War World X: Takeover (16 page)

On the ride home, excitement drove Chuluun’s thoughts. The women with child would have to leave soon because the wagons moved slower than the riders. Chuluun and his captains would lead the two troops of riders. The women would stop in a safe place to wait while Chuluun led the raid on Purity.

“We shall destroy Purity,” said Ganzorig, as he rode on Chuluun’s right. “I’ve lived for this day.”

“The spoils will keep our people alive,” said Chuluun. “We just need to get away again.”

“That accursed company town. We’ll pick them clean.”

“Do you trust the Americans?” Chuluun asked.

“I trust no one,” said Ganzorig. “I trust their desire for our help. We made an alliance, not a friendship.”

Chuluun turned to Naran, who was not likely to speak unless he was asked. “What do you think?”

“They want allies. That’s why they let us pass through their land when we first came here. They did not want trouble with us.”

“Americans fear no one,” said Chuluun.

“Not fear,” said Naran. “In earlier times, they were desperate. They understand hunger—and they hate CoDo and the mining companies as much as we do. They have enough enemies.”

Ganzorig threw back his head and laughed into the cold wind. “Hatred makes strong alliances, my friends.”

Chuluun thought again of the scars on his friend’s back from the Reynolds lash and said nothing.

At home with Tuya, Chuluun watched as she shifted her weight in her padded chair. “You will not take their women?”

“Of course not,” Chuluun said angrily. “After we surround the town, I will send an offer for them to surrender.”

“What offer?”

“If they surrender the town, we will take what we need, but we will not hurt anyone. No killing, no burning. No dishonoring their women. That will be my promise.”

“That’s the promise given in olden times by the great khans on their wars of conquest.”

“Yes, I learned this from our history.”

“And if they refuse?”

“We must take what we need. We will not dishonor the women.”

“I hope the townspeople surrender.” Tuya sighed. “Now I want to see this rifle Ganzorig gave you. I’ll pack more cartridges for it if we have them. It’s a good weapon?”

“It’s good. I’ll show you what my friend gave me.”

Chuluun led the way on the long, rugged trip down to the Shangri-La Valley. Each rider led a string of two or three free mounts, each with empty pack saddles, panniers, or manties to carry the loot from the raid faster than wagons could move. Along they way, Chuluun often led hunts, as much to keep the men occupied as for food. He hunted with the Winchester and found that it fired true.

Taking the extra mounts was an act of desperation. Chuluun’s order had nearly deprived his people at home of any mounts on which to tend their herds. While he and the troops were gone, the remaining livestock would dwindle even more. If Chuluun failed to return with his share of a big, new herd, his people would starve or go begging, maybe to become enslaved again.

Chuluun’s route first took them west from the Girdle of God Mountains, then south. In the first return since their escape, the Free Tribe journeyed through the Karakul Pass down into the Shangri-La Valley. At last they reached the region where the women would wait for their time of labor. Chuluun sent scouts ahead to rendezvous with the Americans and learn when the Dover Mining herd would approach Purity.

Every day as they waited, Ganzorig and Naran drilled their riders afresh. The First Troop, under Ganzorig, was aggressive and enthusiastic, following the personality of their captain. The Second Troop, in its tight discipline and crisp movements, showed the imprint of Naran’s command.

During every dinner time in the long Haven nights, Chuluun walked with his two captains from one cookfire to another, greeting his riders. Their handshakes and shouts of welcome heartened him. They offered him kumiss from their private caches and told ribald stories to pass the time. Ganzorig would tell stories and joke with the riders in his turn. Naran shook hands and asked after the riders’ well-being. The thirty-seven women riders, scattered among the patrols of both troops, greeted Chuluun and asked if Tuya was well, knowing she carried the first heir of the Free Tribe.

Every night, he reminded his riders of the offer he would make: If the people of Purity surrendered, the riders would harm no one and leave the town standing when they left with their spoils.

One night as Chuluun completed his rounds and walked away from the troops with Ganzorig and Naran, he thought to himself that he had done little for his people except to lead the breakout from the mining camp. The escape had been arranged by his mentor, the late Bataar, now remembered as the First Khan of the steppes. Chuluun played the role of khan for his people as best he could.

“They love their Khan,” said Ganzorig. He clapped Chuluun on the back.

“They do.” Naran nodded gravely.

Chuluun said nothing. He desperately hoped the townspeople would surrender.

One night, Chuluun awoke to the hoofbeats of a single rider approaching the wagon where he slept with Tuya. He rose, drew on his boots and his del, and jumped out to the ground.

