“Where did you say we’re going, sir?”
“We’ll go down the other side and break through. Now follow orders!
The sergeant major down below was heading up the slope, pushing the last of the survivors before him.
“Did you hear me, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir, I heard you.”
“Then do it.”
Abe stared at him. “Why?”
“What did you say, Lieutenant?”
“Why, sir? What the hell are you going to do once we get down there?” He pointed down at the prairie. Clusters of Bantags were riding over the smoldering ground they had just retreated across, casually dispatching the last of the wounded, while to the flanks and rear a circle of skirmishers were closing the net in tight. A knot of troopers had gained a small ravine, but were quickly being annihilated as scores of Bantags swarmed in on them, heedless of loss.
“We’re going to get the hell out of here, Lieutenant. We’ll go down that slope.” He pointed to the west.
“Sir, there’s hundreds of Bantags down there, and we don’t have more than sixty up here.” As he spoke he indicated the skirmish line deploying along the rim of the butte. One of the men was already dead, head blow off by a well-aimed shot, but the rest were pouring out a steady rate of fire.
A corporal, every inch the professional, was pacing the line, crouched low, offering encouragement, pointing out targets, cautioning the men to make every shot count. He paused in his work, looking straight at Abe. His gaze spoke volumes. The corporal had heard every word. He simply shook his head, nodded down to the plain below, then drew a finger across his throat.
Abe took a deep breath, turned, and faced the major. “May I suggest, sir, that we stay here. Most of the battalion is dead, sir. We go down there, and we won’t get half a mile before they finish us off.”
“What? What the hell did you just say. Lieutenant?”
“With all due respect, sir. We are on the high ground. Up here we can secure the flanks for the men still down below. Ride back down and we’re all dead, and the gatling position down on the east slope will be wiped out as well.”
“We’re dead if we stay here,” Agrippa cried and pointed back to the east.
The distant riverbank that they had been riding toward was swarming with hundreds of Bantags.
“They’re coming!” Agrippa cried, shifting his gaze to the troopers, who had slowed in their firing and were watching the confrontation. “Mount up and let’s get moving before it’s too late.”
“They’ll slaughter us if we go off this hill.”
“Mount, damn you, get mounted!”
Abe looked back down at the base of the slope. Not a single guidon was in sight. Out on the plain he saw a Bantag galloping off, triumphantly holding the yellow flag with the crossed sabers of the battalion, flame-scorched, waving it over his head as he raced toward the ford.
“Mount, Lieutenant, and that is a direct order. I don’t give a good damn who your father is. Now get these men moving!”
Abe turned back. “No, sir.”
“What?”
“No, sir, and I don’t have time for this. We’re staying here. This is the only defensible ground we have. The Bantag didn’t want this fight. They aren’t going to stay. We just have to hang on!”
“You are relieved, Lieutenant, and by God, I’ll have you court-martialed for direct disobedience of my commands.”
“Go ahead,” Abe shouted, “do whatever you damn well please, but these men stay here! Your mad charge got them into this mess. I’ll not see the rest of them slaughtered because you panicked.”
Several of the men on the firing line, including the corporal, were looking at them.
Abe stepped closer, trying to regain control of his emotions. “Listen, Major. We can hold this position. Now pull yourself together and help me to lead these men.”
“Be damned. Now mount up.”
Before he fully realized what he was doing, Abe swung his carbine around and pointed it at the major.
“Sir, if I hear one more word from you, I will blow your damn head off. You got us into this mess with that damn stupid ride straight into an ambush that my scout warned you about. Now stay exactly where you are and shut the hell up.”
In spite of the roar of battle Abe felt as if he were trapped in a world of silence. He could see the corporal standing upright, staring at them. Togo, with a half dozen men gathered around him, was directing fire down the north slope, securing the flank, not aware of what was going on behind.
Agrippa started to reach for his revolver.
“Don’t, sir. I am not playing a game. Touch that weapon, and you are dead.”
Agrippa looked at him, mouth gaping open like a fish that had been speared and dropped into the bottom of a boat. His eyes darted back and forth, settling at last on the corporal.
“Over here,” he gasped, and the corporal reluctantly approached.
“Remove that weapon from this man and place him under arrest,” Agrippa hissed.
The corporal looked back and forth between the two, and then his gaze shifted beyond them.
“Goddamn, what the hell are you people doing?”
It was the sergeant major Abe had grabbed at the bottom of the hill, pushing a dozen men on foot in front of him. Crouching low until clear of the edge of the butte, he stood up, slowly moving toward the two officers.
“Sergeant major, arrest this man,” Agrippa hissed.
The sergeant hesitated.
“Sergeant, we are staying on this hill,” Abe announced. “Major Agrippa wants us to charge back down and make a break to the west. It will mean abandoning our comrades still down below. I have tried to reason with him, and he refused. So either he backs down now, or I shoot him.”
The sergeant major cautiously approached the two, the entire group breaking their tableaulike poses when a high arcing arrow hissed down, striking the ground between them, and then went skidding off.
The staccato roar of the gatling ignited, and Abe shifted his gaze for a second to the sergeant.
“Deployed on the plateau just below us,” he announced. “We managed to get a couple of thousand rounds up with it. The men are digging in.”
“Sergeant! Get the men mounted.”
The sergeant, moving with steady purpose, stepped between Agrippa and Abe and faced the major. Taking the officer’s revolver out of its holster, he stuck it into his own belt.
“Sir, you’re injured, sir. I think you need to lie down.”
“Sergeant?”
“I can see you’re badly burned, sir. Corporal, get something to drink for the major here.”
“I’ll have all of you court-martialed,” Agrippa cried.
“Sir, will you look over there,” the sergeant replied, speaking softly, as if sharing a few kind words with a friend.
The major turned, looking to where the sergeant pointed.
The revolver in the sergeant’s hand flashed upward. Agrippa fell, sprawling in the dust. The sergeant stood above him, holding the pistol by the barrel.
“Damn,” he whispered, “I think a ball just grazed the major.”
He looked back at Abe and wearily shook his head.
“You were right, sir, but damn it, your ass and mine are in the fire once he wakes up.”
Abe could not help but smile. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Look, sir. I think most all the other officers are dead. The damn bastards tore into anyone with a guidon following. I think we got about a hundred men all mixed up down there and up here, but by God if we keep our nerve, we can hold. They’re already pulling back.”
Abe had been so preoccupied with Agrippa that he had forgotten about the battle raging around them. He looked back to the east. The Bantag along the riverbank were holding their position. He could see them moving about, clustering around a rider coming in bearing a guidon.
Looking to either flank, he could see they were pulling back. Some of them had dismounted, hiding behind dead horses, scattered boulders, keeping up a slow but steady fire. To the west, down in the ravine where they had been less than an hour before, he caught glimpses of riders dismounting. The half dozen supply wagons that had been left to the rear were being looted, drivers all dead. The back door was closed. Another bullet zipped passed, sounding like an angry bee.