This was about payback, plain and simple. That's what Ahiga told his braves. Payback for four hundred years of oppression, treachery and barefaced lies.
The white man stole this land from them. Their forefathers had to live with that because the white man had the numbers. Now the Great Spirit had cut the white man down to size. It was time to take back what was rightfully theirs, to send a message to each and every white man left alive.
Don't fuck with us no more.
What Ahiga didn't mention, was his own personal payback. He hadn't told them of the eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes, with their long lashes, that still looked up at him every time he closed his own to go to sleep. He'd said nothing of the gun barrel he'd placed between the lips of the eyes' owner, or the guilt he'd carried ever since. This was where the payback started. Where old scores were finally settled.
There were two sentries posted on the trail up to the burial ground. Neither looked as though they could even hold a gun, let alone fire one. The two scouts he'd sent to scope out the defences had returned and asked him to accompany them.
There didn't appear to be many men guarding the area. Their defences were minimal. The two scouts, Hastiin, a young Navajo Ahiga had chosen specially for the mission, and Akecheta, a Sioux who was a crack shot, were wary. They wanted to check with Ahiga that it wasn't a trap.
Ahiga came with them so as not to arouse their suspicion. He already knew it wasn't a trap. He had been briefed on when and how to attack by Fitch and Golding. He assured the two braves there was nothing to worry about. The Neo-Clergy had sent most of their men off to guard Colt and the Prophet as they left the camp.
Besides, they were arrogant and complacent. They didn't think anyone would dare attack them.
The two braves seemed satisfied with this explanation. Ahiga sent Hastiin back to order the rest of the braves to advance. Then he gave Akecheta the go ahead to take out the sentries.
Akecheta took two arrows from his quiver. This was going to be done old school. They'd come packing plenty of heat as back up, but the initial attack was to be done in honour of their ancestors. They had a point to make today.
Akecheta released his bow string and the first arrow struck the left sentry clean in the chest. The shot was perfect, a thing of beauty. The sentry tried to swat it like an insect. Then he looked down and saw the shaft poking out of him. He turned to alert his comrade but dropped dead before the warning could reach his lips.
The other sentry dropped his weapon in fear and surprise. He stared wildly about him, panicking. He bent to pick up his rifle then, half way down, decided against it and just ran. Akecheta sent an arrow after him, which thudded into his back making him fall forward, twitching.
Ahiga and Akecheta walked up the path to make sure the sentries were dead. The second one was twitching and crying. He rolled over on to his side and looked up at Ahiga. "Please Mister. Please, I don't wanna go see Jesus just yet. I've survived a lot. You don't know what I been through and I ain't even kissed a girl yet."
Ahiga knelt by the man. He reached over and cradled his head with his right hand, pulling the man up onto his knee. Akecheta's arrow protruded from the front of the man's robes, which were soaked with his blood. Ahiga supported the man's chin with his left hand.
"Aw thanks mister," the man said. "I could tell you was a good sort, straight off I could tell. I'm a good judge of character see and I took one look at you and -"
Ahiga pushed forward hard with his left hand and pulled back with his right. The man's spinal column snapped with an audible crack. Ahiga pushed the body away and stood up.
Akecheta thanked him for finishing the job, to which Ahiga nodded. They waited for the rest of the braves to join them.
There was a sacred and ceremonial path all the way up the giant mound to the burial place. The chief at Lame Deer had explained in great detail all about the path, and the way to proceed along it to bury the fallen leader. Ahiga did not like him. He was a bore and a weakling. Like the idiot Hopi he'd gotten rid of.
There were also secret ways up to the burial ground. Ways that hid whoever followed them. However, warned the chief, bad things happened if they were misused. Ahiga had ignored his mewling and demanded the routes off the chief. The man was a coward and he gave them after making only the feeblest protest.
Ahiga and his war party moved quickly and quietly in pairs. When they got to the perimeter the pairs split up and circled the Neo-Clergy camp. All the braves were trained in guerrilla warfare and stealth tactics, but the camp guards were practically asleep.
