The General and the Horse-Lord

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The General and the Horse-Lord

Copyright © 2013 by Sarah Black

Cover Art by Paul Richmond  

http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-62380-513-5

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62380-514-2

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

April 2013

Prologue

Kuwait, 1990

“G
ENERAL
,
there’s a Kuwaiti boy here, says he has a letter for you. Won’t give it to anyone else. I frisked him. He’s clean, but he won’t tell me what he wants. Just says he has a letter for you, and it’s life and death.”

John looked up at his sergeant. “Can you check on it?” He leaned back over the topo map, drew in the route for the new bridge. “We need to do it here or here,” he said, pointing to the penciled alternate. “Otherwise the roadwork will take too long to build.”

His chief engineer followed the line of the river. “Where was the old bridge before they blew it?”

John pointed to the trail, marked as a dashed line on the map. “The foundations are gone. They tried to run a tank over it. The tank’s still there, but no way can we move it, not with our current equipment.”

Sergeant Miller was back. “Sir, you may want to see this kid. He speaks excellent English with a very proper Brit accent. His sandals are torn up from the road, but they were expensive once. He asked for John Mitchel, not General Mitchel. Didn’t know your rank.”

John looked up, puzzled. “Yeah, okay.” He threw a towel over the map. “Send him in here.”

The boy was small and thin, maybe eight years old, with dusty black hair and deep circles of fatigue under big, dark eyes. He stepped up, held out his hand to John. “Sir, are you John Mitchel? I am Abdullah al-Salim. I believe you know my father.”

John shook his hand. The boy was trembling, shock or pain, maybe both. “Of course I know your father. He’s my good friend. I know you as well, though I haven’t seen you since you were three, I think, already kicking a soccer ball around the yard. I thought your father had the family back in Cambridge. Sit down and let’s get you some water.”

“No, not yet. I have to give you the letter.”

His lips were cracked and bleeding from the heat, and he was swaying on his feet, his face suddenly pale under the dust. John picked him up and set him down on his lap. He was as frail as a bird. “You eat and drink, and I’ll read the letter, okay?” He looked at Miller, and the man nodded, left the tent to get food. Miller had kids. He would know what to bring. “Where’s your father? Is he still at your house?”

“He’s hiding behind a wall in the basement. The soldiers came looking for him. He sent my mother and sisters to Lebanon, and he sent me to find you.” The boy closed his eyes, laid his head down on John’s shoulder with a sigh.

John put his arms around the boy. “You’re safe now. Just rest, Abdullah.”

“Please, will you help him? Sir, I don’t think he was planning to come out.”

John opened the letter. He recognized the handwriting immediately.

John, my friend.

I must beg your help for my son. The women, they will be safe, but the Iraqis are taking the sons of men like myself, leaving them in shallow graves in the desert. It’s a very old technique in war, is it not? It means something different to me today than when we studied together. Please, John, get him out of Kuwait and to safety. He is the very best of me. Don’t worry about me. I’m an old man, but my son is filled with beauty and light, and the world needs his light.

Omar.

Miller came in with a bottle of water and a thermos cup of soup. John stood, set the boy down on the desk chair. “Drink some water and eat the soup, then we’ll talk. But tell me this, is your father still in Al Jahra? I remember your house had orange trees in front. Is that the one?”

The boy nodded yes, his eyes on the bottle of water. He looked up at Sergeant Miller. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Miller pulled up a chair. “I’ll just sit with you while you eat, son. Are you hurt?”

The boy shook his head. John ducked into the second room of the command tent, spoke to his radio operator. “Balish, can you get CW-3 Sanchez on the radio? I need to know where his squadron is.”

“The Horse-Lords? I think they’re two klicks down the road, General. Do you need him if he’s free?”

“Yes, I do.”

Gabriel walked into the command tent ten minutes later, his flight suit dusty. “I’ve got an Apache fueled up, General.” He looked tired, his eyes dark and warm and smiling.

