The Seeds of Man

Chapter Twelve

Luther Voss was angry, and for good reason. But he was determined to conceal his emotions as he entered the wood-paneled dining room. Sara Silverton was already present. She rose. And as she did, Voss couldn’t help but notice her beautiful heart-shaped face, her large, luminous eyes, and the way the black satin gown hugged her figure. He could feel her magnetism across the room and was determined to resist it. “Good evening, my dear,” Voss said. “You are, as always, a sight to behold.”

A slave was waiting to seat Voss as he took his place at the head of the table. Then it was Sara’s turn to be seated. Voss heard the soft swish of fabric and the rattle of chains as a slave appeared with a bottle of red wine from one of his vineyards. The manservant poured a small amount into the food lord’s glass and took a step back. “It’s average at best,” Voss announced after taking a sip. “But given the weather, that’s to be expected. You may pour.”

Once he was finished, the servant withdrew. “So,” Voss said as he toyed with his glass. “I learned something interesting today.”

Sara’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose incrementally. “Such as?”

“A spy has been living in my house.” Voss thought he could see a change in Sara’s expression. It was so subtle that only a person who had taken the time to study Sara would have noticed it. But she was a truly gifted actress if nothing else, and there were no obvious signs of dismay.

“Really?” Sara inquired lightly. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. The butler did it.”

“No,” Voss answered as he rang a silver bell. “I trusted this individual the way I would trust a brother.”

A door opened and a pair of mercenaries appeared. They were holding a bedraggled Elmer Trenton between them. His glasses were missing, one eye was swollen shut, and his face was black and blue. Sara looked at him, but Trenton’s eyes were on the floor. “What?” Voss demanded. “No wisecracks?”

“Trenton?” Sara said weakly. “A spy? That’s hard to believe.”

“Yes,” Voss agreed. “It is. But once Mrs. Winters tipped me off, things came together. Remember the eastbound caravan? The one that bandits attacked up in the mountains? I wondered how they knew the wagons were coming—and when they would arrive. But that was before I beat the crap out of Trenton here. He held out for a while… maybe three or four minutes. Then he spilled his guts. And guess what he told me? It seems you have a brother! A bandit named Crow. The same man who led the attack on the caravan. Or, put another way, you made use of Trenton to get at me.”

Sara’s face was pale, but there was a look of triumph in her eyes. “And it worked.”

“I should kill you.”

“That’s what you always say. Do it.”

“It’s tempting,” Voss replied. “But there’s a better way. Rather than put you out of your misery, I’m going to extend it. While we have dinner, these men are going to take Trenton outside and shoot him. Now, if you were the coldhearted bitch you pretend to be, that wouldn’t bother you. But you aren’t. So you’re going to remember this moment for the rest of your life. And it’s going to eat at you.”

Voss turned to the mercs. “Take him away. You know what to do.”

Trenton sought to make eye contact with Sara—as if looking for some sign that Voss was wrong, that he hadn’t been used. Sara stared at the plate in front of her. “I’m sorry, Elmer. I really am.”

Trenton’s shoulders sagged even further, and he made no attempt to resist as a merc led him out of the room. The muffled gunshot followed ten minutes later. Sara was staring at her salad. She shuddered, and Voss smiled. For some reason, the food was exceptionally good.

In spite of the satisfaction that Voss felt as a result of having identified and eliminated a traitor, the next couple of days were difficult, because despite his weakness for Sara, Trenton had been a very good business manager—so good that Voss took his services for granted. But not anymore. Now the full weight of the dead man’s responsibilities had been added to Voss’s shoulders, the latest crisis being a shutdown at the canning plant west of Afton, a problem that couldn’t have come at a worse time. The citizens of cities like Lander, Riverton, and Casper were eager to buy food before winter set in. But if Voss couldn’t preserve his produce, he wouldn’t be able to sell it.

