Holding Their Own: The Salt War Part 4

Bishop wanted none of it. After the initial shock and awe, it had taken the Texan a few moments to ascertain what was happening around him. When he realized none of the gunfire was aimed specifically at him, his only thoughts were of Terri and Hunter.

But retracing his steps proved impossible.

Men were darting in all directions, shouting, shooting, and sometimes dying. Twice Bishop had to innovate his route back to Terris hide, the boiling conflict rambling across the desert floor and blocking his path.

After a few minutes, he approached what he believed to be Terris nook, only to find the indentation empty. Cursing their bad luck, he began to circle cautiously, desperately wanting to avoid the fight raging around him.

Having the only NVD on the battlefield gave the Texan an advantage, the device now rebooted and functional. More than once he cut away from gunfire, snaking his away around the roving combatants. But he couldnt find Terri and his son. The rocks were beginning to look the same, dodging the rolling skirmish interfering with his sense of direction.

Anger and regret started to well up deep inside Bishops gut. His mind flashed images of a frightened, huddling Terri, clutching Hunter close as the battle raged around her. He should have never left her side. What the h.e.l.l had he been thinking?

Bishop paused, keeping close to a flat stone formation and trying to reorient his position. He noticed the two men stalking him, both moving forward as if they believed he was an enemy. Splinters and chips of stone stung the Texans skin as the two shadowy outlines began firing, Bishop diving to put cover between his body and the shooters. He found he was trapped in a dead end, completely surrounded by solid walls of rock.

"Ive got no dog in this fight," he whispered, praying the two attackers would move on. Chancing a glance around the corner, he saw they were still advancing in his direction, weapons high and ready.

"f.u.c.k!" he snapped, the red dot of his aiming optic showing bright against the NVDs darker display. He centered on the green and black image of the nearest man. Bishop squeezed, the carbine pushing gently against his shoulder. Two shots - realign on the second man, two shots. Both attackers went down instantly.

The act made his stomach hurt, that pain quickly morphing into a simmering anger. "What choice did I have?" he kept asking himself. "They probably arent taking any prisoners." Still, it sickened him. Bishop had no quarrel with either side. Killing was difficult enough when an undeniable threat existed, taking human life because of bad timing didnt settle well in his gut. Memories of the Brighton bloodbath surfaced, vivid images and the smell of death filling his senses.

He retreated into the miniature box canyon, hoping to avoid any more killing by staying out of sight. Fighting back the urge to wretch, Bishop pulled a quick drink from his water tube, his mind struggling between the need to stay put, and the unrelenting anxiety to find his wife and child.

A barely audible moaning at his feet nearly caused him to kill again.

His weapon snapped to the source of the noise, his finger automatically applying pressure to the trigger. It was a microsecond of hesitation that stopped him from ending another life. He hadnt seen the wounded man the first time, all of his attention focused on the two gentlemen chasing him through the rocks.

The guy at his feet was bleeding and obviously in some pain. After checking that no one was sneaking up on his hiding spot, Bishop bent and began examining the wounded fighter.

There was a single bullet wound in the fleshy part of the upper arm, another in his calf. Neither appeared to be life threatening. Bishop found more bleeding on the back of the guys head, but there wasnt any apparent lead damage there. After glancing up at the surrounding rock, the Texan decided the gent had been hit and then had fallen from above.

Bishop rose, checking to make sure he was still undetected. The sounds of gunfire continued to rage throughout the area, the occasional shout of a human voice echoing over the rocks. The din wasnt constant like it had had been, but it was clear there were still plenty of men fighting for their lives.

Pulling the blow-out bag from his vest, Bishop did some quick work on the injured man, spraying both bullet wounds with an antibiotic aerosol and then wrapping each with a bandage.

"Aqua," the fellow croaked in a weak voice. "Aqua."

Despite the guilt of having killed that night, Bishops kindness only extended so far. He had no desire to allow some stranger drink from his limited supply, didnt know the guy well enough to swap oral germs. But, the injured man wouldnt shut up.

There was still combat raging all around the Texans position. Bishop wanted nothing more than to remain out of sight and wait for the conflict to die down. The wounded, still-dazed man knew none of this. Every few seconds, he repeated his plea for water, his voice gradually becoming stronger as the time pa.s.sed, sure to draw attention from the roving skirmishers still engaged throughout the area.

The Texan knew what the man was experiencing. Fighting was d.a.m.n thirsty work. Any loss of blood made things more desperate. The body would be working hard to replace its fluid, and that meant water. Bishop had been there far too many times.

Again, the raspy voice begged for a drink. Frustrated, almost crazy with worry about Terri and his son, Bishop stepped to the p.r.o.ne man and took a knee. His hand reached for the fighting knife strapped to his chest rig, palm closing around the weapons familiar tang.

But he couldnt do it. It just wasnt right.

"Open your mouth," he whispered, changing his grip from the knife to his water-tube. The wounded fellows eyes opened, but his lips remained tightly pursed. "Open your mouth," Bishop repeated, his voice louder than intended.

Finally realizing what was happening, the guy did as Bishop instructed. After squeezing the bite-valve, the Texan watched as a small stream of clear liquid dripped into the fellows mouth.

