Obligations Read online

  Ahead of her, Moorefield stopped on an outcrop of rock and she instinctively pulled back on Athena’s reins.

  Stay here, Aliza.

  The voice was Ben Mazza’s, and it threatened to bring tears to her eyes.

  His last words to her, before he’d disappeared over the small hillock toward the railway bridge, rung in her heart. The firefight there, between the British and the Palmach, erupted in seconds and caught them by surprise. From their position in over-watch, they had calculated the likelihood of a prepared British response was low. She and Ben carried rifles intending to eliminate any approaching threat as the Palmach moved to plant explosives. The appearance of the British platoon changed the dynamic. Pressed against the dirt with stray bullets whizzing through the air above their heads, she looked into the eyes of the only friend she had in the world.

  “Stay here, Aliza.” Ben grimaced as machine gun fire tore into the small, narrow valley below. He’d tried to smile at her, but everything in his expression was pained. His dark eyes glittered in the dim moonlight. There was dust in his scruff of beard and dirt on his face. He placed a warm hand on her forearm and nodded once. Before she could respond in kind, or say what she’d wanted to say for weeks, he was gone.

  She’d started to follow him when the firefight reached a crescendo. Her memory ended there. She wiped a sleeve at the fresh tear sliding down her left cheek. Eyes squeezed shut, there was nothing she could do for the sudden pain in her chest except to breathe.

  A distant, crunching sound from the valley below snapped her attention back to the present. She opened her eyes and nudged Athena forward. Moorefield did not turn around as she approached. His eyes scanned the valley below. As she came alongside, she looked up at him and saw the concerned grimace on his face.

  “Miss Turan,” he said without looking in her direction.

  “What was that noise?” she asked.

  Moorefield shook his head. “No idea, but it sounded bad. If the patrol can’t get up the pass…” He let the words trail off, and Aliza understood. Anything unable to get up the pass would be left behind, and the raid would have been for naught.

  “There has to be something we can do,” she challenged, intending to add more. Instead, her eyes caught sight of several small flocks of nameless bird-like animals flapping toward them. As her gaze shifted in that direction, she caught sight of a smudge rising up over the horizon: the unmistakable sign of a dust cloud. “The J’Stull are coming.”

  “What we do depends on the shape Tapper’s guys are in right now,” Moorefield said. “Without them, I’m not sure we can do much out here. This patrol would be really outgunned in a direct fight.”

  “We have to go down there and help them.”

  Moorefield turned to look at her. He acknowledged her comment with a solemn nod. “I’m sorry for what I said up there.”

  She looked up into his blue eyes and saw something different. His intense eyes always seemed to stare at something far away, and yet they were softer somehow. More present. “I know you care for those men and women. I shouldn’t have said what I said, either.”

  He looked back at the distant cloud. “I think this day is about to get longer than we ever imagined. So much for finding water and medicinals.”

  She laughed. “The army conspires against us.”

  “Captain Moorefield!” Behind them, the RTO approached waving the radio handset. “Sir, update from OP Two. They’ve got line of sight with the vehicle column now.”

  She squinted at Moorefield and he saw her expression. “Means our radios can see each other, if that makes any sense.”

  “It does. I think?” She smiled involuntarily. “What do you want me to do? Take the recruits back to base?”

  “Hang on,” he replied and reached for the radio handset the moment Specialist Sublete got close enough to hand it over. “Seeker Six, this is Saber Six. SITREP, over.”

  “Saber Six, we’re stopped two klicks from the bottom of the pass. I’ve got four vehicles non-mission capable at this point.”

  “Good copy, Seeker Six. Report status of other vehicles.”

  “Twenty vehicles mission capable. Full loads ammo and fuel. Minimal crews. I have four KIAs and six wounded to get up the pass immediately. Requesting assistance.”

  Moorefield clenched his jaw for a long moment. As he turned to look at her, the softer look in his eyes was gone and replaced with something she hadn’t seen in the young captain before. “Miss Turan, return to Sergeant Whittaker’s position. Tell him to have the leaders ready for a mission brief when I get there. I’m going to figure out how to skin this cat.”

  There was nothing she could say to him. He meant business in every sense of the word. The sudden determination reminded her of Ben and the Palmach soldiers they’d supported. Committed to the task at hand, they would give their all to ensure the others survived. She shelved the uncertainties that persisted in her attitude toward the young officer. He’d trusted her with a task, and she would complete it.

  “What are you planning to do?”

  Moorefield stared at her, and she realized she liked the confident look on the man. “Whatever it takes.”

  Aliza snapped the reins. Athena spun in place and trotted forward. They leapt from rock to rock as they climbed up the hill. Once again, Aliza felt the thrill, the joy, of riding the whinnie run through her. It didn’t matter that danger was close and everything she knew in this improbable future was at risk. She felt alive again, truly alive.

  And she wasn’t going to let anything disrupt this second chance at life.

