Ring of Fire II(11)

Rob pulled out a child's walkie-talkie and conveyed Reichard's words to Major Stieff.



"Wait until the last man passes the dead tree." The major's voice hissed scratchily in return.



Rob pointed out the tree in question and Reichard quickly settled himself. He broke open his pistol to reload and stopped. The only bullets he had were the two left in the gun. Lannie clucked and dug into her fanny pack. "Here. You're using .38's, right?" She dropped a box of bullets into his hands. "Thank God Rob's dad stocked up for Y2K—or was it World War III?"



"Y2K followed by the complete disintegration of civilization," Rob replied, his eyes on the approaching horsemen. "Dad suffered from having been both a Boy Scout and a Marine. 'Be Prepared for Anything' was his motto."



His pistol reloaded, Reichard turned his attention back on the road. The soldiers on the road had stopped. He counted seven of them. He must have hit a couple in that last exchange of shots before reaching the Badenburg road. The soldiers' horses stood still, heads drooping with fatigue while the men argued.



"They've spotted us." Doggie whispered. "Told you they would."



"Shut up, Doggie." Rob whispered back. "They're arguing about tracks. The guy with the corporal's stripes thinks Reichard went the other way. None of them are trackers if they can't pick out Troll's size thirteens."



The argument resolved itself and the soldiers kicked their horses into motion toward the bridge. The last man, the corporal, rode past the dead tree and the ambush was sprung.



Reichard emptied his pistol into the body of men and bent to reload. Beside him Rob's rifle cracked out, followed by Lannie's and the older up-timer's. The major's up-time rifle snapped from the mill along with the bass booms of flintlocks. Reichard straightened up in time to see two of the soldiers turning their horses and trying to flee. Lannie's and Rob's rifles cracked, and the two were down. Over the ringing in his ears, Reichard heard men and horses screaming. Lannie and Rob fired together and the screaming horse was silent.



Doggie was on his knees, white faced and vomiting.



Hans Buchen came out from the mill and cautiously approached the dead and wounded soldiers. Major Stieff followed, his rifle at the ready.



Reichard moved to join them.



"Hang on, Reichard." Lannie spoke quietly. "We're supposed to stay here and keep guard."



Hans checked each body, tossing any weapons he found away from unfriendly hands. Five of the bodies were too still for life. Satisfied that neither of the wounded was a danger, Hans whistled and a two-horse wagon creaked out from behind the mill. Buchen and the driver loaded the dead on first and then, more gently, lifted the wounded aboard. The second man climbed into the wagon bed and began bandaging the wounded.



Major Stieff walked across the road. His eyes continued to stray up the road. "Is that the lot, Blucher?"



"They're the ones I saw following me." Reichard answered. "Could be others. The rest may come along, too."



"Of course. That is why we will stay here and watch. How many did you and Sam kill?"



"Somewhere between five and seven that I'm certain about. Perhaps another five wounded too badly to ride," Reichard replied.



The major turned toward the others. "I want to keep Georg here." He gestured toward the wagon driver. "We may need our other medic. That means I need someone to drive the wagon while Peter tends to the wounded. I'd like to have at least one of them get to Grantville alive."



Doggie stepped forward. In a shaky voice the young man volunteered as a wagon driver. Major Stieff looked him over and nodded, then turned back to Reichard. "Go with the wagon, Blucher. See that everyone gets back safely. Then get a good meal and some rest."



"Yes, sir. I should take Herr O'Reilly's body to his wife. She should know how he died."



"Yes, yes, by all means!" the major said. "Please extend my condolences to the good lady."





"A toast to a job well done." Ev Parker lifted his stein. "Your mares are beauties. I don't think I could have done any better myself. Those colts look to grow up into good studs."



Wilf lifted his stein in response. "Herr Parker, without your guidance—without your friendship, we would still be but a gang of poor mercenaries."



The other ex-mercenaries nodded in agreement.



"You have, Herr Parker," Christian said, "given us lives, livelihoods, and a home."



Wilf refilled the steins. "Nay, good Christian. Not just a home but a home and family. 'Tis not something mercenaries often find at the end of their soldiering." He looked around for a barmaid. It was a quiet time at the Thuringen Gardens, midway between the last of the lunch crowd and the beginnings of the dinner crowd. Most of the staff were taking their well-deserved breaks.