by D. B. Silvis
Later the following morning, Lieutenant Liddle’s patrol was about four miles from Fort Defiance when they found themselves being harassed by a dozen Navajos on horseback. The Indians circled the troop and hollered and waved their weapons in a threatening manner. Then they took off, riding toward the woods. Killian and the other troopers chased after them, but as Killian entered the trees, the Indian he was chasing suddenly turned back and leapt on him. The two men tumbled off their horses to the ground. As they rolled on the ground the Indian got on top of Killian; he raised his knife, but didn’t strike.
“Why you chase me?” he yelled.
Killian glared up at the angry Navajo. Then he saw his bare arms which were holding back his assailant. He was no longer wearing his blue uniform. He looked down at his painted chest. He was an Indian. He let go of his attacker, and the Navajo stood up.
“Are you a crazy Navajo?” the other screamed.
Killian staggered to his feet. He looked at himself.
“You talk!” the other demanded. “Why you chase me?”
Killian didn’t know what to say.
The Indian gave him a shove. “You talk!”
“I am sick. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbled.
“You need to stay at camp. Not go with us when we attack the fort in two days!”
The angry Navajo got up on his pony and rode off.
Killian continued to stare at his body. What’s happening to me? He slowly mounted his horse, and started to ride. He didn’t know where he was going. Then he heard the 1st Cavalry bugler blowing assembly. He looked out from the woods, and saw the other Troopers re-gathering in the open. As Killian rode along the wood’s edge, he realized he was changing again, this time from an Indian back to a Trooper. He stopped and dismounted. His body was shaking and he threw up. He leaned against his horse. What’s going on? Have I gone mad? His mind raced back to when he had killed the Indian, and the silver blue fluid that had spewed into his eyes and mouth. Clumsily he took out his knife and cut one of his fingers. The liquid that came out was not normal red blood. It was a silvery reddish-blue color. Even as he stared at the cut it began to heal.
Killian felt weak and dizzy. He had to hold onto his saddle to keep from falling. Then he fainted.
He didn’t know how long he was out, and was only dimly conscious of the other Troopers as they rode up, and found him lying on the ground.
“Corporal, see to Trooper Muldoon,” shouted Lieutenant Liddle.
Killian struggled to focus as the corporal knelt over him.
“Sir, he’s coming to, sir, but he’s…”
“He’s what, Corporal?”
“He’s kind of a bluish color, sir.”
“Is he choking on something, Corporal?”
“No, sir, he’s not choking, and now he’s beginning to get back to his normal color.”
The corporal and the other Trooper helped Killian to his feet.
“Are you all right, Muldoon?” asked Lieutenant Liddle.
Killian couldn’t answer.
“Trooper, are you all right?” the lieutenant repeated, louder.
“Yes sir. I’m fine now,” he managed to reply.
“Very well, mount up,” ordered the lieutenant.
The corporal helped Killian mount his horse, and the troop headed back to Fort Defiance.
That night Killian couldn’t get to sleep. He kept thinking about the color of his blood, and what the Indian had said about attacking the fort. He knew he needed to tell the captain about the attack. But, he also realized the captain would think him insane if he told the truth about how he found out. Killian mulled it over and over in his mind, and finally made up a story he could tell. He felt he needed to take the chance that the captain would believe him.
The next morning, after breakfast, he told the sergeant it was important he see the captain. The sergeant asked him what it was about, but Killian wouldn’t tell him. He only said it was very important. The sergeant informed him he needed to talk to Lieutenant Liddle first. Killian didn’t want to discuss it with the lieutenant, as he knew the lieutenant didn’t like him. But it went both ways; Killian thought that Lieutenant Hiram Liddle was a narcissistic, by-the-book officer. However, this was too important, so Killian confided to the lieutenant what he had heard in the woods. Lieutenant Liddle didn’t believe his preposterous story, but to be on the safe side, he escorted Killian to Captain Ryan’s office. The lieutenant clearly expected Killian to make an ass of himself in front of the senior officer. He had Killian wait outside the office while he went in to inform the captain why the Trooper wanted to see him.
