by Nathan Jones
Which meant it was possible they might be able to catch up in time to help.
He turned to his people. “Well, it's been fun wandering around digging holes, but it's time to put our training to good use and see how fast we can travel.”
* * * * *
Tom was surprised but relieved when Brandon and his skirmishers finally showed up a few hours before nightfall, when the attack on his ranch was planned to begin. He'd been half afraid they'd have to do this without fifteen of his best people.
But when he saw the skirmishers' exhausted state, he had to wonder if that was still the case. They'd apparently just finished digging all the planned caches when they caught wind of the attack, dropping everything and rushing south to get here in time.
“You going to be up to this?” Tom asked doubtfully. “We're doing everything tonight, and you guys look completely played out.”
“We're fine,” Brandon insisted staunchly. “Give us a few hours to rest until dark and we'll be good to go.” He paused. “And make sure you get me up so I can join this attack on your ranch . . . it was my home too for a lot of these past years, and I want to be part of clearing it out.”
Tom had his doubts a few hours of rest would be enough, but he had to admit that these days people half his age always surprised him with their seemingly limitless energy and resilience. Although even Pine, older than Tom by a decade or so, seemed as indefatigable as a gnarled old stump.
Well, he needed the skirmishers, so if they were up to it that was great. He let them find a quiet, shaded spot to crash, which quite a few of the other militia and volunteers were also taking the opportunity to do, in anticipation of a long night and an even longer day tomorrow.
In fact, he wouldn't have complained about the chance to catch a quick nap himself.
Unfortunately, there were some luxuries not afforded to the people in charge. Instead he gathered up Gray, Mitchells, and their squad leaders to make the final plans of attack. “All right,” he began. “The scouts I sent last night and this morning have confirmed the locations of night sentries, and that the rest of the occupying squad sleeps in the barn with the leaders in the Hendricksons' old house. We know when Sangue soldiers usually bed down and this lot seems to follow the same pattern, which means in roughly two hours it'll be dark enough for us to go.”
Gray nodded grimly. “This is your ranch, so how you want to do this?”
Tom couldn't help but smile. “This is my home, I know it like the back of my hand, and so do the other team leaders who'll be joining me on this attack. Sneaking up on the soldiers occupying it is going to be easy, especially with most of them sleeping. I'll lead one team, Brandon will lead another. We're favoring quiet over numbers here, so the teams will be five people each, with me and Brandon going ahead to take out sentries.
“Just in case something goes wrong, Logan and Teddy will have two other groups waiting in flanking positions to assist. Once we've dealt with the squad here we'll give the all clear, and move out to secure the valley while Mitchells and Gray lead everyone else into position to continue on to Emery. Any questions?”
One of Gray's people cleared his throat. “Meaning no disrespect, Trapper, but what if something goes wrong? Like seriously wrong, as in bloodies get away to warn Emery, or the bloodies there hear the gunshots if you're forced to do some shooting?”
Tom gave the question due consideration. “Well first off, we're well out of range where anyone in Emery would hear gunshots, especially with the eastern ridge between us and them. Secondly, Teddy's team is going to be positioned to cut off any Sangue who manage to get away.”
He grimly drew his knife, letting it flash in the moonlight. “But you know how this goes. We'll sneak in, cut down the sentries, then do the same to the rest of the bloodies as they sleep. There'll be no noise, nobody will have a chance to try to get away, and even if any of them happen to wake up, we'll be on them before they can do anything.”
A young woman from the new batch of Emery recruits cursed. “Have to say, I don't envy you this job. Shooting bloodies to protect my family is one thing, but I couldn't slit someone's throat like a butcher at a slaughterhouse.”
Yeah, Tom definitely wasn't looking forward to it, either. He could appreciate Skyler's moral dilemma when he'd been in the same situation at the Joes Valley campground. “We'll do what we have to,” he said quietly. “Any other questions?” There didn't seem to be any, so he slammed his knife back into its sheath and adjusted the strap of his AK-47. “All right then, let's go.”
The combined force of militia and volunteers were hunkered down on the other side of the western ridge overlooking the ranch valley, in a canyon around a bend so any sentries from the ranch wouldn't spot their approach. It would take some time to climb up and over to reach the ranch, especially since Tom needed to go ahead to take out the sentries there.
He'd planned to have Logan go with him, although he hadn't liked the idea of the young man having to take the risk and emotional trauma of sneaking up on a man and slitting his throat or knifing him in the back. But since Brandon was here, he figured he'd be better suited for it.
They got everyone up and split into their groups, nervous and eager about what they were doing here. Tom had to admit he was looking forward to the opportunity to reclaim his ranch, the valley he'd lived in for close to a decade and had spent years turning into a home for his new family, from the vicious enemy that occupied it.
Even if only for the night, while they carried out this attack on Emery. After that, well . . . while they'd been preparing to leave the ranch in the first place, Kristy had suggested burning it to the ground so Sangue couldn't use it for their own purposes. Tom had argued against that, hoping they might someday have the chance to come home.
