Such were Voss’s thoughts as he led the battalion of townies down Highway 89. The merchants, tradesmen, and clerks were all in high spirits as they joked with one another, traded insults, and passed bottles of whiskey back and forth. Voss thought about putting a stop to the nonsense but decided to let it go. Most of them would be dead soon, so they might as well enjoy life while they could.
The battalion passed through a number of hamlets before arriving in the tiny town of Geneva. It marked the narrowest part of the valley and represented a natural choke point. Thankfully there were no signs that Hashi’s troops had made it that far, as two of his scouts rode out to meet him. The lead scout, a man named Kovo, touched the brim of his hat as he brought his horse to a standstill. “They’re coming this way, Mr. Voss. Hell, they’d be here now if it wasn’t for the tractors.”
“The what?”
“Caterpillar tractors. They’ve got six of them, all of which are fully operational and have armored cabs.”
Voss hurried to process that information. Somehow, someway, Hashi had been able to recondition the machines and find fuel for them. She knew about the narrow spot and planned to literally bulldoze her way through it. But forewarned was forearmed. And if Voss could slow the invaders down, there was a chance that he could stop them.
Immediately after the ill-fated expedition into Hashi’s territory, Voss had recognized the need to strengthen the defenses along his southern border and spent a king’s ransom to buy, transport, and site three 155-millimeter howitzers. Now, in his hour of need, they were hidden in the hills off to the west. Each pre–civil war weapon could theoretically fire four rounds per minute and strike targets up to eighteen miles away.
Unfortunately they were vulnerable from the air, and while they were well camouflaged, he couldn’t fire them without attracting Hashi’s drones, aircraft that, judging from the way the scouts had been killed could attack and kill. Machine guns might bring some of them down, but since Voss was badly outnumbered, he couldn’t afford to lose a single howitzer. Therefore, a team of mercs had been dispatched to Thermopolis to buy heat-seeking missiles and the launchers required to fire them. Once they arrived, Voss would be able to rain high-explosive shells down on that section of the valley with impunity. All of that and more flickered through Voss’s mind as he eyed the scout. “Understood. And the Ronin?”
“Most of them are massed five miles south of here waiting for the tractors to catch up with them.”
“How soon will the tractors arrive?”
“That depends,” Kovo replied. “If they stop for the night, they should join the main force by noon tomorrow. If they travel at night, they will arrive before dawn.”
Voss thought about that. “What about fuel?”
“It’s on a tanker truck that follows along behind the tractors.”
“Could we destroy it? Tonight?”
Kovo’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe… if we went wide, rode south, and attacked from behind. But even if we were successful the Ronin would be there to cut us off.”
“What if I have a way to keep the Ronin busy?”
Kovo’s expression brightened. “That would make all the difference.”
Voss nodded. “Choose two good men in addition to yourself. I’ll supply the rest. Meet me here at six p.m.”
Kovo touched the brim of his hat, pulled his horse around, and rode away.
Voss glanced at the Rolex. It was 3:22 and there were a lot of things to get done. By the time darkness began to fall, Voss had put the slaves to work digging trenches to slow the tractors, a strategy intended to give the inexperienced gun crews more opportunities to strike their targets. And with his help, the mayor of Afton had been able to position two companies of cavalry so they could sweep out into the valley and attack the enemy on both flanks. The third company, which was under the command of a prominent merchant, was scheduled to attack the Ronin just before dawn. Then, once the techies were committed, the townies were supposed to run like hell. Never having fought such an action before, the fools thought they were going to have a bit of fun. Voss figured it would be a miracle if a third of them survived.
In the meantime, Voss, three of his scouts, and six handpicked townies were going to find Hashi’s fuel truck and destroy it. That was the plan, anyway, and Voss was ready when Kovo and his men arrived. They were armed with pistols, military-style assault rifles, and saddlebags filled with hand grenades.
The townies appeared out of the quickly gathering gloom a few moments later, led by a man named Hollings. He had dark skin, green eyes, and a reputation as gunfighter. He and his riders were armed with two pistols apiece and twelve-gauge shotguns, the assumption being that whatever fighting took place was likely to be up close and personal.
Voss nodded approvingly. “All right, men… Kovo will take us across the valley and down the east side. That will put us in position to attack the techies from the rear. Meanwhile, a company of cavalry will charge the Ronin from the north. Our goal is to find the fuel truck and destroy it. Once that’s accomplished, we will run like hell. Any questions? No? Let’s ride.”
As the sun sank in the west and the hills threw dark shadows across the valley, the raiders rode east. Kovo led them across a concrete bridge and into a fallow field. Tall grass swished as the horses passed through it, insects whirred away, and Voss took pleasure in his surroundings. Here, now, in this particular moment, there was nothing to worry about other than the mission he had assigned to himself—not because he had to, but because he wanted to, although he was aware that his actions would inspire others.
They passed the remains of a melancholy farmhouse, splashed through a creek, and climbed the bank beyond. As stars began to populate the sky, Kovo kicked his mount into a ground-eating trot. It wasn’t long before the dark bulk of the eastern hills rose to block the way. Then, with only starlight to guide them, the riders turned south. They were following an ancient fence, and the vibration from the horses’ hooves sent small creatures scurrying for safety.
To the south Voss could see the flickering points of light that represented Ronin campfires. Did that mean they had settled in for the night? Or did that mean they wanted him to believe that? Such was his greatest fear—that Hashi wouldn’t wait for the tractors. Voss knew that if the Ronin attacked right away, they would cut through the townies like a hot knife through butter. And given how inexperienced the gunners were, it would be easy to hit friendly forces during the hours of darkness. Then, having cleared the choke point, Hashi’s forces would surge into Star Valley. Could the remaining mercs stop her? Maybe… but the outcome would be far from certain.
The campfires grew gradually brighter, came abreast of Voss, and began to dim as the riders continued south. Voss saw a shooting star streak across the sky and hoped it was a good omen. Kovo turned west a few minutes later and led the group into an ocean of darkness. The campfires Voss had seen earlier were off to his right now. But there, straight ahead of him, were three points of light. The rearguard, perhaps? Including the personnel associated with the fuel truck? He hoped so.
According to the luminous dial on the Rolex, the townies weren’t due to launch the diversionary attack for another fifteen minutes. So Voss wasn’t surprised when Kovo led the group down into a ravine and sent a scout up to keep an eye on the enemy. It was a good opportunity to take a pee, let the horses drink from the creek that flowed through the ravine, and cinch their saddles. And that’s what the raiders were doing when the drones attacked.