But that sound, those blasts: Garth recognized them of old. The ear-splitting roar of his father’s pump-action shotgun! And there stood Zach Slattery, his weapon smoking and mouth framing silent curse-words. And never a sight more welcome!
Before Garth could speak his father had hobbled around the barrier to its far side, and once again—just once this time there sounded his weapon’s booming voice, and there was no more mewling, no more screeching…
Zach came back and father and son clasped each other. Then: “Listen!” said Zach, drawing apart. But sounding from the near distance there was only a sporadic spatter of gunshots now, and the shouting of men was urgent but less fearful, and no one was screaming. “It’s over,” said Zach then. “For now at least, it’s over.”
“If you hadn’t come—” said Garth.
“—But I did,” Zach quietened him. “I couldn’t sleep; I was up and about and headed this way when the first alarm sounded. I knew where Ned Singer had positioned you and came as quick as I could; didn’t much care for the notion of your new wife becoming a widow so soon! And from the way the warning whistles were sounding, I figured the fly-by-nights must be coming at us from all quarters—including yours. Appears I was right.”
“I killed three of them,” said Garth, suddenly shuddering. “But that fourth one…he almost killed me!” Turning away, he grasped his rifle, pulling it free of the fly-by-night’s corpse. It came away quite easily now, for Garth’s strength was flowing back into his limbs, his body. And shaking his head, he said:
“I…I’ve never felt so afraid, so weak!”
But Zach only said: “And I’ve never seen you so strong! Now look, it’ll soon be dawn. The sky is starting to lighten up. By now any fly-by-night survivors will need to be drifting on back to their roosts. I think it’s safe now to get back inside, find Layla and reassure her. Then…maybe we can find out what the damage is. But damn it, I believe we’ve lost some good men this night…”
VII
They had lost some men, most of whom were very good men indeed; and they had also lost Ned Singer.
As the sun came up, Big Jon called a get-together of family heads and craft leaders in the church. He deemed it unnecessary to assemble the clan in toto, many of whose members were carrying out important tasks…which now must include the building of funeral pyres. Also present, however, were witnesses: twelve survivors of the sixteen men who had guarded the perimeters. It was one of them who told how Ned Singer had been taken.
“But…taken?” Big Jon repeated him. “Are you saying Ned was taken alive?”
Still badly shaken, Peder Halbstein answered with a nod and a shudder. “That’s right, or so I believe. At least, that’s how it appeared; but it all happened so fast that everything is now a blur. I think I saw them dragging him away, and Ned was alive and screaming! It must have been so because…well, there’s no sign of him now, is there? Anyway, let me tell it my way…
“Along with Dan Coulter, I was on watch halfway between the church and the car park on the eastern flank. Now, I say ‘with’ Dan but in fact we were separated, though by no more than forty or so paces; which meant that we could clearly see each other’s flashlight signals…”
At which, as Halbstein paused, Zach Slattery said: “You had flashlights, both of you? And whistles, too? Yet Garth here had no such aids to the performance of his duty, which I only found out after going to him when the alarms sounded. Moreover he was on his own, stuck out there on the southern approaches like…like a sore thumb! If anyone deserved a companion and the right gear, surely it was him!”
And Garth said: “Ned Singer said it was pointless me having a flashlight because there were obstructions between me and the men flanking me. I could flash all I liked and no one would see me.”
“And a whistle?” Big Jon queried.
Feeling foolish, gullible, Garth replied: “Ned told me he’d handed them all out, retaining just one for himself. So because of the bad blood between us, and rather than risk a flare-up, I let it go. Anyway I had my rifle; I could always fire off warning shots if that should become necessary.”
“That bastard!” Zach muttered under his breath. “Why it’s a wonder he let you keep your rifle! And it wasn’t only your life he was risking!”
Big Jon had heard him and was quick to say: “Easy Zach, old friend. For while you’ve had problems with Ned Singer—you and the lad both—nothing good comes of speaking ill of the dead.”
At which Zach’s eyes narrowed and it seemed for a moment he might reply; but instead he kept his peace, saying nothing. And Big Jon turned again to Peder Halbstein.
“So then, you and Dan Coulter were stationed close together, in sight of each other even in the dark of night?”
“Yes, and later…later we got to be closer still!” Then, as if in a hurry to vindicate that statement, Halbstein held up a hand. “But let me explain:
“About 3:30 my batteries failed—by which time Dan had got used to answering my green flash, for we’d been signaling each other every few minutes. Well, seeing no more flashes, he reckoned maybe I’d fallen asleep and came to give me a shake before Ned’s next patrol. But after Dan found me awake we got to talking—very quietly, you understand—finding something of comfort in each other’s company, which is surely only natural?”
“Coulter had deserted his position!” Big Jon growled.
“Not so!” the other was quick to deny it. “We only meant to stay together for a minute or two—and meanwhile Dan had taken the opportunity to give me his spare battery. I would have done the same for him, gone to him if I’d thought he was in trouble! He was only looking out for me!” Still in shock, Halbstein was now gabbling.
At which the leader gave a grunt of disapproval but at once relented. “Very well—we understand—but do get on with it!”
“Yes, yes,” said Halbstein, gulping a little. “Well, Dan was about to return to his station when the first whistles sounded, and a moment later gunfire. It rooted us both in place, staring out into the night over the lapping ground mist. We were in the lee of a broken wall but the external view was only poor: there was too much heaped rubble, a great many shadows out there. Dan took the right-hand arc, which in large part covered his former station; I took the left-hand arc, which was mine anyway.
“At first there was nothing, just more near-distant sounds of fighting—whistles, gunshots, shouts—the sound of a grenade exploding, even the hissing roar of a flamethrower! But on our perimeter, nothing. Not immediately.
“Dan said maybe we should go help—I told him we couldn’t leave our posts, that from the sound of it this was a swarm and the fly-by-nights could be coming on our front, too—and that was the very moment when they came: eight or nine of them, appearing like columns of mist out of the darkness on the far edge of vision!
“At first they came to a halt there—standing stock still—just looking at us! Which was also when Ned Singer came! Ned came at a run, shouting instructions:
“‘Get out from behind that wall!’ he ordered us. ‘They have no weapons, the fly-by-nights, so we don’t need cover that only gets in the way of our targeting. Anyway, by now they can smell you! And spread out—Dan to the right, me in the middle, Peder on my left. And don’t let them get behind us! Aim with care and make each shot count!’ These were good, sensible orders, and we scrambled to obey.
“But the trouble came not only from the front but also from the right, Dan’s original position. There were three of them on that flank, closing with us fast, their approach half-hidden by all the heaped rubble. Dan got the first shots off; I saw a fly-by-night crumple to the ground. By then the roar of Ned’s machine gun was deafening, unnerving as I tried to pick out a target of my own in the swirling, thickening ground mist in front.