War World X: Takeover (17 page)

“We gain nothing from harming you,” said Chuluun.

“Humph. We’ll see about that. Hang on, all right?”

Chuluun waited as Higgins plodded back up the big street. Other people came out to speak to him. Then, at last, he took a stick with a rectangle of white sheet and held it up.

“Have his people come down to the town square and drop their weapons,” Chuluun said to one messenger. “When we see them in the square, we will move up.” He turned to the other. “Ride around the outside of town and tell Ganzorig the town has surrendered. He will stand fast until I send another messenger. Tell him to fire four quick shots when he has this message.” He watched as the two messengers rode away in different directions.

Chuluun ordered Naran to send one patrol into the town to supervise the surrender, while the remainder of Naran’s troop remained in place as an ongoing threat. Ganzorig’s troop would remain in position at the rear of the town. When the surrender of weapons was complete, and the patrols had gathered the unarmed people of the town in the square, Chuluun signaled for Naran’s troop to follow him as he rode at a trot into Purity.

At the town square, Chuluun drew up near Higgins. Huddled in a crowd, the residents were angry and afraid as they glared up at him. He saw that they were very much the working people he had heard they would be. Some were tough and strong, while others looked beaten down by their travails. Their clothes were worn and rough. They reminded him of his fellow miners back on Earth.

Naran led his remaining three patrols into the town in a precise column with their pack mounts at the rear, and shouted orders for them to dismount and search for anything of value.

Behind the far side of Purity, four gunshots told Chuluun that Ganzorig had received his message.

The people of the town watched in anger, helplessly, as two mounted patrols stood over them with their rifles and sabers.

Chuluun was startled to hear shouts and whoops from the rear of town in the same moment that the crack of firearms reached him.

“Naran!” Chuluun shouted. “Come forward!”

Ganzorig led a column of riders streaming up the street from the rear of town. He held his rifle in his free hand and fired into the sky, while his men were firing their weapons into the buildings. As Chuluun watched, four riders came into view with women from the town thrown across the withers of their mounts, kicking and flailing. Other riders broke away up side streets whooping and shooting. Ganzorig cantered forward in the lead, grinning.

The townspeople shrieked and yelled. Mayor Higgins’s shouts at Chuluun were lost in the din.

Chuluun spurred his mount toward Ganzorig, firing his Winchester into the air. “Ganzorig! Halt!”

Laughing, Ganzorig cantered ahead of his riders and reined in. “What, Chuluun?” He swung out of the saddle and jumped to the ground, slinging his rifle over his shoulder on its strap. “Kill them! Kill them all! Take the spoils and burn it down!”

As Chuluun leaped to the ground, he saw riders up the street dismounting and pulling the captured women off their horses after them.

“Order your riders to stop!” Chuluun yelled. “Order them now! I gave my sworn oath!”

“To these scum?” Ganzorig held his arms out as though embracing the entire town. “Kill them all!”

The thunder of the mounts and the shouts of the townspeople roared in Chuluun’s ears. Down the street, he saw riders forcing the captive women to the boardwalk and ripping away their clothes. Behind him, Naran’s riders held their reins tight, still under command.

“They are nothing, Chuluun!” Ganzorig laughed again. “They’re just slaves to Dover and CoDo!”

“Ganzorig! Listen to me!”

“You like my gift, Chuluun?” Grinning, Ganzorig nodded at the Winchester. “Here, you can kill more of them this way!” He unslung his rifle and tossed it to Chuluun.

Chuluun slapped the rifle away with his free hand as he stomped up to Ganzorig. He took the Winchester in both hands and slammed the stock up under Ganzorig’s chin.

Ganzorig stumbled backward but kept his feet. Bloody, his face twisted into a sneer. Behind him, his riders drew up in surprise.

Unarmed, Ganzorig raised his head, still defiant. “Will you be the last khan of a dead people?”

Chuluun brought the Winchester up and jammed the stock against his shoulder. He sighted on the center of Ganzorig’s chest, barely one long stride away. His blood burning, he squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked once and Ganzorig jerked backward off his feet with the impact.

Lowering the Winchester, Chuluun stared at his dead friend lying in the street. For a moment, he saw nothing else, despite the shouts and screaming all around him.

The riders of the First Troop stared in disbelief, looking from Ganzorig’s body to Chuluun.

“Naran!” Chuluun yelled.

“Chuluun Khan?” Naran reined up next to him.

“Stop this! If they refuse, kill them! Disarm them and bring them here.”

Naran called out orders to his riders.

“And stop those men!” Chuluun pointed to the riders dragging women into a nearby doorway.

Naran spurred his mount forward.

In disgust, Chuluun looked down at Ganzorig. Then he turned to ward the townspeople, who were still under guard. They were confused and fearful. Higgins caught his eye and spat on the ground.

Chuluun turned away.