Bishop let him have three mouthfuls before turning off the supply. The man managed a half-smile and then closed his eyes again. Bishop moved back to watch the entrance.

While she had no way of knowing, Terri was less than 50 feet away from her husband. When the fighting had erupted, shed pushed Hunter as far back into the shallow crevice as possible, placing her own body between her infant and the battle that raged nearby.

Fighting off muscle cramps and thirst, she refused to move for over an hour, terrified that a stray bullet would end her sons life.

A half dozen times she thought Bishop was coming back, each instance allowing momentary relief, but then resulting in disappointment. The footfalls of someone running nearby offered her hope, until the sound scampered right past the entrance to her nook. Another time she heard whispering, only to realize a few moments later that the dialogue was in Spanish. The antic.i.p.ated joy of her husbands return quickly morphed into sheer terror as she realized how close the battle seethed.

She had to do something... anything. Hunter, snuggly wrapped in his fathers shirt, was awake and wide-eyed, but didnt cry. Terri was thankful for that small miracle. She opened the last bottle of water, drinking a portion herself, holding the opening to her sons lips and offering him little tastes. More dribbled down his chin than was swallowed, but she was convinced he had managed to consume a little.

Almost two hours had pa.s.sed since the shooting began, the ebb and flow of the battle swirling all around her. Terri experienced a rollercoaster of emotions, one minute convinced Bishop had been killed or wounded, the next believing her husband was probably nearby, dispatching evil men who ventured too close to his family. The not knowing was the worst.

At three hours, she decided the pitch of the firefight had definitely lessened. More than once she considered gathering up Hunter and making a run for it. But where would you go, she reasoned. You have almost no water, food, or ammo.

Staying put was the only choice.

Again, the sound of someone running came to Terris ears. Please be Bishop, she thought, just as a man flew into the crevice, almost crushing her against the stone face. It wasnt her husband.

The intruder was soon joined by a second man, the s.p.a.ce much too small for two adults, let along three and a baby. It was obvious the two new arrivals were taking cover, both of them looking back toward the opening as if being pursued. It took an entire second before they realized they werent alone. "What the h.e.l.l?" a male voice hissed. "Who is.... What? Its a woman."

Terri was desperately struggling to reach for her pistol at the same time as shielding Hunter from the crush of human flesh.

Reed realized what the woman was reaching for, his arm moving to block her draw. She started to cuss, "Get your f.u.c.king hands off of me you son of a b.i.t.c.h or Ill...."

"Shhhhh," he pleaded, moving his dirty, sweaty palm to cover her mouth. "Youll get us all killed. Now hush," he barked.

Outmatched and trying to protect Hunter, Terri didnt have much choice. She nodded, badly wanting the intruders filthy hand out of her face.

Just as he removed the gag, the commotion of several running men came echoing into the hole. Terri could sense her two roommates tense, the fellow closest to the opening trying to push further back and out of sight.

Terri couldnt see a d.a.m.n thing outside the nook, two large bodies between her and the open s.p.a.ces beyond. But she could hear and realized that at least three other people rushed by, hustling at a rapid pace as if they were chasing someone. Or being chased.

A minute later, her two guests relaxed. Shortly after that, the outside man chanced a glance right and left around the opening. He ventured out, finally allowing Terri enough s.p.a.ce to breathe freely.

"Whitey," the man next to Terri said just above a whisper. "This is Bishops wife. The woman with the baby."

"Wheres your husband?" came the soft response.

"I dont know. He left to scout ahead right before all the shooting started. He told me to stay put."

"Lady," began Reed, "You cant stay here. The Tejanos have gotten the better of us tonight. If they catch you and that infant, theyll kill both of you right on the spot. Come with us back to the ranch. We can get more men and search for your husband after it gets light. Mr. Culpepper sent us back here to retrieve your family. Youll be safe there; I promise."

Terri didnt want to go. She expected Bishop to come back any minute, and the thought of leaving him behind was simply unworkable. But then she thought about Hunter. The child wouldnt be quiet forever, and what if Bishop didnt come back for a long time? How would she care for Hunter alone in the desert? And besides, wouldnt her capable mate know to come looking for her at the ranch?

She also realized that even if her husband was injured in the battle, there was little hope of finding him until daylight. How would she mount a search in the dark and still keep Hunter safe? No, she told herself, the odds would be better with a large group of armed men after sunrise.

"Okay," she finally conceded, hefting Hunter in one arm, her rifle in the other. "Lead the way."

Chapter 4.

Gradually, Bishop noticed he could see further into the boulders as dawn approached. There hadnt been any gunfire for over an hour, and he was eager to reunite with his wife and child. It had been an exhausting, brutal night, the need to remain diligent while worrying about his family taking a toll on the Texan.

His patient was now sitting upright, slowly recovering from what proved to be an egg-sized knot on the back of his head. The two minor gunshot wounds werent contributing to the mans recovery. Twice throughout the night, Bishop had provided the fellow water. On the last occasion, hed handed the silent man two anti-pain tablets. It was the best he could do, given his limited kit.

