Gunsmoke at Powder River (The Long-Knives #4)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “I reckon that would be fine,” Tommy said. “But I don’t quite understand what the infantry is.”

  “The best dang soldiers in Uncle Sam’s army!” Sanders said. That’s who they are, by God! They look the best and have more fun than any ten cavalrymen or artillerymen.”

  “Why is that, sir?”

  “Because they ain’t got any horses or cannons to take care of in the evenings,” Sanders said, stroking his moustache. “Why, them infantrymen are in town dancing with the pretty girls while the poor jaspers in the cavalry and artillery is cleaning up stables and swabbing out cannon barrels.”

  Tommy was grateful. “Then sign me up for the infantry, Sergeant Sanders!”

  Sanders grinned out of the side of his mouth. “You’re the kind of fellow I like, Thomas. I already made out the intent-to-enlist papers. You’ll sign the final official form after you been swore in.” He laid the papers on the table and pointed to a line at the bottom of the document. “Sign here.”

  Tommy dutifully scrawled his signature as instructed. “Now what do I do?”

  “Well, young fellow, I’m going to put you on a train for Columbus Barracks with that packet of papers we just got ready,” Sanders said. “When you get there, go into the depot and you’ll find a desk where an army corporal is sitting. He’s easy to locate; don’t worry about that. And he’s wearing stripes on his arms, see?” Sanders patted his own chevrons. “Except he’s got two instead o’ three of ’em. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’ll take you out to the post. Tomorrow you’ll be properly sworn in by a commissioned officer and you’ll be a bona fied soldier of the United States Army,” Sanders said.

  Tommy smiled. “When do I get my uniform?”

  “Why, I’ll wager that by this time tomorrow you’ll be parading around in army blue just like me,” Sanders said. “Your train won’t leave ’til later this afternoon. Are you hungry, young soldier?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tommy admitted. He’d already consumed all the bread and cheese he’d brought from home.

  “Then you’re about to get your first meal at government expense,” Sanders said. “C’mon, Private Saxon.”

  Tommy liked the sound of that. He followed the sergeant out the door and together they went down the street to a small eatery. Inside, Tommy noticed the smell of hot grease. The owner, behind the counter smoking a cigar, gave Sanders a wave.

  “How’re you doing, John?”

  “Just fine, Phil,” Sanders answered. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and signed it. “Here’s a chit for another new soldier.”

  “I’ll fix him right up,” the owner said. His ease at accepting the form showed he’d done it many times before.

  Within moments he produced a plate of runny fried eggs and a couple of slices of bacon. A hunk of stale bread lay on top of the mess.

  Thank you kindly,” Tommy said, sitting down. He was so hungry he didn’t care what condition the food was in. The boy consumed the meal with gusto.

  The owner slowly shook his head. “I reckon a feller’s got to be pretty damn hungry to go for a soldier.” Sanders laughed. “This boy wants to fight Indians.”

  “So you’re sending him west, are you?” Phil asked. He turned to prepare another meal.

  “You bet,” Sanders said. “There’s regiments out there that are just crying for a fine young fellow like Thomas, here.”

  The cafe owner turned back to work and quickly prepared a plate for the sergeant. The eggs were scrambled and plentiful. There were two pieces of bread and potatoes with the bacon.

  Tommy finished and glanced at the sergeant.

  Sanders looked back. “Want some of my taters?”

  “If it ain’t any trouble,” Tommy said.

  Sanders laughed and shoved some of them off his plate and onto the youngster’s. “Eat up, soldier.”

  “Thank you,” Tommy said. He noticed that Sanders didn’t give over any chits for his own meal.

  After eating, the two returned to the post office to wait an hour for train time. Sanders got him down to the station a bit ahead of time. He handed the packet of Tommy’s papers to him. “Now don’t lose these, whatever you do,” he cautioned the young man. “It’s your intent-to-enlist papers, physical examination, permission from your pa, and a statement on your moral character. I done that myself. I could tell by looking at you that you was just the sort of fellow we’re looking for.”

