The Last Pilgrims (23 page)

Jonathan remained silent for a long time
before replying. “I know that it is in God’s hands, Phillip. I will
ask Ana and Ruth to stay.”

“Excellent!” Phillip replied. “I’ll let
Timothy and Piggy know exactly what is expected of them. They will
have very explicit instructions of what to do during the
battle.”

“Thank you, Phillip,” Jonathan said, before
turning to his son and embracing him. “David… Son… I pray that God
keeps you safe. I know that you know it, but just in case you
didn’t, I would have you know that I am well pleased with you. I
know you are doing what you believe God would have you to do, and I
am satisfied and pleased with your desire to be obedient. You pray
for me as well, Son.”

David gave his father a huge bear hug and
squeeze, before releasing him. “I always pray for you, Father. I
pray that one day this will all be over, and that we will go back
to farming this land in peace.”

“Me too, Son. Me too.”

Jonathan looked back to Phillip and, as he
walked back towards his horse, he said, “Keep David safe for me,
please.”

“I will do my best,” Phillip replied,
humbly.

He watched, as Jonathan rode away,
accompanied by two militia guards, to join the rest of the
Vallenses that had fled to the north, and he wondered if he had
done the right thing by acting so confidently with Jonathan.
Although he sincerely believed everything he had told the
Vallensian pastor, he also knew that Jonathan trusted him, and now
even trusted him with the life of his youngest daughter.
Stick
with what you know
, he thought.
She’s safer here
.
You
did the right thing
.

Upon entering the Wall house, Phillip walked
directly to the dining room, which had been set up as the command
center for the coming battle. Maps—hand-drawn on cotton paper,
skins or even on flat pieces of wood—were spread out on the heavy
wooden tables. The room was full of many of his most trusted men,
and most of them were in the midst of a heated debate when their
commander entered the room.

“What’s all the hubbub, gentlemen?” he
asked.

“We’ve just received a report from Longbow
about the Penateka Dam. You’ll want to hear it first,” replied
Hood.

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Pachuco Reyes stepped up and assumed a
formal stance before delivering the report. “Longbow reports that
advanced scouts of the Aztlani force were doing reconnaissance on
the dam. Our men already positioned there knew that they were
coming, stayed out of sight and did not engage. The Aztlani recon
team set explosive charges on the dam and then retreated. We
immediately disarmed the charges but left them intact.”

“So what are we arguing about?”

“Rob Fosse and I think that they were
planning to blow the dam
after
they cross—kind of like
Julius Caesar at the Rubicon; but others,” he jerked his head in
the direction of The Mountain, “think that they are planning on
blowing up the dam earlier, because they are going to be coming
from another direction.”

“Ok, so what does our intelligence tell
us?”

“Every indication is that they are planning
to cross at the dam. They’ve been there three or four times to
scout the crossing, and we’ve given them no reason to believe that
we suspect that they are coming that way. We have a diversion force
to their north, digging fake entrenchments and basically just
making them think that we expect them to go around the lake that
way. That force also serves as a stop-gap in case they do actually
come that way.” Pachuco pointed at the map, and emphasized his
words with a wide sweeping motion, “If they come across the dam,
this northern unit of ours will sweep in behind them to make sure
that they cross.”

Phillip looked at Pachuco, then over to The
Mountain who seemed to have been the chief of the opposition party.
Then, after looking at the map closely, he noted… “They will blow
the dam
after
they are across only if they suspect that our
northern unit is going to follow them. That would serve two
purposes—it would not only make their own men know that retreat is
not an option, but would also keep our men from flanking them and
hitting them from the rear—which, by the way, we will do
anyway.”

Pachuco and Rob Fosse smiled at The
Mountain, happy that the boss had taken their side. Rollo, not as
happy, stepped up to the map. “So what happens if we are wrong?
What happens if the move towards the dam is just a diversion?
They’ve already done this to us once. If they turn north, there is
only one unit to try to stop them from rounding the lake?”