John let himself take a long look. “Sanchez, I need some transpo and backup, but feel free to say no. This is off the books, a little rescue mission into the city. I’ll probably get us killed. We’ve been ordered not to do anything stupid like this.”

“Roger that. Congratulations for putting on the star, General.”

John smiled at him. “Yeah, a week now. I should enjoy it, because I’m about to lose it.” He pulled Gabriel to the back of the tent. The boy was sleeping on his field cot. “This is Abdullah al-Salim. He’s the son of an old friend, Dr. Omar al-Salim. Omar was my dissertation advisor at Harvard. We’ve been friends for years. He taught me Greek, Gabriel.”

Gabriel nodded. “Okay, Greek, got it. What do you need?”

John grinned at him. Gabriel never wasted time on the nonessentials. “He’s been targeted as an intellectual. He asked me to get his son out of the country. Why don’t we go get him, send them both back home to America?”

“Roger that, General. You know where he is?”

“Al Jahra, just west of Kuwait City. In hiding.”

“Oh, shit. Heavy tank losses in Al Jahra.” Gabriel looked closer at the sleeping boy, reached out and touched his foot. “His feet have been bleeding. Did he walk here barefoot?”

“Sandals.”

“Okay, boss. Let me go check the weapons. I’ll have to blow the helo if they try to take it. We’ll be on foot in the city.”

“You got your side arm?” Gabriel nodded. “Let me see what else I can round up.”

Gabriel was already moving out of the tent. “I’ll find some smoke grenades. Smoke is always good to make a confusing situation a little more confusing.”

John checked the ammunition for his side arm, then grabbed two M16s and briefed Miller. “No one comes after me if I fuck this up, Miller.”

“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go, sir? We really don’t want to lose a general officer.”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“How long before I sound the alarm?”

“You don’t. I don’t come back, you get that boy to my sister in Virginia. Any way you can, Miller, understand? His father’s got an American passport.”

“Roger that, General. No worries. So where are you going?”

“Al Jahra. I’m going to extract Dr. al-Salim and bring him here. I’m taking Sanchez.”

Miller nodded. “Okay, well, your odds of survival just went up about 99 percent. We’ll give you twelve hours, and then we come after you.”

“Negative.”

“See you in twelve hours, sir.”

Gabriel had set the chopper down on the tarmac beyond the last hanger. John climbed in, shaking his head, and the pilot lifted the helo into the air until they were clear of the makeshift base. “We’ve got twelve hours. Miller is such a pain in the ass. I gave him a direct order not to come after me and I know he’s going to blow it off and bring a frigging tank if we don’t show up on time.”

“Actually, that makes me feel better. Did you see the new horse on the nose?”

“Yeah. I like that golden mane. Wild. You always have the best art on your birds.”

“It’s not art. It’s the soul of man and machine together. That boy walked here from Al Jahra? That’s over thirty miles.” Gabriel leaned over, took John by the shirtfront, and pulled him close. John could feel the heat of Gabriel’s breath on his mouth. He’d been chewing cinnamon gum. “Are we off to rescue an old boyfriend?”

John smiled up into his eyes for so long Gabriel leaned a tiny bit closer, kissed him hard. John reached for his cheek and ran his fingers over two days of rough stubble. “You’re my only old boyfriend. Try not to get killed, okay?”

“I haven’t slept with you since you’ve been promoted. I’d hate to miss sleeping with a general.”

“You know we can’t let them take a general officer, even just a road-builder like myself. It would be too embarrassing for everyone. If things go south, you’ll need to take care of it for me.”

“You’re saying, what, you want me to shoot you in the head if the bad guys are closing in?”

“Roger that.” John wondered if he should tell Gabriel he loved him. No, that would freak him out worse than ordering him to shoot him in the head. John shoved the two rifles down between his knees. Gabriel studied the instrument panel. His mouth was pressed into a thin line.

“Let’s get the job done and get through this night, pilot, and I’ll treat you to a bottle of tequila. And anything else you’d like.”

Gabriel looked at him, an unwilling smile softening his mouth. “Anything?”

Chapter 1