A scout drew up in front of him. “Chuluun Khan.”

“Speak.”

“The Americans are in position and the big herd will be near them soon. They are ready to strike if we are.”

“We are,” said Chuluun. “At the next dawn, then?”

“That is their choice, too.”

“Tell them it will be done.”

“Yes, Chuluun Khan.” The scout reined away to find a fresh mount and return to the American camp with his message.

Chuluun climbed back into the wagon.

Tuya had lit a small lamp. “My time is coming. I feel it.”

He drew in a breath, suddenly cold with fear. “I’ll send for the midwife and her helpers.”

“I heard the scout. You must go prepare the riders.”

Terrified for her deep in his gut, he looked at his ray of light in the glow from the lamp. “I would rather stay here.” He knew that anywhere on Haven, women often died in childbirth.

“Go! Just send the midwife.”

Chuluun embraced her quickly, then jumped back out of the wagon.

At dawn on a slope overlooking the town of Purity, Chuluun reined in his mount. He had the Model 1911 Colt .45 stuck in the sash around his del, and carried the Winchester Model 94 in his right hand. The town looked small from here, with two large streets forming a cross in the middle, an open space forming a modest town square. Small streets, crooked and uneven, split from the main thoroughfares.

Ganzorig drew up on Chuluun’s right. Naran reined in at his left.

“The town still sleeps,” said Chuluun. Somewhere far behind him, Tuya was in her wagon with the midwife. He shook his head, driving away the thought.

Ganzorig pointed to rising clouds of dust in the distance. “The Americans are on the attack. We must move.”

“Forward, Captain Ganzorig,” Chuluun ordered. He hoped to finish the raid quickly and return to Tuya as soon as he could. “Stand fast,” he said to Naran.

Ganzorig reined away, shouting orders.

Chuluun watched as Ganzorig led the First Troop in a canter down the slope, where he would take a wide loop around the town. They would cut off the back route to the nearest Dover Mines and the guards and CoDominium Marines stationed there. The riders thundered away in a tight line, those at the rear leading strings of pack animals on long leads.

As the column drew small, Chuluun turned to Naran. “Forward.”

Chuluun spurred his mount as Naran shouted orders. While Ganzorig’s First Troop raced in their arc to the rear of Purity, Chuluun led the charge directly down the slope to block the road where the townspeople expected the big herd to draw near.

His heart raced as the wind blasted his face. Letting his mount have his head with the reins in his left hand, Chuluun held the Winchester high and felt the sheer joy of the ride. Behind him, the riders whooped and shouted.

By the time Chuluun had reached the base of the slope, he could see townspeople running out into the streets. He slowed to a trot, bringing Naran and the Second Troop to the road at a distance of about a thousand paces from the town. The discipline of Naran’s troops, drawing up behind him in a wide line, pleased him. Naran had drilled them well.

Behind Chuluun, a huge billow of dust rose into the sky above the area where the Americans had intercepted the herd. He could just barely hear the snap of distant firearms. Chuluun’s riders could not waste any time.

“Naran, send the messengers.”

Two riders cantered forward, one who spoke some Russian and another who spoke some English.

Chuluun waited as his messengers conferred with a small knot of men standing at the edge of town. He looked over the town while he waited. Now that he was close, it seemed dirty, drab, and slapdash, a place of little prosperity and no hope. He thought again of the mines he had escaped, first in Dongbei Province and later on Haven.

His messengers rode back at a gallop and reined in.

“Speak,” said Chuluun.

“They want to know what assurance we give,” said one man.

“What did you see when you were up there?” Chuluun asked.

“Chuluun Khan, we can see men and women with rifles in the windows of all the buildings,” said the second messenger. “We can take the town easily, but they will die fighting.”

“Stand fast,” Chuluun said to Naran. He spurred his mount into a canter, signaling for the messengers to join him.

When Chuluun arrived at the knot of men standing together, he found a stout, white-haired white man in a rumpled white shirt and black pants glaring up at him.

“I’m Mayor Fordham Higgins,” the man said. “Now why should I believe any damned promise from you?”

Chuluun waited for the translation. “I came forward to give you my sworn oath. I swear it now. If you believe I can’t be trusted, have one of your people shoot me.” He nodded toward the windows of small, wooden buildings, where he could see townspeople, still tousle-haired with sleep, holding firearms.

Higgins looked up at him and looked at the line of Naran’s Second Troop, waiting to charge. His face showed resignation.