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'This isn't target shooting, Julie. Or deer hunting. This is sniper work. In the past few weeks, James trained you the way he was trained when he was in the Marines, after he volunteered for sniper school.'
Julie said nothing. Her face was expressionless. 'Did you ever wonder why he never finished the training?' he asked gently.
Nothing. Mike sighed. 'He told me-and I'm willing to bet he told you, too. He thought being a tough guy and a good shot would be enough. It isn't. They make sure you understand that. And you can drop out any time you want, without prejudice.'
Nothing.
'When he did finally understand it, he dropped out. He just didn't have the temperament. And I know I wouldn't, either. One shot, one kill-and you're killing men, not animals. Men with faces you can see.'
Finally, an expression came to her young, almost angelic face. But Mike couldn't quite interpret it. Sarcasm? No, it was more like whimsy; or maybe, wry amusement.
'Did Uncle Frank ever tell you the story,' she asked, 'about the first time I went deer hunting? How I cried like a baby after I shot my first buck?'
Mike nodded. Julie's expression grew very wry.
'You know why? The deer was so pretty. And it had never done me any harm.' Julie cocked her head toward her observer, a girl no older than she. Another recent high-school graduate. Slender, where Julie was not, but otherwise-peas from a pod.
'Hey, Karen! Those guys look pretty to you?'
Karen shifted her gum into a corner of her mouth. 'Nope. Ugly bastards. Mean looking, too. Look more like wild dogs than cute little deer.'
Julie bared her teeth. The smile was far more savage than anything belonging on the face of an eighteen-year-old, male or female. 'That's what I thought. Hey, Karen! Watcha think they'll do-to you and me, I mean-if they get their hands on us?'
Karen was back to chewing her gum. Her words came out in a semimumble. 'Don't want to think about it, girl. But I'll tell you one thing. Won't be trying to sweet-talk us into the backseat of a car. Not likely.'
The smile left Julie's face; but, if anything, the sense of whimsy was even stronger in her eyes. She gave Mike a level gaze.
'That's the whole problem with allowing men into combat,' she said solemnly. 'You guys are just too emotional about the whole thing.'
Mike chuckled. 'All right, Julie-enough! Just checking.'
'S'okay, Mike. I like you, too. But I'll be fine. Just give me the word, and I'll start dropping the bastards.'
Mike shook his head slightly. The gesture was more rueful than anything else. He rose to his feet. 'How far are they now, Karen? I make it six hundred yards.'
' 'Bout right,' came the reply. 'A little less, those first horsemen. The crossroad is right around five hundred fifty yards, and they're almost there.'
'You two got your locations fixed?' Both girls nodded. 'Okay, then. I want to wait a bit. Don't want to scare them off before the Scots can circle. I want that army captured, not running off to attack some other town.'
Mike turned his head, looking for Mackay. Mackay was standing next to Frank Jackson some fifteen yards off. Mike had asked the Scottish commander to stay with him as an adviser. Mackay had agreed readily enough. Much more readily than Mike had expected, in fact. At the time, Mike had ascribed that willingness to nothing more than Mackay's confidence in Lennox. But now, seeing the Scotsman staring at Julie, he realized that Mackay had an interest of his own.
Mike managed not to smile. He had noticed the way in which Mackay, in times past, had tried not to ogle Julie in her cheerleader costume. The Scotsman had been quite discreet about it, in fact, despite the bare legs and Julie's exuberant athleticism. Mike found it amusing that Mackay was doing a much poorer job of maintaining his gentlemanly couth, seeing Julie now in her baggy hunting outfit. The Scotsman seemed utterly fascinated by the girl.
Mike cleared his throat. 'Uh, Alex?'
Startled, Mackay jerked his gaze away from Julie. 'Aye?'
Mike pointed toward the still-distant mob of mercenaries. 'How close do they need to be? For Lennox to be able to surround them before they can make their escape?'
Mackay, for all his own youth, was a seasoned cavalry officer. He took no more than a few seconds to gauge the problem. 'Four hundred yards,' came the confident answer. 'Once all of them have passed the crossroad. That'll do nicely.'
Mike turned back to Karen and Julie. Karen nodded. Julie ignored him. She was giving Mackay an odd look. Then, quickly, looked away and hefted her rifle. There might have been a slight flush on her cheeks. Maybe.
Mike strolled back to the top of the ridge, where Frank and Mackay were standing. Frank was studying the mercenaries on the level ground below through his own set of binoculars. When Mike came up alongside the Scotsman, he said casually, as if commenting on the weather: 'She's got a boyfriend, you know.'
Mackay's flush was not slight in the least.
