Chained Apache Woman Begged Him to Do Anything — The Cowboy Did the Unexpected Thing
Chapter 37
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Then came the charge: 60 riders thundering toward the mission from multiple directions, trying to overwhelm defensive positions through sheer force.They met disciplined rifle fire from prepared positions. The first wave faltered, riders falling or turning back under the withering accuracy. Thomas's fighters had trained for this, had practiced these exact scenarios: they didn't panic, they didn't break—they just kept firing.The loyalists regrouped and tried again, this time dismounting and advancing on foot, using cover where they could find it. They were brave, Caleb had to give them that: foolish, but brave.The fighting devolved into a brutal, close-quarters battle as some loyalists made it to the mission walls. Caleb found himself in hand-to-hand combat more than once, using his rifle as a club when there wasn't time to reload. Beside him, Ayla fought with a cold efficiency that spoke to training he hadn't known she'd had: she moved like someone who'd been preparing for this her whole life, every motion precise and economical.The tide of battle shifted back and forth: for every loyalist who fell, another pressed forward; for every defender who went down wounded, another stepped up to fill the gap. It was brutal, it was chaotic, it was everything war always was: noise and blood and terror and desperate courage, all mixed together.And then, impossibly, the loyalists broke.Not all at once, but in small groups: realizing that their assault had failed, that the defenders weren't routing, that every yard they gained cost them men they couldn't afford to lose. Vincent rallied them one more time, screaming about duty and honor and the natural order. A dozen followed him in a final, desperate charge at the main gate.They didn't make it. Concentrated fire cut them down, Vincent falling last, still screaming defiance even as the life left him.The remaining loyalists fled, leaving their dead and wounded behind. The battle was over.In the sudden silence, Caleb realized he was shaking: not from fear—that would come later, in the dark hours when adrenaline faded—but from the sheer effort of staying alive when everything around him wanted him dead."Casualties!" Clara called out, her voice hoarse from shouting orders. "Report!"The grim accounting began: five defenders dead, 14 wounded, three seriously. Among the loyalists: 23 dead, including Vincent, eight wounded; the rest scattered to the winds.Ayla moved among the wounded, helping where she could, offering water and comfort. Her hands were steady, but Caleb could see the toll in her eyes: this was the cost of their victory—real people dead, real families destroyed, all for a principle that suddenly felt very abstract in the face of so much suffering.But then something unexpected happened.As the wounded were being tended, as the dead were being laid out with respect, someone from the chapel emerged carrying a ballot box."The vote!" an elderly man called out. "We still need to hold the vote!"Clara looked at him like he was insane. "We just fought a battle! People are dead! The vote can wait!"