The Steel Ring

by R. A. Jones

  “Sweetheart, if there’s one thing I’ve learned bouncing around this crazy continent for the last three years, it’s that men with power and guns don’t need a reason or an excuse to use either.”

  Later, when she had calmed down, Stella suggested a plan of action. Before the week was out, a band of her fellow rebels was planning to flee the country, heading north to France. She and Carter would be welcome to go with them.

  When he suggested she only wanted to do this for fear of his safety, Stella assured him such was not the case. It had become sadly evident to her that there was no use in continuing the fight; the war was already lost. Aided by men and supplies from the fascist regimes in Italy and Germany, the Nationalist forces were surely no more than days away from total victory.

  So it was that they and twenty other rebels were now making their way upward along a mountain trail in the Pyrenees. Once they reached its summit and headed down, they would shortly thereafter be safely within the borders of France.

  The de facto leader of this band, a Canadian named William Foxx, had called for a brief halt, so that they might rest and catch their breath before beginning the final ascent.

  Finding a small patch of grassy ground, Clay Carter and Stella Castille sat with their backs against a rock, arms around each other. Affection prompted the action, but the mutual warmth it provided was equally enjoyed. They had been lucky so far, in that the pass was not blocked by snow, but the temperature was still well below freezing.

  “What’s that?” Carter asked, motioning with his hand toward a distant mountain peak that rose well above even their present elevation. Its top was lost to sight by a wreath of clouds.

  “It must be the Pico de Aneto,” Stella replied. “It’s the highest summit in the Pyrenees. I’ve heard -- ”

  “Shhh!”

  She clamped her mouth shut as Carter held up a warning finger. He had a concerned look on his face and his head was cocked to one side.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I think it’s a plane,” he replied, rising to his feet in one swift movement and pulling the woman up with him.

  Foxx and a few of the others had now picked up the droning sound also and were standing roughly in a circle, scanning the skies on all sides.

  “There!” Carter shouted.

  From the east, where it had been hidden by the sun, a sleek aircraft raced toward them. In his time here, Carter had seen enough of these flying death machines to recognize it as being a German Stuka.

  “Take cover!” yelled Foxx – a moment too late for one of his fellows.

  Twin streams of bullets exploded from the wings of the Stuka, stitching the ground all around them. The one rebel who reacted too slowly was spun around and slammed to the ground as the lead pellets tore through him like hailstones through gossamer, nearly ripping his body in half.

  As quickly as it had appeared, the Stuka was past them, already banking to its left to come around for a second run.

  As the rebels tried to disappear amidst the rocks, Carter focused his eyes on their fallen comrade. The man’s body twitched a time or two in its final throes, then went still.

  Without saying a word to anyone, Carter leapt to his feet and bolted toward the slain rebel. He covered the last several yards between them with a headfirst, diving leap. His hands came down on the dead man’s rifle, and he clutched it as he went into a roll that carried him behind the cover of a cluster of rocks.

  Stella could only watch in stunned amazement as she saw her lover disappear from sight, then pop back up with the rifle propped against his shoulder, taking aim at the oncoming Stuka.

  Has he gone mad with fear, she worried. Surely he didn’t think he could take down a plane with a rifle!

  Carter found himself strangely calm as he sighted along the barrel of the bolt-action rifle. He had deliberately positioned himself directly in the path being taken by the oncoming Stuka, so as to avoid the near impossible task of leading the craft with slow moving lead. Here, he reasoned, he only need let the pilot come forward to meet the bullets.

  At that moment, the German commenced his own firing. Because of the spacing of his guns, their bullets shrieked to either side of Carter, tearing out great gouts of dirt and rock.

  The American remained unfazed and unmoving in the face of this screaming death, letting his target come ever closer.

  He then began to fire with mechanical precision, his aim never wavering more than a fraction of an inch between shots even as he rapidly pulled back the bolt and rammed it home repeatedly.

  The German pilot didn’t realize what had happened when he felt a fist-like blow strike his throat. The bullet sliced through flesh and bone, exiting in a great bloody spray out the back of his neck. He had time to notice the small hole in his canopy, spider web cracks creeping outward from it to meet the droplets of blood that had splashed throughout the cockpit. Then all grew dark and his lifeless hands fell away from the controls.

  The directionless Stuka roared dangerously low over the crouching rebels, listing to one side. Before it could come to ground, it slammed head-on into the rock face of a nearby peak. It disintegrated in a swirling fireball, pieces of its fuselage flying through the air in several directions.

  The fleeing rebels were stunned into silence by the near-impossible feat they had just witnessed. Then they began to cheer.

  Carter, as surprised by his success as were they, stood and watched the flaming wreckage as it tumbled down the mountain slope.

  Then he was nearly knocked from his feet as Stella threw her arms around him and pulled his head down to meet her lips. He smiled as he drew back from her, but then grew serious and swept her around in the crook of one arm.

  “We have to keep moving,” he barked. “That pilot may have had time to radio our position.”

  “What about Claude?” one of the rebels asked. All eyes turned to gaze on the broken body of the rebel who had fallen before the Stuka’s guns.

