The horsemen ride into the square with blood-curdling yells. They look like something from a history book, Mongol warriors of Genghis Khan’s time. Oriental faces, fur leggings and hats. Many of the Germans go to pieces, drop their guns and run. The riders cut them down. They are wonderful horsemen, slashing and stabbing as they weave among the terrorized soldiers.
Some of the Germans fight back, firing rifles and machine guns at the riders. A few are shot from the saddle, but the Germans are soon overwhelmed. All three tanks burn, their fleeing crews run down and killed like vermin.
The Mongols dismount and busy themselves among the corpses. They cut off heads and jam them atop their spears. The cobbles are slick with blood and gore. Body parts and offal are scattered everywhere. The raiders are efficient as workers at a slaughterhouse, yet they seem to enjoy themselves. They hold up various parts and compare them, laughing and joking. Some of the Germans, not yet dead, lie squirming and screaming as the victors cut off ears and fingers.
Two Mongols toss the German heads into a pile. A blonde head bounces off and rolls unevenly across the courtyard. One of the Mongols moves to stop it with his foot, tries to kick it back atop the pile. He misses. The other joins in, trying to block him as though playing soccer.
The Soviet officer blows a whistle. They stop, turn to stare at him. He climbs out of the motorcycle sidecar and strides over to the Mongol chieftain, yelling. He gestures and points, his face mottled red with rage.
The chieftain stands silent, arms crossed. When the officer is finally done, the chieftain turns to his men and says a few soft words. They begin to stack the heads neatly, like cabbages in a vegetable market.
This is an excerpt from my first novel Hawser, available on Amazon (or free from me, if you are willing to review it). With the new Pegman prompt and a novel in progress, I didn’t have the time to do something fresh today. Thanks for reading. -JHC