You going to make it, or should I find you another blanket?" Kael puffed up his chest and said something that sounded defiant. "Right. Tough guy." Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get the training started before we both freeze." They'd established a routine over the past weeks. Every morning, weather permitting, Ethan worked with the young warriors on marksmanship, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat.
The progress was slow but steady. Kael had gone from barely hitting the target to grouping shots within a hand's width at 50 yards. The others were improving, too, learning to think like soldiers instead of just fighters. But today, as they assembled in the training area, a flat stretch of ground near the eastern edge of camp, Ethan noticed something different. NaShoBa was there, along with several of the senior warriors and two of the elders.
They watched in silence as the young men went through their drills. Ethan ignored them and focused on the training. He had Kael and another boy named Takoda working on reloading under pressure while the others practiced transitioning from rifle to pistol. It was basic stuff, but basic kept you alive. When they finished, NaShoBa approached.
"Walk with me." It wasn't a request. They walked away from the camp, following a deer trail up into the rocks. Neither man spoke until they were well out of earshot. Then NaShoBa stopped and turned to face him. "You have done well with the young men," NaShoBa said.
"They listen to you. They learn." "They're good students. They are also very young. And what you are teaching them will get them killed." Ethan felt his jaw tighten. "You asked me to train them." "I asked you to teach them to survive, not to fight like soldiers." NaShoBa's voice was calm but firm.
"There is a difference." "Is there? Because from where I'm standing, survival and fighting look pretty much the same." "That is because you are still thinking like a soldier, like a man who believes the right tactics and enough bullets can win any fight." NaShoBa shook his head. "We cannot win this fight, not with guns, not with tactics. The white men will always have more of both." "Then what do you want me to do?" "Teach them to be Apache, to use the land, to strike and vanish, to survive when the enemy thinks they are already dead." NaShoBa looked out over the canyon. "You fought at Dead Man's Pass because you wanted revenge.
And you won because we had the high ground and surprise. But what happens the next time? When there is no high ground, no surprise? When it is just tired men with empty rifles against an army? You run.
Yes. We run. And we keep running. And we teach the next generation to run faster and hide better. That is how we survive." He turned back to Ethan.
"So I am asking you, can you teach that? Or can you only teach them to stand and die?" The words hit harder than Ethan expected. He thought about the past weeks, about the pride he'd felt watching Kael improve, about the satisfaction of seeing the young men become more disciplined, more deadly. And he realized NaShoBa was right. He'd been training them to fight his war, not theirs.
"I can learn," Ethan said quietly, "if you'll teach me." NaShoBa studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Good. We start tomorrow." They walked back to camp in silence. Ethan's mind was churning, re-thinking everything he'd been doing, everything he thought he understood about this place and these people.