Into the West

by J. P. Bowie

  “They will see us in a few minutes.” Tanaka tensed as if he were ready to drop from his perch beside Jamie, but before he could move Nashoba, Tahman and two other Choctaw sprang from where they were hidden from view. Before the woodsmen could react, they were cut down. The two Cherokee put up more of a resistance and one managed to yell out a warning. As if galvanized by his shout, the French soldiers charged, and now Jamie and Tanaka joined in the fray, fighting hand to hand with the enemy.

  Jamie found himself face-to-face with the officer, a lieutenant from the braid on his uniform. He lunged, sword at Jamie’s chest, but Jamie parried the thrust with the barrel of his rifle and followed it up by aiming the butt into the man’s head. He missed, but in his effort to avoid the blow, the officer staggered and almost fell, fury on his face. Recovering, he rushed Jamie, slashing with his sword, forcing Jamie back against a tree. He managed to duck as the officer’s blade barely missed his head and bit into the tree trunk. Red in the face, the officer tried to wrest his sword from the wood, but try as he might, the blade was well and truly stuck. Calmly, Jamie pressed his rifle barrel under his opponent’s chin.

  “Order your men to stand down and drop their weapons or I will blow your bloody head off.” Even if he didn’t understand English, the man understood Jamie’s intention.

  “Laissez tomber vos armes!”

  “Now, you and your men…what’s left of them anyway, in one group, right here.” He waited until the officer ordered the soldiers to stand by him. Of the twenty or so of the French company only six remained alive, all of them shaken, all of them very young. What are they doing—recruiting from the cradle? Forced recruitment…cannon fodder, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Go back to your commanders and tell them that Fort Bligh cannot be taken.” Jamie studied the young officer’s face intently. He did not reply, but Jamie was sure he understood him. “Your army will suffer immense losses if you attempt to attack the fort. It is well-manned and defended.”

  The officer sneered. “We ’ave three times the numbers of the men at Fort Bligh. It will fall and no one will be spared.”

  Jamie wanted to slap the smugness off the lieutenant’s face, but instead he grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and kicked him on the arse.

  “Go, and take your sorry soldiers, wi’ ye, y’ wee spalpean. I’ve nae doubt your superiors will be very interested in how you managed to lose so many of them.”

  The officer glared at Jamie with outrage and impotent fury then strode away toward his horse.

  “Oh, and you can leave that bonny creature behind. Your men will walk and so will you.”

  For a moment, it appeared as if the lieutenant would attack Jamie again, his face almost black with rage. Instead, he swung away and gestured angrily for his men to follow. Jamie grimaced as he watched them go.

  “I dinna’ think he’ll be a lieutenant very much longer,” he said to Tanaka.

  “We can’t concern ourselves with that,” Tanaka replied with uncharacteristic sharpness. “We told the English captain we would destroy the cannons. That is what we must do next.”

  “Aye, all we have to do is that. Very well, Commander Tanaka, how do you suggest we proceed?”

  Tanaka ignored the sarcasm beyond a raised eyebrow. “By following those we defeated. When they reach the main army, the officer’s report and disgrace will cause enough of a distraction for us to infiltrate their ranks, find the cannons and dispose of them.”

  “Although this would’ve been the ideal spot for it…a’ these big holes and the like.” Jamie shrugged. “But chances are, they wouldna’ try and drag those big guns through here. They’ll go around.”

  “That will add another two, three days before they reach Fort Bligh,” Nashoba said.

  “And during that time,” Tanaka pointed out, “we may find another way to dispose of the guns.”

  Chapter Five

  Matthew Garland surveyed with a less than satisfied eye the repairs that had been carried out to the fort walls. His annoyance wasn’t so much aimed at the troops but at their commander, who had failed to make sure the fortifications were regularly maintained in such a manner as to fend off any attacks from hostile forces…mainly the French who were now marching toward the fort determined to take it. That, and the possibility of Indian attacks from those opposed to any kind of white man on their land. The Choctaw were mostly a peaceful people, but there were other tribes, the Cherokee for instance, whose war-like stance against the English made them a constant reminder that the French were not the only problem facing would-be settlers in the land surrounding Fort Bligh.

