Where will the Sioux attack come from? Reno signed to Bloody Knife.
Bloody Knife lowered his rifle and looked thoughtful for a second, then his head exploded, splattering blood and brains into Reno’s face. Reno blinked blood out of his eyes.
A great shout rose from the Indians’ lines. Reno looked up as bile rose in his throat to see a massive force of hundreds of hostiles coming forward from the northeast.
Reno vomited. Then spit. “Across the river, men! Fall back across the river to the high ground Mount up and ride!”
Some heard him and moved. Most didn’t. A trooper in the middle of the first group was shot and tumbled from his horse. Reno suddenly realized there were Indians along both banks of the river, but it was too late to rescind the order. It would be a desperate gauntlet to run, but there was no other way to go. And if they spent any longer down here they would be out of ammunition. Even if Custer wasn’t up there, the pack train had to be. And they needed the rounds the mules carried.
“Go!” Reno urged his men. The word spread and the battalion dissolved, flowing toward the river. Indian riders appeared, mixing in with the troopers, and it was a desperate battle, men firing at each other at point-blank range. Hand-to-hand combat developed as Indians dragged troopers off their horses.
Like a magnet, though, the cut on the far side drew Reno’s men. The terrain ruled. It was the only way they could go. The water wasn’t wide, perhaps twenty feet, and shallow.
Reno turned as he heard lieutenant McIntosh call out. The lieutenant staggered and fell. Reno tried to turn back to get him, but the wave of retreating troopers was too strong. He was pushed out toward the river. He had no idea how many dead and wounded he was leaving behind. At least twenty-five, probably more, he estimated from what he’d seen.
No time to reflect on the staggering defeat he’d just received. His horse leaped off the bank into the water. He spurred it across, clambering up the far bank. He saw Lieutenant Hodgson get shot and fall off his horse into the river. A trooper came by, yelling for the lieutenant to take his stirrup. Hodgson grabbed it, and the horse carried rider and wounded across the river, but too slow, too slow, as arrows and bullets honed in on the helpless target. Hodgson’s dead hand released the stirrup as the rider made the far bank. The body rolled back into water.
Reno fired until he realized his pistol was empty. Tears in his eyes, he turned and rode into the draw and up toward the high ground.
Behind him, among the smoke and trees, Two Moons, the leader of the Cheyenne, found Bloody Knife’s horse. He saw a leather satchel and reached for it, pulling his hands back in surprise as they were burned by whatever was inside. He grabbed a shirt off a dead blue coat and wrapped it around the satchel, then took it with him.
CRAZY HORSE
His horse had been drinking in the little Big Horn when Crazy Horse heard the first shots. The horse’s ears pricked back, and it lifted its head while Crazy Horse sat motionless. Other than the distant shots, it was very quiet where he was, about a mile downstream from the northern-most edge of the village. He’ d had to go that far in that direction to find a place to easily ford the river, then be able to get up on the high bluffs to the east He’d ridden several miles, noting how empty the terrain was to the east, but also how rolling and full of gullies and ravines it was. A large force could easily sneak through that land and come up on the village unobserved, then fall down out of the high ground with a devastating attack.
Crazy Horse had made a mental note to have sentries from his tribe placed to the east this evening. As he heard the sound of the firing to the south increase in volume, he realized that the enemy was already here and coming from the south.
He climbed his horse out of the riverbed and then galloped to his lodge on the northern end of the village. He knew that warriors from the southern lodges would be taking the brunt of whatever fight was happening there. Crazy Horse began yelling to the warriors from his tribe and the Cheyenne who were also camped nearby to prepare themselves for combat.
While he was doing all this, Crazy Horse could hear the sound of battle: gunfire. The screams of wounded men and horses, and the war cries of other warriors. Women and children fled by his lodge seeking shelter as far away from the ting as possible. Some were even beginning to strike their lodges to remove themselves from the area entirely. Although time was crucial, Crazy Horse didn’t even consider not completing his preparations — after all, what good did a bulletproof dream do him if he didn’t do as it told?
