A fight to the finish...A story of courage and valour

“Sergeant, get over here.”

The sergeant came running.

“Yes Sir.”

“The Colonel’s been shot off his horse. See him?”

The Sergeant looked through the crowd of scrambling troopers going pell mell every which way. Through them all he saw the Colonel alright. He was still recognizable even though he had recently cut his hair, and he was lying there on the ground at the edge of the ford.

“Yes sir. I see him.”

“Go get him. Put him on a horse and take him over to that hill over there.” The officer pointed to the hill. “Got It?”

 But before the sergeant could answer “Yes sir” the officer had disappeared. 

“Private,” shouted the sergeant to the man next to him. “Follow me. We’re gonna get the Colonel and take him to that hill over there. He pointed to the hill.

“That’s over half a mile away Sergeant.”

“Just do as I say Private. C'mon let’s go.”

The two of them rode forward to their fallen Colonel. Even though bullets were flying all around them they feared not for they knew those bullets were not meant for them. They were meant for the officers and the officers were easy targets because they all wore buckskin jackets just like the Colonel did. Shoot the officers and the men will panic. The Indians knew what they were doing.  

The Colonel was unconscious as the two of them lifted him up onto the private’s horse. Immediately the private jumped up behind him and put his arms around him and held him tightly in place, hoping he was applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding from the Colonel’s chest.

All around them there was confusion, chaos, and panic. Some of the men were still trying to cross the river and were being driven back. Some were firing randomly at an enemy hidden in buffalo grass high on a hill above them on the other side of the river. Some had dismounted and were trying to form a skirmish line. Some stood there frozen in place. And some started retreating up the draw as rifle fire and arrows rained down upon them all.

The sergeant took the reins of the private’s horse, got on his, and led them out of there and towards their destination. Troopers passed them by in a hurried frenzy while the sergeant kept things at a slow steady pace trying not to jar the Colonel too much. When they finally got there, troops were already dug in.

“Okay let’s get him down Private and set him up by those men over there near the top.”

The bleeding had been stopped but blood covered the front of the Colonel's buckskin jacket and no matter how gently the two of them tried to lower the Colonel down, he groaned in pain the whole time. They carried him over and set him down with his troops who all stood there with eyes and mouths open in total disbelief. How could this be happening to this man of all men? This man who always led them into battle, always upfront leading the charge. This man who had never ever retreated in his life.

The Indians were coming at them from all sides now, from the crossing they had  failed to cross, killing the stragglers and wounded along the way, but what surprised the troops the most was that Indians were now streaming in from the north too. No one had seen that one coming. 

“Damn it,” cursed the sergeant. “Damn it. We should have charged across the ford back there. The water was only a foot or so deep. We’d have made it. Sure we would have lost some men but we would have gotten through to Reno, had the Indians in a classic pincer movement, and got another glorious victory for the Seventh. The Colonel certainly didn’t give the order to retreat. That’s not his style. Who in the hell gave the order anyway Private?”

“I don’t know Sergeant. All I know is that once the Colonel got shot and fell off his horse things went to hell.”

“Well what I know is that the Indians outsmarted him this time. The Colonel thought he’d caught them napping like Washita but when they saw us coming down the draw they knew enough to take the high ground, hide in the buffalo grass, and shoot us to pieces with their repeater rifles while we stood there exposed in the open. Hell! all we got is single shot rifles. How does the army expect us to compete with that? Damn the army. Damn them.”

“How’d they get repeaters Sergeant?”

“Indian Agents and Indian traders selling them to them illegally. That’s how. I tell you if the Colonel had led us on through, we could have made it even with our single shot rifles. The Indians never would have followed us.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because the Indians were hell-bent on making sure their women, children, and elderly had time to escape this time. They were ready to go down fighting to give their families time to escape. They’d be damned if they let us have another Washita.”

“You think Reno’s coming?”

“If he was coming, he’d have been here by now. Look Private, the Colonel is on his feet and giving orders. Thank the military gods. Maybe he’ll get us out of this mess after all. Maybe Custer’s Luck will hold one more time.”

“What about Benteen? The Colonel sent a messenger to him. You think he’s on his way?”

“Benteen isn’t coming. He hates the Colonel with a passion because the Colonel outranks him and is younger than he is. He considers the Colonel a braggart and blames him for not coming to the rescue of some of his troops once. He’d be more than happy to see the Colonel go down to defeat. He won’t show.”

“Who’s going to save us then?”

The Indians were all around and amongst them now. No more Custer’s Luck. The sergeant had to admit the inevitable.

“No one is going to save us, Private. No one. We’re like the men at the Alamo, no one’s coming to our rescue, and we’re all going down fighting.”

“You think then that they’ll call this battle Custer’s Alamo?”

 “No, don't be silly.”

 “What then?”

 “Isn’t it obvious, Custer’s Last Charge.”

The Indians mutilated the bodies of the Private and the Sergeant. As to Colonel Custer, well the Indians had a tradition of honoring those who had fought well, fought bravely, and died in battle fighting against them. To the Indians Custer was such a man. They did not mutilate his body.