Avenging Angels (Bad Times Book 3)

nomads. They’d mostly followed a rough eastward trail until the ground broke up. They settled on a ledge of rock scree in the lee of a hillside to rest the horses, eat, and catch some sleep.
“It’s the tenth of September, AD 16,” Lee said.
“That’s a week past our target, right?” Chaz said.
“We’re making good time,” Bat said. “We’re past the point we meant to make the first day.”
“But we lost a day getting mounts and saddles. There’s not a lot of wiggle room here,” Lee said. “We need to be ahead of the convoy to set up an ambush. That means we really hump it from here on.”
“So we hump it.” Chaz shrugged.
Boats, wrapped in a sheepskin and lying in the shelter of a scrub pine, snored on.
They broke camp and were back on the trail before dawn. Jimbo rode far ahead to scout the country. He made piles of rocks to mark where he changed directions. The ground was rising and breaking up. They counted on the fact that the topography had not changed too much in two millennia. There were more trees and brush than in The Now. The marshlands were larger than they would be one day.
They left the wetlands behind as the elevation increased on the way to the high ground before the Dead Sea rift and the Golan Heights beyond. Jimbo would find the path of least resistance around the floor of hills and avoid settlements and caravans.
They were in time now, racing east to intersect a Roman army column they knew was marching north. Any more delays and they would miss the potential ambush points they’d pre-chosen. Jimmy Smalls was riding farther in advance than any of them were comfortable with. They needed the knowledge of what lay ahead to make the best time. Besides, if the Pima ran into trouble, there was none tougher. And the rest of the team would ride in if he let off a signal shot from his Winchester.
“With all the breaks and a day of hard riding we should reach the road by nightfall,” Bat said riding even with Lee.
“Except we never get the breaks,” Lee said.
“Those Romans have no reason to push,” she said.
“They’re on foot, and they stop at every twentieth milepost and spend hours making a fortified camp. Plus they have prisoners slowing them down.”
“And we could get lost down a blind trail or run into weather or bad guys or just plain dumb luck.”
“Who’s chapping your ass?”
“This fucking horse,” Lee said and levered forward to relieve the pain in his rear.
“You sound like Chaz. He hates horses.”
“Everyone hates horses after two days in the saddle. Especially these saddles.”
They rode on into a copse of cedar growing between the brows of two hills. They stayed off high ground, where they might be visible for miles against the sky. Where it was possible, they used wooded trails to reduce the dust raised by their passage. The shade provided some relief from the heat even though the mosquito population increased. They picked up the pace to a trot to leave the annoying clouds behind. The horses seemed grateful.
The team dismounted when they’d cleared the trees. They led the animals to follow a trail that curved away along the face of an escarpment. A small pyramid of stones was visible beneath a crooked tree just beneath the ridgeline. By it was an arrow of pebbles pointing off to their right through a narrow cleft. It was hard going, and they’d need to move in single file. They were bathed in fresh sweat within minutes.
“I could buy us some time on the other end,” Bat spoke up.
“How?” Lee said.
“I catch up with Jimbo. He and I can just go full-out for the roadway without the packies to slow us. We can set up an OP and cover the road until you guys catch up.”
“What if the bad guys show before we do?”
“We can hold them. I’m a sniper too, remember? Take down an officer, and they’ll either scatter or at least stop to think about it.”
Lee looked at her, his eyes in shadow in the stark sunlight.
“That’s sweet,” she said. “You’re worried about me.”
“I was weighing the tactical advantages. I was also thinking that only a dumbass volunteers for anything.”
“Aren’t Rangers all volunteers?”
“I wasn’t casting stones.”
“Good. The guy we’re looking for doesn’t approve of that kind of thing, right?”
“Okay,” he said. “Go.”
Bat swung up into the saddle and urged her horse into a gallop. She rode to the pyramid beneath the twisted tree, jerked her reins right and drove into the shadows of the constricted trail.
Jimbo slid from his horse at the sound of hoof falls behind him. He reined the mount athwart the trail and slid the Winchester from the leather boot. He trained it toward the rising haze of dust making a whirling smear against the yellow sky back the way he came.
Through the scope, Lee’s girl leaped into view where she leaned back in the saddle of her gray mare and expertly picked her way down a rocky slope. She held the reins high and guided the mount along an angled path. Bat was a natural, moving as one with the horse. Jimbo raised the rifle and stood waiting for her.
“You got farther ahead than I thought,” she said as she reined to a stop and dismounted.
“I kept a steady pace.” He slid the rifle back in its scabbard.
She explained the change in tactics.
“It’s a good option,” Jimbo said. “I been reading up on these Romans. Tacitus. The real stuff. He wrote that the legions were brave but could be easily spooked. A whole army ran, scared shitless in the Teutonburg once. Turned out it was acorns falling on their helmets.”
“Let’s go throw some acorns then,” she said.
Her mount was blown and lathered with sweat. They would lead their horses at a trot for a few miles. It was a killing pace for them over the broken ground. For the horses, it