The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (68 page)

“You sound as if you admire them,” Renaud said with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Admire? Well, maybe that’s a bit strong. However, let us say that mutual respect is not out of the debate.”

Before the Frenchman could voice an opinion, the bugle announced officers’ call and the British captain smiled, tapped his white-gloved fingers to his helmet, and then rode off toward the Turkish cavalry. His regimental colors went with him. Renaud watched the two riders’ backs and then wondered just what the sneaky English were up to. He soon spurred his horse, almost slipped from the saddle, and then awkwardly followed.

*   *   *

John Henry Thomas was in the lead column of fifteen marine riders. They escorted the line of eighteen heavily laden wagons driven by the naval crews, including the cooks and the engineers. The outriders on each side of the line were twenty more marines on horseback.

Stretching out before John Henry’s eyes was the expansive Plain of Ararat. He saw the four squared positions taken up by the Turkish regiment. To the regiment’s left were the detached British light brigade. He took note of the fact that Her Majesty’s cavalry had not committed to any course of action, which told John Henry that his hunch about the legality of this confrontation was dubious at best. He hoped.

Claire watched Thomas from the seat of the front wagon. She had insisted on being able to see what their fate would be, mostly wanting to make sure a certain colonel wasn’t shot from his saddle. Claire saw John Henry raise his gloved hand and the men and wagons came to a slow stop. The wind had picked up and blew the Stars and Stripes outward, blocking her view of the approaching forces.

John Henry turned in his saddle to make sure that the wagons had stopped. Once he had Claire in sight he turned away and saw eight men riding toward his column. One rider carried the standard of the empire, a pure white flag with an elongated blue cross sectioning the banner. He noted once more that the two representatives of Great Britain carried only a regimental flag, two facing lions with crossed swords. No Union Jack, at least for the time being. The riders stopped a hundred yards to the front of the American line.

Thomas hoped his freshly pressed uniform was good enough to die in. The gold-yellow stripe that coursed down his pant legs to the top of his knee-high boots made him feel whole again, that he was once more a cavalryman. He only wished Sergeant Major Dugan was at his side. The colonel spurred his mount forward to meet the men who had come a long way to meet him.

John Henry rode his horse with authority, reining in the large roan only feet from the eight men, making their mounts shy away. Thomas backed his horse away, showing the Europeans his horsemanship. Deep down, Thomas was hopeful the horse didn’t step in a groundhog burrow—so much for the dramatic entrance. He stopped the horse four feet from the men, bringing his right gauntlet to the brim of his white hat and then saluting the men before him.

“Colonel John Henry—”

“Thomas. Yes, we are aware of who you are, Colonel,” said the large Turkish officer in the abundantly decorated green uniform. The fez upon his head was bright red and would have caused Sergeant Major Dugan to lose all self-control if he had been there. Thomas actually smiled at the thought and the men in front of him noticed that smile. “You, sir, are to be escorted to our border, or the nearest seaport, for expulsion from the empire.”

“A rather harsh punishment for merely being delayed in the railroad’s construction.” John Henry half-turned in his saddle and gestured at the wagons. “We now have our soil and core samples from the survey and are escorting them to the Port of Trabzon.”

“Colonel Thomas, we are well aware of your mission’s parameters and are here to assure the sultan that no empire property leaves the country. Therefore we must confiscate your wagons.”

“Very well, sir. I assume you can provide the written order from the sultan?” John Henry held the large Turk’s eyes. The man blinked and it was not just from the rays of the rising sun behind the American column.

“Colonel, we are here to confiscate the cargo of those wagons. Any interference from you or your men will result in a situation that I guarantee you cannot handle.”

“Not without a signed order. I have my duty also. You will have to physically take my cargo.” Thomas moved the large roan forward a few steps so the men before him could see his eyes and judge if he were bluffing or not.

“Hhm, hhmm,” the prim British captain cleared his throat. “Colonel, I see your point, but I’m afraid my Turkish ally does not. I am not even sure if he knows what a bluff is, in military terms that is.”

