CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
“Goddamnit, get your men into line!”
The NCOs were trying to sort out the confusion. Plunging into the Little Big Horn River, thirsty horses and men crowded the ford, vying with each other for water. The three companies resembled a mob, not a military unit. Bouyer’s growing unease seemed to match the growing dust cloud to the north. He felt hollow and loose inside thinking about the numbers it took to make such a cloud of dust. If there was this much confusion now, with no battle engaged, how would it be once they went downstream?
Bouyer looked over his shoulder one more time. First to e right, where there was no sign of Custer or his two battalions. Then to the left, the direction in which Benteen and his battalion had disappeared a few hours ago. Would Benteen believe him, or was he marching hard, out of supporting distance for the coming battle?
“Where’s my support?” Reno muttered next to him, his yes searching in the same directions Bouyer’s had.
Bouyer dug his heels into the flanks of his horse while the noncoms and officers sorted out the mess in the river. Reno followed him. They rode up the west bank of the Little Big Horn and looked to the north, downstream. The valley widened out, with low bluffs enclosing the left and the tree lined river on the right. Reno pulled up his canteen and took a deep swig.
“I’ll take some of that,” Bouyer said, ignoring the surprise on Reno’s face, The major handed over the canteen.
Bouyer lifted it to his lips and took a drink. He almost choked on the brackish water that poured down his throat. Reno laughed, an edge to it that Bouyer didn’t like. They both knew that Bouyer had expected a different liquid. The rumor was rampant in the camp that Reno was a drunk.
“’I’ll support you!’ By thunder, that’s what he said,” Reno snapped, controlling his horse with difficulty, the animal sensing the fear in the air. “’I’ll support you!’ Well, where is he?” Reno laughed wildly again, the sound contradicting the words.
Bouyer didn’t say anything. He knew the village was ahead. Any damn fool could see the dust from thousands of horses and the smoke from many fires. Bouyer had never seen so much smoke. He knew Bloody Knife was right. Custer wasn’t going to ride through this. This wasn’t going to be another Washita. Of course, he’d known for many years that this battle was going to turn out differently than Custer expected.
Besides not seeing either of the two other columns, the uncertainty of the space on his flanks bothered Bouyer, and he knew it bothered the major. Reno had been in quite a few fights in the Civil War, and the man had some tactical sense.
The Little Big Horn didn’t run. In a straight line north but meandered back and forth, east and west, opening and closing the valley in width-not good for a man with only a limited number of troops to advance up through.
A deployed battalion of cavalry was difficult to control, especially once the firing started. The only ways to issue orders were by yelling, which didn’t work well once the shooting began, or sending messengers, who had the possibility of getting shot before they got to their destination, leaving their message undelivered. Add in the fear of getting killed, factor it by the physical and mental state of the men and horses, and any tactical maneuver could be a recipe for disaster. Bouyer knew professional soldiers didn’t want to admit it, but pure damn luck played the biggest role of all in battle.
Here, in the valley, Bouyer knew Reno would have to watch his flanks. There weren’t enough men in the battalion to stretch from river to bluffs at the widest parts. Bouyer wondered where the major would post him and the scouts. The command would have to be anchored on the river. If Custer wasn’t behind him, as they both feared, then the general was to the right and Reno had to keep the way open either to support Custer, or as briefed, to be supported by him. And the right was where Bouyer wanted to be. He mew he needed to be close enough to reach Custer at the critical juncture.
Bouyer looked in that direction. On the east bank of the river the bluffs were much higher. It suddenly occurred to him that somewhere behind those bluffs Custer was riding with his five troops. Bouyer didn’t know why he suddenly thought that; from the orders, Custer should be coming this way into the valley behind them, but Bouyer knew it as sure as he knew anything this day, which in sum didn’t amount to too damn much. And just as surely, he knew that Reno knew it, too. He could tell by the way the major was just sitting there, his command mired in the crossing, no longer in a rush to move ahead up the valley floor toward the lodge fires and pony herds.
And Benteen? Bouyer shook his head. Benteen was exactly where he wanted to be. Out of it. Bouyer could hear Benteen’s voice in his head: Let Custer fall on his own sword, Bouyer shook his head to clear it of thoughts that didn’t do anything to help him right now. He had to trust that each dispersed piece would come together at the right time, although it appeared very unlikely at the moment. Bouyer nodded as Bloody Knife rode up to his side, joining him. He noted that Bloody Knife had the leather satchel containing the crystal un tied off to his pommel.
Bouyer stiffened as a band of twenty mounted warriors suddenly appeared out of a gully six hundred feet away, then wheeled and disappeared back into their own dust.
“There is no surprise,” Bloody Knife said in Arikara.
‘’There never was,” Bouyer replied sharply in the same tongue. He didn’t bother translating the comment to the major. Reno was ignoring them. Finally turning his attention back to his command.
G Troop was formed and up the bank now, with lieutenant McIntosh in control. The other two would be up shortly.
Bouyer stared to the north, his eyes slowly unfocusing. He felt a great weariness seep over him. As if pressed down by the bright sun. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest a little. Just a few moments. Under a tree on the bank of the gently flowing river. He knew what he was to do today was important, but he also felt it would probably end in his death, and he enjoyed life. He had lived far more than the vast majority of men. He’d traveled places only a handful of white men had ever seen. He’d enjoyed the feel of falling snow on his face as much as that of the warm sun at noon on a summer’s day. Why had he been chosen?
Bouyer’s head snapped up. The troops were up and formed. The dust to the north was greater than before, and he could hear faint war cries carrying through the heavy air. A rush spiked through the fatigue.
“Forward in fours!” Reno ordered. “Scouts to the left flank,” he added, looking at Bouyer.
The exposed left. All feeling drained out of his veins. Bloody Knife was watching him, the Indian’s face impassive.
“Keep my flank covered out there,” Reno said.
They had come across no sign on their march south and west. Benteen wiped sweat off his brow and looked up at the sun blazing overhead in the direction they were moving. He’d had two couriers come from Custer since they had left the main column. The first had ordered them on to the second ridge. The next courier had ordered them to go even farther and been divided again by Custer with Reno’s battalion heading for the valley of the Little Big Horn to attack the village.
Despite the orders, Benteen had pressed his battalion more and more to the north. He wanted to be as close to the rest of the regiment as possible. He’d looked inside the satchel Bouyer had given him and been startled by what he saw. He wasn’t a religious man and he also thought whatever gods the Indians worshipped were false, but this thing had some kind of power, of that be bad no doubt.
If only Custer hadn’t split off Reno. That bothered Benteen more than anything. Benteen could understand Custer wanting to get him out of the way. He’d always known that Custer would cut him out of any fight.