Supplies were purchased as a lively correspondence with the Imperial Embassy in the United States was begun. Because of the practicality, all wagons, animals, tools, and equipment would be purchased in America. On the appointed day in late spring, the entire group headed out for the Baltic Sea to catch the sailing ship for the land where they would establish their colony.
Count Valenko finished his story—expounding his own sexual prowess with willing, passionate serf women—and tossed off another glass of bourbon.
“Fascinating!” Captain Francis Hanover exclaimed despite a frown from his wife. “So you are going to establish a community out on the Kansas prairie?”
“Oh, yes. That ve vill do,” Valenko said.
“Is this to be a religious settlement?” Mary Hanover inquired.
“No,” Valenko replied. “It is purely for personal philosophy. My people vill build church or not build church as it pleased them.”
“Do you have a name for your new town?” the lady asked.
“Ve goink to call our new home Nadezhda,” Valenko said. “Is Russian word.” He let O’Hearn fill up his glass again.
“What in the world does that word mean?” Mrs. Hanover asked.
Natalia answered, saying, “In English, Nadezhda means Hope.”
Three
The double rank of dragoons stood at ease in front of Sergeant Ian Douglas. Each man was armed with a Sharps percussion carbine, a saber, and a Colt .36 caliber revolver. The latter was a special issue, only given out prior to going to the field. In addition to the weaponry, the men also had haversacks, saddlebags, and blanket rolls. This equipment sat on the ground beside each trooper. The field gear gave undeniable evidence that duty outside the garrison was in the immediate offing for them.
A pair of corporals, by the name of Steeple and Murphy, stood at the right of each rank. This was the proper position for these junior noncommissioned officers because the five privates beside each made up their squads. Both squads formed the section commanded by Sergeant Douglas in Captain Francis Hanover’s dragoon company.
It was early morning, and the coolness of the night held on as the men waited patiently for the military protocol to begin. Douglas pulled the handwritten roster from his pocket and slipped on a pair of magnifying spectacles. He quickly glanced up to see if any of the dragoons were grinning at his poor eyesight. The sergeant was very sensitive about having to use the glasses. The faulty vision that plagued him had been brought on by the passing of time. Douglas was in his late forties, but looked much older after twenty-three years of hard frontier army service.
“Corp’ral Murphy!” Douglas yelled out.
“Here, Sergeant!”
“Corp’ral Steeple!”
“Here, Sergeant!”
“Anderson!”
“Here, Sergeant!”
He went on down the list calling out the names of privates Belken and Carlson.
“Costello!”
“Yeah, Sarge.”
Douglas slowly pulled off his glasses and glared at the dragoon. “What was that you said?”
“I said I was here, Sergeant,” Costello said. He was a small, slow-witted man with a decidedly unpleasant appearance caused by a ferret like homely face.
“No you didn’t, Costello,” Douglas retorted. “You said ‘Yeah, Sarge.’”
“I don’t remember,” Costello said truthfully.
“You said it not more’n fifteen seconds ago,” Douglas pointed out.
Costello shrugged. “I don’t know what I said, I guess. That’s why I don’t remember.”
“Well, you’ll remember when we get back and you pull ten days extra duty,” Douglas said. He replaced his glasses and went on calling out Evans, Fenlay, and O’Hearn.
“McRyan!”
“Yeah, Sarge.” Private Jack McRyan was an insolent braggadocio whose face seemed to have assumed a permanent smirk. Small and very thin, he was Costello’s mental opposite. McRyan displayed a gap-toothed grin as he returned the noncommissioned officer’s stare. He and Dennis Costello palled around together in a manner of speaking. Actually, Costello followed McRyan’s lead, which generally meant trouble for the both of them.
“So you’re in love with Costello, are you?” Sergeant Douglas asked.
“I ain’t thought about it,” McRyan said with his usual smirk. “How’s come you ask?”
“Well, now, I figgered you loved him if you wanted to share them ten days of extra duty with him,” Douglas said. “Which is what you’re gonna do.”
