He squeezed her nipple and put his other hand down her jeans. “On the other hand, if you cooperate, things could be really nice for you and your cousin. If not, she’ll get it a lot worse than when the Germans hurt her the first time.”
Kirsten tried to twist away but he was too large and too strong. She never saw the punch. It struck her hard in the stomach, and a second one smashed against her jaw, sending her to the ground.
Olson stood over her. “And this is just a beginning. You don’t want to go to a jail. You don’t want Germans or Mexicans guarding you, watching everything you do, staring every time you piss or shit, and visiting you women in your cell every time they feel like getting fucked. Hell, the Mexicans might just take you and Ella on the ground outside where everyone can see and everyone can have a turn. Don’t you wonder what that’ll do to the rest of Ella’s brain?”
Kirsten staggered to her feet and looked at Roy in disbelief. He was never much of a friend, but he was a neighbor. When did he become an enemy, such a monster? It was hard to catch her breath and she was dizzy from the punch to her head.
“Don’t worry, Kirsten, I’m not going to take you now. Too many people around and I like a little privacy, but you are coming back with me. If I have to use force to do that, people are going to get hurt, and it will be you and Ella and not me.”
He pulled her back to the others. Kirsten looked in dismay at the four louts Roy had brought with him. She recognized them all as being his hired hands and they were laughing at her. They would follow Roy’s orders without compunction. She wanted to cry, but wouldn’t give Roy the satisfaction.
“Ella can’t ride,” Kirsten said softly. She was beaten, both physically and emotionally. She would have to do what he wished. “We’ll have to rig a sled or something.”
“Fair enough,” Roy smiled in triumph. “My men’ll help.”
When the newspapers drew maps of the German advance in California, along with bold arrows, they drew thick draw dark lines indicating to militarily unsophisticated readers that everything south of the markers was German and anything north still belonged to the United States. The implication was that the lines were absolute and impenetrable walls. Luke Martel knew better. No army would have enough men to cover everything. They simply didn’t have enough men to block the entire state even if they’d wanted to, and the rough geography in some areas would have made such an endeavor difficult if not impossible.
Luke had pressed Colonel Nolan for the opportunity to slip behind the German lines and see just what the heck was happening in the southern part of the state. He knew his results would be a like a Kodak snapshot, but it would be better then what they were currently getting from the south, which was next to nothing.
Nolan agreed and suggested a patrol of at least twenty men. Luke had argued that he should travel alone. It’d be easier, he’d said, for one person to hide and slip around the Germans, while a larger group would just attract too much attention.
They compromised on adding just one other man. Corporal Joe Flowers was a Mescalero Apache, and Luke had known him and served with him in Mexico. Small, dark, and wiry, he looked older than his forty years, and Flowers’ dark eyes hinted that he had a low degree of intelligence and barely controlled violence. Martel knew better. Corporal Flowers was both highly intelligent and cunning, though he could be murderously violent when needed.
Flowers was also a skilled hunter and tracker and those skills kept the two men out of sight of the several German patrols and columns they did spot when they crossed into German-held territory. One thing was clear; the German advance, however slow and ponderous, was a massive endeavor. At one time, they halted and watched what looked like the better part of an infantry division pass within a half mile of them. Along with the size of the German force, its arrogance was also on display. They moved north as if they did not have a care in the world, which, Luke admitted ruefully, was exactly the case.
Another time, they were passed by a column of armored vehicles, trucks with machine guns protected by thin armor plating. “When the hell will we get some of our own,” Luke had muttered. Flowers did not respond. He had a habit of not answering dumb questions, especially from officers, even ones he liked.
Luke might have made the same comment regarding airplanes. The skies might not be filled with them, but everyone they did see was a German.
They traveled through gaps in the German advance without incident and without being noticed. Wherever possible, the enemy kept to what roads there were, which meant that Martel and Flowers could move freely off-road. As far as the Germans were concerned, the two khaki-clad soldiers were invisible, as both men preferred.
They had made it most of the way south and were resting and hoped they were out of sight behind a mound of earth. Luke had come to the conclusion that they had learned very little except the obvious—the Germans were coming in great strength—and it was just about time to head back north. The Germans were slowly but inexorably advancing on Los Angeles. He hoped the defense of that town would be strong, but doubted it.
Joe heard something, paused, then crawled to the top of the mound of earth. He gestured for Luke to stay down. “What do you see, Joe?”
Joe answered with a straight face. “Me see heap many horses and men armed with fire sticks. Me see much danger.”
Luke laughed. “Stop the dumb Indian bullshit. What do you see?”
A grin split Joe’s face. Sometimes he could pull that trick on the very young lieutenants, but Martel had been around just a little too long. “Okay, lieutenant, have it your way. I see seven people on horseback and one person being pulled on a sled or travois. And they look American and not German or greaser.”
Joe Flowers hated the Mexicans even more than most Indians hated white Americans. The Mexicans had abused his people more than the gringos, and had driven his people off their lands. It was because of the Mexicans that Joe Flowers had joined the American Army. He’d seen it as a great opportunity to kill them.
Luke gave Joe his binoculars. The Indian had better eyesight and Luke had no problem admitting it. “This is interesting, Lieutenant. There are five men and two women on horseback and it looks like a third woman on the travois. She’s probably sick or hurt. And the other two women are prisoners. Both have their hands bound and tied to their pommels. One woman looks Mexican and the other American. All the men look like gringos.”
“What color are the women’s eyes?”
“Go to hell, Lieutenant.”
Women prisoners was an intriguing thought, even more so if one was indeed an American. What the devil was going on, and was it worth betraying themselves and giving away their presence? If the women actually were prisoners, then whose and why? He looked at Joe, who shrugged.
The group was moving very slowly, so it was no problem for Luke and Joe to circle around them and take up positions in front and to either side. They hid their horses and lay prone in the dirt. When the group was about fifty feet away, Luke and Joe emerged, their rifles aimed on the group.
“Hands up,” Luke ordered in a loud voice and the shocked riders complied. They ordered the men off their horses and quickly disarmed them. Luke might regret such high-handedness at some future time, but he felt it was far better to apologize later then to be sorry. He did not release the women. For all he knew, they were ax murderers like Lizzie Borden.
A heavyset man, obviously the leader from the way the other men looked to him, glared at Luke. His face was red with scarcely controlled rage. “Dear God,” he said angrily. “You’re deserters from the American Army, aren’t you? The real American Army is as extinct as Darwin’s dinosaurs.”