  * * *

  The rising dust cloud bothered Bo, but not nearly as much as the mechanical breakdown of so many vehicles. Murphy’s intent had been to grab everything that they could to assemble combat power. If they could not get the convoy to the top of the pass, amassing the key components of that combat power—specifically, fast vehicles equipped with heavier weapons—would not be an option. While they could attempt to defend their final approach with a mostly infantry force, everything in Bo’s experience told him that, whether or not his men had the high ground, it was a bad idea. What they actually needed was that most perishable asset in the universe: time.

  Dammit.

  Bo studied the valley below, noting the higher terrain stretching north and south to his right and left. The flat-topped bluffs resembled the familiar mesas of Colorado and New Mexico. While the vegetation was not the scrub oak and piñon of the higher altitudes, the terrain was not unfamiliar. That’s why it had been so easy to choose the ground where they’d established Camp Stark; as on Earth, they sought—and found—a site on the upper reverse slope of a wide tableland with rocky bluffs, cuts, and draws, protecting the summit. There was only one pass wide enough for vehicle travel, and that qualified it as an avenue of approach and key terrain.

  Key terrain.

  Bo wanted to slap himself. He’d been so accustomed to convoy operations in Somalia, following main supply routes back and forth and pulling security against the near targets close by in the rubble and war-torn buildings, that he’d forgotten a simple mnemonic device. OCOKA. Observation. Cover and Concealment. Obstacles. Key Terrain. Avenues of Approach.

  You’re an idiot, Bo. He laughed at himself and studied the terrain around him once more, and a plan formed quickly. He couldn’t help but smile.

  “You okay, sir?” Sublete asked him.

  Bo met the concerned young man’s eyes. Sublete, like so many of the others, came from Vietnam and his short career hadn’t given him much trust or confidence in officers. “I am, Sublete. Let’s get back up the hill. You take the lead.”

  Once the young soldier had moved a good thirty meters ahead, Bo nudged Scout, and they shot up the trail quickly. Bo looked back over his right shoulder as they passed into the concealment of some vegetation. The dust cloud in the distance had doubled in size.

  No doubt about it. They’re coming.

  As they climbed, he adjusted his hands on the reins they�
�d bought from the indigs with C-rations. He brought his right hand to his mouth and whistled like they had taught him on the farm as a boy. The shrill sound caught the soldier’s attention and Bo waved at him to stop in place. As Scout came alongside Sublete’s mount, Bo reached out for the radio handset.

  “Seeker Six, this is Saber Six. We’re coming for you. ETA is fifteen mikes. How copy? Over.”

  “Saber Six, good copy. We’re continuing repair operations and will be ready to move what we can. Seeker Six, out.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  Bo swung out of the saddle into the center of the formation and stepped a few paces away from Scout. With a boot, he cleared a small piece of ground. Kneeling down, he drew the ridgeline they’d descended in the center and then added the path of the mountain pass just to the north of them.

  There was a sudden crunch of footsteps rapidly approaching. “Why are you scratching in the dirt?”

  Bo looked up and noticed something different. Aliza was talking to him with a little smile on her face. He smiled back. “Miss Turan, we call this a sand table. It’s a hasty, visual way to make a plan.”

  She laughed. “And what are we planning? To save the day?”

  I remember all those times you said you had a plan, but you really didn’t. I think you just wanted more time for things to sort themselves out in the hopes the Army would be done with you. You knew they wouldn’t, but you kept lying to me about your plans. You and your goddamned plans.

  His own inner voice blotted out the ghost of his ex-wife. Aliza said “we.”

  We.

  The section leaders gathered. Bo caught the looks on their faces—something between amusement and worry—as they made their way to him. His temper threatened to flare, and he tamped it down. He’d not given them any reason to trust him beyond taking them on mock patrols, so he looked down at the sand table again and took a deep breath.

  Whittaker stepped forward. “All accounted for, sir. What’s the plan?”

  Bo met the older sergeant’s eyes and nodded. Without a thought, he fell into the familiar litany of a mission briefing. “We’re going after the raiding party. They’re stranded at the bottom of the pass with broken-down vehicles and some casualties. I’m taking first and second sections with me. Experienced riders only. For the first phase, we’re going down to rendezvous with Seeker Six’s lead elements and get a SITREP from them.”

  Aliza moved to raise her hand, but Whittaker interrupted. “SITREP is a situation report. What’s their status and what can we do about it.”

  Bo kept talking. “Behind us, Sergeant Whittaker and Miss Turan will bring down third and fourth sections. Before you ask, Miss Turan, I can’t spare the manpower to take you and the newbies to camp. You’re with us and you’re in charge of that section. Once we know what the situation is with the Seeker Six’s patrol, and their pursuers, we’ll plan our next move. We need to see what the bad guys send after our folks, adjust our plan to counter it, and give Camp Stark a chance to evacuate.”

  “Evacuate?” Turan blurted.

  “That’s right,” Bo replied. “We may have to pull out of Camp Stark and move back toward the area we were reserving for final force consolidation. I’m guessing Major Murphy is already working that piece of the puzzle right now. We’ll make sure they prepare the camp to evacuate and beat feet to the rear. That’s step six or seven on the list. We’ve got more important things to handle between now and then.”

  “You think the…the J’Stull will attack?” Aliza asked.

  Bo nodded. “I think they’re gonna come after our raiding party with everything they have. But a good cavalry arm always protects the main body. We’ll simply do this the old-fashioned way.”

