“Our boys, Andrew,” Pat sighed.
Andrew felt a sudden welling up of tears, and he struggled not to break, not now. All he could do was nod. “I thought our war would have finished it. That it would never touch our own.”
Pat looked up and smiled weakly. “I just wish I’d set mine on a different path, when I still had the chance.” He took another sip of tea and lowered his head again.
“You’re a dreamer, Andrew me friend, if you thought our war was the last of it. Our parents dreamed it. Mine did when they sent me away from Ireland, saying America would be safe, and look at the right fine slaughter you and I found ourselves in there.”
He hesitated.
“If your boy survives, and I pray to the saints he does, his boys after him will fight as well.”
Andrew said nothing, realizing with a profound sadness that his friend had not included his son in that prayer as well.
Lieutenant Abraham Keane froze. Something was ahead, something had moved.
He could sense Sergeant Togo beside him, crouched low, knife out. As the seconds passed, the high wispy clouds that had obscured Baka, the greater of the two moons, parted.
Togo relaxed. A rabbit, nearly under their feet, leapt up and bounded away.
Andrew exhaled noisily. Togo held his hand out, motioning for him to remain still. Off to his right, he could see the glow of a fire flickering in a ravine, a gruff voice, silence for a moment, then barking laughter. The next wave of high-drifting clouds covered the moon.
Togo crept forward, Abraham and the rest of his men following. Every step kicked up tiny plumes of dust, ash, and the smell of charred grass. Another smell drifted on the breeze as well, and he suppressed a gag.
Again the moonlight appeared, and all of them froze, crouching low. Abe looked back to the east. The butte stood out clearly in the moonlight. A flash, seconds later the report of a rifle.
Darkness again, they pushed forward. Togo slowed again, touched Abe on the shoulder, pointed. The ground ahead dropped away to reveal a broken wheel sticking up out of the shallow ravine. Togo got down on his hands and knees, crawling the last dozen paces, Abe at his side.
Three days in the sun had made the stench all but unbearable. He caught a glimpse of what was left of the horses. The Bantag had butchered them for the meat, but not the offal. Abe was startled when a buzzard, which had been resting next to the remains, tried to fly off, squawking, belly so distended that it could barely get into the air.
Abe pressed his face to the ground, gasping, trying to deaden the sound of his vomiting.
Togo, ignoring his misery, pulled him over the lip of the ravine and down into the awful mess, then hissed for the others to follow.
“You men with the canteens,” Togo whispered, “get up the ravine, fifty yards at least from this filth, scoop up an embankment to block the water and start filling the canteens.”
“Lieutenant, some cartridges might have spilled out of this wagon. Feel the ground.”
The clouds parted again, and in the moonlight he caught a glimpse of one of the drivers-what little was left of him after the butchering.
“Still think Jurak’s your friend?” Togo whispered fiercely.
Abe started to retch yet again.
“Damn you, Lieutenant, there is no time for that now,” Togo hissed.
Startled, Abe looked over at him.
“Look, damn it. Look.”
Abe crawled across the muddy bottom of the ravine. A wagon had upended, its torn canvas top rippling in the breeze. Inside the wreckage he caught a glimpse of the second driver and turned away.
“In here,” Togo whispered.
Abe, startled, saw that the sergeant had come into the wagon from the other side and was kneeling alongside the stinking smear of what had once been a man.
Abe hesitated, took a deep breath, and then slipped up to the sergeant.
“The bastards looted it clean, but here’s a broken ammunition box. Help me.”
Abe heard the rattle of shells as Togo swept them up from the floor of the wagon and started to dump them into his haversack.
“Come on, Lieutenant. If they saw that buzzard fly off and not come back, they might get suspicious.”
The stench was all around him. He felt as if it was seeping into his clothes, his hair, penetrating his skin. He tried not to breathe as he swept his hands across the bottom of the wagon. Then he felt something rolling underneath. He scooped up several carbine shells.
The discovery made him forget his anguish. Half the men back up on the butte were completely out of ammunition, and the rest had only two or three rounds apiece. He rejoiced as if he had stumbled into a cave filled with jewels.
“Why didn’t they take these?” Abe whispered.
“You might not believe it, but those hairy bastards have sensitive noses,” Togo whispered. “Our old comrade here scared them off if they came back looking for more later. Now shut up and get these shells.”
Abe slowly crawled about in the dark, feeling the wooden boards, recoiling for a second when he touched something soft and yielding. Then, realizing that more shells were underneath the noisome mass, he closed his eyes, pushed it aside, and grabbed more of the precious cartridges.
The haversack draped from his shoulder grew heavy as the minutes passed, and then he became aware that Togo had stopped working. He was crouched half up, tensed, hand out, motioning to Abe.
All his instincts seemed to flare at once. He felt the hair at the nape of his neck stiffen, his heart thump. Ever so slowly he backed out of the wagon, Togo by his side, neither saying a word.
A cascade of crumbling dirt trickled down from the top of the ravine. He started to draw his revolver before he saw the glint of Togo’s knife in the moonlight.
He slipped his revolver back into its holster, reached around to his other hip, and slipped out a bayonet. He followed Togo to the side of the ravine, pressed up against the wall, and waited.
In the silence, Abe heard something breathing. Again the shadows parted, moonlight flooding the ravine, and on the far wall of the gully he saw a shadow moving.
Togo pointed at the shadow, then held his knife up.
Abe took a deep breath and nodded.
The two went up the side at the same instant.
A dark silhouette towered above him. It was turning, swinging something. He ducked under the blow. After a grunt of pain, the silhouette doubled over, dropping a rifle, which fell with a clatter that sounded like a tree crashing in the stillness.
The shadow lashed out with a clubbed fist, and Togo spun backwards. The mass of darkness leapt on top of the sergeant.
Abe stood there, transfixed as the two struggled, rolling on the ground.
“Kill him!” Togo hissed, “kill him!”
Time stretched out. He wondered who this was. Could it be one of the cubs that Jurak had pointed out to him only days ago? He didn’t seem full-grown for a Bantag.
“Keane!”
Abe saw an arm go up, heavy blade shiny in the moonlight.
He leapt upon the back of the Bantag. Grabbing the arm, he pulled it back, jerking the arm with such force that he heard the bone snap.
There was a howl of pain.
Terror drove him. He let go of the broken arm and grabbed the Bantag’s head with his left hand, and then slashed down with his right, driving the blade into his victim’s throat.
He felt something hot splashing out. The howl disintegrated into a gasping, bubbly groan.
He cut again, feeling the blade hit bone.
Togo kicked his way out from under the Bantag.
“Damn, Lieutenant, don’t hesitate next time!”