Chapter 12
Murphy’s Law of Combat Planning #1
“The important things are simple. The simple things are always very hard.”
They ate the meal in silence. Melissa’s stomach ached, even after eating. Sitting next to the captain was like keeping company with a lit petard. For the last half hour, he seemed to sizzle like a burning fuse, ready to explode at any moment. Yet, she could not deny how relieved, near fainting, she had been when he hadn’t disappeared.
She ran her finger through the bottom of her bag to get the last of the cheese butter or spread or whatever it was. The rations were delicious. Melissa cleaned up and went to the back door, but Captain Starke insisted she stay inside, so she had to relieve herself in a stall at the back of the barn, not far enough away.
When she returned, he had all their supplies and equipment spread out on his tarpaulin, each item neatly folded or segregated. He sat, one leg straight, one bent, writing in a little notebook. Ignoring her presence, he methodically repacked everything.
He removed his rifle from its sheath, checked the weapon over, then removed a small square packet from his shirt pocket. He tore it open with his teeth and took out a pale circle of material and blew on it. It ballooned out into a long bladder. He secured the bladder over the end of the rifle barrel.
“What is that, a sheep’s bladder?”
He glanced at the barrel of the gun and grunted with a half-grin. “No, a condom.”
“A condom? Why not use a barrel plug to keep out the elements?”
The captain shook his head. “Because these are lighter, cheaper, and you can still fire the weapon if you have to.”
“And they are army issue?”
He grinned and nodded.
She thought them the strangest invention. If properly shaped, that marvelous material could be put to better uses. “What other equipment do they protect?”
His head popped up at the question and he chuckled. After studying her face for a moment, he grunted again without answering her. As irritated as she was with his lack of response, she was pleased he could still laugh. He carefully repacked everything and loaded the horses, readying them for travel.
Captain Starke sat on the bench with his notebook out, pencil ready. “Tell me about Astorga and the routes ahead. Are they all dirt roads?”
“Yes, though there are cobble or wood planked sections closer to the towns.”
“Are they roads well-kept with clear markings?
“For the better part, no. Worse they are, in the mountains beyond Astorga.”
“Are there any side roads or other routes we can take that parallel the road to Astorga?”
“One. The road to Vigo follows in line with the Astorga road until it meets in that town, only to then veers off to the south toward Vigo. The Light Brigade is following that road.”
At this, the captain raised an eyebrow and nodded, writing it all down. “Anything else you can tell me about our little trek?”
Melissa pursed her mouth, stopping herself from making a cutting remark, and shook her head. She begrudged the heavy responsibility she felt for his situation, but she felt it all the same. Her hand on the warm pendant around her neck, she changed the subject. “I have thought on why you are still here.”
“You don’t say? It just so happens, I have too.” He didn’t look up from his notes, so didn’t see her dagger glare. “What’s your theory?”
“I am thinking ye might need to deliver me safely to my uncle, or at least my countrymen, for the pendant to deem its call—your task—finished.”
“That thought crossed my mind.” He spoke to the notebook, giving a grunting laugh. “I get to go home when I’ve completed the mission, just like any Ranger assignment.”
Then he looked up at her, his dark eyes glinting fire. She kept eye contact, refusing to be intimidated, made to feel more guilty than she already did.
“Which could be to deliver you safely back to your uncle,” he said, flint in his tone. He straightened up and leaned against the stall frame behind him, his head resting against an upright corner post. He mumbled something about “Brilliant choice for an escort—snagging a Ranger for a seer.”
“A what?”
He glanced at her sideways without moving his head. “S.E.R.E. Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. In hostile territory, you rescue the target—or yourself—and get out. I received the training. This mission is starting out to be tougher.” He grunted a laugh.
The comment made little sense to her, but she had to say something. She found she could not stand the thought of him hating her. “Captain, I had nothing to do with ye being brought here. I am sorry for it.” Only the drip of the rainwater on straw and the freezing wind sighing through the cracks in the barn filled the silence between them.