  “There’s nothing you can do for him,” Carter declared solemnly, turning to gaze back in the direction from which they had come.

  “Or for Spain. There’s nothing to be done now but to save yourselves.”

  “He’s right, boys,” William Foxx said. “Best we just keep moving.”

  Seeing the wisdom in what he had said, they resumed their climb upward.

  “Go on,” Carter said to Stella, giving her a gentle push in the back.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Of course,” he assured her. “I intend to see Paris with you. I’m just going to hold back for a little while, to keep one eye out for anyone who might be following. I’ll catch up.”

  He was as good as his word. Two hours later, when the small band had reached the summit of the pass and paused to rest, Stella was relieved to see her gallant lover trotting up to join them.

  Carter gave her a quick hug, a kiss, a smile and a wink before turning to the other rebels.

  “It’s what I feared,” he said bluntly. “That pilot must have gotten a message off before we brought him down.”

  Stella smiled. Before “we” brought him down, he had said, when of course it had been he alone responsible.

  “I counted at least thirty soldiers on our back trail,” he continued. “Heavily armed and fresh; they’re coming up quickly.”

  “They’re too late,” Foxx declared. “Once we reach the bottom of this pass and cross the small hill beyond, we’ll be in France. We’ll be safe.”

  “We’ll never make it before they get here,” Carter said. “With the advantage of numbers and holding the high ground, they’ll be able to mow us down before we can reach that hill.”

  “But we can’t just give up,” Stella declared sternly.

  “No,” Carter agreed. “That’s not what I’m suggesting.”

  “Then what?”

  “I think a handful of us should stay here. With luck, we’ll be able to hold them off long enough for the rest to cross over the border.”


  “Why just a handful?” Foxx asked. “Why don’t we all stay here, ambush the dogs and have done with it?”

  “Sir, I’m afraid if we all stay here,” Carter said urgently, “we may all die here. Ambush or not, we’ll be outnumbered, almost certainly outgunned. I couldn’t see what weaponry they carried, but it’s bound to be more than just rifles and pistols.

  “And if they’re able to radio in more air strikes while we’re pinned down fighting … this pass could become a giant coffin.”

  The other men in the group nodded their agreement, but Stella planted herself in front of Carter and fixed him with a cold stare.

  “And what happens to those who stay here?” She expected him to lie to her, to assure her that this proposed rear guard would be able to follow the main body to freedom. Instead, he smiled at her and told her the simple truth.

  “We become the stuff of legend, darling.”

  Stella was momentarily taken aback by his bluntness, but then her eyes took on a steely coldness.

  “’We’ is right, Clay. I’m staying with you.”

  “No,” he snapped. “You need to get out of here. Get on with your life.”

  “And what about your life?” she demanded. “Until today, you weren’t even a participant in this war. There’s no reason you should die for us.”

  “I’m afraid she’s got you there, son,” Foxx agreed. “On the other hand, I’ve been fighting here since ‘37. Both of you run along; I’ll stay here with a few of the others.”

  “No,” Stella said. “You’ve led them this far, William. You should lead them the rest of the way.”

  “And you need to do it quick,” Carter added. “While we’re standing around here, those killers following us are getting closer to our heels by the minute.” He put an arm around Stella’s waist and pulled her close to him.

  “Find us two more volunteers, and then get the hell out of here.”

  Almost everyone remaining in the band stepped forward. Foxx chose a Brit named Kingston and a Soviet named Bardovski. He then hiked off at the head of the others, setting a brisk pace down the mountain.

  Carter directed Kingston and Bardovski to take up positions on the west side of the pass, while he and Stella found a sheltered spot opposite them.

  “What changed your mind about letting me stay?” Stella asked once they were hunkered down.

  “Knowing how stubborn you can be,” he replied softly, “I figured we’d still be standing there arguing ‘til doomsday if I didn’t give in.”

  “Smart boy,” she replied, leaning over to kiss the tip of his nose. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten your promise to show me Paris.”

  They both grew silent then, as the sound of the pursuing force began to rise up to them. Not long after, the first of the Nationalist troops came into view, still well down the path from their positions.

  “Damn!” Stella exclaimed.

  “What is it?”

  “Most of those men are Germans.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “By their uniforms,” she explained. “They call themselves the Condor Legion. They’re as cold, ruthless and efficient as any fighting force you’ve ever seen. This isn’t good.”

  “Well, it could be worse,” Carter tried to reassure her. “They’ve never had to face the two of us, old girl.”

  He licked the tip of his thumb and touched it to the front sight of his rifle.

  “They’ll never know what hit ‘em!”

  Twenty minutes later, that became literally true for several of the soldiers walking point up the mountainside. Using Carter’s first shot as the command to commence, Stella and the other two rebels began to fire at will.

  Three Germans slumped to the ground as several bullets struck home; the rest dived for cover and began to return fire.

  The ensuing volleys were rather one-sided. Knowing the need to conserve their ammunition, the rebels were much more judicious in taking their shots, waiting patiently until they thought they had a firm target.

