Chapter 18

It seemed like a minor victory of sorts when things calmed down considerable in Indian Territory and the plains tribes settled in for a long winter that would be certain to be harsh on their womenfolk and young ones. It was of concern to the chiefs that if the land agents didn’t supply the food supplies they desperately needed now that the buffalo were extinguished as a viable source of food, they would be facing sure starvation on the reservation.

I have to admit it was a real possibility because the post-war profiteers were eager to make a fortune on the plight of the Native Americans in addition to exploiting the reparations demanded from the southern states as some form of “justice” not envisioned by the assassinated President Lincoln. Most of the settlers moving west saw the hostiles as just another obstacle to their survival just like bad weather and the other wild predators found out in the wilderness. Most of the troopers were anxious to get their hitch in the cavalry finished so they could seek their own chance at plundering the riches of the virgin territory and some of them just grabbed a convenient horse and skedaddled in the middle of the night.

The rumors started to fly that the most reckless General of the Civil War, General George Armstrong Custer would be joining the Seventh Cavalry the following month and would be treated like a General even though the War Department had demoted him to a Colonel for his terrible manners in Washington, D.C. Even his well-respected mentors understood the need for sending him as far away from the center of power as quickly as possible before he just got upset and tried to gain control of the whole shooting match.

Of course, I knew almost every detail of Custer’s debacle and hoped that I might be able to reduce the losses somewhat without actually changing the course of history. I didn’t think that would be a good course of action for the delicate space-time continuum according to some science books that I had read in taking my degree. I would be the first one to admit I actually didn’t understand it completely but I never claimed to be a scientist.

He showed up with his entourage at the railhead and sent us a message that he would require a troop of cavalry to escort him to the Fort. Our Commanding Officer who outranked him on the basis of seniority was inclined to refuse but common sense convinced him otherwise and we took off at a gallop to comply with the new senior officer’s request.

Custer had a complement of some forty troopers. They were mostly “green” recruits with little or no actual combat experience and in all honesty they were not all that familiar with the care and use of horses in the field. I was certain our training sergeants would be delighted to set them down to task before they had a chance to unpack. I have to admit my men and I included looked a bit more like a dirty pack of renegade outlaws than parade ground troopers with military skills acquired the hard way by trying to survive in the middle of chaos.

I could see the sneer on Custer’s handsome face as our horde of dirty, dusty riders approached his carriage and his detachment of spit and polish troopers in splendid blue uniforms tailored by Washington’s best vendors. Thankfully, the General and none of his officers had the nerve to bring their dependents along with them to the isolated assignment hoping against hope that it would be a temporary assignment only and that they would soon be dispatched to the new State Capitol for garrison duties. Custer, however, was fully enthused with his final opportunity to find glory in combat and to earn back his Star which he felt was taken away more from spite than for justifiable reasons.

His exploits on the battlefield were not to be denied, but most of the General officers in favor with Lincoln blessed with the ability to employ new strategies recognized his success was due more often to sheer luck and foolhardiness, than skills of deploying forces in combat. That was about to be well documented in his coming confrontation with the plains Indians.

I did my level best to keep our unit out of General Custer’s sight, because I knew he was hot-headed enough to devise some sort of fool’s errand likely to get people killed for no reason at all. I had seen it on the battlefields back east and I had seen it in the jungles of Southeast Asia, where the monsoons hid monstrous errors of judgment under the rotting green foliage. My men were smart enough to appreciate we were keeping a low profile and managed to stay well out of sight and out of mind.

The period of peace and quiet came to a screeching halt when reports started to filter into our headquarters that there were large movements of hostiles coming south from north of the Canadian border. With the advantage of seeing it all from a future perspective, I was able to comprehend the impact of that demographic reversal building up to the Little Big Horn.

I knew that the preceding few generations of Native American migration had all been in the other direction as a matter of basic survival. The combination of western expansion under the motivation of “manifest destiny” and the crippling loss of their food supply by decimation of the vast herds of buffalo drove the Native Americans from the plains without the need for unnecessary bloodshed. It was bitter and it was an honor-robbing process that that built in the lust for revenge about to come down on General George Armstrong Custer’s golden locks.

For the past six months, the forces sent west to insure order and protect the settlers seemed more than adequate to meet any challenge. It was impressive and I had a sense that the blue uniforms dominated the scene in every small town and village west of the Mississippi River complex. Most of the remaining Indians were either too old or too sick to travel and they mainly kept to themselves on the reservations willing to trade their freedom for the means of survival. I had a sense of déjà vu recognizing a problem that hadn’t changed for centuries and was unlikely to be truly solved by government interference. The reluctance to assimilate was more of a cultural obstacle than opposition from racist forces found inside the hordes of settlers from the east.

The truth of the matter was that the hostiles were not all cut from the same cloth. Some were hunters and some were natural farmers. The tribes were so diverse that most of the white-eyes never appreciated the fact that they had been fighting each other for millenniums.

The sudden influx of heavily armed braves from the north was enough to drive many of the isolated farmers and ranchers into the fort or at least nearby to sleep easy at night and not worry about losing their hair before they were fully awake. The northern tribes were also likely to capture and make slaves of the female settlers and the small children. They were quick to spirit them away in the middle of the night on the trail to the colder climes and they were never heard of again by their friends and relatives. It was one of the reasons why more and more settlers tended to huddle together for protection unable to depend on the troopers to be constantly on the lookout for their safety.