“Captain, Trooper Muldoon wants to tell you something that he says he overheard. He’s saying an Indian told him they’re going to attack the fort. I personally don’t put much stock in it, sir. There’s something very strange about Muldoon. I have my doubts that he’s even a Trooper.”
“If he’s not a Trooper, then who is he, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t know, maybe a spy for the Indians, Captain.”
“I’ll admit there’s something unusual about him, and no record of his being in the military, but a spy? I think that might be a bit far-fetched, Lieutenant.”
“That may be, sir, but I don’t like him around me or my men.”
The captain thought for a moment. “I understand, Lieutenant. All right, bring Trooper Muldoon in. I’ll listen to what he has to say.”
The lieutenant opened the door for Killian to enter the captain’s office. He came in and stood in front of the captain’s desk.
“The lieutenant says you want to tell me what you’ve overheard, Trooper Muldoon.”
“Yes sir. The Navajos are going to attack the fort tomorrow, Captain.”
“We’ve heard that kind of scuttlebutt before. What makes you think they’re going to attack?”
“Captain, as you know, Lieutenant Liddle’s patrol was harassed yesterday by a few Navajos, and some of us made chase. I followed an Indian into the woods, but lost him. I stopped and was listening quietly for any movement when I heard some of them laughing and talking. They thought it funny, as they had only pretended to attack us. They said it was done to fool us into not expecting a real attack, on the fort, in two days, which will be tomorrow, sir.”
Captain Ryan gazed at Killian. “You’re telling me you overheard this?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you speak their language, Trooper Muldoon?”
“Yes sir.”
The officers exchanged glances.
“When did you learn to speak Apache, the language of the Navajos?”
“I don’t remember, Captain. But I swear to you it’s the truth. I understood what the Indians were saying.”
“This amnesia thing of yours is confounding,” said Captain Ryan. He looked at the lieutenant. “We can’t take a chance that what he says isn’t true. Cancel all patrols tomorrow. Keep everyone inside the fort, but have the everyday routine be normal. If the Indians are going to attack we don’t want to alert them that we know.”
“Captain, this man has been sick and has amnesia, how can you trust his preposterous story about an attack, and his knowing their language?”
“Lieutenant, I know your concern, but the Navajo are fierce, intelligent, and warlike. They’re also impudent, troublesome and dangerous. It won’t hurt to play it safe for one day. I’d hate not to take precautions, and find out later what the Trooper here says is true.”
Lieutenant Liddle gave Killian a disgusted look. “I’ll give the orders, Captain.”
He and Killian saluted and left the captain’s office.
“You’d damn better be right, Trooper,” the lieutenant growled. “This is causing us a lot of trouble.”
“If I didn’t tell the captain, and the Navajos attacked, many of us would die. Wouldn’t you rather be on the safe side, Lieutenant?”
“Damn you, Muldoon.”
Early the following morning, the 1st Cavalry Company was assembled in the
center of the buildings that comprised Fort Defiance. A short time later, the sentries reported seeing over a thousand Navajo Indians led by Chief Manuelito riding toward them.
The Navajos attacked from all four sides, but were forced back by the one-hundred and fifty man company. The Indians attacked a second time, and nearly succeeded in overrunning the garrison. The fighting was fierce.
A tall, strongly built Indian singled out Killian and rushed at him, knife in hand. He slashed the blade at Killian, who grabbed the man, and they wrestled to the ground. The knife sliced a deep cut into Killian’s shoulder, but he held off the Navajo and turned the knife around before sinking it into the Indian’s side. They rolled on the ground, separated, then stood up, and stared at one another. The Navajo still had the bloody knife in his hand. He watched, fascinated, as Killian’s wounded shoulder began to heal before his eyes. When Killian stepped back, he saw that the gash on the Indian’s side was healing rapidly too.