The captain closed his eyes, one hand absently massaging his injured thigh. After a long while, he said quietly, “I know.” He had a sad, faraway expression on his face, punctuated by a wince now and then when he messaged the wrong place. “I apologize for blaming you.”
“Och, just like that? A toss of a coin and you accept your fate and forgive me?” She didn’t hide her incredulity at his claim.
“Yep, just like that.” A corner of his mouth turned up as he glanced at her. “I was whining. It was a stupid lapse on my part, but considering the circumstances, I think I’m allowed one meltdown. I can’t afford any more such lapses.”
She gave him such an incredulous look that he gave her a wane smile. “I forgot my training in this gonzo situation. I can’t change what’s happened and I don’t know the future. All I have is now. I’ve got to use it to get you to the British.”
When he didn’t say anymore, she tried to relax, accept his abrupt about-face, thankful his rage had cooled—or been buried for now. Still, she could feel him pulling away from her, wishing her gone. She had to say something. “Captain, please tell me what ye said to the soldiers, that they let us go.”
Without moving, he closed his eyes again. “I told them you were my sister, and we were escaping the war to live with our relatives near Madrid. I climbed over the wall because I had forgotten an heirloom in our house, and I couldn’t get through the gates—the French army blocked them.”
Astounded that he’d fashioned such a reasonable story so quickly, she said, “But what about the French horse blankets?” She touched her swollen temple. “Our wounds?”
He offered a crooked smile that held no warmth. “They’re soldiers. I told them what they wanted to hear. I bought captured horses from the British before they retreated. It helped that the horse furniture was from an Imperial Guard regiment.” He grinned. “Regular infantrymen always resent the elite units and enjoy seeing them embarrassed. The Chasseurs à cheval of the Guard were one of Napoleon’s favorites—they were referred to as ‘Napoleon’s Children’ by the regular army. I happened to remember that stray fact from my officer courses.”
He pulled a large bronze coin out of his pants pocket and began rubbing it with his thumb. Her curiosity grew at his ready account. “And our injuries?”
He shrugged. “You’d been attacked by British soldiers, and I protected your honor, both of us getting injured in the process. They liked that part, the English acting like animals, and me beating them off. You, unfortunately, were still traumatized by the experience, which is why you weren’t speaking and the reason I wanted to get you to our relatives.”
Melissa didn’t hide the astonishment in her voice. “This, this story is something ye cobbled together in that instant?”
The captain pursed his lips, then sat up and faced her, eyes open and intent. “S.E.R.E training.” He paused, his jaw muscles jumping again, “The Rangers conduct covert operations at times or meet the native population during a mission. We may have to create cover stories at the drop of a hat.”
“You’re a spy?”
“No, I’m a soldier.”
“What kind of soldier makes up stories to tell the enemy?”
“All soldiers do if they can, but I was with the best—the 75th Rangers, part of Special Operations.” A bleak expression settled on his sun-brown features. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He began moving the bronze coin across the tops of his fingers, back and forth, each finger seeming to flip the metal disc as it traveled across his knuckles. It was mesmerizing. “Rangers generally operate in enemy territory.”
“Like a scout?”
“Bingo.” The word had a strange sound to her. He opened his eyes and stood abruptly, wobbling a bit, and pocketed the coin. “Your grandmother couldn’t have made a better choice, if you needed to make it through hostile territory.”
“I’m not certain that my nana did choose you.”
“Blind chance?” With a bark of a laugh, he shook his head. “I feel so much better.”
Melissa pursed her lips at his sarcasm, but persevered. “We are twelve leagues—some fifty miles—from Astorga.”
“Yes, and?”
She was trying to encourage him, as he sounded so grim. “My uncle is there and hopefully when I am back with him you will then return to your own time.”
“Not likely.” Captain Starke stared into space for a moment, then said, “The British army won’t stay in Astorga. They’re going to retreat all 250 miles back to La Corunna—as fast as they can.” He leaned close to her and flipped the notebook in his hand. “From Benavente to the northwestern coast of Spain. “Two hundred and fifty miles. The British will fight a battle at La Corunna. I’m sure we’re at least a day behind them, and they won’t wait for us.”