Each warrior had his own way of preparing, and by the time. Crazy Horse was done, he had quite a large number of Warriors waiting to be led. With more than three hundred mounted men behind him. He raced for the southern end of the camp. It was a fearsome sight, this large group of warriors, painted and bedecked for war, their hands bristling with the instruments of killing: rifles, muskets, spears, lances, bows, war clubs, hatchets.
But as they made their way to the other end of the camp, they were met by exulting Warriors, yellin2 about their great victory over the blue coats. Crazy Horse stopped and questioned a brave holding a bloody scalp: “What has happened?”
“Many blue coats attacked. We killed many and the others ran away, across the river.” The warrior pointed to the southeast. “It is a great victory!”
Crazy Horse looked in the direction the man indicated. He could see many Sioux crossing the river and climbing up to the bluffs, and puffs of smoke from rifles being fired up there.
Then he looked at this side of the river, down the valley floor. He could see squaws moving forward to strip the bodies of the dead soldiers. Crazy Horse made a quick count of at least fifteen white bodies.
Still, he thought. That is not right. The white man might be crazy, but not that crazy. And from that direction the soldiers were not falling into camp. Of course those soldiers were now in the high ground, and if they attacked again they would be coming down, but from all indications those particular soldiers had been defeated.
But there could be others, Crazy Horse knew. He could tell that his warriors were chafing to fling themselves into the battle that had moved to the other side of the river. But the village still could be attacked by other soldiers, and there appeared to be plenty of warriors already there. Crazy Horse made his decision. He signaled and his warriors reluctantly followed as he swung to the west. He planned on circling the village to make sure there weren’t more soldiers coming from another direction.
BENTEEN
They’d crossed Custer’s trail twenty minutes ago. Just north of Ash Creek-just in time to meet the slow-moving pack. They’d then passed the lone teepee, still burning. Although anxious, Benteen wasn’t in any particular rush. According to his orders, he was still supposed to be riding over ridges to the south. He was caught between doing what he knew was militarily right and being discovered disobeying Custer’s orders. On top of that, Bouyer and his talisman were nagging at Benteen.
They were now a mile past the lone teepee, the little Big Horn River not very far ahead. There was the distant sound of gunfire for a while now, but Benteen didn’t know what it meant. Was Custer engaged? If so, where? Was Reno in the valley fighting? Benteen ordered the troopers to pick up the pace.
Then Sergeant Kanipe came riding up with a message to the pack train to follow his trail to the east of the river.
“The east?” Benteen asked. “What of Reno’?”
“He’s in the thick of it, sir,” Kanipe said. “I saw them fighting in the valley as I came back.”
“Isn’t Custer supporting him?”
Kanipe was Just a sergeant. He shrugged. “I don’t know, Sir. Last I saw of the general he was riding to the north.” Kanipe didn’t stay any longer. He rode on, heading for the pack · train that was following Benteen. “Forward at the trot!” Benteen ordered, pushing the unit as fast as the mules could go. The firing was now much louder · and much more rapid, almost as fierce as battles Benteen had been in during the Civil War. The only thing lacking
was the sound of artillery.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
THE SPACE BETWEEN
“Submariners are volunteers for the most dangerous duty in the Navy to begin with,” Captain Anderson said. “During World War n. the loss rate among German U-boat crews was more than ninety percent.”
Dane could tell Frost was shocked by Anderson’s apparent pride in such appalling numbers. Having served in the Special Forces during the Vietnam War, Dane knew the perverted pride men took in being among the elite.
Anderson sighed and looked between Earhart and Dane. They were in his cramped wardroom onboard the Nautilus. Even the ship’s captain seemed to see the weakness of his own words. “Our Earth-our time line as you call it-is dead. We’re all that’s left, and we’re not even there anymore. Some of the men now think we could have a life in another time line”-he held up a hand to forestall Earhart—“but I don’t see how. H the time line is viable, then this ship did its mission and returned home, so we, us in another time line, would still be there and, hell, I don’t know. I just know it wouldn’t work.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Earhart said. “I’ve been trapped here in the Space Between for a long time. I accepted early on that there was no going back and then no going sideways.”