  It was fortunate that the fort had not come under heavy attack before, for if it had it surely would have fallen under the command of that sot, Fowler. Matthew grimaced at the memory of his last confrontation with the drunken colonel. Two nights confined to a cell had not improved the man’s attitude, and Matthew was convinced that someone had been sneaking some liquor to the colonel as surely his breath could not still stink of rum after forty-eight hours since his last tipple.

  Fowler’s threats to have him shot for mutiny had not abated. At times Matthew thought the man quite mad, his ranting unintelligible, his promises of dire retribution almost laughable. Matthew had refused his request for paper and pen to send a complaint by messenger to Military Headquarters at Fort Sumner.

  ‘You will have your say as soon as our fight with the French is over and I have you escorted to Fort Sumner to meet with General Rathbone,’ Matthew had informed Fowler. ‘You can voice your complaints at that point, but be assured the general will have heard from me before you do. Let him decide if you are fit to command and I am to be upbraided for my actions here.’

  After leaving the colonel spluttering threats of the death penalty for traitors and mutineers, he had sought out Lieutenant Andrews and asked him to investigate who might be secretly supplying Fowler with rum or some other form of liquor.

  “Let whoever it is know that he will be dealt with most severely, Andrews. I’ll never get any sense out of the man while he’s inebriated.”

  “Or when he’s sober, I fear,” Andrews had replied. “The drink has addled his brain.”

  Sighing, Matthew took one last look at the re-timbered walls then walked back to the quarters he had requisitioned from Fowler. No time like the present to pen a letter to General Rathbone and explain the circumstances that had led to his assuming command of Fort Bligh. That done, he sat back in his chair and wondered how Nashoba and MacDonald were faring in their plan to upset the French army’s march on the fort.

  Dash it, but he would have loved to have accompanied them on their sortie. He had seen plenty of action in the seven years of his service, but in his mind, there was something even more adventurous in the actions Nashoba and MacDonald were undertaking. MacDonald might be a tad undisciplined, and no doubt a bit of a rogue, but it was easy to see his devotion to Tanaka, and Matthew would wager that the man was a loyal friend and ally once he’d decided who was worthy of his trust.

  Just like Nashoba. Nashoba… If someone had told him that one day he would fall in love with a Choctaw warrior, he would have thought them mad. But that was exactly what had happened. Practically from their first encounter when his father had still been the tribal chieftain, Nashoba had attracted Matthew’s attention and—he had been ashamed to admit it—in the most carnal fashion. Images of the man’s sleek, tightly muscled body, his dark green eyes and soft, sensual lips had filled his mind at night as he lay restlessly in his narrow bed, seeking sleep. He’d lost count of the times he had pleasured himself to the thought of Nashoba’s naked body in his arms, his lush mouth on Matthew’s lips, his hard cock—

  Matthew groaned, his arousal pushing against the fabric of his britches. Nashoba had been a virgin and Matthew not all that experienced the first time they had lain together. It had been amazing, if a little clumsy at first. Nashoba’s surprise when Matthew had tried to kiss him still made him smile when he remembered that ni
ght. But how quickly he had warmed to the sensation of his mouth being explored by Matthew’s tongue. And how delighted Matthew had been when the young Choctaw had reciprocated, his soft moans of pleasure echoing in Matthew’s ears long after they had reluctantly bidden each other good night.

  Meeting him had been difficult, even after Matthew had rescued Nashoba and his father, Minco, from the French. Word of their capture had reached the English camp by way of a messenger from the Choctaw village. Matthew had probably acted rashly, but there was no way he could allow the man who had won his affection to suffer at the hands of the French. Joining the small Choctaw force rather than ordering his men to rescue the two Indians, they had been successful in infiltrating the French encampment and locating the tent where Nashoba and Minco were being held. While the Choctaws had sent up a clamor on the edge of the camp that startled the French soldiers Matthew had crept into the tent, freed Nashoba and his father then hustled them out while the warriors had dealt with the guards.