So as Voss and a party of mercs rode north, then west, he was thinking about the situation and wishing he had a backup for Trenton. I will train two people this time, he thought, and set them against each other. As for Sara, well, time will tell. The problem is that she’s unique. The brother is an interesting development. What if I were to capture him? Sara would sing another tune then.

As Voss rode, the people on the road ahead of him hurried to pull over, merchants touched their hats, and overseers waved, all of which was to be expected. What wasn’t to be expected was the large group of slaves sitting around outside the cannery where they should have been hard at work.

A distraught overseer hurried out to meet him. Her name was Carnaby, and as Voss got down off his horse, she was already telling him about her problems. Voss listened as Carnaby led him inside the sprawling one-story structure. In truth it should have been called something other than a cannery, since canneries require cans, and nobody made them anymore. Or, if they did, it was in some other part of the country.

So glass jars were filled with beans, carrots, beets, asparagus, peas, onions, and the other vegetables his farms produced. Once the food was placed in the jars, they had to be immersed in boiling water, for up to ninety minutes in some cases. The problem was that rather than the electric power used in the past, Carnaby had been forced to rely on coal to boil the water. And coal was more difficult to work with.

So even though Voss would have preferred to be elsewhere dealing with matters of equal or even greater importance, he was forced to spend the next three hours working with Carnaby’s staff to get a recalcitrant boiler up and working again. By the time Voss mounted Odin for the ride home, he was tired and frustrated. The loss of electric power from the south was causing a multiplicity of problems, and they would have to be addressed. Soon.

A young man named Jonathan Appleby was waiting for Voss as he arrived home and entered his study. Appleby was tall, skinny, and dressed in what Voss thought of as city clothes. He had met the youth on previous occasions and knew him to be his mother’s administrative assistant. “Mrs. Voss said you might need some help,” Appleby said tactfully. “If so, I am to remain here for as long as you want me.”

Voss was anything but surprised, because even if his mother had surrendered day-to-day control of the family business to him, she had eyes and ears everywhere. Chances were that word of Trenton’s death had arrived at her house within an hour of the execution. So Appleby had been dispatched to fill the gap. Could Voss use him as one of the two assistants he planned to train? Possibly—realizing that Appleby was and would forever be linked to Voss’s mother. And that, come to think of it, could be her way of retaining some control. Regardless, Appleby would be a great help in the short run and Voss was happy to have him. “Excellent. Have a seat… I’ll try to bring you up to speed.”

“Thank you, sir,” the young man said politely. “But I took the liberty of moving into Trenton’s office. And thanks to the fact that he kept excellent records, I’m cognizant of what is going on.”

Voss smiled indulgently. Appleby was conceited, pompous, and ambitious. Someone to use but keep on a short chain. “Good. I’m all ears.”

It was a direct challenge and Appleby was ready. “I have three things to report, sir. First there is the matter of the city tax. I’m pleased to say that the mayor of Afton delivered twenty-five thousand rounds of mixed ammo today. It has been sorted, spot checked, and added to your reserves in the basement storage area.”

Voss lit a cigar. “Excellent. Would you like a smoke?”

Appleby wrinkled his nose. “No, thank you.”

“So,” Voss said lazily. “What’s the second item?”

“As you know, a man named Jeremy Kimble used to run a garbage mine over in Idaho Falls.”

“Used to?”

“Yes, sir. It seems that Trenton had a spy inside Kimble’s operation, and when bandits attacked, he managed to escape. Mr. Kimble’s fate is unknown.”

Voss blew a stream of blue smoke out toward the middle of the room. “What, if anything, do we know about the bandits?”

“According to Trenton’s spy, they were led by a man who calls himself the Crow. And they were well armed. That’s about it.”

“Crow! You’re sure?”

Appleby looked quizzical. “Yes, sir. That’s what the spy said.”

Voss nodded. It seemed that Sara’s brother was moving up in the world. Somehow, after botching the raid on the eastbound caravan, he had taken possession of a garbage mine. That would provide the bandit with a power base if he chose to take advantage of it. And one that was only a two- or three-day ride from Afton. Suddenly Voss had reason to celebrate his decision to keep Sara alive. She might be just the thing to keep Crow at bay while Voss dealt with more pressing issues. Like the need to send food convoys to eastern markets before winter set in. “All right,” Voss said. “That’s good to know. Very good indeed. And the final item?”

