by Greg Dragon
Tel Collins started to speak to Austin but the ranger moved past him to the top of the stairs before looking back on the men gathered below him in the rising sun. Men he would have to fight and die with. Despite everything, he felt akin to these men because of their decision to at least try.
Nearly thirty years before, Austin had answered the call and gone off to fight the war against the Chihuahua Barony far to the south. His father had tried to dissuade him, but the call of adventure was too strong for a young man. Austin had his own horse, so he was assigned to the 1st Texas Cavalry Regiment. His naïve ideas of glorious warfare were quickly and painfully shattered on those hot forgotten sands.
The enemy had mostly been reluctant peasants, but their generals were smart. The Mexicans had dug deep trenches and thrown the excavated dirt up in earthen walls right behind the trench. They then piled the top of the earthen walls with heavy rocks or logs. Not only did any attacker have to overcome the four or five foot deep trench, but then the six foot high wall with defenders raining down rocks, arrows, or spears. Austin’s cavalry had charged again and again against those walls, initially with confidence and distain for the Mexicans, but after several attempts their spirits were broken. Those simple peasants had massacred them with little loss to themselves. Austin had thought about those damned earthen ramparts numerous times over the years and knew their secret.
“Men,” boomed Austin’s voice over the apprehensive gathering, “the enemies we face are horsemen from the north. I’m sure they are ruthless, fearless, and terrifying beyond all measure, but horsemen nevertheless. And as an old cavalryman myself, I can tell you horses really do not like to break their legs no matter how strongly their rider urges them to do so.”
Several of the men chuckled, dispelling some of the tension in the air. “This land is flat, perfect for horses. What we have to do is put up obstacles to the horsemen so we don’t have to defend everywhere. We don’t have the numbers for that.” Austin cast his arm in a wide arc around the town. “We will dig trenches and mounds that the horsemen will avoid so that we can funnel them into areas that we’re defending. We’ll even the odds.”
“So you’re not teaching us to fight?” asked a gap toothed man in a wide hat.
“Not now, not yet,” answered Austin. “Believe me, the work you are about to do is going to be rough, but your lives depend on doing it quickly and doing it well. Fighting will be much easier with those ditches and walls up.”
A younger man stepped up, “Are you saying we’re going to dig a trench around the whole town? That’s got to be miles!”
“No,” answered the ranger, “only the very inner part of the town. Only the buildings themselves and what gardens are within a close radius, everything else will have to be abandoned.” There was some grumbling and concerned looks among the men, but Austin knew it would get no easier. “Break up into four groups and each group take a quarter of the perimeter based on the crossroads as a dividing line. I’ll come along and lay out the exact trench line. Let’s get moving, we don’t have much time.”
There was silence except for the regular clanking of the blacksmith’s hammer on metal in the distance. Austin strode off towards the edge of the town and after several silent moments the men began picking up shovels, picks, and buckets.
***
It took three grueling days to complete the trench and embankments around the town’s outer edge. A trench with an inside earthen wall encircled the town which was now split at four points by the two roads running parallel to each other. The tops of the walls were fixed with sharpened wooden stakes every foot or so. Infantry might be able to storm the earth mounds, thought Austin, but even undefended; horses weren’t coming by that route. Austin felt a little bit better about their chances.
The town’s men clearly didn’t share his optimism. They stood before him at the mayor’s house as they had four days before, but now they were tired, dirty, and angry. It was of no matter, anger might even be useful.
“How many of you men have bows and arrows?” Austin asked. He knew better than to ask if anyone had a gun. The men looked at him quizzically and then around at each other. It was no real surprise, bows were a weapon of the east. “How many of you can use a sling?”
Almost every man raised his hand. A few even made some braggart statements about their skill and accuracy.
Austin nodded. “Alright, that’s good. I’m going to need to know which of you can fire stones accurately at the fastest rate possible. We only need to worry about hitting a man or horse at twenty to thirty yards, no more.”
“That’s pretty close,” said one ruddy teenager. “The Horde would ride us down in that distance before we could get off much more than one shot.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” said the ranger. “They won’t be riding down anyone. Now all you slingers, go get your straps, gather a good pile of stones and meet back here in fifteen minutes. Everyone else, go to the smith’s and get a pike.”
The men began to straggle off, a little lighter in their steps. This sounded like fun to them, especially after days of backbreaking labor. Austin meanwhile went behind the mayor’s house and brought out a wooden board he’d previously painted a red bull’s eye upon. He saw the mayor and Antonia peeking out a window, but Austin ignored them. He’d thought about insisting on the mayor participating in the digging but knew that if there was a confrontation between them it would shatter the thin illusion of cooperation.
Austin dragged the board out and propped it against the well in the center of the crossroads. Reverend Timmons was sitting in the shade on the steps of a nearby shop.
“Going to slay Goliath with a sling stone I see,” said Timmons with a nod of admiration.
“A stone from a sling is no joke you crazy old man,” said Austin annoyed. “At even long range you can kill a man or horse faster and surer than with nearly any other weapon.”