  Minco had been grateful, ready to name Matthew as his son, but the flush of victory had been short lived when the French attacked the Choctaw village. By the time Matthew had mustered his soldiers and driven the French back, Minco and several Choctaw were dead and the village plunged into mourning. The elders had named Nashoba as chief and Matthew had made a silent promise to protect him, no matter what the cost to himself. Their lovemaking, though rare, was always thrilling, and Matthew indulged in what perhaps were foolish dreams of them having a life together. Maybe when all this conflict was at an end…if that were possible.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Lieutenant Barrows, who entered after a brief knock on the door.

  “Sir, the colonel requests your presence.”

  “Is he sober?”

  “Seems to be…but he’s in a foul mood.”

  Matthew grimaced. “Most likely hungover.” He stood and accompanied Barrows to the cell where the colonel was being held.

  Fowler, sitting in a corner of the small cell, didn’t bother to get up but studied Matthew with a baleful expression. “I demand that you release me immediately and step down as commander of this fort.”

  Matthew sighed. They’d had this conversation several times already without any progress whatsoever. Although the colonel didn’t appear to be in his cups this morning, there was still a definite stench of rum in the cell’s close confines.

  “Perhaps, if you’ll resist the temptation to lose yourself and your wits in a bottle and conduct yourself as a proper commander—”

  “How dare you!” Fowler jumped to his feet. “You’re nothing more than an upstart, and I shall–”

  Matthew held up a hand to silence the colonel. “I am a captain in the King’s Royal Rifles, sir. I am not an upstart and if you had any sense at all, you would realize that your behavior is beyond the pale. A drunkard cannot command a regiment and ensure the safety of the men and women inside this fort. You will remain here until after the French have been dealt with. In the meantime, I have written to General Rathbone explaining the situation and the steps I have taken to protect the soldiers and the civilians.”

  Fowler stared at Matthew, his mouth opening and closing in impotent rage. “Why you…you…”

  “That is all, Colonel. Now if you will excuse me, I must see to the fort’s defenses. Good day, sir.”

  Matthew signaled for Barrows to follow him and the two walked outside into the fresh air. “He still stinks of liquor. Someone must be supplying him although I could see no sign of a bottle.”

  “Someone’s covering for him, Captain, heaven knows why,” Barrows said.

  Matthew frowned. “Find out who was on guard duty last night.”

  “I will, but the man is in no position to do anyone favors for having liquor brought to him. He’s bound to be forced to resign after this, I wager.”

  “Unless he thinks he can still sway the general’s opinion. Perhaps they are old friends…I really don’t know, Barrows. But right now, we don’t have time to think on it with the French army headed our way.” Matthew looked across the parade ground. “Let’s get the men mustered and ready for drill again. Can’t be too well prepared.”

  * * * *

  The terrain surrounding the French encampment was flat and without the convenient river embankment Jamie and Tanaka had used to disable the cannons in their previous sortie. There was also a considerably larger force this time. Jamie reckoned it to be well in excess of three hundred soldiers. The task they had undertaken would not be as easily carried out as before. Yet, they must manage it somehow. With four cannons, the French most definitely held the upper hand against Fort Bligh’s defenses.

  “What think you?” he whispered to Tanaka and Nashoba as they crouched on either side of him behind the trees and bushes that screened them from the sentries’ line of vision.

  “The horses that pull the cannons,” Nashoba muttered. “If we cut them loose and lead them away from the camp the French would have to leave the cannons behind.”

  “Unless the officers order the men to pull them,” Tanaka said.

  “Which will really slow their progress…and the poor buggers doing the pushing and pulling will be in no shape for fighting when they reach Fort Bligh.” Jamie grinned as he spoke. “The horses it is, then.”

  Nashoba sent a hand signal to Tahman and the other Choctaw and silently they made their way around the camp to where the horses were corralled. The two guards standing idly by were quickly dealt with by Tahman and Nashoba while the others found bridles hanging from a rail. Jamie and Tanaka kept watch while the Choctaw scouts guided the four horses from the corral. Only one horse gave trouble, a large bay that didn’t seem to appreciate being separated from a white mare. The bay snorted and charged forward, pinning Nashoba between the horse he was leading and the corral post.

