Chapter 15

Ann and I had a few days of R&R at Headquarters (now I'm capitalizing words!), and she had a chance to enjoy her new swimming skill. When we weren't doing that, though we did not need to sleep anymore, we did spend most of our time in bed. Man, this was the way to relax and recharge your batteries!

Lars managed to get us four days of R&R before he called us back to duty. This was a tough job he handed us, and I wasn't sure that we could pull it off. Everybody knows about Custer's Last Stand against Crazy Horse, etc., but few people know about Major Marcus A. Reno and his company that Custer had ordered to attack from another direction.

In this particular timeline, the Sioux and Cheyenne overran Reno's men and killed them all, whereas, in most timelines, Reno and his men escaped Custer's fate. Anyway, it was not Reno that we needed to save, but several of the common soldiers who would have descendants who would make significant contributions to the world. Without them, the leak over between timelines would adversely affect too many other timelines to be ignored. QED, we would have to insure the survival of Reno's men.

The problem was that we had to be circumspect about it, so that we would not leave a mark in the history books. This time, we would dress in our ninja-suits and use our phasers set on stun to keep the Indians from overrunning the soldiers, but not to kill them and cause new timelines to be created. Damn, this timeline stuff gets complicated!

We had our phasers fitted with detachable shoulder stocks and a long sight bar so that they could be aimed for shots up to a few hundred yards. We wanted to be able to snipe and pick our targets, since that seemed to be our best bet for being undetected.

We were transported back to the Little Big Horn battle ground on the day after Reno's first contact with the Indians. This battle had separated itself into one entirely unrelated to Custer's battle, so we didn't have to worry about them. Reno's men were defending a bluff that was too steep for horses, so the attacking Indians had to approach on foot and actually climb up the last few yards of cliff face. This was perfect for us, since we could shoot the Indians while they were nearly lying on the ground, and they would not fall down in such a way as to attract a lot of attention.

Ann and I set ourselves up in trees opposite the cliff so that we would have a clear shot at the climbing Indians. Our bullet proof undies would protect us if we were hit by a stray bullet, and our ninja-suits would keep us from being seen by either side.

We were about 200 yards away from the action, but the beam spread of the phasers would allow us to be less accurate with our shots than rifles would have required. Our position was as nearly perfect as we could hope for, so we were able to pick off Indians as they got too close to the top of the cliff. The other Indians might see a comrade fall, but they would assume that he had slipped or else been shot. Those who had been shot by our phasers would have no memory of the event and would simply assume that they had fallen and been knocked unconscious at that time. The stun effect lasted about half an hour, so everything timed out reasonably well.

We spent two days and a night at the job, and it got pretty boring at times, but it was very exciting at other times. Overall, it was not a job we wanted to repeat, but it did beat killing a lot of people, so we were ultimately glad that we did it. Eventually, Reno pulled his men out, and they completed their escape.

When we got back to Headquarters, I couldn't help asking why no effort was ever made to rescue Custer. The answer was that a careful study was made of the few timelines where Curter did survive. He resigned from the Army and went into politics, in one case, even getting himself elected US President. His foolishness on the battlefield carried over into his political career, and he botched every political decision he had to make. His term as President even got the US involved in a disastrous war with England, which he lost. The upshot was that the USA was better off without him!

We had another short break and were sent on another mission, this time to Las Vegas, New Mexico Territory, in 1881. Some guy, we were sure he was an alien, was trying to steal every ounce of gold that came out of the local mines. Las Vegas, NMT, was such a lawless place at that time that we were unsure just how big an operation Big Bill Smith was running. Anyway, we were sent to put a stop to the thefts, no matter who was behind them.

Ann and I got a room at the hotel and went to the saloon to gather what information we could. We were talking to the bartender when a hush suddenly fell over the crowd in the saloon. In walked a crowd of 10 or so of the roughest looking galoots that it had ever been my misfortune to gaze upon. They muscled their way to the bar, pushing patrons right and left as they came. When they got far enough, they even pushed Ann and me aside. Ann tripped and fell to the floor.

This really pissed me off, probably much more that was actually warranted. However, my aversion to bullies popped into the front of my consciousness, and I reacted with cold fury. I stared at the asshole who had pushed Ann to the floor and announced in a very assertive voice, "You asshole, help my friend Andy to his feet and apologize, and do it right now."

He sneered at me and said, "What makes you think that you can make me, you tinhorn? I've got a lot of friends with me."

That was enough! I stepped a little away from the bar and crossed my arms. "You and your friends can draw any time you like!"

A grin that was more of a snarl appeared to the fool's face and he reached for his gun. Well, I was ready for that. I drew my pistol and pulled the trigger. I held the trigger down and used my other hand like I was "fanning" the hammer. Bullets poured out and I wiped out the entire contingent of bullies in only a few seconds. I didn't stop to think that each body was going to have enough bullet holes that, when added up, were going to total 50 or 60. That fully automatic .50 caliber pistol was truly a machine pistol that never ran out of ammunition, so nobody with a regular single-action revolver could stand against it.

Fortunately, all of the saloon's patrons and the bartender had ducked when they saw the first bully reach for his gun, so they had not seen the actual performance of my pistol. I was wearing two guns, so I could claim that I had used both of them and that the bullets had passed through one body to strike another, which actually happened in some cases. However, for the moment, they were all so surprised to see that I was the only one left standing that they gave no thought to the details of the event.

The bartender was truly awed. There was no town marshal to call, so the question never came up. Ann and I stripped the bodies of valuables, and I gave the swamper a dollar to clean up the place and get rid of the bodies. Ann and I piled the looted guns and other paraphernalia on the bar, and I asked if there was a place where I could sell the lot. The bartender paid me a double-eagle for the lot; he said that he was going to hang them on the wall. The story of how they got there would draw a lot of customers.

I asked who they were, and I was told that they were a part of Big Bill Smith's gang. I was warned that I should leave town while I still could, since there was sure to be one or more efforts at revenge. I thanked the bartender for his concern, but said that I was not afraid of them. This statement brought me another Mexican beer, this time on the house.

Nothing else happened that evening, even though we visited four other saloons. Along about midnight we went back to our hotel room for some sex and rest and sex. Ann thanked me for standing up for her, but she reminded me not to lose my temper like that any more than I could help. I had to admit that she was right, and I promised to be more careful in the future.

It wasn't an hour after we finished breakfast that the word came in that another gold robbery had taken place. There were a number of small-time smelters in the area that handled the output from several mines. The word was that the Lucky Strike Smelter had been hit and over a 100 pounds of gold had been taken. That was around $30,000 worth of gold, so a lot of people were excited about it. The gold had been cast into bars worth $1,000 each, so the loot was easy to carry on a pack mule.