  “I’ll be careful with, ’em, sir,” Tommy promised, again feeling flattered.

  “Remember. If you don’t have these when you get on post, they’ll just make you do all this over again.”

  “I’ll hang on to ’em, sir,” Tommy said.

  “And here’s your ticket,” Sanders said. “Give it to the conductor when he asks for it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You reckon you might have any pals that would want to enlist?” Sanders asked.

  “There could be one or two,” Tommy answered.

  “Well, write to ’em and tell ’em Sergeant John Sanders is the recruit’s best friend.”

  “I sure will,” Tommy said.

  “And tell ’em to come to the Akron post office,” Sanders added. “You’ll remember that, won’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When the train arrived, Tommy’s excitement grew. He had never ridden one before. The decision to join the army looked better and better.

  The sergeant accompanied him out to the platform and offered his hand. “Best of luck to you, Thomas.”

  “Thank you,” Tommy said, getting aboard.

  Tommy gingerly walked down the narrow aisle and found a seat, waiting in excited agitation for the trip to begin. When the train pulled out, the noise and rattling unnerved him some, but he braced up by reminding himself that a soldier has to be brave at all times. By the time they reached Columbus two hours later, he had grown quite used to it.

  Tommy found the corporal. The man, a short, stocky, surly individual barked, “Gimme your papers!” Then he pointed to a bench at the side of the waiting room. Two other young men were seated there. “Now go over and park your ass with them recruits. There’s one more train coming in.”

  Tommy did as he was told. Nodding greetings to the others, he sat down on the bench. “Did you fellers join up?”

  “We sure did,” one replied. He offered his hand. “I’m George Hammer.”

  Tommy smiled. “I’m Tommy Saxon. The sergeant in Akron said I was going in the infantry.”

  “Me, too,” George said. “This here’s Charlie O’Malley.”

  O’Malley, an older-looking fellow, shook hands. “Nice to know you.”

  “Charlie’s been in the army before,” George explained. “He’s reenlisting.”

  O’Malley snorted a sardonic laugh. “Yeah. When it comes to starving and soldiering, I figgered soldiering was better. My old first sergeant was right. I couldn’t make it on the outside.”

  “Are you going in the infantry too?” Tommy asked. “Yeah. But not my old regiment,” O’Malley said. “The sergeant major is the meanest son of a bitch in the world. The old bastard would love to see me again.”

  “What’s a regimental sergeant major?” Tommy inquired.

  “You know about God, don’t you?” O’Malley asked. “Certainly!” Tommy answered.

  O’Malley grinned. “Well, as long as you’re in the army, God comes second after the sergeant major.” Tommy was a bit disturbed by the minor blasphemy, but he made up his mind he would avoid any individuals identified as sergeant major.

  A train hissed into the station, coming to a noisy halt. A couple of minutes later two more men approached the corporal. He took their papers and brought them over to the three on the bench.

  “Awright. Let’s go.”

  They walked through the streets for four blocks, finally turning down a bricked lane that ran along the river. When they reached the barracks gate, the corporal stepped back and motioned them through.
The guard at the gate grinned and shook his head ruefully as the new men entered the post proper.

  “This way,” the corporal said, stepping ahead of them once more.

  They were led to a building marked with a sign that identified it as post headquarters After ushering them into a bare outer office, the corporal left. A minute later he returned with a man wearing a well-cut uniform with shoulder straps. He had a friendly, intelligent face. “Good evening, men,” he said in a pleasant tone of voice. “My name is Lieutenant Parker. I’m going to administer the oath of enlistment to you, then ask you to sign the final form of enlistment that was sent with you from the recruiting office where you joined up.”

  The corporal pushed and shoved them into a line. “Raise your right hands and repeat after the lieutenant,” he intoned, “using your own name where he uses his.”