“I’m told you had a slave named Lora Larsy thrown into the hole. She’s been there for days now. If she’s still alive, what should we do with her?“

The truth was that Voss had been so consumed by the Trenton situation that Larsy had slipped his mind. What else had he forgotten? The possibility scared him. Focus, Voss told himself. Think about the seed vault. If such a place really exists, it would be very valuable indeed. Not just the seeds, but the nuclear power plant and the people who know how to run it. Can they duplicate the reactor? And construct one in Afton? That’s the real prize. But it wouldn’t do to reveal his plans to Appleton. Not yet anyway. “Oh, her,” Voss said dismissively. “Yes, she’s been in the hole long enough. Have someone check on her. If she’s alive, let me know.”

Appleby said, “Yes, sir,” and left. Voss felt a growing sense of suspense while the young man was gone and pretended to read a crop report as Appleby reentered the room. “She’s alive, sir. But hungry, not to mention filthy.”

“All right,” Voss said as he put the report on his desk. “Have someone feed and hose her down. I will speak with her shortly. In the meantime, send for Mrs. Winters.”

A good fifteen minutes passed before Voss heard a knock on the door. He said, “Come,” and watched Winters waddle into the room. The overseer was one of the most repugnant creatures he had ever seen. It wasn’t her size so much as the doughy face, the piggy eyes, and the excessively servile manner. She curtsied in front of his desk. “You sent for me, lord?”

Voss forced a smile. “Yes, I did… You may recall that I had a member of your staff thrown into the hole.”

“That would be the Larsy bitch,” Winters said caustically. “If anyone deserved it, she did.”

“Exactly,” Voss agreed smoothly. “But as it happens, she may be in possession of some important information. I’ll be speaking with her soon, and if she proves to be recalcitrant, I would like to have some leverage.”

“Recal— what, sir?”

“Difficult. If she’s difficult.”

“Yes, sir. I take your meaning. Clara, sir. She likes Clara.”

“Clara the maid?”

“Not anymore, sir. She’s a seamstress now.”

“Okay, fine. Have Clara brought to Mr. Appleby’s office. She can wait there.”

Such was Winters’s knowledge of current events that she didn’t ask who Appleby was. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“And Mrs. Winters…”

“Sir?”

“Keep up the good work.”

The look of pleasure on Winters’s face was plain to see as she backed out of the room. She would, Voss felt certain, continue to be an asset.

It was nearly dark outside by the time the mercs brought Lora Larsy into the study. She was clean and dressed in fresh clothes but looked emaciated, not surprising after days without food. But Voss could see something else in her face too—something he didn’t like. And that was a look of grim determination. She’s a strong one, Voss thought. But I have the means to break her. Appleton followed the mercs into the room. “Slave Larsy, sir. Per your request.”

Voss looked Larsy in the eye. Her chin trembled. “We meet again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know why I sent for you. All I want is the location of the habitat where you grew up. Give it to me and I will free you. Think about that… You could leave the valley and go wherever you want. Or, if you would prefer, you can stay here. So how about it? Will you tell? And make it easy on yourself?”

“No, sir.”

Voss’s fingers drummed the desk. “Okay, we’ll do this the hard way. Bring her in.”

Appleby left and returned moments later. He had Clara by the arm, and she looked scared. Voss turned his gaze to Larsy. “You know who this is.”

“Clara,” Larsy said weakly.

“That’s right,” Voss replied. “Your friend, Clara. Here’s the deal: tell me where the Sanctuary is, or one of my men will shoot Clara in the knee. The pain will be excruciating. But worse yet, she won’t be able to walk without crutches. Of course, that’s acceptable where a seamstress is concerned, since they work sitting down.”

