Chapter 1

I wasn't sure exactly where they were, but I was sure that a pack of Johnny
Rebs was somewhere in these woods. The captain had asked, that is, not quite ordered, me to scout through these woods an find the Confederates who were taking pot shots at our troops whenever the opportunity arose. I was out of uniform, since I wanted to be able to slip around without being seen. My buckskins did a hell of a good job blending in with the bushes and other brush under the trees.

I was armed with my Spencer carbine, my bowie knife, and two Starr DA .44 caliber pistols carried in cross draw holsters. I was going to use my knife as much as possible because I was concerned about the amount of powder smoke given off whenever I shot either my carbine or my revolvers. I wasn't scared, or even especially nervous, I was more juiced up by the thought of the life-or-death contest I was engaged in. I don't know why it is, since I used to be such a peaceable man, but, since the war started, and I got conscripted, I have been a killing machine. Sure, I'd let a man surrender, but, if he wanted to fight, I was the man for it! I had no qualms about killing in a fight or even taking out an enemy with an ambush, mostly because I knew that I was just as likely to die. I admit it—it was a game to me, the most exciting thing I had ever encountered, and I couldn't get enough.

I crept through the woods so low to the ground that I almost slithered! I guess that was how I got the nickname of "Snake." My real name is Bill Hartwick, but I'll answer to Snake as quickly at I will to my official name. I'm a little bit taller than most men at 5'-10", and I'm a little on the heavy side at 175 pounds, but none of it is fat. Hell, after being in the Army for two years, four months, and six days, there wouldn't be any fat left on me, anyhow.

I started out in the 33^rd New Hampshire Infantry, but that outfit got nearly wiped out in our first battle—God damn Col. Ezra Hopgood! He was the poorest excuse for a military man as you could find anywhere you looked. Well, he was one of the first ones killed, and I hope that he is roasting in Hell at this very moment! Only nine of us survived the slaughter, and I was one of only three who didn't lose a limb from wounds. Anyway, I got transferred to another regiment and another one when that one was wiped out.

I've never been wounded, even to the smallest scratch. I honestly don't know how much is luck and how much is skill, but I'm a survivor. Sometime early during my second year in the Army, an officer noticed my record and figured that either I was a shirker and a coward, or that I was highly skilled in evasion. Therefore, he made me a scout. He figured that if I was the former, I wouldn't last long enough to be a problem, and if I was the latter, I would be a valuable addition to his command. I found out all of this because he told it to me as he was pinning on my first medal.

I really like being a scout, so I have refused all offers of promotion. I am quite happy as a Private and I fear that a promotion would interfere with my duties as a scout. Now, I get all of the tough assignments, and that's what I live for. For example, additional men under my command would just interfere with my current job of getting rid of these Rebs who are harassing our troops.

There's one now! He's relieving his bowels as he squats under that tree. That means that he can't be paying much attention to anything else, so he is the ideal target. Watching carefully for other Rebs, I slither around to the other side of the tree and slip up on him. He is perfect for my favorite blade work. I use my left hand to seal his mouth so that he can't scream and to pull his head back. The knife is in my right hand, and I jam it into his neck under his jaw and up into his brain. I wiggle the knife around a little bit to stir up his brains to make sure that he is dead before I pull it back out. In a case like this, I have plenty of time to clean my blade on his sleeve.

One down, but how many left to go? I don't care, except that knowing how many enemies I was facing would make it easier for me to keep from being shot because somebody I wasn't counting on showed up at the wrong time. I must be close to one of them because I can smell him. Between his unwashed body and the tobacco he smokes, he fairly reeks of all kinds of foul aromas. That's why I bathe as often as I can, at least once a week, and why I don't smoke. I figure that I shouldn't advertise my presence in any way at all if I can help it.

There they are over near that clump of bushes. They're sleeping, so I figure that they must be off-duty. I hold my knife in my right hand and my revolver in my left hand as insurance. My knife has a solid iron heavy cap on the butt of the handgrip, and I use than to strike the first sleeper in the temple. I don't want him to wake up while I am working on his buddy.

I kill the second man with my usual knife thrust and return to the first man. He is out like a dead candle; he may already be dead, but I take no chance. I knife him the same way as the others and move on before I can be discovered.

I was only about 50-60 feet away when those two bodies were discovered. The surprised Reb who finds them lets out a shout that could be heard for at least a mile. He calls again for his friends, and I figure I'll find out how many there are in these woods. I slipped back toward the commotion and hide in the brush. Within a couple of minutes, three more men show up and start jabbering away in a deep Alabama accent that's real hard for a New Englander to understand. They all know what's going on, and three want to leave. Only one, a corporal, wants to stay. I guess that he's the head of the detail and would catch the shit from some know-it-all officer if they run right now. They get into a big argument and forget that an enemy is sneaking around and killing them right now.

I figure that the time for finesse is over with, so I draw both pistols. I open festivities with a shot from my right hand gun and alternate between the two guns until all four men have been killed. They were all so surprised by the rapid fire that they never get a shot off. Once they were all down, I used my knife to slit their throats to make sure that no one was shamming.

Before doing anything else, I pause to reload both pistols. I never want to be caught with anything less than a full load in both weapons. When I finish that, I search all six bodies, paying special attention to the corporal, but I don't find anything of particular usefulness except for the single sheet of paper with the corporal's orders written on it. Oh, well, maybe that will help somebody in intelligence, but I doubt it.

There's nothing but tobacco on the bodies that is worth looting, but I do take that, since it does make such good trading material. No telling what I might get for the tobacco if I'm careful.

I made my way back to headquarters and check in with the colonel. He has this thing about wanting to talk to me first before I report to the regular intelligence chain of command. This really pisses them off, but there ain't a thing that they can do about it. It does make me laugh, but I don't let on to them about it.

Nothing much happens for the next three weeks, then a flashily dressed cavalry officer comes riding into camp. It turns out that he wants to borrow that real sharp scout that he's heard so much about. The colonel ain't real excited about lending me out, but when a general talks to a colonel, it's easy to figure out who is going to win the argument. So, the upshot is that they find me a horse and I ride off with General George A. Custer back to his headquarters.

Gen. Custer has his adjutant find me a billet and I go sack in while I await the General's pleasure. I am kind of excited, since Gen. Custer has a reputation for doing some pretty spectacular things, though he also has a reputation for getting into a deep shit of trouble on occasion because of his recklessness. I know that whatever he wants me for is bound to be dangerous and taxing—I can hardly wait. Some people have said that I have a death wish, but that ain't it. I just crave excitement, and mortal danger is the most exciting thing there is!