In the centre of the burial ground was a large steel tower. The Clergy had dug up sacred graves for the foundations and poured concrete inside, to anchor the legs of the tower. These white devils had desecrated the most holy land and now they were nonchalantly climbing the tower, welding new pieces to it, even whistling and joking.
Ahiga could see anger and resentment on the faces of the braves as they looked on from cover. That was good. They were starting to hate smart. Theirs was a dispossessed generation who had finally been given a cause, a target for all the discontent and alienation they'd felt growing up.
On the eastern side of the camp were the living quarters: tents mostly, plus a few benders – temporary structures made out of bent twigs and reeds, an old woodsman's trick. In the centre of this area was a large log cabin which must have served as a central food hall, although it looked as though it had only just been finished. Beside it there were barrels of water.
Nine armed guards were visible in the camp. Eight of them were in pairs, patrolling the grounds, while the ninth was idling against the wall of the cabin. The other hundred or so occupants were all unarmed, just over half were women and children. They looked happy and content in their work, oblivious to the danger lurking all around them.
It was just as Fitch and Golding had said. Ahiga knew they thought they were playing him. They imagined they still had something to hold over him, even after all these years.
The only thing that held him to them was his need for revenge. To redeem himself and win back his manhood. Manhood they had stolen. Not with their threats or their innuendo, or even the terrible thing they had made him do. But the man he had done it to, had shown him what real bravery and what real manhood were.
In giving in to Fitch and Golding he had fallen far short of that mark. That was what he could never live down.
This was where they got theirs. They were the ones being played. This was where it started and it wouldn't end well for either of them.
Ahiga raised his arm and his bowmen readied their weapons. On his signal they stepped forward and let fly, raining a volley of arrows down on the unsuspecting camp guards. Five of them fell on the spot.
Two civilians got caught in the volley. An old man took one right in the eye and his head snapped back, as though he was looking at the sky, trying to pinpoint where the arrow came from. Then he toppled over. A young woman was hit in the shoulder. She stepped into the trajectory at the last second and fell to the ground screaming with pain.
Her hollers were drowned when Ahiga fired his pistol in the air. The braves charged into the camp whooping and calling the ancient war cries. They were dressed in ordinary western clothes. They had no feathers in their hair, or war paint on their faces, but they looked terrifying.
The effect this had on the camp was immense. Everyone tried to flee or run for cover but soon found they were surrounded and hemmed in. There were shouts, sobs and general pandemonium. Someone even called out: "Indians!" They honestly said that. Like some corny old movie from days gone by.
One of the guards fought back straight away, unloading his rifle into the oncoming warriors, wounding two and killing another. When his ammo was spent he picked up his weapon like a club and charged, but was soon overwhelmed. Five braves beat him to the ground with the butts of their rifles. He raised a hand in surrender, to show he was done. This didn't stop his attackers. They had come for blood and nothing was going to deny them. They cracked his bones, ruptured his stomach and caved in his skull.
One guard raced out of the woods by the log cabin with his trouser still round his ankles, a shit smeared leaf in one hand and a pistol in the other. He saw what was happening and tried to bolt back into the bushes. Two braves caught him, disarmed him and threw him face down on the ground. They shot him twice in the ass and once in the back of the head with his own weapon. His last earthly act was to empty his bladder.
"When you gotta go, you gotta go," said one of his killers and laughed.
The remaining guards threw down their weapons and put their hands in the air. The rest of the camp's occupants were herded together into a group. The men put protective arms around their women folk, who pulled their children to them. They watched in fear as the guards were brought before Ahiga and made to kneel.
"Don't think you stinking heathens will get away with this," said one of the guards and he spat at Ahiga, hitting his boot. Ahiga brought the boot up into the man's face, kicking him to the ground. Then he picked the man up by his hair and pulled out a knife. Hastiin and Akecheta took hold of the other man and drew their own blades.
