“No, soldier, I think this is an animal of an entirely different sort.”
“Marcus!” snapped the the general. “Your thoughts, please.”
“That’s easy, Sir,” Marcus replied, spurring his horse forward. “Form up and protect the eagle.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Guidon
(August 20 1860)
Eyes streaming, Lexington “Lex” Fox, First Lieutenant of One Platoon, Fifth Company, Second Mounted Rifles Cavalry Unit, leaned into his saddle and spurred his horse to greater efforts. He was already exhausted from the long ride they’d endured, and the combination of harsh sunlight and bitter north winds radiating down off the Rocky Mountains only exacerbated his misery. This journey was turning into a one-way ticket to hell, and he felt as if he were stuck in the first-class compartment of the ultimate train wreck.
Beside him, their ‘package’, Princess Inuck-Shen — known affectionately among the men as Small Robes — rode in silence, seemingly immune to the strident conditions now reducing her escort to shivering, saddle-sore wrecks.
Can you blame her for not speaking? Lex cast a sidelong glance toward her. She’s just sixteen years old and has the weight of two worlds on her young shoulders . . . and the enmity of factions from within her own people, it would seem.
Thinking back to what had led them here, Lex was deeply concerned as to whether any of them would come out of this alive.
As the eldest daughter of Blooded Chin, chief of the Blackfoot, Small Robes had been presented as a gift to unite the Cree nations by marriage. Her husband-to-be, Chief Snow Blizzard, was a warrior of fearsome reputation. It was his clan, currently encamped at the foot of the Bitterroot Mountains, west of Kalispell, Montana, that held sway throughout the entire region. Without Cree influence, the splintered, volatile tribes of the center plains would not come to the table with those willing to seek resolution. The peace treaty proposed by presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln would fail, and the long and bitter conflict with the native populations would grind on. Something congress was keen to avoid, especially as a number of the northern and southern states had been divided in recent years as to the policies they should pursue to establish a stronger presence within those municipalities currently overrun with native American Indians.
Only a week ago, the Second Cavalry regiment had dispatched their long-range reconnaissance experts, the Fifth, to Blood Mountain; the heart of Blackfoot territory. Their mission was to escort the princess and her chaperone to their new home, nearly four hundred miles away. A bold and risky undertaking, but one made less hazardous by the scouts who had been sent ahead to gain the cooperation of successive, subordinate tribes.
All went well until the company crossed the Rockies and entered the Great Wilderness. Once there, all signs of help — and life, it seemed — had been swallowed whole.
At first, their company commander, Captain James Houston, had forged ahead, thinking the emissaries had simply missed the rendezvous points amid the densely packed forests of the northern ranges. But as the days wore on and the pace gradually slowed, tensions increased.
Three days previously, they had arrived at what should have been a major resupply settlement on the northern shore of Flat Head Lake. There they had hoped to replenish their dwindling provisions before starting the final push into the heart of the Cree’s domain.
The post was deserted.
Small Robe’s uncle, Stained-With-Blood, was the Blackfoot’s greatest warrior. He was also, fortunately, her chaperone and an accomplished tracker. It hadn’t taken him long to determine that a large number of people had recently died at that location, and that a concerted effort had been made to conceal evidence of the massacre.
Looking back, Lex could appreciate the subterfuge.
Had the company been traveling alone, they would have no doubt turned back, returned the princess to her father, and reported the mission a failure. The peace talks would have been jeopardized, and further efforts to secure a lasting peace would have failed. In the meantime, the Plains War would have endured, the American nation would continue to fragment, and no one would have been any the wiser. . . . If they had turned back.
But they hadn’t been alone. As one well used to living in harmony with the land, Stained-With-Blood had spotted the telltale signs that revealed the true culprits behind the massacre. It was, unbelievably, the Cree themselves. When the veteran warrior informed Captain Houston of his discovery, the commander was furious and unleashed a fusillade of bullets into the sky in sheer frustration.
Lex shook his head in disgust at the memory. What a stupid thing to do. Even a rookie wouldn’t have made a mistake like that, especially that deep inside enemy territory. What the hell Houston thought he was doing, we’ll probably never know.