The Navajo’s eyes widened as he glared at Killian. “It is true then, what we have heard. You are a Blue.” He raised his knife and shouted. “I am Lupan, a Blue Warrior, and one day I will kill you with fire, Taglito Silaada.”
Then he turned and ran to join the other retreating Indians, who were abandoning the fight at the order of Chief Manuelito.
Killian looked down at his shoulder. It ached, but somehow it was healing. He thought about what the Navajo had called him. Taglito Silaada, it was Navajo for red-bearded soldier. He now knew he had an Indian name, as well as a true enemy in Lupan, the grey fox. He wondered what Lupan had meant when he said he’d kill him with fire.
That morning the Navajos took more than twenty dead and many wounded back to their camp. Only one, 1st Cavalry Trooper had been killed and only a few wounded.
The following day, Captain Ryan congratulated the Troopers on a fight well done, and commended Killian Muldoon, promoting him to a warrant over grade, which was one rank higher than common private. The captain also elevated Killian to specialist in cavalry reconnaissance. Lieutenant Hiram Liddle appeared equally proud they had repelled the Indians. But, he was clearly seething over the promotion awarded to Killian, who, in his eyes was a weird misfit.
CHAPTER 3
A few months later, the Civil War broke out. The 1st Cavalry was ordered to Virginia, where they fought in the Peninsula Campaign, a major Union Army operation launched in southeastern Virginia. From there, during 1862–63, they engaged in a series of battles while attached to the Union’s largest force, the Army of the Potomac. They fought in the Battle of Williamsburg, the Battle of Brandy Station, and the Battle of Beverly Ford. During their mounted charges the 1st Cavalry lost over a hundred men, most to saber wounds. Then they were sent to Camp Buford, in Maryland, for rest and re-equipping.
Before rejoining the Army of the Potomac, Killian Muldoon was promoted to sergeant. After returning to battle, the regiment’s first engagements against the Confederate cavalry and infantry were at Manassas Junction and Catlett’s Station. After those successful battles they were employed, during the winter months, to do picket duty along the Rapidan River.
In the spring, the 1st Cavalry accompanied General Sheridan’s regiment on his daring raid around Richmond, Virginia, fighting at the Beaver Dam Station, the Battle of Cold Harbor and the Battle of Trevilian Station. The fighting was severe; the count of men and officers of the 1st Cavalry who were killed was high. The regiment was then sent to patrol the Chickahominy River, where they set up camp on the north side of the river, a few miles south of Richmond. During the rainy season the river would flood, causing much of the land to be swampy; this, however, was the dry season. Their camp was by a docile, narrow part of the river, which was easily crossed. The enemy was not far away, as their camp was on the south side of the river. This accounted for the regiment’s daily skirmishing encounters with the Confederate Rebels.
One evening, Sergeant Muldoon was resting in his tent when he was summoned to Colonel Crosset’s tent. He knew what the colonel wanted. It was what he always wanted. Killian and the men under his command were the lead reconnaissance team. In addition, Sergeant Muldoon had volunteered for night patrols. He had done this for two reasons. First, he knew that with his new, weird, unasked for ability to transform, he’d be able to protect his men from danger. Secondly, by doing night reconnaissance, he would be better able to keep his unusual chameleon-like transformations a secret. Killian hated his situation, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He had become resigned to the fact that his encounter with the Navajo Indian, who had spilled bluish fluid on him, and then turned into an odd grey-looking thing, and disappeared in a fiery flash, had fundamentally altered his body chemistry. Over the past three years he had hoped and prayed he’d become normal again. His prayers, however, hadn’t been answered.
That night, after his briefing with the colonel, Sergeant Muldoon and four of his men crossed the dry ground and approached the narrowest part of the Chickahominy River. Killian felt it was a good night for reconnoitering, as there was good cloud cover. There wouldn’t be any moonlight, and less chance of being seen. However, unbeknown to him, they were not the only ones out that night.
