Episode 6, Arrival © C. J. Hoare 2006.
All rights reserved.

Scroll down to Previous Posts to select Episode 1 and start from the beginning.

Gisel kept her eyes on the direction the horsemen had gone. Stay where she was – that was a damned silly idea. Nobody knew where that was – not even her. Maybe the road the horsemen were on led somewhere.

She set out carefully, listening to the sounds of their movement. About the time she reached the distinct trail between the trees the noise stopped. She dodged behind a tree and held her breath. Had they seen her?

She had to look. Leaning forward she peered around the tree. She ducked back! Jeeze, they weren't far away.

Cautiously she leaned out for another look.

The track was rutted and about three metres wide. It wound between the trees but never enough to completely block her view along it. The two men sat their horses in the middle, about a hundred metres away. They looked about them and cocked their heads. What could they hear?

The only direction they didn't look was along the path behind them they'd already traveled. Gisel studied them carefully, ready to spring back behind the tree in an instant. They wore grey conical hats – metal, she guessed, and waistcoats the same colour. What were they called? Ah, yes. Cuirasses – a kind of armour. Their legs were encased in coloured breeches – the red and blue she'd glimpsed. They ended just below their knees, where tall riding boots joined them. What caught most of her attention hung from their waists. Swords – rapiers by the shape of them.

Were these fellows the local constabulary? Maybe worse, bandits or cutthroats.

The horses stamped their hooves impatiently; one skittered backwards. The man with the blue breeches said something to the other – a harsh, gutteral sounding speech. They urged their horses forward and resumed cantering down the track.

Gisel came out from the trees to stand looking after them. They'd heard something – maybe Alan and Mort. If so, the guys were in trouble. She considered the idea more carefully. If the horsemen had heard them, it meant the trail led the way she needed to go. Holding the sampling tool in two hands, she set out to follow.

She should let M'Tov and her father know, but she'd been told to stay put. Dammit – they'd find out she hadn't soon enough. "Colonel. Father. The two horsemen are armed, and I think they're headed your way."

Her father's voice came first. "They haven't seen you?"

M'Tov still sounded winded. "What are they armed with?"

"I see rapiers at their waists. They've got iron helmets and cuirasses."

"Roger," M'Tov answered. "We can handle that."

"Be careful, Gisel. Can you still see them?"

"Not now. They're about a hundred metres in front of me . . . riding down a track between the trees."

"How can you tell all this? Are you on the track? I told you –"

"Dammit, Father. You wouldn't have the warning if I wasn't. I'm worried they'll find Alan and Mort."

"Keep well back until we call you by radio."

"Sure." She continued walking. These were her horsemen, she'd seen them first. She was entitled to see what happened.

She'd only gone a couple of hundred metres when she heard shouts from ahead.

"Colonel! Do you see them? I hear shouts."

"No, I haven't reached your father yet."

"Then they must have found our tree guys."

She began to run. The trail began winding more than before, wide sweeping turns around boggy patches and clumps of bushes. More shouts, and Alan's voice, "Look out, Mort! Run for it . . . Yahhg!" Oh Christ – they were being killed!

The only remaining voices spoke back and forth in the gutteral speech. She could hear the horsemen's breath rasp deeply between the words. She ran harder.

She squelched across a wet patch in the trail. More small bushes here. She rounded them at a run and almost bumped into a pair of tall brown legs, tail swishing and hooves stomping. Horse. The other animal swung it's head and whinneyed at her. God dammit – don't give me away! She dived into the bushes.

She threw herself flat on the ground and crawled under the branches. The men's voices again – sounded kinda like German; so much for M'Tov's idea of landing in what should be the equivalent of southern Britain where people should speak recognisable English. She couldn't understand a word.

A rustling as feet kicked through the fallen leaves. One coming back to check the horses. Gisel lay quiet while she heard the man moving about, his voice now quieter as he soothed the animals. As he walked away, she crawled forward to peer out. She shifted position several times before she could see properly.

The two men stood together, looking down at something on the ground. She couldn't quite make out what was there from her low vantage point. Bodies? Yuk. One bent down to lift something. Mort's head and shoulders came into view. His eyes were open. Maybe he was still alive. The man in the red breeches yanked a rag out of Mort's mouth and spoke to him.

Mort shook his head. "Don't understand you."

The two strangers spoke more loudly.

Mort glared up at them. "Let us go! You'll be in deep shit when the others get here."

"If they get here."

Alan's voice. That meant they weren't dead.

The strangers began to argue, and then one bent down to lift Alan to his feet. Blue breeches drew his rapier and prodded him toward the horses. Shit. She couldn't let them be taken away.

She lay silently as Mort was pulled to his feet and goaded forward. Then she heard running feet approaching. The strangers and Mort swung around.

"Over here!" Mort shouted. "Look out, they . . ."

The horseman swung a terrific punch that knocked him off his feet.

Gisel raised herself up. Between the trees, a man approached at a run. Her father. Where the hell were M'Tov and the rest?

The man in the blue breeches raised his rapier. He spoke briefly to his companion. As the other man threw Alan to the ground, the man in the blue advanced toward Gisel's father, rapier at the ready. Gisel stood and pushed through the branches. "Look out, Father. He's got a sword."

At her voice, Henrik Matah stopped running. The man with the red breeches swung around. He stood very close, his rapier point reached out toward her.

She swung the sampling tool as hard as she could. As it swung she released the handle to let the sampling end extend. It caught the horseman on the side of the head. His helmet went flying.

He collapsed in a heap, his rapier falling to the ground.

A shot rang out.

Gisel looked up. The man with the blue breeches had dodged behind a tree – obviously as her father fired. Henrik raised the pistol into the air as he stepped forward to look for him.

The man leaped out and grabbed for the pistol.

"Look out!" Gisel shouted. "Shoot him! Shoot!"

Henrik hesitated. Bad mistake. The man in blue was close enough to swing his rapier and clout him in the head. Henrik crumpled, the pistol flying from his hand.

Gisel scooped up the fallen man's rapier. She ran at her father's assailant. "Leave him alone, you bastard!"