Captain Naran of the Second Troop secured the town of Purity. He reported to Chuluun that half of the First Troop had remained in place outside the far edge of the town. Two patrols, all men, had followed Ganzorig’s wild charge into the streets in violation of Chuluun’s order to stand fast. They had all been disarmed and taken to the town square. Their weapons were piled with those taken from the townspeople. At Chuluun’s order, Ganzorig’s body had been dragged to the square and left lying with them, face up.

In the cold morning air, Chuluun stood in the town square before the riders who had broken his promise to Mayor Higgins of Purity. Disarmed, they knelt on the hard ground, a full quarter of the Free Tribe’s trained warriors. The people of the town, still bunched together and guarded by riders, had backed up to the far side of the town square. No one spoke.

Chuluun turned and looked into the distance. He no longer heard distant gunfire from the direction of the Americans. However, he could see a low cloud of dust streaming in the air as the herd was being driven homeward.

Naran stood next to Chuluun, waiting patiently. The tight discipline he had imposed on the Second Troop had held. Many of his riders, still mounted, lined the town square.

Chuluun looked at the men kneeling before him. He knew each one from their riding and shooting drills. The Free Tribe might desperately need them in the future. Yet the Free Tribe could not survive at all if they were just a rabble on horseback.

“Execute them all,” Chuluun said quietly. “We don’t have time to hang them. Shoot them while the townspeople watch.” He nodded toward the four men who had taken women. “Bind their hands, strip them naked, and give them to the women of the town. Then load up the pack animals fast. We must get away from here.”

“It will be done,” said Naran.

Chuluun leaped into his saddle and cantered away from the town.

Alone, Chuluun rode back the way he had come. At the highest stretch of the long slope, he walked his mount. He could hardly think. Instead, he saw and heard the events of the morning again and again in his mind. Ganzorig’s final question returned to him: Would he be the last khan of a dead people?

At the top of the first slope, he turned to look back. A long column snaked out of Purity in the distance, the riders leading pack animals now laden with spoils. He hoped their share, along with their split of the herd, would be enough to give his tribe new life. Yet his real doubt was about himself as their khan.

He mounted up and reined away, anxious to find Tuya. A darkness was growing in the back of his mind, not in words but in a formless desperation. With each step his mount took, he understood that if Tuya and their baby had not survived labor, he would choose not to survive his return to the northern plains. He would lie down next to Tuya’s unburied remains and take out the Colt .45. Without his beloved ray of light or the child she bore, the Second khan of the steppes would choose to end his future, but he would choose to end it by her side.

Night had fallen by the time Chuluun neared the wagons of the women. Lamps were burning inside and a big cookfire lit up the sides of the wagons. The riders who had remained to guard and escort the wagons reined up when they saw him approach. Apprehensive yet eager, he rode up to the camp at a walk.

When the women around the cookfire looked up at him with smiles and calls of welcome, relief flooded his being. He swung out of the saddle and ran to Tuya’s wagon.

As he climbed inside, he found Tuya watching him from her bed. “Come see your son,” she said quietly. “Bataar, meaning hero.”

Filled with awe, Chuluun moved forward. Once again, he had a future.

Two evenings later, Chuluun sat in the wagon with Tuya at the next camp. Naran and the column had finally caught up with the wagons, which had started the long trek home on the first morning after Chuluun’s return. Of the twelve women who had gone into labor, only four had survived with healthy babies. Three had died. Scouts from the rear of the column had reported no pursuit and messengers from the Americans relayed their success at taking a large herd.

Chuluun had told Tuya of the events in Purity.

Now the riders had pitched camp by the wagons, and the roar of their chatter reached Chuluun. A bonfire had been lit for warmth near Tuya’s wagon. The voices of the riders were loud. Many arguments broke out, especially as they drank more kumiss and liquor looted from Purity while the evening deepened. The same comrades who had cheered his arrival, offered their kumiss, and slapped his back in hearty welcome before the raid now spoke in angry, uncertain tones among themselves.

Chuluun knew he had left the riders in confusion by shooting Ganzorig and ordering the execution of those who had followed him. Since leaving Purity, his thoughts had always come back to his own actions as the Free Tribe’s leader. Ganzorig’s question had become a curse: Would he be the last khan of a dead people?

“You must speak to them,” said Tuya, as she sat propped against pillows in her bed. The baby was sleeping in her arms.

“And say what?” Chuluun asked wearily. “Let someone else be their khan. You and I will herd, hunt, and ride together. We will raise our child.”

“The women who attend me have asked the riders many questions. They, too, told me their stories of the raid. They have great respect for the women riders, who say you ordered the columns perfectly in surrounding the town. If Ganzorig had not betrayed your trust, the raid would have gone as you planned.”

“I killed the only friend I had.”

“He was no friend. The women riders are more devoted to you than ever, because you protected the women of the town from those who grabbed them.”

Chuluun shook his head, as though doing so would help him find his way.

“The women say the men don’t know what to think. Some are angry because you shot Ganzorig and had your own men executed. Many had friends among them. Others say you had to do it. The riders don’t know what to expect. They’re fighting among themselves. These are the best warriors of the tribe, breaking into factions. If we go home like this, the tribe will split up. Then it will wither and die.”