Larsy looked at Clara, and Voss could see the look of anguish on her face. As for Clara, she was shaking like a leaf and looked like she might faint. When the words came, Voss could barely hear them. “What was that?”

“I’ll tell,” Larsy said pitifully.

“Excellent,” Voss said. “You made the right decision. Clara, you can return to your quarters. Appleby, please take Larsy here into your office and have her show you where the Sanctuary is on a map. And once you’re satisfied, let Mrs. Winters know. I’m sure she can find something for Larsy to do.”

Larsy was sobbing as Appleby led her away. The mercenaries followed. Voss glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. Dinner was half an hour away. Would he tell Sara about her brother’s exploits? Or keep her in the dark? The choice was his, and that felt good.

The next few days were busy as Voss sent a succession of food convoys east. Each one included twenty wagons, hundreds of mules, and an escort of mounted mercs.

Finally, having dispatched the last caravan, Voss returned to his home with plans to work on the trip north. According to Lora Larsy, the Sanctuary was located near Fort Vermillion, Canada. To get there and arrive with enough troops to conquer the place would be a major undertaking, especially since there was a strong possibility that he and his men would have to fight their way through the area controlled by the increasingly active Crusaders, the ever-vigilant Blackfoot Indians, and the half-crazy Blood Kin.

So with Appleby at his side, Voss was working on a list of supplies required for the expedition when he heard a commotion in the entry hall. That was followed by a knock and a formal request from a stone-faced footman. “Mr. Winthrop is here to see you, sir. He says the matter is urgent.”

Voss frowned. He wasn’t expecting a visit from Charlie Winthrop, and good news was rarely urgent. He nodded. “Send him in.”

As Charlie entered, Voss saw that the other man’s suit was soiled and his left arm was in a sling. Voss rose to circle the desk. “Charlie… what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m too old to be okay,” Charlie replied. “Mind if I sit down?”

“No, of course not.” Then, once the visitor was seated, Voss turned to Appleby. “This is Charlie Winthrop—an old friend of mine. Please send for refreshments.”

“Especially if the refreshments include a shot of whiskey,” Charlie put in. “I’d drink my own stuff, but I know what’s in it.”

“No need to wait,” Voss said as he went over to a side table and selected a bottle. “You’ll like this. It was distilled back when my father ran Star Valley.”

Charlie accepted the glass, drank half the amber liquid in a single gulp, and smiled appreciatively. “Now, that was smooth… Your father knew what he was doing.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Voss said. “Now, what happened to your arm?”

“I was down south again,” Charlie began. “Past the town of Border. And that’s when I came across your mercs.”

In the wake of the conflict with Hashi, Voss had stationed a group of mercenaries at the southern border of what he considered to be his territory for the express purpose of keeping an eye on the techno bitch. “Yes, what about them?”

“They’re dead,” Charlie answered evenly. “All six of them.”

Voss swore. “So the Ronin attacked them.”

Charlie tossed the rest of the drink back and put the glass down. “No, sir… I don’t think so. It wasn’t like that. When I found ‘em, they’d been dead awhile. It looked like most were in their sleeping bags, or had been, before some sort of bombs went off. And the others, the ones on watch—their guns were full up. They never fired a shot.”

Voss’s mind began to race. In post apocalyptic America, nobody left loaded guns lying around. Not when ammo was so valuable. So Charlie was correct. Had the mercs been attacked by Hashi’s Ronin, they would have taken everything of value. So what did that leave? The toy airplanes! What if Hashi had located the scouts using her drones and used aircraft loaded with explosives to attack them? Yes, that would fit. But why? He looked at Charlie. “Give me the rest of it.”

“I continued south,” Charlie said, “but I didn’t get far. Once I spotted columns of smoke in the distance, I turned around. But it was too late by then. Half a dozen Ronin came after me. The dogs attacked them and that gave me a chance to cut a horse loose. They winged me and captured the wagon, but I outran them.”

“And Blue?”