It was a poignant thought. Lex shuddered at his recollection of what happened next. As the report of gunfire echoed away into the distance, the surrounding hills trembled to the thunder of hooves and bristling activity. Spears and feathers, thousands upon thousands of them, suddenly sprouted up in response to the sound, bursting to life as if summoned from the depths of hell.
It was a surreal yet horrifying experience. Stained-With-Blood calmly gazed toward the massed ranks before listing the extent of the double-cross. “We are betrayed. Lakota, Sioux, and Apache reveal their true faces. Peace was never Snow Blizzard’s goal. We must flee.”
And flee they had.
Bolting first toward the northern pass, the company hoped to make it back through the Rockies and into territory dominated by Blackfoot and Cheyenne. But they’d only been in the saddle for a day before it became evident the way was barred. Their flight had been anticipated. Not only was the trail blocked, but the surrounding countryside was now saturated with warriors loyal to Snow Blizzard and his war party. The only apparent route open to the Fifth led back in the direction of Kalispell Fort.
Declining Stained-With-Blood’s offer of help, the captain chose to lead, driving them along at such a relentless pace that soon people were almost dropping from the saddle. Despite the panic, lady luck seemed to be watching over them. Houston managed to navigate the endless canyons and ridges hindering their getaway at such breakneck speed that the group always remained one step ahead of their enemies.
Their first night spent weaving the trails of Green Heart Forest proved pivotal. Although a dozen outriders disappeared among the confusing maze of trees and rocks, the cover provided by the densely packed pines gave them the break they sorely needed. After resting up for a few hours at an unknown, isolated creek, they redistributed supplies and armaments and resumed their drive toward safety at a more sensible pace.
Finally winning free only yesterday, the company now faced the open, windswept expanse of the Flat Head Plains. Safety lay on the other side, for once across the north fork of the Flat Head River, they would be home and dry.
Lex shielded his eyes as he took in his surroundings. Sweeping grassland stretched away toward infinity in every direction. Not that he would ever stand a chance of seeing it clearly, for the open savanna was one vast ocean of braying muscle. Shaggy beasts, their shoulders more than six feet high, numbering in the tens of thousands, grazed the endless expanse, complaining loudly and scattering in panic as the van cut through them. The Fifth’s pennant flew crisply in the breeze. Despite its brave statement, the motley crew of desperados made a sorry sight.
At least there shouldn’t be any chance of the Cree nipping unexpectedly at our heels now. If we don’t see them first, the buffalo certainly will.
Lex glanced at the seething wall of brawn closest to him. It amazed him that the two and a half thousand pound juggernauts didn’t just turn and trample the intruders flat in anger. They were certainly capable of it: he’d once seen what a stampeding herd could do. He was thankful for the living barrier their enemies would have to navigate before standing a chance of getting close enough to launch an attack. Surely they realize that would be a mistake? Even though they must outnumb
er us more than ten to one, most are only armed with spear or bow. Now we’re out in the open, our Spencer carbines will take them down so fast they’d be crazy to even think about facing us head on.
Lex reached down to pat the butt of his rifle. The .52 seven shot repeater was the latest innovation to leave the Sharp factories. As those chosen for this special mission, the Fifth were among the first to be equipped with them.
Our luck can’t hold out forever. I’ve got a feeling we’ll all be very grateful for these little beauties before long.
Without warning, Stained-With-Blood motioned for everyone to slow down and stop. For a reason unknown to Lex, the tribesman was staring intently at a hillock only a mile or so in front of them.
Captain Houston looked particularly vexed at having to halt their mad dash, but nevertheless signaled for the unit to reduce speed to a canter while he discovered what troubled the warrior.
Lex stood in his stirrups to look ahead. A small area of grass, like an island, stood apart from the rest of the prairie. Turning in his saddle, he scanned the plain from horizon to horizon. Everywhere he looked, buffalo rambled idly about. Snorting and grunting, with calves occasionally bleating as they ran to catch up with their mothers. Lex couldn’t discern what would worry the brave so much.