"Please," a woman called out from the huddled crowd. "For the love of Jesus, please don't"
"I have no love for your Jesus," said Ahiga and he sliced open the man's throat. Hastiin and Akecheta did the same. Ahiga stepped into the warm arc of blood pumping from the severed artery of his victim, bathing himself in its crimson spray. He roared with delight. The primordial cry of a victor, standing over the corpse of his enemy. The rest of the war party did the same. They were elated. They were victorious. They had payback.
Ahiga raised his hands. "Silence!" he commanded. The war party stopped roaring. Ahiga turned to the huddled mass of civilians. The adults shook and the children cried. "I said silence!" Some parents put their hands over their children's mouths. Others tried to shush those old enough to understand.
"When your forefathers first came to these shores," said Ahiga, "my ancestors welcomed them in peace. When they starved because they couldn't hunt or grow crops, my ancestors fed them. And how were we repaid? With lies and bloodshed as you built your cites and stole our land. Then your cities failed, your people died and once again you could not feed yourselves. Then who did you turn to for help? My people once again. And once again we fed you and looked after you and taught you our tribal ways. How have you repaid us for this kindness? You come on to our most sacred land, our most holy burial ground, and you desecrate the corpses of our most honoured ancestors. Did you think we would just lie back and take this? That we would let you trample over what little dignity we had left? Well, you were sorely mistaken if you did."
One of the older men stepped forward from the crowd. He clutched a cap to his chest and his head was bent in submission. "Please," he said. "We have obviously made a grave mistake. We did not know this land was holy. We would never have come here if we did. We'll put right any damage we've done and we'll leave straight away."
"Liar," said Ahiga as Hastiin stepped forward and punched the old man in the face. He spun round and spat out a tooth as he hit the floor. A group of braves gathered around and stomped on the man.
"You knew exactly what you were doing," Ahiga said. "We will not tolerate your presence here a second longer. You will watch as we undo the wicked grievance you have done us. Then you will gather up your dead, who are not fit to be laid on this sacred ground, and we will escort you off the reservation. We do not kill unarmed men, women and children and this is what puts us above you and your kind."
There were surprised mutters amongst the war party and Ahiga silenced them with a gesture. He knew that Fitch and Golding had hoped for a full scale massacre, but he wasn't going to play into their hands. They were pawns in his game, he was not a pawn in theirs. He was going to do something they hadn't counted on.
Ahiga signalled for the braves with the TNT to get to work. Both were former construction workers. One wasn't even a Native American. He was the only one in Ahiga's party who wasn't. He'd been living with the Navajo in New Mexico since The Cull so he could be trusted. The two of them had lugged the TNT in a reinforced steel container all the way from Lame Deer. Now they fixed it to the base of the tower and the concrete foundations.
The crowd of Neo-Clergy volunteers were herded over to the far north side of the burial ground. While the half finished tower was primed for demolition, the other braves set light to the log cabin and living quarters of the camp. There were gasps and sobs from the crowd as favourite teddies and treasured family Bibles went up in the flames. The braves guarding them quelled the noise.
The detonation wire was connected to the explosives, reeled out to a safe distance then hooked up to the detonator. Ahiga himself did the honours.
The noise was deafening. The ground shook and a wall of heat came off the inferno that engulfed the tower, stinging Ahiga's eyes and nose.
The tower came crashing down on the sacred earth. The blackened steel of the structure seemed to scream as it buckled and fell apart. Flaming girders, rivets and chunks of molten metal rained down, scattering impromptu funeral pyres across the cemetery.
A cheer went up from the braves, it was an awesome sight. They had laid the white man's schemes low. The tower had been like a giant middle finger raised to the Native Americans. A huge metal dick showing the white man's power, and they had just chopped it down, unmanning the whole Neo-Clergy.
The braves separated the men folk and forced them at gunpoint to pick their way through the flaming ruins of the tower and drag the corpses out. Acting on Ahiga's orders, Hastiin filled a blood stained quiver with arrows that he pulled from the dead bodies.
Then he led the crowd down the mound, following the traditional path. The survivors of the attack were forced at gunpoint to mourn the death of their villainous scheme, and mourn it Native American style.