Charlie looked away. “Dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Voss said, and meant it. “I can’t replace Blue. Nobody can. But Jonathan will pay you a fair price for the wagon, your horses, and the poison you call ‘medicine.’ Plus something for your time.

“Now, given the circumstances, I hope you won’t be offended if I get to work. Most of my mercs are east of here, escorting food convoys, and chances are that Hashi knew that. So she’s making her move.”

Charlie stood. “Can you stop her?”

Voss shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s holding most of the cards. Here, have some cigars.”

Charlie scooped a handful out of the open humidor and tucked them away. Then, with a nod to Voss, he allowed Appleby to lead him out into the hall. Voss swiveled around to look out at the road. Hashi was coming and wouldn’t be happy until she owned Star Valley. The war had begun.

Within hours after receiving the report from Charlie, Voss briefed a group of scouts about the possibility of remotely piloted drones and sent them down to replace those who had been killed. The next step was to gather his forces and move them south. The problem was that nearly sixty percent of the mercs were on convoy duty, and Voss couldn’t remove the rest from the valley without running the risk of a slave rebellion.

The answer was to call on the mayor of Afton for assistance. Since more than half of the people in town were directly or indirectly employed by Voss Enterprises, the response was quite gratifying. Within a matter of hours, the mayor was able to field three companies of militia totaling about three hundred men.

That was the good news. The bad news was that while all of them could shoot and ride, they hadn’t trained together, weren’t used to military-style discipline, and would constitute a tremendous drain on Voss’s resources. They would need ammo to fight, large quantities of food, and all the support services required by cavalry in the field. That included blacksmiths, farriers, and saddlers. Never mind the wagoners, cooks, and medical personnel required. All of which was made more painful by the fact that Voss expected to lose at least two-thirds of the militia to Hashi’s Ronin. Terrible casualties, to be sure, but worth it if he could use the townies to buy more time. Then, once his defenses were ready, the mercs not required in the valley would move forward to engage the Ronin. That would constitute the real battle.

Behind the militia, and marching as quickly as they could, were two hundred male slaves, all armed with farm implements. They couldn’t be expected to fight but would be invaluable when it came to preparing the necessary defenses. And finally, with guards all around, were the three wagons carrying Voss’s field gear—plus something else. Rather than leave Sara at home, where she might cause more mischief, Voss had chosen to bring her along. Her prediction, if it could be dignified as such, was that thunder would roll, a steel rain would fall, and blood would flow like a river. But who’s blood? She couldn’t or wouldn’t say.

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.

Voss had assumed that the machines couldn’t operate at night. He was wrong. That became apparent when a drone with a four-foot wingspan swooped in and fired a single shot. The pilot, who was stationed hundreds of miles to the southwest and was “looking” at the scene via a satellite relay, missed the man he was aiming for. But the bullet hit the townie’s horse, which reared and threw him off. Then, maddened by the pain, the animal galloped down the ravine.

As the first aircraft disappeared into the darkness, another attacked. The motor produced a high-pitched whine as the drone bore in from the south, only this time Hollings was ready for it. As the machine came into range, he and another townie fired their shotguns. The aircraft exploded as it ran into a cloud of lead pellets. Pieces of hot shrapnel flew in every direction. A chunk of metal hit one of the scouts in the temple and killed him instantly. A townie was wounded.

Meanwhile, all hell was breaking loose to the north as the townies launched an attack on the Ronin. That was good, but not good enough, as Voss learned when a horse and rider skidded down into the ravine. Voss could barely make him out in the gloom. “They’re on to us, sir. A whole lot of Ronin are coming this way.”

“How many?”

“It’s too dark to tell, sir. Fifteen? Twenty? Something like that.”

“Tether your horses,” Voss shouted. “Get up on the edge of the ravine. Prepare to fire, but wait for my command.”

Kovo ordered the wounded man to remain with the horses as the rest of them scrambled up the slope. The element of surprise had been lost, so the fuel truck was out of reach now. Voss knew that. All he could do was try to discourage pursuit and make a run for it.