  Whittaker nodded. “I don’t suppose you mean artillery and air support, sir.”

  “Not at all, Top,” Bo replied. “Fire and maneuver. That’s really all we have if we can’t get those vehicles moving. And we’re gonna have to bust our asses to get them to safety.”

  Whittaker nodded. “Our indig guide never showed, sir.”

  “A sure sign of an attack,” Sergeant Cook remarked under his breath. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted those guys.”

  Most of the section leaders murmured their assent, though none of them would make eye contact with Bo. They didn’t trust anyone but themselves. Bo didn’t believe that to be a bad thing, necessarily, but the sergeants didn’t seem to trust him or any of the officers, either. He met Whittaker’s eyes and the older sergeant nodded confidently at him. He hadn’t felt as proud since he’d been a second lieutenant and managed not to screw up being a platoon leader on the first try.

  Another crunch sounded in the distance, this time much louder. The whinnies, normally docile and quiet, shuffled and stamped their feet. Two trumpeted nervously. Some newbies appeared on the verge of panic in their saddles, but the more experienced riders all went to their aid and calmed their mounts quickly and, most importantly, quietly.

  Aliza spoke up. “The indig: do you think the J’Stull planted him to spy on us? Determine strength and position for the enemy to gauge the attack?”

  Impressed, Bo shrugged. “Great question. We don’t know. But right now, it doesn’t really matter. We have to get down there in order to help the raiding party get those vehicles up onto high ground and back to our compound. If I’m right about the attack, we don’t have much time at all.” They all nodded, even Turan, which he took as a good sign. Bo pointed at the sand table. “If they hit us while we’re moving the vehicles, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

  * * *

  Bo led the patrol down the mountain as fast as he dared let Scout run. A look over his shoulder proved that both the newbies and the experienced riders were having trouble keeping his pace. Brush tore at his sleeves as Scout bounded down the narrow trail toward the valley floor. Bo relaxed and allowed his hips and lower body to remain attached to the whinnie’s side and his body to follow every move the big animal made without expending too much energy. He gave Scout a kick with his right heel, urging him to go faster. The whinnie responded with a lurch forward; Bo snapped backward in the saddle. The nearby flora blurred as Scout accelerated down the steep hill and Bo smiled and tried not to let out a whoop of excitement.

  Barreling through the scrub, they burst onto the valley floor about two hundred meters from the trail leading up the tight pass. Behind a small hill, they were hidden from both the approaching patrol and the enemy. He’d ridden Scout a few times at as full a gallop as the whinnies could go, but bouncing through the brush and from rock outcrop to outcrop left him slightly out of breath, if exhilarated.

  Sergeant Cook’s section was the first down the trail; his soldiers were all experienced riders. Bo motioned them to move ahead of him and pointed along the base of the hill in the direction of the raiding party. As Cook met his eyes, Bo held up two fingers and pointed them at his eyes. Holding his arm still, he then rotated his fingers to point out, he pointed with his other hand in the direction of the potential enemy patrol. The hand and arm signal to set far side security communicated exactly what Bo wanted them to do without having to either use a radio or use their voices in a tactical environment. Cook and his section of four mounts moved off in the direction he’d indicated.

  Second section, under the leadership of Staff Sergeant Stewart, came next. Bo repeated the hand and arm signal, but only pointed at his eyes to indicate near side security. The four mounted soldiers were a mix of experienced riders and newer trainees, but as they galloped toward the convoy, Bo noted that all of their faces were confident and ready.

  Third and fourth sections finished their progress down the slope last and almost at the same time, though, technically, he hadn’t outfitted a fourth section. Sergeant First Class Whittaker led third section, but with the addition of the newbies under Miss Turan’s tutelage, they’d made her a section leader by default, and Whittaker moved those new riders into a fourth section. As they reached level ground, Bo walke
d Scout out and had them follow behind him. With the security deployed forward, he was again in the lead of the formation as the patrol moved toward the convoy.

  Bo heard the convoy before he saw them. The sounds of the vehicles differed vastly from anything he’d heard. Some of them sounded like internal combustion engines. Others sounded like turbines. None of them sounded particularly well-maintained or reliable. As they rounded the ragged bottom of a bluff, Bo stood in his saddle for a first glimpse of them…

  And thought, Well, shit.

  At least three of the vehicles were smoking and one sat askew on the trail, its front end deeply jammed into the loose dirt. Sergeant Stewart appeared to be talking to Lieutenant Tapper. He looked up, saw Bo approaching, and came riding as fast as his whinnie could go.

  “Sir!” Stewart reined up the whinnie and skidded to a stop a few meters away. “The El-Tee says they got priority wounded. At least two are critical. They’re taking three of the lightest vehicles up the pass to get medical attention. There are seventeen more remaining behind with drivers. Most of them aren’t fully crewed.”

  Bo chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. Moving the wounded was the most prudent action they could have taken. “They leaving anyone else behind?”

  “Besides the drivers and gunners? A few indig crewmen,” Stewart said. “They’re trying to get the four dead-lined vehicles moving again.”

  “Why? What are they?”