His gaze eventually returned to the small island of grassland. Then it hit him.
The buffalo on that hill aren’t moving like the others, and the rest of the herd is giving them a wider berth. While they’re not exactly spooked, something’s up.
Lex turned to find Small Robes studying him. Her eyes held a knowing look, and the beginnings of a smile creased the corners of her lips. He was about to ask her if she’d noticed the strange behavior of the animals when all heads were drawn to the sound of a sharp outburst of anger. Although he was too far away to hear properly, Lex could plainly see that the exchange between Captain Houston and Stained-With-Blood had become heated. And one sided. The commander shouted and gestured wildly, while the Indian ambassador sat impassively on his mustang, glaring back and occasionally shaking his head. The wind began to pick up. Knifing at them from every quarter, it added an ominous overtone to the standoff.
Stained-With-Blood wheeled away and galloped toward Lex and the princess. Reining in sharply in front of them, he addressed his niece in Standard English so everyone could understand. “This white-eye is a fool! Our brethren know how to hunt and run with these beasts. Does he not realize they could approach in numbers, undetected?” Placing his hand upon the young woman’s shoulder, his face became a picture of calm. “Child, come with me. I will not allow him to lead you into danger.”
“They’re up ahead, aren’t they?” Lex said “On the hillock, disguised as animals.” And directly in our path . . . How did they. . . ?
“Not everyone is as ready to stumble into darkness as first appears.” Stained-With-Blood’s eyes narrowed and respect colored his tone. “Perhaps all is not as lost as I thought.”
Houston rode up with an entourage and cut in on the conversation. “Very well, I know of a blocked valley only an hour’s ride from the river. If we regroup there, we can send out scouts to assess the best way forward past the ford.”
Stained-With-Blood’s countenance turned hard. “Forgive me if I don’t put much confidence in your scouts. So far, they only appear skilled in leading us into traps. Perhaps I may be of assistance in finding a . . . clearer path?”
The two men stared each other down. Houston’s gazed flitted for support to his officers. He cleared his throat and said, “If you don’t mind my saying, Sir, that won’t be necessary. We checked these plains thoroughly in the weeks leading up to the treaty. We know the lay of the land. It would be a great help, especially now, if you’d remain close to the princess. Just knowing she’s in safe hands would be a great weight off my shoulders and allow me to get us all out of here without . . .” he glanced anxiously about, “. . . too much bloodshed.”
Stained-With-Blood looked to his charge. Small Robes jutted her chin toward Lex. Letting out a deep sigh of frustration, her uncle maneuvered his horse around next to the princess and muttered, “As you wish.” Pointing toward the Lieutenant, he told Houston, “But he will come with us. He is not as blind to the signs about him as others are.”
Lex was shocked to be singled out, but secretly pleased. No one else among the company appeared to have made the connection to the hillock yet.
A calculating look entered the captain’s eyes. He ruminated before coming to a decision. Straightening, he began issuing orders. Raising his voice to make himself heard above the stiffening gusts, he said, “Lieutenant Smith, take second platoon and divide it into two sections. Use Sergeant Wainwright’s detail to engage the renegades. Go with them. You are to keep your distance, use your rifles to maximum effect, and keep heading toward Kalispell. Draw them off for as long as you can. If it looks like you might get overrun, make for the fort until sunset, then turn and head for Skull Canyon. In the meantime, I want Corporal Mitchell’s section to run ahead and lay a false trail adjacent to the river and away from our rendezvous. As with the rest of your squad, once night falls they are to beat it out of there and join up with the rest. Is that clearly understood?”
Smith didn’t bother answering. Raising two fingers to the brim of his hat, he trotted away. Lex didn’t know if his subordinate had failed to reply because of the strengthening wind or not, but he had caught the way both men considered each other, as if trying to exchange hidden thoughts. Handy, Wilson Smith being the company commander’s cousin and all. I doubt Houston would let me take such liberties. Still, I suppose blood is thicker than water.
“Fox?”
Lex snapped out of his musing. “Sir?”
