Swords and Saddles

by Jack Campbell

  Something clicked in Johansen’s head. “We happened to head this way by chance. And you kept us going toward here, Sarge. The right way. The Izkop nailed anyone who tried escaping in other directions. Maybe to the Izkop it looked like we were going to make sure we died defending others, like Horatio.”

  “That open path,” Goldera said. “After we got here and I scouted around and the way south looked wide open? They gave us a chance to keep running, to see if we’d do it.”

  “Damn.” Singh’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Like you said then, Johansen, too easy. They wanted to see if we’d keep running, or if we’d dig in and defend the civs. If we’d headed south they would have cut us up right then and there.”

  Adowa shook her head. “So we did the hero thing. Archer did the hero thing. The Izkop think that’s cool. But the rest of the battalion…what the hell did they do wrong? They didn’t even get a chance to head this way.”

  “Prometheus,” Ariana murmured. “Legions of demons.”

  “What?” Singh asked.

  She met the sergeant’s eyes, her own eyes so wide with a dawning realization that Ariana looked like some tragic cartoon figure. “The Izkop believe that you know good and evil by their actions. They tested Archer, and they’ve been testing humans without our realizing it, because we thought we were supposed to the ones observing and evaluating them. Every time the Izkop asked a human to show them something it was a test. It wasn’t curiosity, every time it was a test to evaluate our actions. Despite our explanations, the Izkop must still think our equipment was something from the gods, and every time we showed them how to do something we failed a test. Bit by bit we kept showing them more as they kept testing us, until someone in Amity must have crossed a line, shown the Izkop whatever was necessary to convince the Izkop that we were aspects of Prometheus, or working for Prometheus. That’s why they’re cutting open the bodies! To release the spirit inside and reveal the true nature of it to the gods in the sky for their judgment! Why didn’t I understand that before?”

  Singh watched her, his expression grim. “Because you were thinking of physical things being stolen, or scientific concepts. Not something as simple and everyday to us as how to use the stuff we carry around. They decided you civilians were working against the gods, trying to corrupt the Izkop.”

  “Yes.” Ariana’s voice had sunken to a whisper. “The Izkop destroyed everything we’d brought in order to…save their souls. And using that same equipment to attack you…the hand of the demon turned against it. There’s a myth about that. When you soldiers landed at the valley it looked to the Izkop like you were there to defend the other humans, us, the agents of Prometheus. After all, we’d called you, hadn’t we? You were coming in to seize the secrets of the gods again. That made you demons, too. To the Izkop, it must have looked like Armageddon.”

  “An army of demons from the sky,” Goldera said. “Yeah. No wonder they fought like crazy.”

  “But they had to present a chance for some of you soldiers to prove you were not demons, but agents of the gods. Hiding among the demons, just like demons hide among the gods. They left us alive here to see if any of you would come to aid others rather than try to steal back the secrets of the gods. It wasn’t the adults here that mattered, it was the innocents, the children. When you headed this way, toward the children, it seemed your particular group might be working for the gods. And then you acted like heroes of the Izkop, laughing in the face of death and fighting to protect the children. You didn’t waver when they attacked. So they captured one of you for a last test, the most important test, to see how that one soldier would act. And Archer didn’t act like Prometheus at all. She refused to give any secrets away. She defended the gods’ secrets and showed a willingness to die in that defense. The Izkop have decided that you soldiers, your small group, are agents of the gods. I think that’s right. It’s only a guess, but it fits what happened.”

  Adowa leaned wearily against one wall. “So what happens if you’re right? Are they still going to kill us?”

  “You didn’t understand what they just did? I’ve only heard it described, but now that I know what the Izkop must have been thinking I’m certain that I’m correct. That ceremony where they saluted you and then left their spears. The Izkop surrendered to you.”

  It took Johansen a moment to realize that his jaw had fallen open.

  Singh managed to speak first. “They…surrendered to us?”

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nassar demanded. “We won?”