McRyan looked over at Costello and blew him a kiss. The other dragoons laughed.
“That’s thirty days, you son of a bitch!” Douglas growled. “Want to try for more?”
“No, Sergeant,” McRyan said, knowing he had gone far enough with the angry noncommissioned officer.
Douglas went back to the roster, finishing up with Rodgers and Walker. He slipped the paper back into his pocket and replaced the spectacles in their case, putting it in with the list of the soldiers’ names.
“You all know we’ll be escorting the wagon train of Russians out to its destination about sixty miles from here. We shouldn’t be gone more’n a couple of weeks,” Douglas explained. “I’m sure most of you are as glad at this chance to stretch your legs as I am after that godawful winter in garrison. Lieutenant MacRoss will be in command. He’s waiting for us over at the stables.” He looked at the corporals. “Have your squads gotten their full issue of rations, equipment, and ammunition?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” they answered in unison.
“And weapons,” Corporal Steeple quickly added.
“Any man jack short o’ anything is gonna be a miserable bastard out there on that prairie,” the sergeant warned. Then, without waiting for further comment, he took a deep breath, bellowing, “Section, atten-hut! Right face! Sling arms! Secure your gear! For’d, ho!”
The section marched out of the company’s cantonment area and crossed the parade ground, heading toward the post stables. Of the thirteen soldiers, six were professionals. Each career man was a veteran of long service with the exception of Paddy O’Hearn, who was halfway into his second five-year hitch. The remaining members of the squads each had less than two years of service, and most of them could not be counted on to reenlist. But that was the least of the army’s problems with them. Many, if given the chance, would desert at the first opportunity.
A couple were simple, trusting lads who were serving the colors because of sweet talk from lying recruiting sergeants who painted a picture of army life featuring fancy uniforms, easy duty, good pay, and plenty of admiring girls. Others, like McRyan and Costello, had been given the prescribed choice of army or jail by judges.
Sergeant Douglas marched them around to the rear of the stables and took them to the portion used by their company. He halted them in front of Lieutenant Gavin MacRoss. Gavin strode up to the front of the formation of dragoons and took the sergeant’s salute.
“Sir,” Douglas said. “First section all present’n accounted for.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Gavin said. “I see they are ready for the field.”
“Yes, sir,” Douglas reported.
“I’ll speak to the men,” Gavin said. This brought another exchange of salutes, and the young lieutenant then addressed the assembled soldiers. “This is the season’s first foray out into the field,” he told them. “It may not be an especially exciting one, but I promise you’ll enjoy this chance to get away from Fort Leavenworth, if only for a couple of weeks. It will also be an excellent chance for you new men to get your first glance at this wild prairie country of Kansas Territory. We also have a secondary assignment of mapping the area between here and the new settlement. Do you have any questions?”
“What’s the chances of meeting up with some Indians, sir?” Private Carlson asked. He was a farm boy from New Hampshire who showed the potential for developing into a fine soldier. “If we do, d’ye think we might have a battle with ’em?”
&
nbsp; “We’ll be alert, but I don’t think we’ll have any trouble in a group this big,” MacRoss said. He liked to have troops eager for some action, even if they were ignorant of what they were wishing for. “But that doesn’t mean we can relax. Keep your eyes peeled for hostiles.”
“Yes, sir!” Carlson answered enthusiastically.
Gavin turned to his second in command. “Sergeant Douglas, get the men mounted up and ready to move out.”
The sergeant immediately put the order into motion. The men were able to quickly saddle and bridle their horses as well as correctly strap on the saddlebags and blanket rolls along with the other gear. Although the winter had been confining, many hours had been spent in the stables practicing the proper manner of preparing the horses to go into the field. The men, rookies included, were very efficient. Most of that expertise had been developed under Sergeant Douglas’s angry shouts and from the toes of his boots.
In less than a quarter of an hour, the small column with Gavin MacRoss at the head cantered through the main gate and turned toward the campground where the Russian immigrant train awaited them.