Lieutenant Liddle, who had been listening outside the colonel’s tent, had heard the colonel’s instructions to Sergeant Muldoon. The lieutenant, who was dubious of Killian’s uncanny ability to be successful on all of his intelligence-gathering missions, secretly followed the party down to the river. He did not trust the sergeant. He watched as Killian directed two of his men to check the river to the north and the other two to probe the river to the south. Sergeant Muldoon stood and watched as his men did as ordered. Lieutenant Liddle, standing in the shadows, wondered what Killian was doing. He anticipated that Killian would move up or down the river, but he didn’t. Instead the sergeant waded into the river and disappeared from the lieutenant’s view. Lieutenant Liddle waited about ten minutes, but didn’t catch sight of the sergeant again, so he returned to the camp.
After Killian had crossed the river, and was about fifty yards inland he saw a Confederate patrol, and ducked down. As they passed by, Sergeant Muldoon’s uniform changed into one of a Confederate sergeant. He stood up and walked into the enemy camp, strolling over to a large tent. He stopped at the entrance, smiled and spoke, with a southern accent, to the soldier on guard.
“Looks like another big meeting,” said Killian as he nodded toward the tent.
“Yes Sergeant. Those officers are always planning something,” replied the guard, with a grin.
Killian nodded and walked away. Once out of the guard’s sight he darted back behind the large tent. He knelt and for close to ten minutes listened to the Confederate officers’ conversation, learning their plans for an upcoming battle. Then he sauntered back out into the open and down toward the river. He avoided the Confederate patrol and made his way to the shoreline. He felt it was safe to swim the short distance back across the river, as there was still good cloud cover. He entered the water and started across. As he swam, his uniform began to change back to one of a Union soldier. When he was about halfway across, the sky dealt him a bad break. The clouds separated and a bright three-quarter moon shone down on the river. He was spotted by the Confederate patrol. Shots were fired. Killian felt two bullets slam into his lower back. He fell forward, went under the water, and blacked out.
In the slow currant his body drifted down river. After a few seconds his eyes opened. Realizing he was underwater he rose to the surface, and took a couple of deep breaths. He looked back and saw that he had only drifted about fifty yards, and the cloud cover had returned. There wasn’t any more firing. He guessed the Rebs had assumed they’d killed him.
Killian swam the few yards to the shore and stood up. He reached back and felt the area where he’d been shot. The bullet wounds had already healed. He started walking toward the rendezvous point. His four men were standing by the tree line, waiting for him.
“Sergeant, what are you doing coming from that way?
We just patrolled down there and didn’t see you,” said one of the soldiers.
“I crossed over here, and then went downstream. I must have crossed in behind you.”
“You swam across, Sergeant?” asked another soldier.
“Yes, it’s not very deep, and I had good cloud cover.”
“We heard shots fired. Were they at you?”
“Yes, but they didn’t come close. Let’s get back to camp; you can give me your reports on the way.”
Killian didn’t tell them what he had done or what he had heard.
When they arrived at the camp he dismissed the others, and headed for the colonel’s headquarter tent. A corporal on guard informed him the colonel was in a meeting with other officers, but Killian insisted it was important he give his report. The corporal went to check if the sergeant could enter. A few moments later, the corporal returned and let Killian into the tent. As he stepped inside, Killian heard the colonel discussing the next day’s plan of action. Most of the officers were in attendance, including the pompous Lieutenant Liddle, who was staring at him.
“Asshole,” Killian whispered under his breath.
Colonel Crosset acknowledged the new arrival. “Come on up here, Sergeant. We were just finishing our meeting. We’d like to hear your report.”
Killian glanced at the other officers and hesitated. “Now, sir?” he asked.
“Of course now, I don’t think we have any spies in here.” The colonel chuckled, as did the other officers.
“Colonel, my men reported there isn’t any unusual activity up or down the river.”
“That’s good news, Sergeant.”
“But I was able to cross the river and get back behind the Confederate officers tent.”
There was mumbling among the officers. Lieutenant Liddle rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.
“You did? How is that possible, Sergeant?” asked the colonel, with surprise.