Dane stirred. “Why?’’
Earhart turned to him in surprise. “What?”
“Why did you accept you couldn’t go back to your own world or go to another time line?” Dane asked.
“The portals,” Earhart said. “Some tried to go through, and they ended up like the crewman caught on the deck.”
“But you have Valkyrie suits now,” Dane said.
“But which portal to go through?” Earhart argued.
“Any,” Dane said.
Anderson and Frost were trying to follow their argument, but were lost.
“You can go through any in the Valkyrie suits,” Dane continued, “and you’d be all right. You could check them out. Maybe find a world where you could live instead of here-” he waved his hand, indicating the strange place outside the submarine.
Earhart stared at Dane. “Because the voices told me to stay here.”
Dane finally nodded. “Okay. As long as we’re clear on that. We’re all here”-he looked at Frost and Earhart-“because we believe we’re part of a larger plan. One that fights the Shadow. Correct?”
Both nodded in turn.
“Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we don’t have choices,” Dane said.
“Why is that important?” Earhart asked.
· Dane shrugged. “Because we don’t know diddly. I still believe we need to follow the Ones Before and fight the Shadow, but I don’t know what the end of this is going to be. And some day before the end of this war, I think we’re going to have to make our own decisions.”
“That is all fine and well,” Commander Anderson said, ‘’but you started this by saying you were going to need my crew, volunteers for a mission in which they were sure to die.”
“Not just die.” Dane said. “but die horribly.”
Anderson rubbed his hands across his face. “How many men?”
“I don’t know,” Dane admitted. He had counted the number of slots in the “power” room, but he didn’t know how many they would need to do what needed to be done. “There are a hundred slots inside the sphere.”
Surprisingly, Anderson laughed. He removed a small badge clipped to his shirt pocket and held it to Dane.
“My radiation badge,” Anderson said. “We used a crystal skull charged by the reactor core to open the portal that got us here. Moving the skull through the ship, well-” he ripped open the covering on the badge. The strip underneath was bright red.
“We’re all going to die horribly anyway,” Anderson said. “We might as well do it for a reason.”
Nobody said anything for several moments, then Earhart spoke up. “Then where next?”
“We find a world that still has ozone and no people,” Dane said.
“And how do we do that?” Earhart asked.
Dane stood up. “I think we’ll see that once we power up the sphere.”
“Why do you say that?” Earhart demanded.
“The golden orb in the power room,” Dane said. “1 think it not only consolidates the power, but is also a portal map.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
LONESOME CHARLIE REYNOLDS
They could all hear firing to the west. They couldn’t see anything because the entire unit was riding in the low ground formed by a ravine running to the north. Four miles had · passed since they’d looked from the high hill and Sergeant Kanipe had been dispatched to bring up the pack mules. Lieutenant Cooke rode just behind Custer as the long line of troopers moved at a trot. Lonesome Charlie Reynolds was also close to the general.
“Perfect,” Custer said to Cooke. ‘’Reno will fix them in place. They don’t know we’re coming-these hills are a perfect shield.”
Reynolds didn’t quite share the general’s optimism, but the · scout didn’t say anything. The horses and-men were nervous both from the sound of the fighting to the west and the knowledge that they were heading toward the massive Indian village.
The Crows scouts, who had been ahead, were now sitting off to the side of the ravine. Custer paused and looked at them. They didn’t look anxious to continue down. Custer crooked a finger to them. He signed with his hands, indicating they were released from duty.
The scouts nodded their agreement, then turned their horses and rode back toward the south. Custer spit. “Cowards, all of them. I’d rather not have such with me.”
Reynolds thought the scouts were the smartest people in the area.
Custer cut into his brooding. “How do we get down there?”