Timmons held his hands up with the palms out towards Austin. “Oh I know ranger. I killed many a rabbit myself, and even a wolf or two on occasion, in my youth.”
“Well, just our bad luck you’re blind as a damn bat,” said Austin. “I let you go to this party you might break a window instead of striking a heathen. Besides, as a pastor, you should probably steer clear of such things. As a matter of fact, now that we’re on the subject, why the hell didn’t you go south with the women, children, and other old folk like I told you to...old man.”
Timmons regarded Austin for a moment and then stood holding up his hand. He folded down one finger. “First, I told you I’m on your side, but I don’t take orders from you.”
Timmons folded down another finger. “Second, my role in this is not to fight with my hands, but with the power and might of the Lord’s fury.”
Timmons folded down a third finger. “Third, I could still take your fool head off with a stone even blind as a bat.”
Timmons folded his thumb in and held his hand out to Austin, the only finger still sticking up was the middle one pointed markedly at the ranger.
Austin laughed in surprise and after a moment the reverend’s stern face cracked into a wide grin of his own. The men began to straggle back around Austin and Timmons and grinned themselves despite having no idea what was so funny. The ranger lit a cigarette and smoked with easy drags while he waited for the rest of the men to arrive with slings, buckets of stones, and pikes.
“All right, all my slingers line up there at thirty yards from the target,” said Austin. “You with the pikes keep score.”
It took nearly two hours to identify the twenty best slingers, two of which happened to be Dallas and Jim who first greeted him when he had ridden into town. It wasn’t all about accuracy, but also speed and the competition was surprisingly intense. You could say what you want about these herders and farmers, thought Austin, but they had used slings since youth to kill small game and drive away larger animals. They also appeared to revel in the competition after days of bitter and difficult labor.
&nb
sp; Austin had the men prepare several more targets like the first and arrange them around the well. “This is the kill zone,” explained the ranger. “Right here is where we will defeat these raiders. Slingers split up into four groups of five each and pick a leader. Each of you collect a bucket of stones and get on top of those buildings.” Austin indicated the four two-story buildings each at one corner of the crossroads. “Until I tell you different, you all practice hitting those targets from the roofs as accurately and quickly as you can. When the stones are out, go collect them back up and do it again, understand?” The twenty men nodded to him and some smiled, this would be fun they thought and easier than digging. They might change their minds mused Austin when they couldn’t move their shoulders the next morning.
Without the slingers Austin had a little over a hundred men left, all standing expectantly and looking uncomfortable with their long pikes. “Pikemen follow me.” Austin led them away from the well and to a larger patch of flat ground. Once they were in the open and away from the slingers’ target practice he turned to the gathered men and grabbed one of the pikes.
“This is a terrible weapon to fight with...if you are alone,” said Austin. “All an enemy has to do is dodge one way or the other past the point and once they’re inside of your shaft you’re screwed. But, when you have a bunch of these together, especially in confined quarters where you can’t be outflanked, massed pikes are nearly unstoppable. You’re job is going to be very simple,” explained the ranger sensing the palpable air of anticipation. “Stand together and don’t run. That’s it and that’s all.” The looks he received from the men weren’t encouraging.
“Alright then, first, this is how you hold the pike, waist high with the point up towards a mounted horseman with two-thirds of the shaft in front of you and one-third behind you,” demonstrated Austin. “Everyone line up in four groups. Let me see you do it.” Austin went down the line and corrected the men, their most common mistake being not crouching, but standing totally upright and thus with a poor center of balance.
Austin next had the men form into groups of two files each, their pikes all facing towards him. “Okay, now front row, crouch low, but keep your pikes pointed up towards my head.” They slowly followed his instructions. “Good, now the second row, stand behind them, but a little back with your pike points between the two in front of you. The job of the front row is to strike anything within reach, to be aggressive. The job of the second row is to only worry about anything that gets past the first row of points, to be defensive. Front row, if someone gets inside your pike, do not panic and break formation, trust that the second row will take care of them. Men, we will have to learn to work together and trust one another.”
He stared at them trying to take their measure but realized that was a waste of time. They were what they were and all he had to work with anyway.
Austin drilled them slowly at first. They practiced getting into formation quickly, then moving together, then handling mock assailants. He even taught them how to form a square in case things went really bad. The men practiced over and over again with only short breaks until the sun was low in the western sky and the men drenched with sweat. When Austin called an end to the drill and practice, the men responded with audible and uniform groans of relief. They collected their stones for the next day and returned the pikes to the smith who had taken his place among the pikemen. Austin walked towards the smith’s shop allowing time for the other men to depart.
Austin could easily see that the muscular quiet man was a natural leader who the other men respected. He could also see that Edgar had no idea he possessed this quality. That would have to change.
The ranger rolled a cigarette as he watched the smith stack pikes carefully, counting them off. “You did a good job on those pikes, especially in such a short time,” said Austin.