  “That’s right. Or rather, the defenders of the gods won. But that’s you, so to us it’s the same thing. I’m using the human term surrender, but I think the Izkop would call it ‘acknowledging superiority in this struggle.’ They won’t take orders from you, but they accepted you as the victors. The moral victors, that is, because you’re on the right side. The…fight…is over.”

  “Well, hell,” Singh commented. He looked toward the bodies in the room, then out in the yard and back in the direction of the valley. “I sure wish someone had figured out some of this a little earlier. It would have saved a lot of humans, and a lot of Izkop.”

  “We couldn’t,” Ariana said. “We didn’t share the right mental or cultural references with them. It wasn’t until I saw you, talked with you and saw what you did, that I began to understand part of how the Izkop were thinking.”

  “And civilian researchers wouldn’t call in soldiers until hell had already broken out,” Johansen said, “because how could we know something they didn’t?”

  “Yes.” Ariana nodded to him, seeming drained of all emotion now. “If this planet had been a university campus or a research lab, full of people who thought like we did, then everything would have been fine.”

  Johansen shook his head. “No. The Izkop did the same thing. Instead of really trying to figure out humans, they plugged all of us into their own mythology. After all the humans and Izkop that have died, the Izkop still don’t know why you civilians or we soldiers really came here, or why we did what we did. They just think they do.”

  Sergeant Singh sat down heavily. “What do I always tell you guys? Mistakes cost lives. Helluva big price, though.”

  “All of those soldiers dead, and it was our fault,” Ariana said.

  “Even if it was, you paid an awful price, too. Some victory. But at least we’re still alive.” Singh gestured to Adowa. “Pass me that comm unit. Let’s see how close the cavalry is, or if it’s even shown up yet.”

  Goldera laughed, giddy with relief. “They’re going to come charging in to save us, and you’ll get to say, ‘they already surrendered to me.’ What do you think the general will do then?”

  “Try to take credit for it,” Adowa said. Outside, the cow mooed forlornly. “Why the hell didn’t they kill that cow?”

  “I have no idea,” Ariana said. “But we’d better not kill it ourselves.”

  “Damn right. Anybody who wants that cow,” Adowa replied, “is going to have to go through me.”

  Adowa and Singh started checking the comm unit for damage while Goldera and Nassar sat together, grinning and talking. Later they’d be depressed, later the extent of their losses would sink in, how many friends and companions had died, later the stresses of the last few days would haunt their nights, and they’d need everything the shrinks and the docs could provide, but for now that was forgotten in the joy of unlooked-for survival. Archer lay asleep under the influence of the meds, the visible parts of her body almost covered with strips of heal-tape.

  Ariana looked at Johansen. “There’ll be other sunrises for you to see.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. You going to be okay?”

  “Someday. Like you said, my husband would want me to go on.”

  “What was his name?” Johansen asked.

  “Eric.”

  “If you, uh, want to talk about it, about him, I’ll listen. Sometimes talking helps. When you’re ready for that.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreci
ate help with the children if you can manage that, too. You’re a good man, Horatio.” Ariana bowed her head into her knees as if trying to shut out everything for a little while.

  Johansen moved his head enough to watch the sun rising higher. An amazing thing, seeing the sun rise. It didn’t help you understand anything, but it made you believe in all sorts of things again.

  Author's Note on Swords and Saddles

  One of the authors I enjoy reading is H. Beam Piper. Stories like his Lord Kalvan novel and those set in Paratime or among the star-faring Federation are clean and exciting tales, although a bit dated now in social and technological terms. One day I realized that very few science fiction stories are set in Kansas. I also realized that very few science fiction stories feature the US Cavalry. What would H. Beam Piper have done to fix that? He would write something like Swords and Saddles. And, yes, all of the details about the US Cavalry are historically accurate, as is the landscape of that part of Kansas, because this story first appeared in Analog magazine and Stan Schmidt insists that the big things and the small things alike in a science fiction story are correct.