“Rollo,” Phillip said gently, “It is good
that you are thinking like this. Always expect a double-cross.
Always expect that you will be lied to by your enemy. You have all
done well in your analysis. Now…
if
you are correct, and you
may well be, then Aztlan will engage our northern unit as they
attempt to round the lake around the north side. That movement will
take them two days. We will have moved our whole force to meet them
in half the time. Either way, we’re in good shape.”

“Phillip,” Rollo said, “why don’t
we
blow the dam now and force them to the north. That will give us
more time to prepare.”

“Three reasons. First, we don’t want the dam
blown. A whole lot of people count on fishing in that lake, and we
are not engineers. We have no idea what ramifications blowing the
dam will have to farms and villages that might be downstream.
Second, the dam is strategically the best place for us to attack.
They will not cross directly over the dam road, as that would make
their entire army fully exposed, out in the open on the narrow
road. In that case, we could hold them up with just 25 men and they
won’t risk that. Instead, they will cross just to the south of
there, below the dam. It is not quite as exposed, but the tradeoff
for us is that they will be below us and will be forced through a
narrower bottleneck. That’s when we’ll hit them. Third, the battle
at the dam needs to convince them that they’ve met and defeated our
whole force. We need to hit them hard, but we need them to think
that the worst of it is over. If we blow the dam, they’ll know that
we have bigger things planned for them and will be prepared.”

“I see,” Rollo said in resignation, “I
guess, I’m not so good at thinking two or three steps ahead. It
seems to me that we would just wait until they are crossing, and
blow the dam.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Rollo.
Most military minds would think that too, and that does accomplish
the task if you just want your enemy to run away. However, you
would have to fight that same army again. No. I’d rather fight here
and now. I’d rather kill every one of these invaders, and have
others think twice before coming here to take a spoil.”

“Hear, hear!” the militiamen all
shouted.

As the meeting devolved into a general din
made up of a dozen separate conversations, Phillip glanced out the
window, and was distracted by what he saw near the stone
smokehouse. As he walked to the window to have a better view, he
could make out that an injured man was being helped from a horse,
and that David was hollering commands to those around him. He
bolted for the door.

Phillip could hear the dining room empty out
behind him, as the militia leaders, though they did not know why
their commander had suddenly run from the room, all snapped into
action. Their training kicked in, and in seconds, a defensive
perimeter was set up around the ranch’s primary structures.

He ran to the smokehouse as fast as he
could, and there found a wounded militia rider, young Raymond
Stone, being attended to by Ana, Winnie, and David. He was trying
to figure out how Raymond might have been injured, when suddenly it
occurred to him… Raymond had been one of the two men he had sent to
accompany and guard Jonathan Wall on his journey north!

Raymond was seriously wounded, and was
bleeding profusely from his thigh. It looked like his leg had been
almost completely severed, and Ana was working hard to try to stem
the bleeding from the femoral artery.

Phillip crouched down next to the man and
put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Where is Jonathan Wall?”

The man cringed, and then settled himself,
trying his best to remain calm. Still, he knew that he had been
seriously, possibly mortally, wounded. “He’s gone…”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“We were riding… three farmers… Vallenses…
Jonathan stopped to talk… they killed Morell.”

“Where is Jonathan Wall?”

“…
they got to me before I
could get off my horse…”

“Listen! I need to know where Jonathan
is!”

“They took him! I… I couldn’t stand up... I
couldn’t help…”

“I know, Raymond. You did well, soldier.
Now… which direction did they go? West?”

“…
I don’t know,” was all that
Raymond Stone could say before his head sunk into his chest, and he
died.

Timothy spurred his horse and pulled a bit
wider to his right as the other militia riders—Hood, Piggy, and the
16-year-old scout named Marbus Claim—caught up to him on the
road.