There was a thunder of hooves as the Ronin came closer. They were determined to catch up with the raiding party before it could escape. So they rode hard, saw the edge of the ravine, and were starting to rein their horses in when Voss shouted, “Fire!”

Tongues of flame stabbed the night. Horses screamed as shotgun pellets struck them. The rattle of assault weapons was a sharp counterpoint to the overlapping booms that the shotguns made as the townies opened fire. Horses went down, Ronin were blown out of their saddles, and screams added to the din.

But the battle wasn’t one-sided. Slugs threw up divots of dirt all around, and the man next to Voss fell as he gave another order. “Grenades!”

Bombs flew through the air, exploded among the enemy, and cut the survivors down. “Back to the horses!” Voss shouted. “We’re pulling out.”

They rode hard. And even though Voss feared that one or more drones would swoop out of the darkness, none did. Maybe the machines were being employed elsewhere—or maybe there was a limited number of them. Whatever the reason, the raiders were able to make their way back to Geneva without suffering additional casualties.

A cluster of old buildings had been taken over and were being used as a makeshift headquarters. A bedroom in an old house had been prepared for Voss’s use. It was furnished with campaign-style furniture including a bed. After splashing some water onto his face and eating a sliced beef sandwich, Voss went out to make the rounds.

The cavalry company had paid a heavy price, and since Voss had been forced to abort the raid, the deaths were for nothing. Only sixteen of the hundred men had survived, and half of them were wounded. They were quartered in an old barn, and Voss made a point of speaking with each and every one of them before meeting with Kovo, then falling into bed.

The knocking sound came seconds later. Or that was the way it seemed, until a glance at his watch confirmed that more than two hours had passed. And the sun was up, judging from the light that was leaking in between the hastily hung curtains. Voss sat up. “Come in.”

Kovo entered the room, hat in hands. “Sorry to bother you, sir… but I have news.”

Voss put his feet on the floor. “What kind?”

“Both kinds, sir. The good news is that the missile launchers arrived. I sent them up to the gun positions.”

“Excellent,” Voss said as he pulled his pants on. “And the bad news?”

“The enemy tractors are pushing forward with the Ronin right behind them.”

Voss buttoned his shirt. “And the drones?”

“There have been a dozen sightings.”

“So Hashi knows about the cavalry units positioned east and west?”

Kovo nodded. “Yes, sir. The Ronin sent cavalry to protect their flanks.”

Voss buckled the gun rig around his waist. “How about the howitzers? Does Hashi know about those?”

“No, sir. Not so far as I know.”

“Well, that’s good news. Not that it matters. The element of surprise would be nice, but it isn’t critical. Have someone fetch Odin.”

“He’s ready, sir.”

“Thank you. And one more thing. Let’s take Miss Silverton with us.”

Half an hour later, Voss, Sara, and a small party of mercs were stationed on top of a knoll, where, thanks to a bright green flag, the townies, gun crews, Ronin, and drones could see them. The fact that they were on horseback made the group that much more visible.

The gesture was part bravado and part common sense. The idea was to encourage the townies, show the gunners what to avoid, and provide Voss with a good view. The drones could attack, but if they did, Voss was counting on mercs to keep the machines at bay. “So,” Voss said as the black tractors entered the maze of traps that cut across the valley. “How will the battle go?”

Sara was wearing a custom-made outfit that consisted of a frothy white blouse, a brown jacket, tan riding pants, and knee-high boots. The chains weren’t practical in that situation. And there was little chance of escape, since a merc had hold of the twenty-foot-long tether that was connected to Sara’s horse. She squinted into the harsh sunlight. “I told you. Thunder will roll, a steel rain will fall, and blood will flow like a river.”

“That’s obvious,” Voss responded. “Kovo could make that prediction.”

Sara turned to look at him. Her eyes were slightly out of focus. A gust of wind tugged at her hair. “You will win, and you will lose. That is all I can see.”