  Swords and Saddles

  A long column of soldiers and horses moved across the rolling landscape, an intense thunderstorm pummeling them. At the head of the column walked Captain Ulysses Benton, on foot and leading his mount through the tempest like the rest of the cavalry company, peering ahead into the murk to be sure of his way. Civilians, who only saw cavalry on the Fourth of July when it paraded in dress uniforms while the band played, thought of horse cavalry as a romantic way of life. Captain Benton knew better, as did all of the troopers walking in column behind him.

  The real cavalry was this, trudging through the endless prairie, mud sucking at your boots, grass slippery underfoot, your feet aching from the march, sheets of water being thrown on you from a leaden sky while gusts of wind tried to knock you from your feet and forced water through every seam and opening so that no portion of you remained dry, tugging on the lead of a horse just as weary and worn-out as you were, the horse occasionally snapping at you in its misery and irritation or jerking its head with devilish timing so the tug of the reins would threaten to topple you into the mud, your stomach almost empty since there’d been no way to make a meal, and your last seven warm meals had only been bacon and beans, but this day there wouldn’t even be that, nothing but soggy hardtack since no fire could be lit under these conditions.

  And all for the princely sum of thirteen dollars a month for the privates. It had been sixteen dollars a month, but Congress had cut military pay in this year of 1870.

  In the middle of column, the four supply wagons jolted and jumped over the uneven ground, riding light now that most of the provisions they had carried had been used up. Two more days, Benton thought. The company of cavalry would be back at Fort Harker in two more days. The only small mercy was that he and his men all wore the new broad-brimmed black slouch hats instead of the old forage caps which wouldn’t have provided any real protection from the rain.

  Lightning suddenly erupted around them like an artillery barrage targeted on the column, momentarily lighting the world so brightly that men flinched and closed their eyes against the flares. Benton’s foot came down hard, the way it would when walking down steps and misjudging the distance to the next step. He staggered, staying up only thanks to the fact that he had the reins wrapped around one hand, and getting another attempted nip from his ornery mount as the tired horse protested being used as a support.

  Hearing some muttered curses, Benton blinked against the renewed darkness, locating Sergeant Tyndall. “Are you okay, sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir, cap’n, except for being cold, tired, wet and miserable, begging your pardon, sir.”

  “’If you want to see a good time, join the cavalry,’” Benton quoted the recruiting motto.

  “That’s right, sir. It’s bad enough out here in October. I hate to think of campaigning on the plains again come winter. And then that lightning, like we were back fighting Johnny Reb again. But just then I thought maybe we’d stumbled across a prairie dog town.”

  “Did you miss a step, too?”

  “Yes, sir. I wondered if the dogs had torn up the ground, but I can’t see none of their burrows, and we couldn’t not see them even in this mess.”

  They plodded onward, men and beasts enduring the storm because they had no other choice. In a small mercy, the storm began lifting before sunset, and by the time dark came on the clouds had split to reveal the innumerable stars above. Benton walked among his soldiers after the company had halted for the night, ensuring they had taken what care of their mounts they could in these conditions, with everyone and everything soaked to the skin. There was little he and Sergeant Tyndall could do but reassure the men that another couple of days would see them back in Fort Harker.

  Lieutenant Garret, who had been walking with the rear of the column behind the supply wagons, straightened to attention and gave a precise salute. “I’ve had what dry hardtack remains distributed to the men, captain.”

  “You found some? Well done.” Benton rubbed his forehead, feeling exhausted but knowing that like everyone else he’d be sleeping in soggy clothing on wet ground. At that, he was better off than the enlisted men, because his uniform was of decent quality and cut, while they were still forced to wear left-over uniforms hastily and cheaply manufactured for the Civil War since the War Department had no intention of buying new enlisted uniforms until every old one had worn out.

