Page 2 of At Love’s Command

The black man didn’t hesitate. He locked onto Matt’s wrist and swung his body upward as Matt leaned away to counterbalance his weight. Jonah got a toe in the stirrup and fought his way onto Phineas’s back behind the saddle.

A hand thumped Matt’s shoulder. “I’m good, Cap!”

Matt turned Phineas and headed for the edge of the ravine. The Hotchkiss guns had started a panic among the Lakota. Women and children bolted out of the camp, seeking escape through the ravine alongside their men. But mixing with the warriors only made them targets.

“Protect our retreat!” Matt yelled to his men. Preach turned in his saddle at his call and met his gaze. “But watch your fire! We have innocents in the field.” Matt pointed to a woman with a toddler in her arms racing toward the ravine.

Preach nodded and started shouting to the troops under his command. Making war on a trained enemy was one thing, but cutting down women and children . . . neither of them wanted any part of that.

“Preach!” Matt called. “Once the men are clear, block the Lakota’s escape.”

His corporal tapped his cap brim with the barrel of his revolver, showing he’d heard. Matt trusted him to see to the duty while he got Jonah to safety. Phineas couldn’t carry two for long, so Matt headed for a rise to the west of the ravine and called out to the other dismounted troops to rally behind the hill. The Hotchkiss guns were firing too close to the line. The troops were in as much danger from their own artillery as they were from the Lakota. In fact, most of the Lakota were fleeing now, no longer an active threat.

Yet bullets continued to fly. Mortar shells continued to explode. Indians continued to die.

Protect your men. Complete your objective. Ignore the rest.

Matt clenched his jaw and hardened his heart. Focus on what’s within your control. He couldn’t control the artillery. Couldn’t stop the panicked flight of innocents into the line of fire. But he could get his men to a protected position and reorganize the troops to halt the enemy’s flight.

Once atop the rise, Matt reined Phineas in, and Jonah slid to the ground. “Take my rifle,” Matt ordered as he slid his Springfield from its scabbard and shoved it toward Jonah, who’d been left with only his side arm. “You can do more good watching our backs from a distance with this than following us to the ravine with only your Peacemaker.”

Jonah said nothing, just gave a sharp nod and grabbed the rifle.

Matt felt better for his men already. Jonah with a single-load Springfield could take down more enemy combatants than half the troopers bouncing around on horseback combined. And his bullets would find the right targets, not fly haphazardly toward anything that moved.

Spotting the gray horse of his trumpeter, Matt signaled to Wallace and instructed him to organize the dismounted men and have them cover the ravine while Matt joined Preach on the west end to contain those trying to flee.

“It’s a mess, Cap.” Preach strode forward to give his report as Matt slid from the saddle. “There’s a group huddled in a cut bank a few yards in. Women and children, mostly. But it’d be suicide to try to get to them with all the crossfire.”

Matt nodded, taking in the chaos of the Lakota camp. His gaze hesitated on the blue coats of fallen soldiers. He scanned the scene as he scoured his brain for a plan that would enable him to accomplish his objective while minimizing casualties.

Indians poured into the ravine, seeking refuge from the barrage of guns and artillery. Some were armed warriors. Others were innocents. Yet with the dirt and blood and constant stirring of bodies, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart.

A handful of warriors had started scaling the ravine. “There!” Matt pointed at the men he’d spotted. “Focus your efforts on keeping those warriors contained. If they crest the ridge, they’ll have a clean shot on our boys. I’ll see what I can do about the band at the cut bank.”

“Got it.” Luke gave a sharp nod as Matt turned to address his self-assigned mission. “Hey, Cap?”

Matt turned back. “Yeah?”

“Some of them females have guns. Saw one covered in blood holding a cavalry revolver. Must’ve stolen it from a fallen trooper. Keep your guard up.”

“Always, Corporal.” If a woman took up arms and stood beside her man in a fight, she opened herself up to the consequences. But a man of honor protected the weaker sex to the best of his ability in all circumstances. Even in war.

Especially in war.

Ducking behind Phineas, Matt reloaded his Remington, then hunched low and jogged along the edge of the ravine, away from the most concentrated gunfire. He couldn’t allow the women and children to escape, but he could take them into custody and move them to a more sheltered position.

Signaling a handful of his men to fall in behind him, Matt circled around to the shallow end of the ravine and began the march into Hades. The constant barrage of cavalry fire into the ravine had turned the Lakota’s escape route into a mass grave. The sides of the ravine had hidden the full extent of the destruction when he’d been above, but now nothing spared Matt from the horror of the scores of dead and dying littering the ravine floor.

Blood and gunpowder filled his nostrils, but he marched on. It was what a commander did. Showed no fear. No revulsion. Only confidence and strength. So his men would follow.

Catching sight of the cut bank, he veered to the left. He ordered his men to guard the mouth of the ravine and only to fire if fired upon. Then he strode forward, gun in hand.

A bullet’s high-pitched whine tickled his ear as it raced past to slam into the earth two feet to his right. Another pinged off a rock ledge in front of him.

He could see them now. Five of them. Kids, mostly.

An old woman met his gaze and straightened. Not in fear, but in resignation. Pride straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, even as she moved to shield the children. Matt pointed the barrel of his Remington toward the sky and held his left hand palm-out in an effort to reassure her that he meant no harm. Then he gestured for her to come to him.