As they rode up, the troopers noticed the puzzled expressions on the settlers’ faces. Finally, Count Valenko’s voice boomed out, “Oh, is you, Lieutenant! Ve did not recognize you as soldiers!” He looked closely at them. “Vhere is your uniforms, eh?”
Gavin laughed. He didn’t realize that the customary field dress used by the U. S. Army on the frontier would hardly qualify as military attire by foreigners.
“We are very practical,” he said. “Buckskin clothing, civilian hats, and kerchiefs are very handy items to wear. I’m afraid our usual uniforms wouldn’t stand up much in the field.”
Valenko shrugged. “Only military thinks I am seeink is your carbines, sabers, and boots. Maybe your horse saddles and all that, too. Othervise, you are lookink like bandits.”
“I’m afraid you are right, Your Grace,” Gavin said. He dismounted and pulled a rolled-up document from the top of his gauntlet. “I’ve taken the liberty to work out the best route. I suggest we head south for the Kansas River and follow it to where it meets with the Republican. If we turn to the northwest at that point, we are but a short distance from where you plan to settle in.”
“Thank you much for your kind adwice,” the count said. “I am sure you know vhat is best way to trawel.”
Gavin glanced at the wagons. “You seem to be ready to go.”
“Yes. We leaf now, nyet?”
“As you wish,” Gavin said. He turned and gestured to Sergeant Douglas. “Put out a couple of scouts, flankers, and a rear guard. Then have the remainder of the men split on each side of the wagon train.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Make sure there’re a couple of the experienced men out on the point and tell them to head for the junction of the Republican and the Kansas,” Gavin added.
“I’ll see to it, sir,” Douglas said. “That’d be the job for O’Hearn and Fenlay.” He rode back to where the soldiers waited to make the assignments.
Count Valenko strode rapidly toward his wagon at the front of the train, shouting in Russian and gesturing in excitement at his people. They responded immediately, jumping up on their vehicles to await the order to move out.
Gavin rode to a position beside the count’s wagon where he could stick close. As he reined up, he noticed a rather stout, blond woman sitting on the wagon seat beside the nobleman. She was young and wide-faced with plain features and a pair of large breasts pushing against her peasant blouse. She sat on the wagon seat in a mannish, bold manner with her knees apart under her skirt. The girl’s large hands held on to the reins in a way that showed she knew how to handle the team of oxen.
Valenko noted Gavin looking at the girl. He winked at the American lieutenant. “Is named Irena. Big chest, big butt, got thighs like tree trunks. So good for to roll in blankets vith. Keep a man varm on vinter night vith much rumpty-dump! Ha! Ha!”
Gavin’s face reddened, but he smiled and tipped his hat. “How do you do, Miss Irena.”
She grinned and replied, “Kak dela?”
Valenko stood up on the seat and looked back at the train over the canvas top of his wagon. “Moi narod! Myeri kodiy,” he bellowed, then sat down and grabbed his whip, cracking it over the two teams of oxen that pulled the large vehicle. Irena snapped the reins, and they were in motion.
Gavin took the hint and shouted out, “For’d, yo!” Immediately, settlers and soldiers alike began to move, following privates O’Hearn and Fenlay as they eased in the direction where the two rivers came together far out on the plains of the wild and unsettled Kansas Territory.
Gavin and the count chatted as they traveled along. Whenever he got the chance, Gavin would pull away and ride down one side of the fourteen-wagon caravan and up the other, seemingly to check things out and keep an eye on his soldiers. But he always slowed a bit when he reached the wagon where Basil Karshchov and Natalia Valenko rode. He enjoyed seeing her pretty smile until the realization that she and Karshchov slept together finally dawned on him. At that point, the young lieutenant ceased his inspections and stayed at the front where Valenko led the way, seated beside his peasant wench.