“And you are, sir?”

“Who I am makes little difference at this point. Suffice it to say that Her Majesty would prefer the contents of those crates stay where it was that you found them.”

John Henry only looked at the captain, trying to judge what his orders were. He thought the captain played his hand well in not saying anything at all.

“Enough of this. Will you surrender your wagons, Colonel Thomas?”

“No, sir. We worked very hard building those.”

John Henry watched as the Englishmen slowly turned and rode back to their own unit. He also turned and rode back to his column, where a marine corporal was awaiting his orders.

“As soon as the Turkish regiment starts its advance, do not wait on me. Fire the red signal.”

“Yes, sir, Colonel,” the boy said and then tore off toward the rear of the column. Thomas turned to his fourteen men. “Form a skirmish line. Bring the remaining men up.”

The fourteen marines sent their mounts in a straight line for a hundred yards in front of the wagons and then turned sharply left. The men from the wagon escort arrived and broke right. A skirmish line of thirty-four mounted United States Marines stood in between the greatest prize in the world and nine hundred men determined to stop them. The American flag was placed next to the bright red Marine Corps flag and they both marked the center of the line as John Henry took his place in front and then waited.

He was soon joined by the lance corporal commanding his right flank.

John Henry nodded and looked around him. His eyes momentarily went to the front wagon and the woman sitting on the bench next to her driver. He smiled when he saw the Spencer carbine in her hands.

*   *   *

As the British captain reined in his horse, he turned to the general.

“Your plan of action, General?” he asked the puffed-out marionette attached to the main puppeteer, the empire’s foreign office.

“I figure the straight-on approach. Should not take more than a few moments to take such a weak adversary; it’s almost unsporting.”

The captain smirked as he turned back to the front and saw the American colonel sitting atop his horse, just waiting.

“Yes, almost,” he said as he wondered if the Turk felt as uneasy as himself. He looked over at the heavily mustachioed general. No, he was oblivious as he proudly scanned his line of march. His men and mounts were perfectly aligned and the general pushed out his chest even farther as the initial three hundred cavalrymen inched ever closer to the Americans.

A bright red rocket suddenly burst and spread its fiery trail across the sky to the east at the rear of the wagons.

“Ah, a signal perhaps?” the captain said as if merely commenting on an unusual sight.

“Does it matter, my friend? No one can stand up to my regiment on open ground. We are the greatest light cavalry in the—”

The drums drowned out all noise from the plain. The sound of more than three hundred sets of hooves was nothing compared to the heavy beating of the bass drums as they tattooed a rhythm that was reminiscent of the long-ago Roman legions.

The general held his right hand high in the air, bringing the forward progress of the Seventh Guards Regiment to a halt.

“Bad idea, sir. Keep your regiment moving forward.”

The general didn’t answer as he was looking to a far-off knoll that blocked his view of the canyons beyond. The sound of the many drums banged and echoed off the rock facade of the canyon. And still the drums seemed to increase in volume.

“What is this?” the general asked loudly so he could be heard over the infernal beat of the drums.

“I would say it is at least a regimental-sized band coming your way.”

“Regimental?”

Trumpets started sounding and the British captain looked to see several of the front-line cavalrymen had to stay their horses to keep them from bolting. The situation was loud and very frightening to anyone who had never seen a battlefield before. And still the heavy beat of the drums grew ever louder.

“Look, sir!” an aide pointed to the first series of canyons and from the mouth of the far left came riders. Their mounts were trotting. The leading officer was wearing a nontraditional cavalry helmet; as a matter of fact, it was no helmet at all. It was a naval department two-cornered hat. The double line of cavalrymen flowed out of the canyon behind him. The American flag waved in the breeze as the large unit of blue-clad cavalrymen came on. The drum beat made the waiting Turks wary of what might come from the canyon next.

The Turkish captain turned and watched his own men in the near distance as they in turn watched the unknown American unit come on. They were still but watchful.