Reynolds pointed ahead and to the left, where the ground started descending more steeply. “That’s Medicine Tail Coulee. It runs into the Little Big Horn.”
“Can we cross down there?” Custer asked.
“I Suppose,” Reynolds answered weakly.
“I rode up the Little Big Horn during the ’74 expedition,” Custer said. “It’s not deep. I’m sure we can cross. We’ll go down and smash them against Reno’s blocking force.”
As far as Reynolds could recollect, Reno wasn’t supposed to be a blocking force. Reno’s battalion was supposed to be attacking the village, but Reynolds didn’t see any point to reminding Custer of his own orders. A light was in the general’s eyes, one that Reynolds had seen before, the light of battle. There was no stopping the man now.
“Trumpeter!” Custer called out.
Martin rode to Custer’s side. ‘’Ride to Benteen,” Custer instructed. “Have him link up with the pack train and bring m forward on the double.”
Lieutenant Cooke tore a page out of his notepad, scribbled on it and handed the piece of paper to the man. “Go!” Cooke yelled. Martin galloped along the line of troopers. Cooke watched his departure with sad eyes.
Custer faced downslope. “At the quick, men!”
The coulee narrowed as they descended, forcing the column of fours to become twos. Reynolds was not far behind Custer, who led the entire force. Reynolds happened to look up and see an eagle circling high above, floating on currents of warm air. “I wish 1 were you,” he whispered.
WALKS ALONE
The vision was true. The soldiers were coming down out of the heights and falling on the camp. But the others had not listened, drawn in by the firing to the south. Walks Alone had remained, but not totally because of the vision. He was only twelve, and he’d been ordered to remain behind if the camp was attacked. He was to use his rifle to defend his tribe’s portion of the camp, along with several other boys and old men. It had been very difficult for Walks Alone to remain in place as he heard the firing and war cries to the south, but he had done so.
And now his obedience to his orders was bearing fruit. More blue coats had just been spotted coming down Medicine!ail Coulee, just opposite his tribe’s lodges. Walks Alone and the h
andful of armed boys and old men left in the camp had raced to the opposite side of the Greasy Grass from the coulee and taken up position, watching the blue coats get closer and closer while a messenger was sent to the south to warn the warriors of this new threat.
Walks Alone steadied the barrel of his old rifle on a tree. There were only old men and a handful of warriors at the west side of the ford. And there were so many soldiers-a file, two by two, as far as he could see up the Medicine Tail Coulee. In the lead was a slender white man in pale buckskins, followed by a soldier carrying a fork-tailed banner with crossed sabers on it.
There was a grassy half-bowl on the east side of the river. Medicine Tail Coulee, down which the soldiers were streaming, entered the bowl from the southeast. A sharper, more deeply cut ravine branched up to the northeast, about forty feet north of Medicine Tail Coulee. A high ridge abutted the river between the two coulees.
The lead soldiers paused in the bowl, gathering strength for a charge. The buckskin soldier was gesturing, crying out something in the words of the white man, gesturing right toward where Walks Alone was hiding and the village behind him.
Walks Alone now knew he had not been a coward. If he had run to the sound of the firing he would not be here to see Sitting Bull’s vision come true. He knew now why the hills · had drawn him.
The hooves of the buckskin soldier touched the water, the first of the white men. Walks Alone pulled back on the trigger, surprised at the kick of the rifle against his shoulder. The buckskin soldier twisted in his saddle and crumpled, a look of shock on his face. He was kept from falling only by the quick actions of another soldier at his side who spurred his horse to the buckskin man’s side and held him.
Walks Alone pulled back the lever on the rifle, the spent · shell casing tumbling out. His fingers shook as he pushed another cartridge in the chamber. The soldiers would overrun them, he knew that. There was no way the handful of warriors could stop them. But he would stand here and do his duty. He looked up and was surprised to see that the soldiers were milling about. Not charging. The column in the coulee was halted by the confusion. The soldiers were not falling into camp.
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