“We’ll hit them tomorrow,” Alec told Jameson. “Take the village and hold it long enough to replenish our supplies, get fresh horses, and question them about Douglas’ headquarters.”
“Maybe they’ve got a truck,” Jameson said, almost wistfully. It was such a difference from his usual matter-of-fact tone that it startled Alec. He doesn’t like riding horses any more than I do!
“Maybe,” Alec said, keeping his smile inward.
“Tonight,” Ferret hissed. “Go when it’s dark, huh?”
Shifting slightly in his prone position, enough to make the leaves crinkle under him, Alec disagreed. “No. Tonight they’ll bottle themselves up inside their wall. Probably they’ll have dogs out among the huts that would set up a yowl as soon as we approached. I wouldn’t want to try to climb over that wall while the villagers are shooting at me.”
Ferret’s narrow, pinched face pulled into a scowl.
“We’ll hit them tomorrow, when the men are out in the fields working. We can work our way through the corn right up to their gate.”
Jameson added, “We’d better also take that supply wagon while it’s on the way into the village. Don’t want anybody riding off to spread an alarm.”
“Good thinking,” Alec agreed.
The Sun was high in the early afternoon sky. The day was warm and drowsy with the buzz of insects. An old man, paunchy, mustacheoed, sat on a chair in the open gate of the village wall, his head on his chest, snoozing gently. An ancient shotgun lay across his lap.
Alec lay prone at the edge of the cornfield, watching the old man, giving his other men time to work their way through the tall rows of corn. It had taken nearly an hour, inching through the field slowly, crawling on their stomachs, avoiding the men picking the corn down at the far end of the field.
Now they were ready. Alec got to his feet and stepped out quickly, head ducked low, and snatched the shotgun from the old man’s hands.
“Huh... wha...”
Alec handed the gun to Ferret, on his left, as he hissed, “Not a sound, grandfather. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”
They stood him up and marched him inside the gate. “Close it,” Alec ordered. The old man did it, with help from one of Alec’s men. Alec left the youngster there to watch the old man and marched the rest of his troop past the quiet huts toward the center of the village. He could hear the horse-drawn wagon clattering and creaking up ahead, but could not see it because the narrow village street twisted between rows of huts. Then a man’s deep voice rumbled, “Hey, what the hell’s going on here?”
Quickening his pace, Alec made his way to the cleared area at the center of the village. Jameson was standing atop the wagon, an automatic rifle resting casually on his hip, its muzzle pointing at the handful of villagers who stood in the clearing, looking shocked and alarmed. Gianelli and the other men whom Alec had sent out to capture the wagon were already fanning around the edges of the clearing. Down the lane by which the wagon had come, Alec could see two of his young bowmen swinging shut the village’s other gate.
Most of the villagers in the clearing were women. A few small children clung to their mothers, already frightened. A couple of older men were easing back away from the wagon, their eyes on Jameson and his gun.
From behind them, Alec said, “You’d better stand still, all of you.”
They jumped with surprise, then froze. Alec walked past them, up to the horses that pulled the wagon. They stood stolidly, placid-eyed, neither knowing nor caring about the games the humans played.
“We don’t want anyone hurt,” Alec said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We don’t intend to hurt any of you.”
Standing under Jameson’s protective gun, Alec ordered, “Gianelli, take your men and search every hut. I want everyone out here in the open. If there’s any trouble,” he pointed to the three men who now stood glaring at him, “these three will be shot immediately. Then the others.” Alec said it without looking at the women and children.
“There won’t be any trouble ‘less you make it,” one of the women spat. She was lean and hard and splintery-looking as the logs from which the huts were made.
“Good,” Alec said. “Then we’ll get along fine.”
They secured the village quickly, Gianelli’s men rousting out another half-dozen old men and women and a few more children. Plus a fair-sized array of guns, including a carbine and a submachine gun. And many crates of ammunition, all new-looking. Made in the past year, Alec thought.
Then Alec had his men reopen the gates and stay out of sight behind the wall, awaiting the return of the village men from their fields. The villagers were returned to their huts and ordered to stay quietly inside them.
Jameson, satisfied that everything was under control, jumped down from the wagon. “Not bad,” he said. “Twenty minutes to seize, search, and settle the prisoners.”
Alec relaxed enough to grin at him.
“Got a surprise for you,” Jameson told him, starting for the back of the wagon.
“Did you have any trouble taking the wagon?” Alec asked.
“No. Driver and two gunners, same as the past few days. Coming in for corn and hay. They didn’t put up a fight, they saw they were covered. Got them in here...”
He dropped the wagon’s rear panel and pulled a ragged covering off the three lumpy shapes back there.
“Angela!”
She was lying on the wagon’s floor with two young men, all of them bound with their wrists behind their backs, their ankles tied together. Gags stuffed their mouths. She looked furious.
“She was one of the gunners. Tried to shoot me, too, before the driver convinced her she’d only get all three of them killed,” Jameson said, a respectful smile on his face. “I thought you’d want to talk to her.”
Alec jumped up on the wagon and pulled the gag from her mouth.
“I should’ve shot you,” she snarled at Jameson. “If I’d thought you’d do this to me...”
“Quiet,” Alec snapped. “Ron acted under my orders. We didn’t want the wagon crew to give the villagers an alarm.” He started to untie her wrists.
“I would have, too!” She yanked her hands free of the loosened cords and sat up, reaching for her ankles.
“What are you doing on a job like this?” Alec wondered.