“Take your entire platoon, and the princess, and head directly to the ravine. Protect the guidon. We’ve never lost it. If we don’t join you by dawn, do what you can to get to Kalispell. The fort was expecting us yesterday. While they might wait a day, I doubt they’ll put off sending out patrols for much longer. One way or another, we’ll get this settled tonight.”
“Yes Sir.” Lex paused. “Are you not coming with us?”
“No, I think I’ll join Corporal Mitchell on our little ruse. Make sure things don’t get messed up again.” With that, the captain dismissed Lex as if he’d ceased to exist, and turned to issue further instructions to those closest to him.
Lex shrugged. Using the horn of his saddle to pull himself up, he scanned the milling throng, quickly locating the Fifth’s bannerman, Quincy Shelby. Whistling, Lex attempted to draw the private’s attention. The strengthening gale thwarted his efforts and Lex had to close the distance until he could catch the soldier’s eye. Motioning for Shelby to fall-in on him, he watched as the reversed, red-on-white/white-on-red colors of the guidon drew closer. Whipping about like a torn rag in a storm, the pennant looked so fragile Lex thought it might get ripped away from them at any minute.
Where on earth is this wind coming from?
Lex scanned the plains, surprised to discover a strange cluster of clouds forming only half a mile from their location. As he watched, the mass thickened and darkened. It started rotating, and a distinctive swirling vortex distended toward the ground.
You don’t get tornados this far north. The weather’s all wrong . . . .
He looked about again.
What the hell is going on?
Lex jumped as someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled to find Surgeon Major Samuel J. Clark, and his second, Surgeon Captain William Anders huddling close. “Can I help you, Sirs?”
The eldest and most distinguished of the two officers — a portly man with long silver-grey hair and a matching goatee beard and mustache — replied, “You certainly can, young man. It would appear Mr. Houston wants us to ride along with your party. Look after the princess, and all that . . .” He paused to tip his hat toward her before continuing, “. . . and to be quite honest, I’ve never been all that good in a shootout. My specialty is sortin
g out the mess you guys cause.”
“No problem with me, Sir. As far as I’m concerned, the more the merrier. It might put the Cree off attacking us in the first place. Do you mind acceding to my orders if it comes to a fight?”
“Son,” the older gentleman replied, “I’m a doctor first and foremost. I leave the shouting and the shooting up to capable young men like yourself. If you’re half as competent as this here Indian fella says, I’ll not only do as you say, hell, I’ll happily dance a jig at your birthday party. You just tell us what you need, and we’ll do our best not to get in the way. Sound like a deal?”
Lex grinned. The thought of the major’s offer was uncannily appealing. “I may hold you to that, Sir. Just be ready to move at a moment’s notice. If what Stained-With-Blood said is true, we need to be leaving . . . now!”
Lex’s gaze was drawn back to the strange bank of clouds. A tingle, which had nothing to do with their current predicament, skittered along his spine.
In fact, we should already be gone.
Without warning, the long grass about them erupted with howling and death.
CHAPTER THREE
By Strength and Guile
(May 4 2052)
“Gold Command, emergency hatchway has been breached and preliminary seal established. We now have access to pylon three. Repeat, pylon three is secured. Beginning final appraisal.”
“Roger that, Sunray,” a muted, metallic voice acknowledged. “You are go for tactical ingress, on your mark.”
Lieutenant Alan “Mac” McDonald, officer commanding SBS Four Troop, UK Special Forces Anti-Terrorist Wing, remained a shadow in the dark. His night optics brought the scene around him to life in lurid, silver-green detail. As he began his final assessment, he could clearly see the seven other members of his team bobbing about in the swell beneath the Husker-Trent oil and gas platform. Each of them was silent, alert, and professional. Highly trained killers. But skill and training weren’t the only things on their side tonight. Thanks to their reactive micro-com network and chameleon armor, they were also invisible from prying eyes, eavesdropping, and covert surveillance. Scanning their arcs, each specialist waited patiently for their leader to complete his evaluation and give his final affirmation.
The IX Page 3