The day was warm, even approaching hot, and the wagon wheels stirred up the first insects of the season. Though not numerous, nor particularly irritating, the flying bugs still created a minor nuisance as the people swatted at them. The morning passed with little incident, as the low, hilly country was easily traversed through the expert scouting and trail blazing of O’Hearn and Fenlay, who made sure only the easiest portion of terrain was utilized.
A short midday break was held when the sun was directly overhead. As the Russians settled down for a quick meal, Sergeant Douglas set out some guards a short distance from the wagon train.
Gavin ate with Valenko and the girl Irena. She quickly whipped up some soup with hot water, vegetables and dried meat. Valenko, lounging against a wagon wheel, pointed to where one of the soldiers stood gazing out onto the empty prairie.
“Is Indians out there?” he asked.
“Could be,” Gavin said. “We don’t want to take any chances. They had a hard winter, so I doubt if any war parties are about looking for mischief. But some Cheyenne or Pawnee hunters might be tempted to raid us if they catch sight of the wagons and try to sneak in.”
“I look around all morning and I see nothink of Indians,” Valenko said with a shrug.
“You never see them until too late,” Gavin remarked.
“Bah! Are sawages!” Valenko said.
“We are in their country, where they are the experts on everything,” Gavin pointed out. “And that includes fighting.”
Karshchov and Natalia Valenko joined them for the meal. Gavin was polite, but had decided to remain distant from the young woman. He replied to a couple of her questions in short words, making no attempt to be particularly pleasant. Thinking of her wrapped up in blankets with another man galled him, though he tried to tell himself it was absolutely none of his business. No matter how hard he tried, however, he couldn’t make light of the situation.
Natalia sensed the coldness and turned her conversation to her father and fiancé. She also seemed to be quite friendly with Irena, obviously not disturbed by the fact that the peasant girl was carnally involved with the count.
The break from traveling only lasted a bit more than a half hour. By that time the travelers and soldiers had eaten and were ready to move on. Valenko’s bellowing in Russian and Sergeant Douglas’s shouted orders got the group on the move again.
They rolled on into the afternoon, now moving into flatter country as they eased south toward the river junctions. The Kansas sky was stretched wide from horizon to horizon, emphasizing the stark flatness of the prairie country. A couple of hours after the midday halt, Gavin gave a signal and brought the wagon train to a stop.
“Sergeant Douglas!”
The noncommissioned officer rode up and reported in with a salute. It seeme
d an unnatural gesture due to the lack of military attire.
“I want a reconnaissance made in all directions,” Gavin said. “Once more we must use only the experienced men.”
“I take it you want a look-see for Indian sign, sir,” Douglas remarked.
“Exactly,” Gavin said. “We stand out here like a fly on a white table cloth. I don’t want any hostiles approaching us through the buffalo grass.”
“I’ll tend to it, sir,” Douglas said.
Gavin rode over to Valenko’s wagon while two scouting parties were organized. He nodded to the count. “We’ll hold up here for an hour or so, Your Grace. I’m sending a couple of small patrols out.”
“But vhy?” Valenko demanded to know.
“We’ll all feel better if we know about any Indian activity around here,” Gavin said.
Valenko’s temper snapped. “Is crazy! Ve never get to Nadezhda if ve all time make the stop!”
“Count Valenko,” Gavin said. “I have been detailed as your escort. I’ll conduct that duty in the best possible manner to guarantee that you, indeed, will arrive at your destination.”
Valenko snorted. “Maybe I go vithout you, Lieutenant.”
“In that case, I would be forced to put you under arrest and return to Fort Leavenworth,” Gavin said.
Valenko stood up in the wagon and roared, “I am Count Vladimir Aleksandrovich Valenko! I demand ve proceed in the name of czar!”
“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Gavin said patiently. “The name of the czar doesn’t get you much out here.”
Valenko started to crack his whip over his oxen, but something about the young American officer’s expression caused him to pause. “Now ve vait,” he growled. “But ve talk of this later I am thinkink.”
“I shall be most happy to, Your Grace,” Gavin said. “Excuse me, I have to see to my men.”
Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2) Page 3