Voss was about to respond when a merc shouted, “Here they come,” and Voss brought the binoculars up to his eyes. From a distance, the Ronin seemed to rise and fall like waves in a sea of black. There were at least a thousand of them, many with swords waving in the air. Voss spoke without lowering the glasses. “Send the cavalry in.”

In spite of what had occurred the night before, the townies were brave. Voss had to give them that. Or were they afraid of him? Not that it mattered. Out they went, cutting into the ranks of Ronin waiting to face them, firing as they rode. The knoll was at least a mile from the melee, but Voss could hear the crackle of gunfire and see swords flashing in the sun.

The Ronin on the east side of the valley gave under the weight of the assault, a hole opened, and the townies poured in. Voss said, “No!” but it was too late. The hole closed, and the townies were surrounded and effectively cut to pieces.

The action on the west side of the gap was different. The townies rode in, slid off their horses, and began to fire from cover as teenage boys led their horses to the rear. The black-clad Ronin went down in successive waves as they rode into the hail of bullets, and Voss knew why. Hollings was in command—a man worth recruiting if he survived.

Meanwhile the rest of the Ronin, at least five hundred of them, were going straight up the middle. They looked like an army of black ants as columns of riders followed scouts through a maze of ditches and pits. Voss turned to Kovo. “Order the guns to fire.”

Kovo spoke into a microphone. A minute passed. Then a loud boom was heard, followed by another, and one more. Widely separated puffs of smoke appeared in the hills off to the west. As they passed over Voss’s head, the shells made shrieking sounds, followed by thunderous booms as they landed. Columns of dirt mixed with dimly seen bodies, and parts of bodies shot up into the air as two rounds fell in among the Ronin. The third fell short and exploded harmlessly. “Tell that gunner to correct his aim, or I will go up there and shoot him,” Voss said grimly.

Kovo spoke into the mike, but Voss couldn’t hear him as a shell rumbled overhead. It was stupid to stay on the knoll. He realized that now. A short round could kill him and the rest of the command party. But he couldn’t leave without losing face, sending the wrong signal to his troops, or both. So Voss sat tall in the saddle and did his best to look unconcerned as the shells continued to fall.

The howitzers were capable of firing four or even five rounds per minute in experienced hands. But that wasn’t the case here. Voss figured the guns were putting out one round per minute on average. Most of the shells were on target, and the barrage was taking a toll. One tractor was a smoking wreck, another was badly damaged, and it was only a matter of time before the rest took hits. He was winning!

“Drones are attacking the guns,” Kovo announced. “But the missiles brought two of them down.”

Voss looked west but couldn’t see anything. That was when Sara spoke. “Look left!”

The warning came just in time. A dozen Ronin had been able to work their way through the maze on foot. And now, with the enemy leader in sight, they swarmed up out of a brushy ravine, firing as they came.

Kovo was snatched out of the saddle, and a second merc fell. Voss fired his pistol as a Ronin charged him. The bullet smashed into the mercenary’s face but failed to kill him. He fell, but his right boot was caught in a stirrup. The Ronin’s horse dragged him away.

Meanwhile Sara grabbed hold of the lead that controlled her horse, gave a jerk, and felt the rope come free as the merc assigned to guard her took a slug in the chest. Sara kicked her horse into motion and rode straight out into the area where the artillery shells had been falling. But the guns were out of ammo by then.

Voss caught up with Sara, grabbed her reins, and brought the roan under control. Only then did he turn to look south. The area in front of him looked like a moonscape. Craters overlapped one another and a carpet of black-clad bodies littered the battlefield. Beyond that, what remained of Hashi’s army was in full retreat, the irony being that the guns were out of ammo, and had the Ronin pressed forward they would have been able to clear the maze and enter the valley beyond. “What will you do now?” Sara wanted to know.

“Chase them,” Voss said grimly, “all the way to Sage. I need a buffer.”

“So,” he said, as their eyes met. “You were wrong. You said I would win, and you said I would lose. I won.”

Sara smiled. “Ah, but it isn’t over yet.”