  Tommy proudly repeated the solemn words after the officer as he had been instructed: “I, Thomas Saxon, have voluntarily enlisted as a soldier in the Army of the United States of America for a period of five years, unless sooner discharged by proper authority; and do also agree to accept from the United States such bounty, pay, rations, and clothing as are or may be established by law. And I do solemnly swear that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the United States of America; that I will serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies whomsoever; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States, and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to the Rules and Articles of War.”

  After that brief ceremony they stepped forward one by one to sign the actual enlistment papers. When that task was finished, the corporal ushered them outside. As they walked down the street, other young men, all wearing rather baggy uniforms, watched them from barracks windows. The gawkers shouted out at them.

  “Hey, you strawfeet. Get in step!”

  “Smarten up there, Johnny Raw!”

  “You’ll be sorr-ee!”

  “Go on back to your mamas!”

  The corporal sneered. “Listen to the veterans. They been in the army two whole days now.”

  Tommy felt justifiably put in his place. After all, they at least had been issued their uniforms. He and his companions were still wearing their civilian clothing.

  A sergeant waited for them by a barracks door. The corporal led them up to him and said, “Here they are, Sergeant Duncan.” With that, he abruptly left, as if glad to be freed of the recruits.

  Duncan was decidedly unfriendly. “Get your blowsy butts inside the barracks and grab a bunk!” he bellowed.

  All, except for the veteran Charlie O’Malley, were startled. They rushed inside and went to individual bunks. Dirty sack mattresses filled with straw were stretched across the small beds.

  Duncan followed them in. “The first thing I’m telling you is not to try to run away. Your asses belong to the army for the next five years. If any o’ you babies change your minds and decide to go on back home, then we’ll come and get you. And then, by God, we’ll put you up against a goddamned wall and shoot you!” He glared at each as if they were all serious potential deserters. “Now. Any old soldiers here?” When nobody answered, Sergeant Duncan slowly walked around the barrack room studying their faces. When he reached Charlie O’Malley, he stopped. “If I look up your packets and see that any o’ you served before and didn’t tell me, I’ll have him on kitchen police ever’day that he’s here.”

  O’Malley smiled. “I pulled a hitch in the Fifth Infantry.”

  “You’re an acting corp’ral,” Duncan said. “Keep an eye on these baby boys ’til I get back to take you to mess call.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Duncan left them and the men settled down on their bunks. A couple pounded the sacks, making dust fly out of the straw ticking.

  “These things are dirty,” Tommy Saxon said. O’Malley lay down on his own mattress. “Relax, boys. You’re in a recruit depot. This here is hell on earth. You’ll get yelled out, punched, kicked, and fed pure shit. But don’t worry, eventually you’ll be transferred out to a reg’lar unit.”

  “You been through this before, right, Charlie?” George Hammer asked.

  “Sure,” O’Malley answered. “Back in ’74. I remember telling myself during them days to cheer up, things could be worse.”

  “What happened?” Tommy asked.

  “I cheered up and, sure enough, things got worse,” O’Malley said, repeating the old joke.

  Nervous laughter filled the barrack room as the new soldiers settled down to see what would happen next.

  An hour later, Sergeant Duncan reappeared. This time he took them outside and bullied them down the street to a large building filled with wooden tables and benches. A simple kitchen was located at one end of the place. After being shoved into line with some uniformed recruits, Tommy and his companions were given tin plates, cups, and a spoon each. They continued on their way until harried kitchen police served them fried mush and coffee. Allowed ten minutes to consume the awful-tasting meal, the new men were soon back outside and returned to their barracks.

  Duncan deposited them back in the same room with another warning about running away. This time, however, he added, “You’re confined to barracks. Don’t go through that door for any reason. Even if the place catches afire, you’re to stay in here and die. That way we’ll have no trouble gathering up the bodies. Good night, soldier lads.”

  A bit shaken, Tommy and his new friends passed the evening in the faint light of a single lantern. O’Malley, the old soldier, knew what to do when a post bugler sounded Taps. He turned out the light with a warning. “Don’t let the sergeant of the guard catch you outta bed until the morning unless you’re making latrine call.”

  “What’s latrine call?” George Hammer asked.