But his wife hadn't liked learning that the bloodies were using their home as a staging ground to patrol the mountains around Emery. Which was why, before he'd left on this attack two days ago, she'd vehemently insisted they not leave it available to the enemy again. So assuming they were successful in attacking Emery and stealing the supplies, Tom intended to burn the ranch down as they passed it on the way home.
He was just glad Kristy wouldn't have to be there with him to see all their hopes and dreams go up in flames. Especially after the blow of giving up most of their livestock to feed the Grand Junction refugees. It seemed like every passing day their future was dwindling, which wasn't a hopeful perspective to have with the baby only weeks away.
Well, maybe bringing back enough supplies to keep everyone going for a few months, fingers crossed Emery held that much, would make the future seem a bit brighter.
Brandon was slow to wake up, at least until he remembered where they were and what the were doing. Then he practically bounded to his feet, scrambling for his rifle and his belt with his pistol and knife. “We're going ahead to take out the sentry on the ridge overlooking the ranch,” Tom told him in a low voice. “Up to it?”
“Easy.” Brandon slung his rifle on his back and got to work buckling his belt. “This guard's spent weeks watching a place no one's ever tried to approach, at least as far as he knows. He's not going to be expecting this.”
Tom frowned; confidence was one thing, but it had its drawbacks. “Pretend like he is, huh?” He clapped the young man on the shoulder and turned him towards the path that would take them up to the ridge.
It was one he'd used hundreds of times, not just easy and convenient but also well concealed. And as a plus, it would take them fairly close to the sentry's position so sneaking up on him would be easier. Then it was a short trek down the far slope to the cliffs Tom's winter lodge nestled beneath, which only had two easy gaps within hundreds of yards in either direction.
He and his friend would each take one as they headed down, Brandon to keep an eye on the other sentries at the ranch as the rest of their teams made their way to join him, while Tom went straight for the sentry atop the eastern ridge to take him out, too.
Their teams
kept a cautious distance behind them as they left camp and started for the path, prepared to follow them once they took out the first sentry and gave the all-clear signal from atop the ridge. Logan's and Teddy's groups had already set out, circling around to approach from the top and bottom of the valley to get into position.
As they headed out Gray caught up to them, expression serious. “I know this is your ranch and your plan,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “but are you going to be up to this? Opening a man's throat while he sleeps takes a certain sort of steel. Even among my own veterans, those sort are few and far between.”
Tom looked away. “Not sure, but I'll do it all the same.”
Brandon smiled tightly. “Same . . . not sure, but I'll do it.”
The militia leader hesitated, as if wanting to offer to send his own hardened troops to do the grisly task, even if it meant giving up the advantage of Tom's familiarity with the ranch. Then he inclined his head and stepped back. “Best of luck then Trapper, Gerry.”
Tom nodded, straightening his shoulders with as much confidence as he could muster. “Have everyone ready to go . . . this shouldn't take long, and we've got a long walk to Emery before morning.”
Motioning to Brandon, he started up the path.
Chapter Fourteen
Emery Assault
Skyler watched through the scope of his rifle as Trapper rose up behind the sentry lounging against a tree on the far ridge, covering his mouth with one hand and putting his knife to work with the other. They were only silhouettes as the dusk faded into night, which made it all the more dramatic.
Smooth, clean, and silent, about what he'd expect from the mountain man. The grisly sight still churned his stomach, especially considering his own resolution.
No doubt his adoptive dad had planned for someone to take out the guard positioned on the eastern ridge, a stone's throw from where Skyler waited in hiding. Trapper might've even been planning to do it himself, now that he'd taken out the first sentry.
But climbing up this slope and taking out the sentry here was a potential weak point in the attack; the mountain man should've sent someone circling far around to approach this position hours ago, even if it meant moving in daylight, and coordinated so they'd take out both sentries on the ridges at the same time.
Granted, his adoptive dad could get up here quick enough, even in the dark, that it wouldn't slow his plan much, and Skyler was pretty sure he could do it without being spotted. Still, it presented some risk.
Which was why Skyler was here.
He looked down at the knife he held, a wickedly sharp combat knife he'd taken from his dad's cache when they'd first reached the summer retreat earlier that summer. It was the same blade he'd had with him at the Joes Valley Campground, the one he'd held over the sleeping Sangue soldier but couldn't bring himself to use.
Originally, he'd crept up to the top of this slope and gotten in position close to the sentry so he could quickly take the man out if there was some problem. Eliminating that one potential risk of the attack on the ranch going bad. He'd intended to just wait until Trapper or whoever he sent came and took out the scout, ready to help out if needed.
But now that he was here, he wondered if he shouldn't just do the job himself. Entirely remove the chance of the sentry realizing someone was sneaking up on him, and either raising the alarm or bolting for Emery and ruining any shot the Camptown fighters had of catching the occupied town by surprise. Trapper would be a bit surprised to find the sentry already taken out, and probably suspicious about who'd done it, but that was fine.
This was a chance for Skyler to help out. It was also a chance for him to prove, to himself and everyone else, that he wasn't the same kid who'd screwed up a chance to kill dozens of bloodies while they were vulnerable.
He set his jaw and raised silently to a crouch, readying the knife. He was going to do it.