"You should be pleased old man," said Ahiga to the chief.
The weakling just sighed and looked solemn. This was how Elders exerted their power over the younger braves. The sombre silences, the shunning and withdrawal of approval. It wasn't going to work on Ahiga though. "You had the white man camped out on your most sacred site, trampling on your traditions and your territory. I just got rid of him for you. I've given you back that land."
"I heard the explosion," said the chief. "What kind of a state have you left the land in? Do you honestly think we will ever be able to use it again to honour our dead?"
"That is the white man's doing. Not mine. At least now you have the chance to rebuild."
The chief gave him a sad look, full of the pain of betrayal. Ahiga knew the old man was holding back what he wanted to say, but his look was far more eloquent. Ahiga could feel the anger building inside him. He choked back the bile that was rising in his throat and marched out of the chief's quarters.
He would have started to beat on the old man if he hadn't. He'd seen that self same look only once before in his life and he did not want to be reminded.
It had come from those beautiful brown eyes as he squeezed the trigger. They were the only eyes he had ever loved and he had stolen the light from them forever. He had done it out of fear. Not the fear of knowing it was kill or be killed but the fear of being revealed in front of the gang. The fear of being thought less than a man. What ate him up inside was that he hadn't felt like a proper man since.
Ahiga heard footsteps approach. The tread was familiar, without turning round he knew they were Hastiin's. The brave stopped a respectful distance from Ahiga and waited without a sound.
After a time Ahiga collected himself and said: "Is it done?"
"I placed the quiver and the detonator inside the meeting hall as you instructed. Even a half-assed search will turn them up, but they'll stay hidden unless someone thinks to look."
"Speak of this to anyone and you're a dead man. You know that don't you?"
"Of course," said Hastiin. "I believe in the UTN. I believe in Hiamovi and what you're doing to bring our people together. I'm honoured to be a part of it."
"Good. When the time comes, I'll see you right by this."
"I appreciate that," said Hastiin. "But just being a part of something bigger than myself – something that matters – that's enough of a reward."
"Leave me now," said Ahiga and Hastiin went.
Everything was now set in motion. An old Greek pimp had once told Ahiga that when the gods want to punish us they give us exactly what we want. The saying had always stuck with Ahiga. Fitch and Golding were going to get what they wanted. It was going to punish them more than they could possibly expect.
It was getting near dawn and Fitch was pissed. He'd been driving up and down the road bordering the reservation since he'd heard the explosion. He had no idea what kind of stunt that sick faggot Ahiga had pulled, but he was going to make him pay when he found out.
"Where are these stinking Bible bashers?" he said. "Can't that freaking Injun get 'em to the borders of his own reservation?"
"T'aint his reservation," said Golding, who was riding shotgun in the jeep. "These are Cheyenne. He's a Navajo. He told me that."
"Whatever. They're all redskins. Should've killed 'em back when we had the chance."
"Have to make do with happy clappers for the time being."
"Yeah, freaking Christians. Them I'll kill for free. Bug the fucking shit outta me."
"Don't let Colt catch you saying that. He's real big into his religious shit."
"I know. That's his problem. Christianity, that's what we push to the masses. T'aint what we swallow. First rule of dealing: don't get high on your own supply. We start believing in all this turn the other cheek, peace on earth bullshit and we're fucked."
"Naw. Colt's more of your eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth kinda Christian. Strictly old school, old testament. He told me that."
A horn blared behind them, from one of the two troop carriers following them. Fitch checked his mirror. The driver of the last vehicle was leaning out the window waving for them to go back.
Fitch pulled a U-turn and swore as he hit a pothole. He drove past the troop carriers, executing three point turns. Up ahead, on the right hand side of the road, about a hundred or so volunteers were coming out of a small copse of Ponderosa Pines.
"Goddamn it," said Fitch. "He hasn't killed a one of them. First the explosion now this, what the fuck is that cock sucking Injun playing at?"
"Wait," said Golding. "I see a few bodies. Our boys though, worse luck."
