Retaliation by Bill McCay Read Free Book Online

vocal minority led the crowd in a rush for the doors, intending to put their case forcefully.
    Then the doors opened and militiamen marched out. The Abydan militia organized by Sha’uri’s brother Skaara was not a spit-and-polish outfit. His citizen soldiers wore their street clothes, robes of brownish homespun. Usually the only clues of mili-tary organization were proficiency in maneuvers- Skaara drilled them mercilessly-and the weapons they carried.
    The unit deploying to cut off the mob was armed with M-16 rifles recovered from the battlefields out-side Nagada. These militiamen also wore another item of military salvage-the new Kevlar helmets issued to American troops. In the torchlit square, the coal-scuttle helmets gave them the appearance of cloaked Nazis moving into battle.
    Confrontation quickly turned to bloody riot control. The protest leaders tried to push through, and were met with rifle butts. Apparently, the militiamen were under orders not to fire. No shots rang out, but there were plenty of broken heads and bloody faces.
    The militia troopers ruthlessly drove the angry farmers about halfway across the square. There, the resistance of the hustled protesters began to stiffen. Surprisingly, the militia riot squad broke contact, stepping back. The farmers were preparing a charge when a single rifle shot resounded across the square. The sound came from above. Daniel and the pro-testers looked up to find a line of militiamen strung across the roof of the Elders’ hall. They leaned across the waist-high parapet, aiming their rifles down at the crowd. The unspoken threat was enough. When the militia officer on the ground told the farmers to disperse, the crowd began melting away.
    The least committed went first. They’d have to be back at their farms before sunup to begin a new day in the fields. More and more of the protesters drew away, until all that remained were the real fire-eaters-and those too banged up to move quickly.
    All that was left was the mopping up. The helmeted riot-control line moved forward again, chivvying the last of the protesters away. At least they were more sparing with their gun butts.
    Daniel stared, so spellbound by the unpleasant spectacle that he didn’t notice the militiaman advanc-ing on him until it was nearly too late. “Get moving, scum!” The hard-eyed trooper reared back with his rifle.
    Instinctively Daniel moved to grapple with him. A flurry of movement from the corner of his eye gave an instant’s warning. Daniel twisted as another militiaman charged in, ready to smash his face with the butt of his M-16. The guy’s face seemed vaguely familiar under the Fritz helmet. His features slackened in shock when he apparently recognized Daniel. Stepping between the struggling pair, he waved back his snarling comrade. “He ain’t one of the troublemakers,” he said. “Look at the yellow hair. That’s the chief’s brother-in-law!”
    The first militiaman let down his gun, giving Daniel the disgusted look reserved for innocents who inter-pose themselves in police actions anywhere. Daniel found himself a little breathless as he asked the other to give him a safe-conduct across the square to the Elders’ hall.
    The rope and wood bridge under Skaara’s feet swung slightly in the breeze. He stood equidistant between the watchtowers that flanked the main gates of Nagada. The height gave him a vantage point to observe inside the city as well as beyond its walls. He lowered the binoculars he’d aimed toward the central square. ‘They’re leaving,” he said. “We’ve won.”
    Baki, the young warrior who stood beside him, called down to the group of messengers crouched by the gate, ready to run. “They’re breaking up, but keep ready. We may still have to call out more men.”
    “I don’t think so,” Skaara said. “The fight seems to be knocked out of them.” In Baki’s hand, a field radio crackled to life, report-ing the retreat of the disruptive elements. Skaara