Holding Their Own: The Salt War (24 page)

“Sure did. There was some guy meeting with Mr. Gospel, the man who runs Cartersville. Rumor had it the visitor was from a new group taking over a lot of central Texas. They call themselves the Alliance.”

Grim smiled, nodding his understanding. “Not long ago I passed through an Alliance town. It seemed to me they really had their act together. It was the nicest place I’ve been in a while. If you folks head south and west of here, I’m sure you’ll run into them.”

“Thanks. We might not have much choice. Appreciate the advice.”

Both parties continued on their way, Grim circling back to Kevin’s position. After filling in his comrade with the news out of Cartersville, he said, “I think something bad has happened to Cory. Either he’s been detained or hung or is in hiding.”

“It’s not like him to give up on meeting us so easily. I wish he’d been able to take his radio in there.”

Grim announced their next step. “Kevin, this is going to be dangerous as hell, but I don’t see any option. We don’t leave a teammate behind. I wouldn’t abandon you and would expect you guys to burn down the gates of hell for me. We are going to have to go in and look for him.”

Kevin nodded, “You don’t have to tell me that, Grim. I’d die for any of you. We are a team.”

“Glad to hear you say it,” Grim replied. “This is going to be extremely tricky given their security people seem to be on high alert. But if we’re careful and work together, I think we’ve got a good shot at pulling it off.”

“I’m in, 100%. Just tell me what you want to do.”

Bishop awoke from his catnap, his dreams interrupted by the sound of excited voices. While he couldn’t understand the language, it was clear something was happening in the village.

He stayed inside the tiny, single room adobe, watching through the narrow door as women, children and men moved along the street at a quickened pace. Everyone appeared to be heading for the square. He decided to follow.

A significant crowd had gathered by the time the Texan arrived. Fortunately, he was taller than the average citizen, so standing at the back of the throng didn’t limit his visibility.

A procession came down the main street, several of the village’s younger men brandishing their rifles while being kissed on the cheek as they passed through the clusters of local maidens. Everyone was expressing congratulations, patting the armed party on the back and sharing hugs of celebration.

Toward the end of the parade, Bishop finally saw the reason for the merriment. A single horse was being led into the square. In the saddle sat a cowboy, his hands tied behind his back. The man looked nearly dead, blood streaming from his nose, mouth and ear. Red welts covered his face and bare chest. Somebody had beaten the captive badly.

Then another horse came into view, a body tied over the saddle. The villagers hurled insults and pointed angry gestures at the passing dead man.

Rocco appeared on the church’s steps, the default, elevated speaking platform for the tiny square. After the horses were led to a stop in front of him, Rocco clasped his hands together in victory and waved them above his head. The throng went nuts, cheers of support filling the adobe lined streets.

“Viva Tejanos!” Rocco yelled over the crowd. “Viva Tejanos!”

Several voices took up the chant, it soon sounding like the entire village was shouting at the top of its united lungs.

While the mob continued to celebrate, several men pulled the prisoner from his saddle, roughly manhandling him up onto the stage. Bishop noted they had to support the poor fellow, his legs unable to bear his own weight.

While he couldn’t catch every Spanish word, it soon became clear to Bishop that Rocco was telling his supporters that the captured Salineros rider would be interrogated throughout the night and hung in the morning. He warned everyone that their sleep might be disturbed by the prisoner’s screaming and begging for mercy. The crowd didn’t seem to mind, many of the people around Bishop calling for the man to be skinned alive – right now, right there on the church steps.

And then the party was over, Rocco’s troops lead the doomed man away, as well as the two horses.

Bishop hung back, trying to appear as disinterested as possible. In reality, his mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. A solution had just appeared before his eyes, the answer to all of his problems appearing out of thin air.

After the mob had dispersed, Bishop made for the place he knew Rocco would be. Sure enough, the local jefe was congratulating his fighters, listening to their excited bragging about how they’d come to execute one rider and capture the other.

Like any good leader, Rocco rode the wave of victory, soon ordering tequila and cigars for the brave Tejanos soldiers.

Bishop stayed back, having no desire to dampen the festivities, but wanting to talk to Rocco before they accidently killed the Salineros rider.

Someone showed up with a guitar, soon followed by several young ladies in brightly colored skirts. The tequila flowed, and the dancing began. The Texan grimaced when the partiers starting firing celebratory gunshots into the air.
What a waste of ammo
, he thought. 

After an hour, it became clear that Rocco had more serious tasks on his mind. Slowly, politely, his two top lieutenants and he began shooing the revelers away, gently guiding them to take their celebration elsewhere.

Bishop stayed put, listening as the merrymakers moved a few streets over, their voices, gunshots, and shouting now held down to a dull roar. The Texan checked his carbine, thumbed off the safety, and began walking toward Rocco.

‘Evening,” he announced, startling the three Tejanos leaders as he appeared out of the shadows. “I understand I’m no longer the only gringo in town.”

Rocco didn’t seem displeased to see Bishop’s approach, smiling broadly at the new arrival. The two subordinates weren’t so happy, eyeing Bishop’s rifle with wary eyes.

“What can I do for you, my friend?” Rocco asked.

“I would like to have a word with you in private,” Bishop replied, his tone making it clear something important was on his mind.

Glancing at his two remaining soldiers, Rocco shook his head. “There is nothing my men can’t hear. I trust them explicitly.”