  For that matter, he should have an experienced first lieutenant in the company as well as a brand new second lieutenant, but Lieutenant Randall had died of cholera four months ago and the slow-turning wheels of the War Department had yet to produce a replacement. Fortunately, Randall must have contracted the ailment off the post, because no one else had fallen ill with it. “You’ve done well out here, lieutenant. Very well for a newly commissioned officer on his first field maneuvers.”

  Garret seemed to lose a little of his own fatigue at the words. “Thank you, sir. At one point I thought I’d literally lost my balance today.”

  “What’s that?” Benton frowned at him. “Was it when the lightning hit?”

  “Yes, sir. The ground wasn’t quite where I thought it would be. The men around me and my horse all stumbled, too. It was very odd.”

  Benton’s frown deepened. “It appears many of us experienced that, lieutenant, the lay of the ground being different in small ways than it had been a moment before. Did an earthquake strike, do you think?”

  Garret looked around as if seeking evidence of such an event. “I didn’t think Kansas was earthquake country, sir.”

  “I don’t know about Kansas, but there were those earthquakes sixty or seventy years ago in Missouri. They still talk about them. One of them supposedly made the Mississippi River run backwards for a short time.” Benton shook his head. “Well, if it was an earthquake it didn’t last long or do any damage we know of aside from minor adjustments to the prairie. Get what sleep you can tonight, lieutenant. The horses are nearly spent. We’ll have to walk all day tomorrow at an easy pace to let them recover.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  #

  The next day dawned clear and crisp. Benton stood up, wincing from the body aches inspired by sleeping on the wet ground.

  “Good morning, cap’n,” Sergeant Tyndall declared, offering a steaming cup.

  “Coffee? How’d you get a fire going, sergeant?”

  “An old Indian trick, sir.”

  Benton couldn’t help smiling as he took the coffee. “Lieutenant Garret, I should inform you that any time Sergeant Tyndall accomplishes some remarkable feat he attributes his success to an old Indian trick.”

  Garret smiled despite the fatigue still shadowing his young face. “You must have known a lot of old Indians, sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir, lieutenant,” Tyndall agreed before searching the horizon and pointing. “Look there, cap’n. Those elevations. Right where they should be.
We didn’t lose our way at all yesterday afternoon.” He squinted. “Looks like something’s up on one of them, though.”

  Benton pulled out his field glasses and focused them on the higher ground. One was crowned by a squat tower he didn’t recall seeing before. “What do you make of that, lieutenant?”

  Garret studied the view for a while. “It appears ruined to me, sir, as if it were taller once. You see those blocks of stone to one side?”

  “That explains it. It’s not ruined, lieutenant. It wasn’t there the last time we came this way. Someone must be building a tower up there and the stone hasn’t fallen, it just hasn’t been set in place yet.”

  “Maybe Colonel Custer had the 7th build a monument to him, cap’n,” Tyndall suggested, deadpan.

  Tyndall, like many cavalrymen, didn’t have a high opinion of Colonel Custer. Neither, for that matter, did Benton, but he couldn’t openly agree with an enlisted man on the subject. So he confined himself to addressing exactly what Tyndall had proposed. “The 7th Cavalry went through here in May, sergeant. I think we would have noticed something like that before now.”

  Less than an hour later the column was under way again, clothing, horses and men drying under the warmth of the rising sun and with the assistance of a brisk breeze. They walked their horses through increasingly familiar flat stretches and across rolling hills and vales, stopping at the upper reaches of the Little Arkansas River in the middle of the day to water horses and men.

  Tyndall cast a puzzled glance around as they led their horses through the river, the column having to shift northwards as several men and horses unexpectedly floundered into deeper water. “Sir, the ford’s not the same. It should be down there a little ways.”

  “Lieutenant Garret and I wondered if we’d experienced an earthquake during the storm,” Benton commented. “Perhaps that changed the ford, sergeant.”

  “Could be, sir.” But Tyndall kept throwing suspicious glances at the river until it was out of sight.