With a shake of her head, she said, “No, that can’t be. I overheard General Moore myself say the army would make a stand at Astorga.”
“Look, it doesn’t matter what you heard. I know what happens.”
Her mouth moved, but the implications of his claim flooded her mind with questions. She fingered the coat pocket flaps, with its impossibly even stitching and Velcro pockets. She couldn’t take it all in.
“Get it? I’m from the future. I know what this General Moore is going to do from the history I’ve read.” He frowned. “I remember. In fact, he’ll die at the Battle of La Corunna.”
Hand to her throat, she gasped, “No. Not General John Moore!”
An expression of regret wrinkled his forehead. “Yes, John Moore.”
Melissa stared at him in numb silence, her eyes tearing. Her uncle greatly respected the General. He had followed him from England, to Sweden, Denmark, and now Spain. What would happen to the British army if they lost him? Then it finally came to her. She locked eyes with Rig. “Ye know the future.” She shuddered. “My future? My uncle’s?”
The Captain’s eyebrows rose and fell in denial. “Nothing much personal, only the history I can remember, major battles and major events. Then again, the La Corunna campaign wasn’t exactly a bellringer in the scheme of things.” He shrugged. “It didn’t end with a Waterloo or anything.”
“A what?”
The captain grimaced. “Forget it. The important thing is that I can remember that this retreat is a horror. It will be tough enough catching up with the British army and getting you safely to the coast. However, there are complications. The French are still looking for us.”
“Are you certain?”
He nodded. “Those four cavalrymen who attacked me were after the Beretta—my pistol. They recognized me, having been described by the three I chased off.”
“And not because you’d shot French soldiers?”
When he saw she wasn’t convinced, he glanced at the ground, face tight. After a moment he looked up. “The cavalry at the river? They were chasing us too, for my pistol, which is why they were so persistent. And now they know what my rifle can do.” He made a disgusted sound and stood. “There were a lot of witnesses. The French know my weapons can fire more than a dozen rounds without reloading, with no smoke.” He stared at the straw-strewn dirt floor.
“If I were them, with only single shot muzzle-loaders, I’d want to get my hands on weapons like that too—real bad.”
Wincing, he flexed his wounded leg, but kept his weight on the other. “No, we’re in deep sh—” He gazed down at her, his brown eyes narrowed. “Luckily, Benavente was the last place the French would have thought to look for us, so we gained some time.” He suddenly doubled his fists, his teeth bared. “I can’t let them catch you.”
“Captain, I am not—”
He waved off her words. “You’re my mission. So be it. We’re going to travel all night. Hopefully, that will get us closer to the British and further away from any pursuit.”
“All night?” She couldn’t imagine how they were going to accomplish that. There was no moon and the sky remained overcast. It would be a ‘blick nick tanick’ as her nana would say. “It will be black dark tonight.”
“All the better.” He pulled on the long great coat and shrugged. “Look, Miss Graham, the French know we’re headed west, and they want my weapons. All we have going for us are my weapons, my night vision googles, and that they don’t know where we are going, Vigo or La Corunna.”
“Night vision?”
“Your little doodad snapped me up to do a job. That’s what you want, right?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “I want to stay alive so I can get back to my own time when the mission is completed.”
“Captain, truly, we can’t—”
“I’ll get you to your uncle.” He eyed her, his face hard and shadowed in the gloom of the barn. “And that better be my ticket home. Or so help me, I’m going to hunt your grandmother down, wherever she may be.”
Melissa opened her mouth to question his plan, but he turned away toward the horses. “Now, let’s get going. We’re leaving by the back door, so the old man won’t know when we left or which direction.”
He grabbed the reins of his mount and the pack horse and hobbled to the back door. When he opened it, he looked out onto the rain-swept landscape. Before he led the horses out, with a grunt and a weary squaring of his shoulders, Melissa heard him say “Hooyah.”