  “You went and pissed in that outhouse to the back of the barracks already, haven’t you?” O’Malley asked.

  “Sure,” George replied.

  “That’s making latrine call,” the older soldier said.

  “What time are we supposed to get up, Charlie?” Tommy asked him.

  O’Malley grinned. “Saxon, old son, knowing when to get up will be the least of your worries for the next five years. There’ll always be somebody around to wake you.”

  The new men settled down on the filthy mattresses without covers and one by one drifted off to sleep. Tommy awoke once in the chilly night. Noting there was nobody awake, he got up and went to the window to look out into the barracks yard. A lone sentry, his rifle across his shoulder, paced slowly across the stone surface, his heavy army shoes making a distinct thud with each step. He disappeared from view as he walked past the limit of light thrown out by a lantern hanging on a nearby door. A few moments later he reappeared, coming back in the opposite direction. It all looked a bit foreboding and melancholy.

  Now feeling homesick, Tommy went back to the bunk and lay down. He hugged himself and drew up his legs for warmth.

  The night was short. Sergeant Duncan appeared in the doorway, bellowing for them to get up. Still dressed and with no blankets, the men simply stood up. They were taken down to the mess hall for more mush and coffee, then returned to the barracks and told to wait. Once again, Tommy went to the window. It seemed more cheerful then, with the sunshine streaming down on the scene. Groups of new soldiers were at drill as sergeants and corporals yelled and cursed at them. They might have been clumsy and inept, but to Tommy the sight was more stirring than the best Fourth of July parade back in Columbiana County.

  An hour later, under Duncan’s harsh authority, they were taken to the quartermaster stores building to draw the initial issue of uniforms. Tommy hardly noticed the sarcastic treatment given him by the clerks as his martial clothing was thrown at him. He received a kepi, campaign hat, a light-blue caped overcoat, dark-blue blouse with shiny brass buttons, two wool shirts of the same color, two pair of light-blue trousers, a pair of brogans, socks, two sets of long underwear, and a black leather belt with an oval buckle bearing
the letters US. The last item they received was a padlock and locker box.

  Next, stumbling along with the lockers filled with the uniforms, they returned to the barracks. Now Tommy’s impatience was almost unbearable. At Duncan’s command, the men slipped into the uniforms. Most were disappointed with the terrible fits.

  “Stop your bellyaching!” Duncan yelled. “Trade around ’til you look halfway decent!”

  Although the trading made them look a bit better, it was still far from satisfactory. Tommy, wearing a full army uniform for the first time, wished there was a mirror available so he could see himself. The best he could do was look at his reflection in the panes of the barracks windows. This pleasant pastime was interrupted when they were instructed how to properly fold and place the unworn items of clothing in the lockers.

  “When you get to your regular unit, you’ll hang most o’ this stuff up,” Duncan told them. “But here in the recruit depot there’s too damn many thieves, so you’ll lock ’em away safe and sound.”

  As they performed the task, Tommy whispered to O’Malley. “What do we do next?”

  “Get ready to spend your hard-earned money, bucko,” the veteran replied with a wink.

  “Outside!” Duncan roared when everyone was dressed and ready. When they were outside, he yelled again. “Now get in one bloody line!” It took them a bit of doing. Duncan pointed. “Go that way and stay in line or I’ll kick the ass of any wanderer. And keep your goddamned eyes straight ahead. You’re gawking like a bunch o’ schoolgirls!”

  The next trip was to the post sutler. The civilian contract merchant had a store located in the garrison. When they arrived there, Duncan took them inside to purchase cleaning kits.

  Tommy was worried. “I ain’t got any money,” he said, horribly embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry about it, Johnny Raw,” Duncan said. “Whatever you get in there—and I’ll tell you what to buy—will be deducted from your first pay and given to the good sutler.”

  “Thank you very much,” Tommy said.

  “You’re very welcome,” Duncan replied in a mild tone. Then his voice exploded, “Get inside, goddamn your eyes! And be quick about it!”