“Fine with me,” the Texan responded. “I’ll get right down to business. I want the prisoner and the two horses. They’re my ticket to get my wife and son back, and our ride home.”

A hurt look replaced Rocco’s smile, almost as if Bishop had insulted the man.

“Señor, while you are my honored guest, your request is impossible. We don’t turn captured Salineros killers loose. I cannot do as you request.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Rocco. I want my wife and child back, and I don’t have any other option. I’ll give you my word that I’ll come back and make a serious attempt to broker a peace between the Culpepper outfit and your people.”

Rocco spread his hands wide in the air, “How about a compromise? I’ll grant you the horses and as many of the supplies from your truck as you can pack. You can ride the animals to the ranch? I think this is a fair bargain, no?”

“No. If I show up at Culpepper’s front door with two of his men’s horses, he might think I murdered them. I need the survivor to guide me in and tell those people that I rescued him.”

Rocco shook his head, his voice becoming less friendly. “I’m sorry, Bishop, but I cannot grant your request. My men need to see the conclusion to their efforts. My people have to know we are winning.”

The two men with Rocco noted the change in their boss’s tone, both of them becoming stiff and ready for action. Bishop remained calm.

“Give him to me, along with the horses, or there’s going to be trouble. I’ve got to get back to my family and make sure they’re okay. Don’t press this, Rocco. It’s not a fight you want right here in the middle of your hometown.”

Bishop saw an odd light pass behind Rocco’s eyes, a glimmer of something cold and cruel. “As you wish,” the leader replied. “I’ll have our captive brought out for you,” he added, turning to step to the back of his home. As he passed close to his men, Bishop heard a whisper in Spanish. “Kill him.”

It was a poorly executed move, the Texan primed and ready for just such a play. Both of Rocco’s troops brandished AK47 battle rifles, but they weren’t experienced enough to bring them into play while moving at the same time. Bishop, on the other hand, already had his carbine at his shoulder, centering his red dot before either man on the porch could even raise his weapon.

The M4 barked once, twice, three times, its report blending in with the occasional gunfire still erupting from the nearby celebration. Both lieutenants crumpled to the porch’s wooden planks.

Rocco paused, his hands in the air, his back still turned to Bishop. “Will you shoot me in the back?” he asked the Texan.

“No. Like I said, this is a fight you don’t want,” Bishop replied, walking closer to his former friend. “Bring me the prisoner and the horses. Now!”

Rocco nodded his agreement, taking a half step and then spinning quickly. Bishop saw the flash of shiny steel in the man’s hand just as a knife came hurling through the air.

The blade struck Bishop dead center in the chest, but bounced harmlessly off of the Texan’s body armor, clambering down to the packed dirt surface at his feet.

Rage swelled inside the Texan, the underhanded attempt to kill him sparking an eruption of fury. With his head down and heart pumping, he stepped into Rocco. It would have been too easy to slay the man with his rifle; he wanted the pleasure of thrashing his foe with his bare hands.

Rocco was furious as well, the death of his men combined with the Texan’s unreasonable demands making him regret ever letting Bishop live. The two men collided.

The larger and stronger of the two, Rocco still was handicapped, his one arm hampered by the injury suffered during the ambush. Still, he was a brave and potent fighter.

While Bishop was the more skilled, his efforts were restricted by the rifle and heavy kit strapped to his chest.

The Texan was far more motivated than his opponent. In addition to the pent up stress from not knowing Terri and Hunter’s status, he knew the engagement had to end quickly, or local reinforcements would arrive.

Stepping in close, he ducked a powerful roundhouse, popping back up to deliver a punishing series of quick jabs to Rocco’s face.

Backing away from Bishop’s swarming fists, Rocco took a few breaths to recover. “You are no better than the Salineros trash we fight every day. I should have killed you back in the Valley of Rocks.”

Bishop ignored the taunt, stepping in with a feigned right while launching his best left. Rocco somehow managed to duck under the punch, delivering a solid kick to Bishop’s stomach as he passed. It was the Texan’s turn to stagger back and regroup.

“You’re too stupid to realize what I’m offering you, Rocco,” the Texan managed between heaving breaths. “I’m giving you the best chance you’ll have at peace. To end the killing. To end the suffering. You’re so wrapped up in hate and loathing, you can’t see anything other than revenge.”

The words seemed to sting Rocco. Growling, he dove into his opponent, good arm throwing two quick punches that insulted nothing but open air. Bishop wasn’t there.

A sharp pain bolted through Rocco’s ribs, courtesy of Bishop’s elbow. Another blow landed on the larger man’s ear, ringing-white lines of pain vibrating through his head. Rocco went down to his knees, unable to stand any longer.

“Being blind to reality is always the way it ends up, Rocco. Really, it’s not your fault. The passion required to lead people through a war doesn’t mix with the wisdom it takes to find peace. I’m sorry it had to end like this. I really had hoped you would see the light and put a stop to your people’s suffering.”

Bishop stepped close, but then stopped, something in his adversary’s eyes making him halt the final onslaught.

“Wait… please wait, Señor. I can’t
give
you what you want, my people would never trust me again….”

Bishop was out of time and in no mood for pleading. “Night, night, my friend. I’ll see you later,” he whispered.

The blow to Rocco’s jaw sent the now unconscious man tumbling over, Bishop grabbing his shirt as he fell, laying him gently on the earth. He disagreed with Rocco’s position, but understood and respected the man’s passion.