Edgar grunted. “Wasn’t hard, pike points just need to be hard and pointy, everything else is about securing it to the shaft, couple of the men did most of that.”
“How hard was it to get them to help you?” asked Austin.
The smith looked over at the ranger. “Wasn’t hard at all, they just came over and started helping me. Why?”
Austin lit his smoke carefully with a match and then waved it out. “Because that ain’t normal. Men don’t normally volunteer for shit, you know that. Why you think they did it?”
Edgar shrugged. “Don’t know. Bored maybe, does it matter?”
“Not really, it only illustrates a point I’m about to make,” answered Austin.
“Thank god,” the smith grunted, “there is a point.”
“Yes, the point is that these men respect you. They trust you. They will follow you.”
Edgar shook his head. “That’s your job ranger. I’m just the smith. They’ll follow you just fine.”
“Maybe,” admitted Austin. “This time, since I’m here. But, what about the next time when you don’t have you own private ranger to show you how to find your guts and livers? What about then?”
The smith stopped his stacking and looked at Austin with surprise. “You mean to say this little battle you’re planning is only the beginning? That you’re going to get the Red Horde all riled up and pissed and then ride away? Leave us to deal with them from here on out?”
“Yep,” smiled the ranger, “that is exactly what I intend to do. I’m not gonna live here, despite the obvious charms, and it’s unlikely we’ll whip these banshees completely. This is going to take years, maybe even generations.”
“Then maybe we should have left you out of it and tried to reason with them,” said the smith angrily. “These folks may be nothing to you, but they’re my neighbors, my friends. They aren’t warriors, they’re farmers and herders and ordinary folk.”
Austin was suddenly sad. “Everyone is a warrior if they have to be...else they’re dead. What do you think is going to happen to those women and children and old codgers at Devon’s Valley if we fail here? How long till the Horde finds them?”
“Then why the hell did you send them away”? asked the smith aghast.
“To help you all focus. You can’t fight as men looking over your shoulder every five minutes,” answered Austin. “This is a fight to the death, for all of us. We’re either victorious in a few days from now, or we’re all buzzard food.”
The smith sat down. “But even if we win, they’ll be back, stronger and ready.”
“Yes they will,” said Austin softly, “but you’ll all be ready too. Fighting is hardest the first time. It’ll be easier from now on. You’ll raise your sons and daughters to be hard and strong, not the sheep most of them are now. You’ll live in fear for awhile, but the fear will go away and then others will live in fear of you. The Red Horde or others like them will still raid and pillage, but they’ll steer clear of those hard cases at New Hope. Who knows, you may even go after them.”
Edgar shook his head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not,” said Austin. “I’ve seen this story a hundred times. People either find their backbones or they commit themselves and their descendants to slavery and shame. That is the point New Hope is at right now.” Austin pointed his finger at the ground while moving closer to the smith.
“So why are you telling me all of this? Tell the town.”
Austin shook his head. “They’re not ready for the whole truth, it would be too much. It’s almost unbearable for them to accept that they might have to fight this one time. They have no idea what that means and that’s for the best. If they knew what was coming, they’d run for their lives now.”
The smith picked up a hammer, but not in a menacing sort of way. He began working it back and forth in his hands as if it gave him comfort. “So again, why are you telling me all of this? You need a friend or something? No one to talk to at the bar? I can understand that, you seem to have kind of an asshole impression about you. You could work on that you know?”
The ranger smiled. He could see why men lik
ed and trusted Edgar Rodrigo. “I know what I am...and what I’m not, which is one of you. I’ll teach you how to fight and then go on my way. This town will need a leader. Someone they trust and respect.”
“That’s the mayor’s job,” said Edgar slapping the head of the hammer into his palm with enough force to crush a skull.
The ranger looked at Edgar for a moment before turning away and staring at the rapidly fading sunset. “If the mayor organized an assault on the Red Horde’s camp this very might, would you go with him?”
“What? That would be dumb.”
“Yes, but would you do it?” asked Austin insistently.
The smith lifted his hands into the air, “Hell, I don’t know, depends on who else was going.”
“What if it was just you and him?”
Edgar laughed. “I’d stop him and tie him up. I’d think he had lost his mind.”
Austin grunted. “Right. But, I’d bet that if you were to do the exact same thing you would at least have a dozen men go with you without too much convincing. More if you worked at it.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning,” answered the ranger slowly, “that you are a leader. A man worthy of respect and trust. You are the leader this town needs in times of crisis and the days of danger that are ahead.”
The smith turned away and began stacking pikes again. “I’m not the mayor, that’s his job.”
Austin moved up close behind him. “That’s the scared side of you talking, smith. These people will need you. Will you let them down by hiding behind another man’s title?”
The smith turned slowly his face white, the hammer raised in his hand. “How dare you...”
“With that, I’ll bid you goodnight,” said the ranger moving out into the street. “Think about what I’ve said and what you’re willing to let this town endure or not endure.”
The smith stood glaring, murder in his face, the hammer still raised as he watched the ranger walk off into the darkness, whistling.