"You didn't expect he'd let them live did ya?"
"S'pose not."
Fitch pulled up and jumped out. The other two vehicles were just pulling up when the volunteers spotted them. The troops climbed out of the carriers. Thirty men armed to the teeth.
The whole crowd ran towards them with their arms out. Some of them bawled tears of joy. Fitch thought they might fall down and kiss his feet. They swarmed round him, the women tugging at his clothes while their scrawny ass kids screamed. Everyone was talking at once. Fitch pulled out his pistol and fired it into the air.
"Alright," he hollered. "That's enough, I can't make out a word you're saying. You," Fitch said pointing to a tall, thin man who had hold of a corpse by the ankles. "What the fuck was that explosion we heard?"
"That was the tower," said the man. "The Indians blew it up. Had dynamite and everything." The man tilted his head at the corpse he was carrying. "Killed this one and nine others."
"Anyone else dead?" said Fitch. "Apart from our men?"
"Couple I think. Few of us are wounded too. Do you have a first aid kit with you?"
"Oh we got just what you need. Don't you worry 'bout that none."
The troops formed themselves into a line spanning the road, guns at the ready.
"How bad's the damage to the tower?" Fitch said. "There any chance of repairing it?"
The man shook his head. "We'll have to start again from scratch. The whole thing's destroyed. Set light to our things too. All we got is the clothes on our back."
"You won't need nothing where you're going," said Golding.
The volunteers started to look nervous. A few of them began backing up the road or slinking into the trees. "You guys are here to help us aren't you?" said the tall man. "We're gonna finish off the work on the tower ain't we? So the Prophet can get his word out."
"We're gonna finish off the tower," said Fitch. "But first we gotta finish up what them Injuns left undone."
"Listen," said the man. "I don't quite follow what you're saying. You need to send us some place we can get seen to."
"We're going to send you some place alright. Some place the angels can see to you."
The troops raised their weapons, semi automatics primed and loaded. "Wait a minute! We're on your side. Sweet Lord Jesus -"
"Tell him I said hi," said Fitch and opened fire. The rest of the men followed suite.
The roar of the gunfire nearly drowned the screams of pain and fear. Wave upon wave of bullets ripped into the men, women and children as they tried to flee. Their bodies jerked and flailed. It put Fitch in mind of the raptures they went into at their prayer meetings. Waving their hands in the air, speaking in tongues and falling to the floor. Except there was a lot more blood and they weren't getting up again.
Fitch and his men stepped over the first lot of corpses as they advanced on the rest of the volunteers trying to escape. Their boots were sticky from all the blood. Fitch's weapon was red hot from the constant firing and his arms were sore from tensing against the recoil.
With the majority of them dead, Fitch sent five men on down the road to catch the few bastards who'd gotten away and four more into the trees to flush out any stragglers there. The rest of the men kicked their way through the bodies on the road, using their pistols to finish off the wounded.
When he was satisfied that the job was done he called out to Golding: "You got them bow and arrows to hand?" Golding pulled five bows and three quivers out the back of the jeep. He tossed a bow to Fitch who then fired an arrow into one of the corpses. Golding handed out bows to some of the other men.
"Sir, I don't understand," said one of the soldiers. "We already finished 'em off. Why turn 'em into pin cushions?"
"'Cos people have to see it was them Injuns did this. They have to know what kinda filthy savages they are."
When they were done Fitch turned to Dwight, six-foot four of red headed, red necked, good ol' Southern boy. "You got that Polaroid?"
Dwight held up an instant camera. It would have been a relic even before The Cull. "Sure have. Got it off a scav who pulled it out of an old retirement home, place was a gold mine he said."
"Does it still work?"
"Fired off a few test shots to be sure," said Dwight. "Even got spare film."
"Good," said Fitch. "I want a lot of shots of this. People are gonna see these photos and they're gonna want blood."
"Neo-Clergy's making a comeback boys," said Golding as Dwight snapped away. "Neo-Clergy's making a comeback."