Deciding it was light enough to move out, Bishop turned to his unspeaking canyon-mate and bid his farewells, "Good luck," he offered, before turning to leave.

"Wait," came the reply, "If you help me, I will help you."

"So you can speak," Bishop answered. "And exactly how do you propose to help me?"

"You are the man from the pickup truck yesterday right? You are going to retrieve your wife and child right?"

Bishop nodded, wondering how this fellow could possibly know those details.

"My name is Rocco. I am the leader of the Tejanos. If you help me back to my people, I will guarantee your safe pa.s.sage out of this valley. We will try to repair your truck and return it to you, but I cant promise that our attempt will be successful - it was significantly damaged."

Bishop, nodding his head, acted like he was considering the offer. He stepped closer to the man, taking a knee beside him. Like a diamondback striking prey, his knife was out and against Roccos throat.

"You low-life piece of s.h.i.t," Bishop growled, "You almost killed my wife and son. You shot up my pickup for no good reason. Why shouldnt I shove this blade through your neck and watch you choke on your own blood?"

Rocco stared into Bishops eyes, knowing instantly that this man would indeed kill him without remorse or hesitation. Hed never seen any creatures stare so cold and uncaring.

"We didnt know, Senor. I swear this. We thought you were mercenaries and hired guns driving to join the Salineros. They have been butchering our people for months. That is why we attacked you."

"And so now were comrades? Now youre going to promise my safety? Im having a little problem with trust, my friend."

Rocco nodded, the motion causing him to grimace in pain. "My forces won the fight last night. I know this because the Salineros only ride horses, and Ive not heard any hooves for hours. My men may have already found your wife and son. Perhaps they will catch you looking for them, and more people will perish due to misidentification. I think you need me, Senor. I am convinced we need each other."

Bishop pulled the knife away, but didnt return it to the sheath. He had to admit, the man had a point. "Okay, friend. Ill help you back to your people. But know this if you betray me, you will die first. Do we have an understanding?"

"I know youre not my enemy. You gave me water and tended to my wounds. If you were truly working for Mr. Culpepper, you would have shot or stabbed me many hours ago. I have no reason to betray you."

Bishop helped the man to his feet, the wound in his calf the most limiting factor to mobility. With one arm draped over Bishops shoulder, they proceeded out of the mini-canyon and into the valley of boulders.

Given Roccos hobbling pace, their progress was slow. After traveling for only a few minutes, a voice called out in Spanish, "Look! Look! Its the jefe; he survived!"

Two men approached at breakneck speed. "Ask them if theyve spotted my wife and son," Bishop said.

Both men indicated they had not found anyone matching the general descriptions of Terri or Hunter. Nor had they found the bodies of a woman or child.

Bishop listened to the excited exchange between Rocco and his men. After it became clear that they were no longer discussing Terri and Hunter, he turned away to begin his search alone.

"Where are you going?" Rocco asked, switching to English.

"Ive got to find my family," Bishop replied over his shoulder, continuing to walk away.

"There will be 50 men from my village here within the hour," Rocco reported. "They are coming to recover our dead and wounded and to make sure the Salineros dont retrieve theirs. Stay here with me, and Ill have my men search for your loved ones."

Bishop shook his head, "No, thanks. I dont want to wait. I need to know my family is okay."

"But, Senor, Im afraid my comrades will shoot you on sight. It could happen."

Bishop was about to deny the offer a second time when a whistle sounded. Turning to ascertain the source, the Texan spotted a long column of armed men approaching, the point-man waving to Rocco.

"And there they are now," announced the Tejanos commander.

It was a boy of no more than 13 who darted toward Bishop. He carried a rifle, secured across his back via a timeworn rope, the ancient, bolt-action Lee Enfield almost as tall as the lad.

The kid didnt say a word, instead holding an empty water bottle out for Bishop to see. The Texan recognized it immediately as the one hed given to Terri. "Where did you find this?" he asked.

The young fighter pointed and then motioned for Bishop to follow. It was only a short distance away, the site looking completely different in the light of day. Still, the Texan was pretty sure it was the same nook where hed left his wife and son during the night.

"We also found this," offered a nearby man, holding up Bishops spare shirt.

After checking the cloth for blood, Bishop examined the sand in the bottom of the crevice. No crimson there either. The area was far too trampled to detect any footprints.

"Where would you go?" Bishop whispered, trying to put himself in Terris shoes. Which direction would his wife travel to locate a safe haven from the skirmish? Would she have been able to choose her own route in the post-battle quiet? Or had she fled in the heat of the mlee, choosing the path of least resistance available to her?

A nearby commotion interrupted his thoughts, two men exchanging words with Rocco, their excited voices and exaggerated hand gestures announcing the exchange was something important.

Turning to face Bishop, Rocco rambled to him. "Your wife is with the Salineros," he said without fanfare. "Two of my men were chasing the cowboys when they spotted some unusual activity. They identified your wife, holding the baby, riding off with them just a few hours ago."

"Are your men sure?" Bishop asked. "How could they tell in the dark?"

"Apparently, your sons strong lungs are what initiated the ceasefire, Senor Bishop. My men tell me they were certain one of the riders was a woman, and the infant with her was crying."