As soon as Phillip gave the word, the Ghost
militia had, almost automatically, launched into well-coordinated
action, with very few spoken commands being necessary. Within
minutes, he was out of the front gate and galloping down the road
westward. At the gate, he noticed that Morell’s mare, still
saddled, had made her way back through the gates of the ranch, and
was grazing peacefully under some oak trees.

He headed west, hoping to quickly spot the
location where the abduction had taken place. From there, he would
try to discern the direction the fake Vallenses had taken
Jonathan.

The party reigned up about a mile from the
Wall’s front gate when they came across the body of the dead Ghost
militiaman known as Morell.

Morell, or, what was left of the man, was in
an odd position, lying partially up an embankment that led to the
thick woods on the north side of the road. The body was stretched
cruelly up the hill, and there was blood on the head and throat
area.
Oh well
, he figured,
I don’t suppose it matters how
they killed him, because he’s dead in any case
.

He dismounted and began to examine the road,
as Piggy and Hood each went in opposite directions, looking for
more clues.

He could see where Raymond had been struck
in the leg and that the pool of blood had become sticky, already
swarming with flies. As he continued to examine the area, Piggy
rode back up and dismounted.

“It’s pretty obvious that they rode off
westward,” Piggy commented as he walked over to the bloody stain on
the dirt road. “We can track them, especially if Phillip sends The
Hood, but we’ll need to move quickly if that is what we’re going to
do.”

Timothy looked up at Marbus and indicated
that he wanted the young man to dismount and help him with Morell’s
body. They dragged the body down the embankment and over to Marbus’
horse. “Take him back to the ranch, and then catch up with us.
We’ll leave some sign to let you know if we change our direction or
leave the road.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Marbus, as he helped
Timothy hoist the dead man up on to the back of his horse.

“Take his horse back too. I saw her back by
the main gate. Ask Ruth to unsaddle her and get her some
water.”

He thought about Ruth and wondered what she
would be doing… and thinking about. She’d lost her mother years
ago, but she was very close to her father. Being an orphan, he
couldn’t really imagine how she might be feeling. If he was going
to be tracking Jonathan’s kidnappers, he hoped that Phillip would
understand the need to assign someone to keep an eye on Ruth.

Marbus struggled for a few moments as he
secured Morell’s dead body onto the horse, and Timothy watched him
with what bordered on amusement, until a flash of movement caught
his left eye.

Too late to yell, he saw the mountain lion
fly down the embankment and leap towards Marbus, who still
struggled with the rope, trying to get it under the body and back
to the saddle.

In the split-second when the lion seemed to
be in mid-air, he saw Piggy shift his weight, draw a throwing
knife, releasing it with a single, smooth motion. The knife hit
broadside, but did little to slow down the momentum of the big cat
as it flew towards Marbus and the horse. The horse panicked and
bolted just as the lion made contact with Marbus, who fell
backwards onto the road. As the cat roared in pain, an arrow buried
itself into its neck. The lion kept rolling over in its death
throes, screaming as Timothy had never heard an animal scream.

Phillip had told them once that in the old
‘movies’ (a concept he really couldn’t understand fully), animals
died instantly and peacefully. When you kill something in real
life, it takes a painfully long time to die. That was the case with
this mountain lion, which writhed on the ground screaming for what
seemed like minutes as Timothy and the prone Marbus stared at it,
transfixed. The only militia member who noticed and reacted to the
arrow and its source, was Piggy.

Piggy stood with a knife raised in his right
hand, poised to launch it. As Timothy’s eyes followed Piggy’s
stare, he saw Ruth sitting statue-like on her horse off to the
south of the road, next to some heavy brush. The bow was still in
her hand, ‘re-loaded’ with another arrow, in case the first one
hadn’t accomplished the task.

Timothy watched as Piggy lowered his arm and
then turned to look at him with a huge smile on his face. “It’s
your girlfriend, Timmy,” Piggy whispered, laughing as he knelt down
to help the stunned Marbus up off the ground.