  “Damnation,” Jamie muttered and ran from hiding to where Nashoba struggled to calm the horse and ease himself out of the press. The bay whinnied angrily and Jamie caught sight of a soldier heading toward the corral, no doubt to investigate the noise. The moment he spotted Nashoba, he yelled, raised his rifle and fired. Jamie gasped when he saw blood spurt from Nashoba’s neck. The sound of the shot drew a babble of raised voices from the camp.

  “Help Nashoba!” Tanaka’s voice in Jamie’s ear spurred him forward while from the corner of his eye he saw Tanaka tackle the soldier. Nashoba collapsed in Jamie’s arms and Tahman grabbed the horse’s bridle while Jamie tore a strip off his shirt and wound it around Nashoba’s neck to stanch the flow of blood. Together, he and Tahman hoisted Nashoba onto the horse and Tahman sprang up behind him.

  “Take him back to the fort,” Jamie snapped and Tahman urged his mount forward. Three other scouts jumped up onto the remaining horses and were soon lost among the trees. Tanaka had overpowered the soldier, but others, alerted by rifle fire, appeared all around them. Jamie was not about to go down without a fight and he got in a few good punches before he and Tanaka were forced to their knees, fixed bayonets inches from their bodies. An officer barked out a command and they were hauled to their feet and marched off to where an imposing figure stood, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Parle tu français?” the man demanded, his voice a low growl.

  “Un peu,” Jamie replied, summoning his recollection of his schoolboy French. “Je suis Jamie MacDonald et mon ami, Tanaka.”

  “Coronel Marchand.” He glared at Jamie for a long moment then shifted his gaze to Tanaka. “You are Choctaw, yes?”

  Tanaka nodded but said nothing.

  “Why are you with the Scotsman?”

  Tanaka shrugged. “He is my friend. We are traveling together.”

  “And thought you would take a detour through my encampment?”

  “No, we came to steal your horses so that your cannons would be harder to move.”

  Marchand snorted in derision. “For which you will both be executed.”

  There were two officers, one on either side of Marchand. Jamie recogni
zed them both. One was Colonel LaForge whom Captain Garland had stripped he and his men of their boots. The other, who now stepped forward and whom Jamie knew as the lieutenant they had encountered the day before, blurted, “These are the men I told you of, Coronel.” He stared at Jamie with hatred. “They are the ones who—”

  “Who you allowed to kill my best woodsmen and scouts and six of my men.” Marchand waved at the lieutenant dismissively. “Be glad they are here to take your punishment, Mercier.”

  Mercier paled and stepped back, his mouth a tight line of shock.

  Jamie chuckled, and stared impudently at Colonel LaForge. “Managed to get yersel’ another pair of boots, have ye?” He turned his attention to Marchand. “Let’s hope your other officers are a wee bit more stalwart than these two.”

  Marchand ignored his officers’ indignation and eyed Jamie with interest. “So, not afraid to die, MacDonald?”

  “I’d rather live, of course.” Jamie afforded the colonel a wry smile. “Tanaka and I had thought to reach the great ocean that lies at the edge of the world afore we died, but sometimes plans can come to naught.”

  “Much like the plans the men you killed had, eh?” Marchand sneered.

  “Aye, there is that. But had they not been so keen to kill me and my friends, they might still be alive.”

  Marchand gave out a rapid order that Jamie couldn’t quite catch, but their hands were roughly tied behind their backs and they were marched off before being pushed into an empty tent.

  “I suppose they mean to make a show of us being shot at dawn or some other kind of execution,” Jamie remarked as he dropped down onto the tent’s hardpacked floor.

  Tanaka sat by him. “I think we do not die today, at least not by the French officer’s orders.”

  “What d’ye mean?”

  “We still have three friends out there who will not leave us to die. Nashoba’s men.”