Twice Loved at Armageddon

Twice Loved at Armageddon, Part III

Chapter Seven

   Scott had to forget Farah for the meantime.  It meant his own survival. He moved further with caution.

   Then he heard a noise from behind some nearby trees.  With extra caution, he took his rifle from his shoulder but left his bayonet alone.  Fixing it to his rifle risked making too much noise.  Drawing closer with his finger ready to release his rifle's safety, he saw a loaded donkey tied to a tree.  Approaching it, he found nothing except flies buzzing.  That is, he almost found nothing. Lying almost hidden among bushes were a dead man, woman, and child stripped of their outer clothing.  Their robes had been tossed aside in haste into a pile along with inexpensive jewelry and bags they had carried.

   Their only clothing still covering them had been stained with their blood.  Flies already inhabited their fatal wounds.  Scott became nauseated, not so much over the smell but that barbarians would take precious lives for such meager possessions. Who were they and when would they return for their spoils? Scott knew he was in the past, but his preference to disbelieve made him check their wrists for signs of watches. Neither were there zippers among the piles of clothing. With extra caution, he started downhill again.

   In the distance a lonely figure was riding on a donkey at a slow pace.  He also wore clothes not unlike the dead people he had just found.  But what was so unusual about that when Arabs in the same traditional clothing had pushed forty postcards for a dollar in Jerusalem markets?  Well, it was a good bet that man had none.  Why couldn't Scott just believe his calculations?  Because it was just crazy, and he had to wake up soon.  He looked back at the old man. Was he friendly?  Scott moved closer.

   What language would people be using, he wondered?  If in truth this was the first century, local Jews would speak Aramaic.  If Farah knew Scott would travel to the past, it made more sense that she had grilled him in it. He took another look at the man with his binoculars.  It looked as if he were gesturing in Scott's direction.  Because it was not time to reveal his presence, Scott held his peace.  That's it, he was hailing someone else between them but close by.

   Scott couldn't see who it was, but at least no one knew he was there.  He then swept the area with his binoculars to his far left and right.  Sure, enough, there were armed men by the road waiting to attack.  The old man on the donkey was a stoolie, posing as a traveler but warning raiders of approaching prey.  Scott's first instinct was to stay out of trouble.  Fighting in Afghanistan was no cure for fear.  In spite of it, he moved closer.

   Even if better armed than anyone up to this time in history, he knew that excitement could cause him to fire all of his ammunition in sixty seconds if he couldn't control himself.  Then what?  An empty M-16 with bayonet would be of little use against a band of robbers.  He moved with caution until well within a hundred yards of them.  On a rise overlooking a small bridge over a creek stood a band of fifteen slingers set to shower their victims with large stones.  Scott knew from the recent dig that those sling stones could be the size of tennis balls.

   Soon he located three archers. One was close to the bridge, where he could cut down the lead victim or anyone trying to escape across. That must be how they planned to start the attack. The creek ran left of the path beside it and turned right toward Mount Gilboa. Everyone on the path had to cross there.  The bridge was in the same location Yigal would later defend in the unofficial battle he would fight.

   The other archers in the distance could kill those trying to retreat west.   A large assault team had to be between the archers. That would be the best position for catching travelers as they slowed down before crossing the bridge. The bodies he had just found told him they would kill everyone in their coming raid.