn’t it make sense to wait and see… to read the rules with your own eyes and then pronounce judgment? I’m sure it won’t be perfect. I am positive it won’t be some panacea or miracle cure. But… I am also just as sure that the intent behind it is for the good of the citizens of Texas and the recovery. Can we really ask for more from any leader during these difficult times?”

  The vast majority of the crowd were nodding their heads north and south, Bishop’s logic seeming to resonate with all but a few outliers.

  Without another word, the Texan jumped off the wagon and hustled to catch up with the deputies and their gravely wounded cargo. “Put him in the bed. I’ll get a blanket.”

  Returning a moment later with a poncho, blanket, and bottle of water, Bishop and the two lawmen did their best to make the captive comfortable.

  Putting the water to the captive’s lips, he managed a single swallow and then his eyes seemed to focus on the Texan. “Who are you?” Bishop asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the guy croaked. “I’m not going to make it out of this one.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Do you have any family? Is there anyone we should get in touch with?”

  “No,” the sad voice replied.

  “Why did you attack my team in the valley?”

  There was a brief moment of confusion in the wounded man’s eyes before Bishop’s question finally registered. “That was you?”

  “Yes, that was two of my teammates and me. Why? Who hired you? Why did you claim to be me… Bishop?”

  The response was a coughing fit, a pink and red frothy foam draining down the captive’s chin. When the convulsions finally stopped, the man’s voice seemed weaker. “I was only following orders. My employer doesn’t seem to like your Alliance much.”

  “Who hired you?” Bishop repeated.

  There was no answer as the light faded from the injured man’s eyes. One of the deputies tried to find a pulse, finally announcing, “He’s gone.”

  Bishop grimaced, a wave of sadness overcoming all other emotion. The dead man lying in his truck might have been a mercenary, and there was little doubt he would have killed the SAINT team without mercy. Yet, the man had also been a wounded prisoner, helpless, without any recourse or ability to impact his status.

  Capture was every soldier’s worst nightmare. More than being wounded or killed, anyone who carried a weapon into a fight dreaded such an outcome. Bishop had experienced similar feelings dozens of times.

  “Shit!” Bishop spat, turning to look back where Katherine and her men were loading into their trucks. “Damn it! That woman is the one who should be arrested for murder. Now we’re back to square one.”

  After a quick shower, fresh clothes, and an embrace of his wife and child, Bishop’s first priority was to check on Grim’s condition.

  Nick and Diana met Terri and him at the Alpha medical clinic.

  The doctors had removed two hunks of shrapnel from Grim’s l
eg and expected a full recovery. Infection, as was usual in the post-apocalyptic world, was still a serious concern. The patient was sleeping, his wife and daughter keeping watch and apparently handling the situation as best as could be expected.

  Everybody scribbled a little message on a makeshift get-well card and left it by the recovering man’s bedside. All of them promised to stop by later.

  “They knew we were there,” Bishop explained to Nick as the two couples walked back toward the courthouse. “I don’t know how, but I’m convinced that whoever hired those shooters was well aware of the situation and my team’s role.”

  Terri wasn’t convinced. “How do you know that guy didn’t tell the ranchers his name was Bishop just to cause panic? No offense, my husband, but you do have a wee bit of a reputation.”

  “I considered that, but these men were professionals, hired and equipped to do a job. They weren’t the sort to namedrop or bluff. They didn’t have to. If it had been some gang of vagabonds or drifters trying to snatch a prime piece of real estate, I could believe they would resort to such posturing. But not these guys.”

  Nick scratched his head, trying to figure it all out. “Sheriff Watts and some of his men knew what you were doing. The guys over at Fort Hood didn’t know the location or mission profile, so they’re clear. A few of my guys and I were up to speed, but I can’t believe any of those folks would betray you or the Alliance.”

  “Should we delay the rollout of the new property law?” Diana asked, her voice far away in thought.

  “I wouldn’t,” Terri responded. “This is just one isolated example, and if Bishop’s is right, there was an outside influence stirring up trouble. Those rules are as fair and equitable as anyone could expect given the situation.”

  Nick grunted, “Even if we wanted to, I’m not so sure we could stop that juggernaut now. There must be 2,000 people spreading out across Texas to communicate the new rules. We’ve got radio broadcasts, town hall meetings, a whole string of presentations, and even the military and police spreading the word.”