Free 1920: America's Great War-eARC by Robert Conroy Page A

ranch was under attack. Showing up piecemeal was a recipe for disaster.
    They decided on Kirsten’s place since it was roughly in the middle of the Raleigh area. Kirsten reluctantly agreed. She thought it would be nice to know what the problem was and where they might be going before congregating, but she had to admit that it might be expecting too much.
    She recalled reading something that the term “firebells in the night” might have been written by Thomas Jefferson and was something about a slave uprising. Of course, they didn’t have slaves in California, although some of the landowners treated their Mexican and occasional Indian workers as little more than slaves, which was the landowners’ loss. She’d found that people—and Mexicans and Indians were people—worked harder, smarter, and better if you treated them with respect and didn’t destroy their pride.
    The firebells rang at three in the morning. Kirsten jumped out of bed and looked out her window. Flickering lights glowed off in the distance and she thought she heard thunder. And all of it was coming from the south, the direction of Raleigh and Mexico.
    More bells added to the distant din. She dressed quickly, this time in her functional jeans, got her rifle, and went outside to wait. She’d been wearing her late husband’s pajamas, which had scandalized her cousins the first time she’d done it. Not only were they more comfortable than the traditional nightgown, but they reminded her of her husband. Sometimes, she felt she could still sense a hint of the smell of his body, and it then awakened longings.
    Her cousin Ella had awakened and said she’d make coffee. Might as well do something, Kirsten thought. Too bad Leonard was spending the night in town. He’d said it was a card game with friends, but Ella thought it was because he’d had a fight with Ella and Leonard just wanted to get drunk. She didn’t think he’d gone there to get laid. There were no hookers that she knew of and there were precious few women in town who weren’t married or who might be interested in Leonard.
    In a surprisingly short while, riders began showing up. All eyes were on the south. The thundering seemed to have stopped, but the flickering lights continued. Fire, was the consensus, and it was in Raleigh.
    With about a dozen men gathered, Roy Olson took the lead and they headed out. They’d gone only a mile or two in the growing light when they saw a Model T racing towards them and being steered erratically. Leonard, Kirsten thought, and she was right. Her cousin braked the car sharply and nearly fell out.
    “The town’s being bombed,” he managed to gasp. He could hardly stand. His eyes were wild and crazy.
    Olson glared at him. “You’re drunk. What the hell do you mean? Ain’t no planes bombing anything.”
    Leonard returned the glare. “Damn right I’m drunk and maybe the bombing’s coming from cannon and not planes, but Raleigh’s being destroyed. Buildings are being blown up and people are being killed. That and I think I saw soldiers coming up from the border.”
    “Mexicans?” asked Olson, slightly abashed. Leonard was indeed drunk but who could deny that something terrible was happening to the town?
    “You just wish,” Leonard said. “Naw, I saw those lances and funny headgear silhouetted by the fire. They weren’t greasers, they were Germans.”
    * * *
    Martel stared at the information on the notes before him. Once was an incident. Twice could be a coincidence. But three times was a pattern and he was looking at a developing pattern. He walked to the base’s telegraph station, made a few inquiries, and confirmed his suspicions. He picked up his notes and went to Colonel Nolan’s office only to be told that the colonel was in conference with General Liggett. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, Luke thought.
    An astonished civilian clerk tried to stop him, but Luke ignored him and knocked firmly on the general’s closed door. He