Assault on Atlantis

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

“We have to cross now!” Reynolds yelled at Captain Yates. The entire unit was stalled, some of Yates’s men laying down a covering fire across the river, but the rest were bottled up in the coulee, able to neither advance nor go back due to the press of the column coming downhill behind them. The firing from the Indian side was getting stronger.

Yates was dismounted, standing next to where Tom Custer was tending to his brother. The younger Custer. Boston. Was there along with the youth, Autie. A family gathering, thought Reynolds, but one that had taken the heart out of the regiment.

If Yates wouldn’t act, Reynolds knew he had to. He turned his horse toward the river and rode into the water, hoping that some of the troopers would follow him. He knew they could take the crossing with one charge and if they did that, the way into the village would be open. Beyond that he didn’t know what would happen, but he saw it as their only chance. If they could take some squaws and children hostage, perhaps they could negotiate their way out of this.

Water splashed around his horse’s hooves and bullets cracked by. Reynolds paused in midstream and fired his rifle. He glanced over his shoulder. A squad of soldiers was following. We are going to do it, he thought, when his horse suddenly reared up, front legs high into the air. As he slid off the side of the bucking horse, Reynolds saw the shaft of the arrow sticking out of the horse’s chest and then he felt the wind explode out of his lungs as the horse rolled on top of him and then off to the side, dead. He heard his bones breaking, but curiously, he felt nothing as he gasped air back into his lungs. The water of the little Big Horn splashed over the lower half of his body as he lay, his upper back against the body of his horse.

Reynolds looked down. Like a piece of firewood, he could see white bone sticking out of the water. His bone, from his leg. He wondered why he didn’t feel anything, but then, when he tried to move and couldn’t, he knew. His back was broken.

Reynolds twisted his head and looked back the way he’d come. The squad of soldiers was staring at him, halted, and Captain Yates was giving orders, turning them around to go downstream and up the next coulee. They had Custer on his horse again, his family around him, keeping him in the saddle as they rode away.

Reynolds lifted an arm and signaled for help. Few saw the gesture. But Autie Custer did. He hesitated, looking between his brother and the trapped scout, and then dashed out into the water.

“Take this.” Reynolds held out the satchel containing the skull.

Autie took it. “But what about-” his words were cut off as an arrow grazed his left cheek. Slicing it wide open.

“Go!” Reynolds yelled. Autie turned and ran, taking the skull with him. Reynolds watched him and what was developing.

In Medicine Tail Coulee the rest of Yates’s troops came down and then turned ninety degrees to the right, heading up Deep Coulee. C and E Troops followed Yates, but the farthest back units, Calhoun and Keogh’s troops, L and I, were able to do a right flank and climb up out of Medicine Tail Coulee where the banks were not so steep.

They were leaving him. Reynolds turned back to the west. Warriors were now standing on the banks in the open, firing at the retreating troops. He could see more arriving on ponies every second. A pair ran out into the water toward him. His rifle had gone into the water during the fall. He reached under water to his belt and pulled out his pistol. But he knew the cartridges were soaked and would not fire. He let it drop out of his hand. The two warriors were close now, splashing through the creek, one with a musket at the ready, the other with a steel ax.

Reynolds signed with his hands. Kill me.

Reynolds raised his eyes to the sky above. The eagle was still up there, far above the insanity practiced by men on the ground below. Steel flashed through the sky, between Reynolds and the eagle, and he saw its flight no more.

They had left the pack train behind as they moved forward, as there was no way the mules could make any sort of decent time. Benteen had not been sure how to take Sergeant Kanipe’s message, because it was directed to the commander of the pack train, which technically was MacDougall, not him. They were following a trail, although Benteen wasn’t sure if it Was Custer’s or Reno’s.

A figure came riding from the west, straight toward the head of the column. Benteen halted his horse and waited. He recognized Trumpeter Martin and could see that his mount had been run hard. There was blood on the horse’s flank.

Martin rode right up. and without a word handed over a note scrawled on notepaper:

Benteen, come on; big village; be quick; bring packs. P.S. COOKE.

“Where’s the villager?” Benteen asked Martin.

“In the valley,” Martin replied shortly.

“Are they fighting”

“Martin shook his head. “ They skeddadling.”

Benteen could hear no firing. If the Indians were running, there might not be time to go back for the packs. Besides, Benteen figured, they were coming as fast as they could. His battalion’s presence with the pack train would not make them come any quicker, but could make a large difference if Reno and Custer had the Indians on the run.