The uniforms were immaculate. They all wore brightly colored blue tunics and their brass buttons shined in the early morning sunlight. Still, the infernal drums from hell boomed on and the trumpets played as though Julius Caesar himself was leading the procession. The line of Turks started to seriously hold their frightened mounts in check.

“Steady, men, steady!” the general shouted as he turned toward the faltering line of Ottoman troops. “It’s all for show! Steady on!”

The British officer raised his brows at the general’s pronouncement. He turned to the lieutenant who was acting as his second-in-command.

“If this is for show, I don’t know if I want to stay around for the curtain call.”

The drums actually increased in volume as if whoever was striking them were attempting to smash them to oblivion. The trumpets echoed off the canyon’s walls and made them sound as if a hundred trumpeters announced the American movement.

Finally the double column of more than a hundred and thirty-five men took up station to the far left of the American line. A lone officer sat atop a horse, placed his sword in front of his face, and then gave it a flourish in acknowledgement of Colonel John Henry Thomas, who only nodded and smiled at the proud marine officer. Parnell had led his men out as if they had been on parade in front of the president, which most of the young band members had done.

Suddenly the trumpets stopped as suddenly as they had begun. The drums gave one final flourish as the last line of men came to a stop, sitting straight and deadly looking to the common observer. The flag of the American nation proudly flew side by side with the flag of the United States Army and next to that the solid red flag of the Marine Corps.

“What the bloody hell is this? Where did these soldiers come from? My intelligence reports said nothing of a cavalry unit traveling with these supposed engineers!”

The British colonel rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps these men are not what you believe them to be, General? Maybe you were actually sent here to face an enemy that will shoot back?”

The general watched as the two British officers turned their horses opposite the line of Americans.

“Where do you go, sir?” asked the Turkish officer.

“I was ordered to observe, sir. I have done so, and now will report to my superiors what it was I observed.” The captain dug his spurs into his horse’s sides and both Englishmen sprinted toward their own men. “Good luck to you, sir!”

“Cowards!” the general bravely said, trying to impress his subordinates with his bravado. They were not.

“Orders, General?”

“The order is to advance and take those wagons. Our reserve will attend to these men, who still find themselves sorely outnumbered.”

His officers exchanged doubting looks.

“Sir, we don’t even know what units we face,” said his second-in-command.

The general turned on him. “It does not matter. This unit can outfight any American cavalry unit!”

The men in the HQ command had heard the newspaper stories of the American cavalry regiments and their bravery. They had read about the glamorous charges of men like General John Buford and the young General Custer at Gettysburg, and romantic newspaper accounts of the maniacal maneuvering of the Confederates Jeb Stuart and the far more famous General Stonewall Jackson. No, they had their doubts about the ineptitude of American cavalry units according to the general’s opinion.

“All units advance on my command! Bring up the reserve. We go in as one mighty regiment.”

The men in his command turned and saw the three hundred British cavalrymen ride off to the west toward Constantinople. Finally the men broke and rode to their individual units.

“Forward!” the general called out loudly.

A bugle sounded and the Turkish advance commenced.

*   *   *

John Henry cursed as the first bluff failed to send the Turks running. He turned in his saddle and saw the sun as it crested the summit of Ararat.

“Anytime, Jessy,” he said under his breath.

*   *   *

As the Turkish Seventh Guards Regiment advanced at a conservative pace, they received the order to take up arms. They each withdrew a shortened version of the venerable Enfield breech-loaded single-shot carbine.

The sound of the American bugle call brought all eyes in the advance forward. They saw a lone rider sitting atop a brown horse as the animal reared up on its hind legs. The bugler called again; this time John Henry and the other Americans knew it to be the assembly call.

Without being ordered to do so, the line of three hundred Turks stopped cold in their advance as they studied this new, unexpected move by the Americans.

“Forward, do not stop!” the general called out angrily.

Suddenly the ground shook as the bugle call was returned. As the frightened men watched a new column of men broke free of the canyon. They were in a ragged but swift-moving line as they broke into the open. The bugle call was frightening, but the screams and yells, yips and yahoos of these newest troops scared the Turks far more than the sound of the heavy drums had.