The sentry was conveniently relieving himself, distracted and vulnerable, as Skyler snuck up on him. That made him think of Brandon's comment about shooting bloodies in the back while they were taking a dump when he'd asked to join the skirmishers, further solidifying his resolve.
He mimicked Trapper's method, hand over the mouth and knife going in the side of the man's neck. It went completely smoothly, aside from the blood that sprayed all over him as he let the soldier fall thrashing and gurgling to the ground.
Skyler stared at the blood on his hands, a black stain in the growing darkness, in revulsion. It reminded him of when Trapper had saved him and his mom from those Sangue bandits when Simon's convoy was attacked all those years ago, dropping down from above to kill them both with his knife. The mountain man had been a bloody horror after that, enough to terrify Skyler even though he knew the man had just saved them and was on their side.
And now here he was, just as bloody. Unable to stop himself, he stumbled to the side and emptied his guts, trying to be as quiet about it as possible. Then he retreated to where he'd left Surly down the slope to the south a ways, in a good position to continue trailing the militia and volunteers as they made for Emery.
While he waited he cleaned himself up as best he could.
* * * * *
Tom stared at the dark outline of the dead sentry in genuine befuddlement.
It was a clean kill, no signs of a struggle. The man probably hadn't even known he was in danger until it was too late. But that didn't explain just who the blazes had killed him.
Had Gray seen the sentry on the eastern ridge as a potential weakness in Tom's plan, not trusting him to take the man out on his own, and sent one of his militia to take the soldier out while he was taking out the one on the opposite slope? That carried its own risks, which was why Tom had opted to do it this way, but maybe the sheriff had decided to do it anyway.
No matter now, since the job was done. Tom hurried back down the mountainside, moving easily and silently on the familiar terrain in spite of the steep slope, dense forest, and treacherous undergrowth and deadfall. It didn't take more than fifteen minutes to rejoin Brandon and the others where they waited, behind the outbuildings on the southern end of the ranch flat.
Motioning for his team to follow, he circled along the east side of the barn while Brandon's team circled the west. Tom had the more difficult job, since he had to get to the Hendricksons' cabin and take out the sentry there while his friend took care of the one on the barn doors. So when he reached the edge of the barn he motioned for his team to wait, then dropped low and crept among the long grass growing around the corral fence, following it most of the distance.
The last twenty or so feet was a flat out sprint, low and silent with his knife ready. The sentry saw him at the last second and raised his rifle, a question forming on his lips.
It died there as Tom jammed his knife into the man's mouth, tackling him to the ground and holding him quiet as he thrashed and gurgled. It was probably one of the worst experiences of his life, no matter that the Sangue soldier was an invader bent on killing or enslaving everyone he knew and loved. He tried to console himself that he was defending his home, literally in this case, but that didn't make it any less miserable.
When the grisly job was finally done he crouched silently, listening for signs that Brandon hadn't got his sentry, or that one of the sleeping Sangue in either building had heard him. Then he slipped into the Hendricksons' house, squinting in the dim light coming through the door to identify the four targets inside.
Even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, it still took what felt like forever before he could even make out shapes in that pitch black. Then one of the officers stirred and spoke sleepily in Spanish. “What's going on?”
Tom responded by closing the distance, nearly tripping over the end of the man's cot, his knife flashing to silence him. The following few moments were a frantic blur as the other three officers started to come awake as well, and he was forced to fend off the final two at the same time. Only the darkness and their confusion saved him, especially as the last on
e fumbled for a pistol and nearly got his finger on the trigger before Tom buried his knife in the man's eye.
Well, the tiny silver lining to that mess of a cloud was that they'd been awake, mostly, so he hadn't had to kill them in their sleep. And the situation hadn't allowed for him to really consider what he was doing, only to respond.
But now it was time to head to the barn where the enemy would still be asleep, fingers crossed. They'd better be, since twelve awake bloodies were a challenge he didn't want to deal with.
Tom made his way back to the barn with equal caution. He found Brandon and another volunteer there, doing their best to quietly drag the body of the second sentry out of the way so they could open the door, while the rest of the two teams waited pressed against the wall of the barn to either side.
His friend made a questioning motion, pointing back at the cabin, and Tom nodded grimly. That just left inside the barn. He cracked the door wide for visibility and slipped inside, stepping to one side so Brandon could follow.
It was a bit less dark in here than in the cabin, windows open for light and ventilation. He saw that the soldiers had cleaned out the animal stalls and put cots in to make small rooms. Twelve in all, and twelve volunteers to take them out. That wasn't an accident; he'd planned for them to all try to strike at the same time, to reduce the risk of an enemy making too much noise as he died and alerting the others.
Tom stared at the familiar interior of his barn as he waited for his eyes to adjust and the others to filter into the building, clutching his knife and waiting for some telltale that a soldier was awake and aware of them. Also building himself up for one final kill at the ranch.
He had more sympathy with Skyler for his dilemma in the Sangue camp than the teenager knew; in spite of everything Tom had done in his life, all the skills he'd developed, he'd never had to kill someone in their sleep before. Telling himself these soldiers were monsters and he was defending his home and family, and that this was no different than putting a wounded elk out of its misery, didn't matter as much as he'd hoped it would.