Mike did smile, now. 'Frank doesn't think much of him, though.'
Jackson never took the binoculars away from his eyes. 'Worthless snot, you ask me. Thinks 'cause he was the captain of a high-school football team that he's some kind of bigshot for life. Probably wind up flipping hamburgers for the next thirty years.'
He lowered the eyepieces. His face was quite expressionless. 'Rather see her get hooked up with a more substantial sort of man, myself. Even if he ain't as pretty as a homecoming king.'
Silence. Mackay's eyes were riveted on the mercenaries, as if he had never seen enemy soldiers before. His lips were pressed tightly shut.
Frank glanced at him. 'Your teeth bothering you? Why don't you pay a visit to the town's dentist? It'll hurt, mind you-he's pretty well out of anesthetic. But I'm sure he could fix them up.'
Mackay's flush deepened. Mike knew that the Scotsman's teeth made him nervous in the presence of American women. For this day and age, Alex's teeth weren't in bad shape. But by American standards, they were something of an eyesore.
Mackay's preoccupation caused him to lapse into the dialect of his youth. ' 've thought on it,' he muttered. 'I'll no mind t'pain.'
The last statement was flat, firm. Mike didn't doubt him for an instant. Men of Mackay's time had standards of pain acceptance that veered just as widely from those of Americans as their dental condition. 'Anesthetic,' to a man like Mackay, meant half a bottle of wine-and glad to get it.
Behind his lips, Mike could see Mackay's tongue running over his teeth. ' 'Tis no the pain. S'the expense. I dinna ken if I can afford it.'
Frank made a faint snorting sound. More of a sniff, perhaps. 'Hell, don't worry about that, Alex. Your credit'll be good with him.'
'Credit?' Mackay's eyes widened. '
'I do,' stated Frank. 'He's my brother-in-law. Henry G. Sims, DDS.' Jackson nodded toward the sniper. 'Julie's father, as it happens. And he don't think any better of little old Chip-shit than I do. As it happens.'
The binoculars went back up to his eyes. 'So go see him, why don't you?'
'Good idea,' concurred Mike. He gave Mackay a friendly slap on the shoulder. 'Good idea.'
As Gretchen was about to leave the shack, a young boy came rushing in. She recognized him-one of Mathilde's two younger brothers.
'Max Jungers is outside!' hissed the boy. He leaned over, his face anxious and intense. Gretchen saw the difficulty with which he was controlling his impulse to point.
Her eyes flitted to Mathilde. Mathilde's own face was tight with apprehension.
'Shit! I thought he'd decided to leave us alone.'
'Who is Max Jungers?' asked Gretchen.
The words came out in a quiet, tumbling rush, from all of the women at once. When they were done, Gretchen nodded. Local tough. Hooligan. Thief. Cutpurse. Would-be pimp.
'The usual,' she muttered. 'He has bothered you?'
The women nodded. Mathilde's little brother was staring at her with open eyes. 'I think-' he squeaked. Then, clearing his throat: 'I think he's not here for that.' The boy hesitated, as if abashed. 'I think-'
Gretchen chuckled. The sound was as humorless as a razor blade. 'Me?'
The boy nodded. The gesture was quick, frightened.
Gretchen rose from her chair. 'Well, then. I should go speak to him. Since he came all this way to see me.'
Three seconds later, she was striding out of the shack. The women watched her go, gaping. There they squatted, for a moment, before the reality registered. Like a little mob, they rushed to the door and stared out.
Max Jungers, sure enough. He had apparently been lurking at the corner. Now, seeing Gretchen coming down the narrow street, he smiled and ambled toward her across the cobblestones. His hand was resting loosely on the hilt of a dirk scabbarded to his waist.
'Shit!' exclaimed Mathilde again. 'There's going to be trouble!'
Her cousin Inga nodded sadly. 'It's too bad. I liked Gretchen.'
Mathilde stared at her. 'Are you mad? Don't you understand
'Four hundred yards!' snapped Karen. Before the last word was spoken, Julie's Remington erupted. Less than a second later, the most flamboyantly caparisoned mercenary 'leader' was hammered out of his saddle. Julie was using her match ammunition. The 173-grain boat-tail round punched right through the front of his cuirass and took a goodly piece of his heart with it through the backplate.
Julie was not particularly tall for an American girl-five and a half feet-but she weighed a hundred and forty pounds. The shapeliness of her somewhat stocky figure was due entirely to muscle. She absorbed the recoil with no difficulty at all. A quick, practiced, easy motion jacked another round into the chamber.
'Target area six!' snapped Karen. 'Three hundred fifty yards! Hat-green feather!'