  When the main body of pursuers reached the spot of the ambush, the captain in charge ordered them to charge en masse up the mountain. Trained to obey without question, his soldiers leaped to their feet and raced forward, yelling at the tops of their lungs.

  Many of those defiant yells turned into screams of pain as they were met by a curtain of withering fire. Several of them, either dead or dying, were left on the ground where they fell when their captain came to his senses and ordered the survivors to fall back.

  After an hour of fruitless back and forth volleying, the German captain hit a new strategy. While half his men concentrated their fire on the two rebel positions, the other half would inch forward to the next spot that offered any shelter.

  Progress was slow and not without casualties, but inexorably they clambered upward and ever closer to the summit.

  “This is it,” Carter said at last, loud enough for all his comrades to hear him.

  “There’s no more cover between them and us, so they’ll probably come at us full bore.”

  “Let them come, old boy,” Kingston replied cheerfully, “and we’ll send them all back to Uncle Adolf in a box!”

  Carter laughed at the jibe, though he knew it was nothing more than false bravado. Their ammunition was dangerously low. Bardovski’s left arm had been hit and now hung useless at his side, blood from the wound he had sustained dripping down to slicken the ground at his feet.

  And they were still outnumbered at least three to one.

  “I’m sorry,” Stella murmured softly at his side.

  “What?”

  “I’ve gone and got you killed, Clay.”

  Carter reached out and cupped the woman’s chin in his left hand, turning it so she faced him.

  “There’s no place on Earth I’d rather be right now, sweetheart,” he pledged.

  “You said that without batting an eye,” she told him, smiling sadly. “I never knew you were such a good liar. What else would you like me to believe?”

  Again, he replied without hesitation.

  “That I love you.”

  “Oh, shut up!” she scolded, pulling away and turning her head so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.

  “They’re coming!” Bardovski shouted.

  With a collective yell that echoed and grew as it rose up through the high walls of the pass, the surviving members of the Condor Legion rushed forward, firing wildly as they came.

  More than ever needing to conserve their ammunition, the four rebels fired even more sparingly than before, and hence more accurately. The oncoming attackers fell one by one, but those behind them merely leaped over their bodies and continued upward.

  Kingston let out a screech and slapped a hand to his face. It came away covered in blood from a wound that had penetrated his skull. His body swayed, then toppled over backwards.

  His companion continued to fire as rapidly as his one good arm would allow, but now the returning fire was concentrated on him alone. A bullet spanged off the rock before him and was tumbling end over end as it plowed into his left shoulder.

  The impact caused Bardovski to jerk erect, and when he did he became a better target. At least three bullets tore through him before he collapsed and slid down out of sight.

  Seeing that both his comrades were down, Carter realized the Germans could now plaster themselves against the wall of his side of the pass and continue upward at an angle that made them safe from the gunfire coming from above.

  “Cover me, Stella!” Carter commanded, leaping to his feet.

  Crouching low to the ground, he raced toward the spot from whence Kingston and Bardovski had been covering the pass. He was more than halfway across the pass before the approaching Germans could see him.

  Once they did spot him, they began to rapidly fire at him. He very nearly reached the cover of the rocks unscathed, but tantalizing inches from his goal he felt something strike him just above his left hip. He rose off his feet, spun slightly
and slammed to the ground.

  Not pausing to see how badly he was wounded, he slapped one hand over the wet spot from which blood was oozing and frantically shuffled his feet, crawling forward as more deadly slugs whistled and thumped around him.

  Trying to ignore the spreading pain, he pulled his bloodstained hand away from the hole in his side and clawed his way up the slanting rock face.

  Reaching the top, he found he now had a clear view of at least half the German soldiers continuing their inexorable charge to the top of the pass.

  Gritting his teeth, he began to fire. The report of the shot and the metallic slide of the bolt ejecting the spent shell were nearly one sound, so quickly did he operate the mechanism.

  The staccato sound was almost like that of a mythical gunslinger fanning his pistol. One soldier after another was hit; some screamed, while some plunged silently into eternity.

  For several seconds, Carter continued to slide the bolt and click the trigger even after the last of his shells had been fired. Breathing at a frantic pace, he finally stopped and lay still. The pall of gun smoke hung in the air before him, clouding his vision.

  As his breathing calmed, the smoke dissipated. He could hear no other sounds, and saw no movement from below his position. Cautiously, using his emptied rifle as a crutch, he pushed himself to his feet.

  He took a tentative step forward, but was too weak to stop his right foot from sliding out from under him. The other foot followed suit, causing him to fall heavily onto his back. He cried out in pain, then saw the sky flash by above him as he began to slide down the rock face.

  Unable to stop his momentum, he skidded along the stone with skin-shredding speed until he hit bottom. The force of impact that began at the soles of his feet then shot upward elicited another moan of agony.

  He had managed to maintain his grip on the rifle, though, and after allowing his breath to return and his pain to subside, he once again pushed himself erect.

  Stepping gingerly out onto the floor of the pass, he carefully picked his way over and around fallen bodies, watchful for the first sign that might indicate any of the soldiers had survived.