While Benteen had been talking to Martin, Captain Weir of D Troop rode up. Benteen handed him the note without any comment. Weir read it.

“We’re moving forward to the river,” Benteen said.

Weir silently acknowledged by riding back to his troops.

Benteen moved the battalion forward quickly, traversing two miles until they reached the Little Big Horn right where the trail said one of the two cavalry units had crossed. Looking to the north, Benteen could see some fighting going on and he could now hear firing. The soldiers he could see seemed to be withdrawing toward the right, north of his position.

“Where did Custer go?” Benteen asked Martin.

The trumpeter simply pointed to the north on the east side of the river. Benteen frowned. It was obvious that Reno’s troops were engaged and not faring well. Other than a handful of soldiers, all he could see were hundreds of warriors in the valley on the other side of the river.

Benteen looked to his right and to his dismay spotted a small group of four Indians about a quarter-mile away in that direction. If there were hostiles between him and Custer and Reno was retreating in the valley, then he paused in his thinking as he recognized them. They were Crow, scouts from Custer’s unit.

Benteen rode to them as they came forward. He could tell they were agitated.

“Many, many Sioux!” one of the scouts exclaimed.

“Much fight, much fight!” another babbled.

Benteen looked past them, up the hill, and he could see clusters of blue uniforms in the high ground almost a mile away. That decided it for him. He quickly formed his battalion and headed in that direction. He was met just short of the soldiers by Major Reno, who was staring blindly toward the northwest.

Benteen stilled his horse and stared as the senior ranking officer came forward. Reno had no hat and his tunic was covered in blood. There was a look in his eyes that Benteen had seen before in battle: shock, close to panic.

“He said he would support me!” Reno cried out before Benteen could say a word. “He said he would support me with the entire outfit!”

“Where is Custer?” Benteen asked.

“He didn’t support me. They’re dead. Hodgson, MacIntosh, Bloody Knife. All dead.”

Benteen looked past the distraught major. There were a number of troops on the high ground. Some were firing back down the way they came. Occasionally more soldiers would come up from the river, some on horse, many walking. All in a panic, obviously there had been a rout.

“Here,” Benteen said, holding out the order he’d been given.

Reno took it and read. He laughed hysterically. “Big village. Oh, yes, it’s big. There’s thousands of them, Benteen. Thousands. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Benteen said, leaning over and putting a band on Reno’s shoulder. All the while he was thinking hard. If Reno had been beaten as badly as it appeared and most of his troops were dismounted and pushed back to this side of the river, then the pack train was a priority. They would need the ammunition it carried to replace that which was lost on the horses in the valley and for them to be able to mount a viable defensive stand. Benteen barked orders, moving his three companies onto the high ground to support Reno’s battered troops, and then he turned to a lieutenant and sent a detachment riding hard to the rear to bring up the pack train.

He knew one thing Custer had been right about. They were in for a fight today. He saw Bouyer. Standing near the northern edge of the knoll. Benteen rode over.

“Where’s Custer?”

Bouyer pointed north, toward a cloud of dust. The distant echo of shots could be heard. “There.’’

“This side of the river?”

Bouyer nodded. “He didn’t make it into the village for some reason.”

Benteen rubbed his chin worriedly.

“We’ve got to move forward,” Bouyer said.

Benteen was stunned. “What’?”

“We’ve got to move forward to support Custer.”

“Support Custer?” Benteen laughed bitterly. “We’ll do well to survive here.”

Captain Weir rode up in a hurry. “Sir, my company is ready to move.”

“Move where. Captain?”

Weir pointed in the same direction Bouyer had. “To the Sound of the firing, sir.”

Benteen realized that Weir had been taught a little too much Napoleon at West Point.

“They’re massing below us,” Benteen said. “If the pack mules don’t get here soon, we’ll be overrun.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bouyer said as he mounted his horse. “I’m going forward.”

He held out his hand toward Benteen. “The satchel.”

Benteen took the leather case off his saddle and almost dropped it. He could smell the leather burning. Whatever was inside was very, very hot. Bouyer took it and looped the tie over his pommel. Then he simply took the one from Reno, realizing the officer was too dazed to offer any help.

Bouyer rode off. Weir looked at Benteen, awaiting orders. Benteen was between a rock and a hard place. If he ordered Weir to stay, he was abandoning Custer, much like Custer had done to Elliott at Washita so many years earlier. But if he ordered him to go, he was reducing his fighting strength by one-fifth. Probably more than that given the state most of Reno’s men appeared to be in.

Taking silence as assent, Weir yelled orders and his company charged after Bouyer. Heading toward the sound of firing.