The engineer took the gun, holding it daintily. He was not military.
Li left the cab and moved back deeper into the train. Bingwen followed. In the third car they found fifty soldiers loading their weapons, checking their gear, putting on body armor.
"There are about thirty of them," Li told the soldiers. "All of them are traitors. Some are armed with machetes and old hunting rifles. I doubt many of them can shoot straight, but take out the rifles first just in case. There may be more in the trees on either side of the train. Look for heat signatures. I suggest getting off near the back and then coming up on either side using the trees for cover. Once it starts, they'll break and scatter. Be quick and clean."
They were going to kill the villagers, Bingwen realized. They were going to mow them down where they stood. It wasn't right. Most of the people looked half starved. They were simply trying to survive. His village probably would have done the same.
Bingwen dared not speak up and object, however. That would be disrespectful. He would infuriate Li, which would make Li all the more insistent that they proceed with his plan. Nor could Bingwen run outside and warn the people. Li would arrest him as a traitor--or worse shoot him with the others. And besides, giving the people a warning would only put their rifleman on alert and lead to casualties on both sides.
No, there was only one course of action to prevent bloodshed.
Bingwen turned on his heels and walked back to the front of the train. He moved past the engineer without a word, opened the side door, and went outside. The night air was cold and smelled of bonfire smoke. A narrow ledge curved around the front of the train. It was m
ore than wide enough for Bingwen. He sidled to the front and shouted to get their attention.
"Friends and respected elders. I am Bingwen. I am from a rice village south of here near Dawanzhen. I know you. I am one of you." He pointed to the man on the horse. "You are my uncle Longwei, my mother's brother, bold and strong and mindful of his family." He pointed to an old man with a rifle. "You are my grandfather, wise and kind and protective of his grandchildren. All of you are doing what they would do, to help their families, their village survive. Only they're dead, killed by the Formics."
The people were silent, watching him. The horse whinnied. The bonfire crackled. The tree leaves rustled softly in the wind.
"I saw them die. My friend Hopper and my cousin Meilin were two of the first, buried in a mudslide when the Formic lander set down by my village. Theirs was a quick death. They were lucky. Most in my village were killed by the gases. Children like me. Infants wrapped in their dead mothers' arms. My mother, my father." His voice cracked, the emotion welling up inside him, but he swallowed, controlled himself and moved on. "The Formics killed them all and left them to rot in the fields. You have not experienced such things this far north. You are hungry, yes, but you have been spared the worst of this war. If the Formics are not stopped, they will come here soon. And no amount of food, taken from us or grown in your own fields, can save you."
He gestured to the train behind him. "On this train we have soldiers who are trying to figure out how to kill the Formics before they come to this village. I don't know if they'll be ready in time to save your people. But they might--if you let them pass."
He scanned the crowd, letting his eyes meet theirs. "Or you could fight them, try to steal everything. Maybe you win, and kill the soldiers. You would eat for a few days, yes, but then who will defend you when the Formics come? Or maybe they win, and you die. What will your families do then?"
The door on the driver's cab opened, and Lieutenant Li stepped out onto the ledge, his hands raised, showing he was unarmed. "The boy says it true. We can share what we have. We have food for a week's journey on the train. What if we divide it with you? We'll journey on half rations. You'll have food for a few more days. We won't have Chinese killing Chinese."
Bingwen looked at him. Had Li had a change of heart? Had he seen the wisdom of what Bingwen was proposing?
"Send four of your men onto the train," said Li, "and we'll give them boxes of food to carry."
"How do we know this isn't a trick?" said the man on the horse. "You could hold my four men hostage, demand that we remove the obstruction. I need some assurance."
"I will send out four of our men," said Li. "They will be unarmed. You can keep them hostage while your men recover the food. I assure you no harm will come to your men."
The man on the horse considered for a long moment, then he turned to the mob and ordered three men to come forward. The men shouldered their rifles and approached the train. The man on the horse dismounted and joined them. Lieutenant Li opened the door for Bingwen to come inside. Four unarmed Chinese soldiers were in the driver's cab when Bingwen reentered. They wore no armor or gear. Li held open the door for them, and the four men exited the train. They then approached the mob, hands raised. A few in the mob held their rifles ready, just in case.
The horse rider, their leader, came up the ladder first, followed by his three men. When they were all in the driver's cab, the horse man said, "I am Shihong. This is my son, Renshu. And these are my fellow free citizens, Youngzhen and Xiaodan."
The men each bowed in turn. They were simple, humble people, Bingwen saw--farmers, with little to no education, most likely. Their clothes were warm but threadbare. They looked more like peasants than bandits.
"I am Lieutenant Li of the People's Liberation Army. Won't you come this way please?" He motioned to the hallway leading from the cab into the train.
Shihong, their leader, glanced out the front window and hesitated. Outside the four soldier hostages stood in the train's headlights with their hands behind their heads, defenseless. Shihong then turned to Bingwen and studied him, his eyes boring into Bingwen's. Whatever he saw there, it gave him his answer. He turned to Li and nodded. "Lead on."
Li escorted them into the train. They passed through several passenger cars until they reached a cargo hold where dozens of pallets of supplies were stored, all lashed to the walls of the train. Bingwen exhaled. He had feared some trap.
Shihong eyed the pallets, and a look of relief came over him. His eyes misted. He placed a hand on one of the food boxes and smiled. "What will you give us?" he asked, turning back to Lieutenant Li.
"Exactly what you deserve," said Li.
Then he raised a pistol and shot Shihong in the chest.
Bingwen jerked, startled.
Three more quick shots. The heads of the three other men jerked back, each leaving a spray of red mist in the air. They crumpled. Shihong stumbled back against the pallet of food. He blinked, looked at the red stain blossoming on his chest, then fell.
Three soldiers stepped out from behind pallets in the cargo hold, each of them holding a rifle. Bingwen could hear more gunfire outside. Quick, automatic bursts.