He could see the road now, the Asteran force holding a blocking position along the road to the west while the Wikosan infantry pressed forward against it. But the sound of the gunshots from the cavalry had already alerted the Wikosans on the road to their peril, and Benton saw them beginning to fall back. He shot another Wikosan at point blank range, the impact of the shot knocking the enemy out of the saddle, then took two more shots to drop a Wikosan with a lance. His next bullet went into a dismounted Wikosan who was staggering around waving an axe.
The cavalry was near the road now, herding the surviving Wikosan horsemen toward their infantry, the horns of the Asterans on the road sounding as their holding action turned into a slow, steady advance. The Asteran line thinned, extending outward to either side to curl around the edges of the Wikosan infantry formation as the Wikosans fell back.
From the north, more Wikosans came, riding frantically, then hauling in their reins as they saw the cavalry charging up from the south, pistol shots still crashing over the lesser sounds of swords on shields or armor. The small Asteran mounted force appeared just north of the road beyond the Wikosans there, the blue banner spangled with stars identifying them clearly as they blocked the road, then Asteran infantry came into view to the north, advancing quickly in line, shields locked, pressing the northern hook into the Wikosan infantry on the road where the fleeing remnants of the southern hook were already stampeding into their own infantry.
Benton wheeled his formation, forcing the Wikosans ahead of him to crash into the Wikosan infantry as they tried to escape. The enemy mounted force that had formed the northern hook was mostly intact since it had been able to outrun the Asteran infantry, but it was also forced into its own infantry as it tried to flee and the Wikosan force was pressed on all sides. The cavalry wheeled again and Asteran infantry pushed forward and around, the forces on the road moving to link up with the northern advance as it reached the road behind the Wikosans. The Asteran mounted soldiers charged into a band of fleeing Wikosan mounted men who seemed about to escape, driving those Wikosans back upon their infantry as well.
A line of Wikosan infantry headed for the last open escape path, moving southeast with their shields joined to form a solid defense.
Benton slowed his horse, turning to shout at the thirty or so cavalrymen closest to him. “Carbines!” The cavalrymen checked their mounts, drawing their carbines and aiming at the escaping Wikosans. Shooting from the saddle was notoriously inaccurate, but the wall of Wikosans was almost impossible to miss. “Fire!” A ragged volley erupted from the carbines, and several of the Wikosans in the front rank were punched backward by hits. The rest of the escaping Wikosans hesitated, stumbling to a halt.
Sergeant Tyndall led another group of cavalry close to the Wikosans, reining in their horses only twenty feet from the infantry and firing their carbines in a devastating salvo.
The Wikosan infantry broke, running back toward their comrades, smashing into other Wikosans who had tried to follow them out of the trap.
The southern flank of the Asteran infantry under Agani and Costoni made contact with the southern edge of the Asteran infantry that had come from the north, closing the net and completely encircling the Wikosans.
The Wikosans on each side of the formation tried to force their way to the other side to escape, only to discover an unbroken line of Asterans on all sides. The enemy army turned into a mob as panic set in and the vengeful Asterans locked shields and pressed in harder, an unyielding wall of armor and weapons ringing in the Wikosans, who were increasingly packed too tightly to fight well and were no longer offering any effective resistance.
"Bugler, sound assembly.” Benton's mount was exhausted, almost staggering as he reined the horse to a walk. This was the infantry's battle now. The surviving Wikosan mounted forces were trapped in the heaving mass of foot soldiers, their horses lashing out at their own side in panic.
He looked down at the saber in his hand. He couldn't clearly remember holstering his empty pistol and drawing the saber, but the blade had a slick of blood on the edge where he had struck a Wikosan.
Lieutenant Garret rode up, his face pale but his eyes still lit from the excitement of battle. “Two dead, six wounded, sir. Four horses down."
"Thank you, lieutenant.” Benton, trying to keep his hands from trembling, carefully wiped his saber blade and returned the weapon to its scabbard. “Who are the dead?"
"Private Murphy and Private Frost, sir."
"Damn. Sergeant Tyndall, check on the wounded, let me know how serious their injuries are, and make sure the Asteran surgeons know we have wounded who need treating."
Tyndall saluted and rushed off at the best pace his winded horse could manage.
Lieutenant Garret stared toward where the Asteran infantry was still crushing the helpless rabble that had been the Wikosan army. “As close to another Cannae as matters, captain."
"Yes, lieutenant. Congratulations on your first battle. You handled yourself well.” Benton sighed, looking back at the fight before kicking his reluctant horse into motion again. “The Wikosans don't stand a chance now, but they keep trying to fight. The Asterans don't need us to assist in the slaughter. Let's see to our dead."
Corporal O'Hare was standing sentry with the bodies, his face stiff with grief, and saluted as Benton approached. “Beg to report, captain, that Private Murphy and Private Frost are dead."
"I heard.” Benton dismounted and knelt by the bodies. The dead soldiers had already been laid out properly, their eyes closed. “They were good men."
"Yes, sir. Captain, sir, how do we bury them, sir?” O'Hare seemed very agitated as he asked the question.
"Like any soldier, corporal. A sad duty, but it's one we've carried out before this. Why do you ask?"
"Captain, sir, it's—” O'Hare waved a hand to encompass their surroundings. “I haven't seen a church here, sir. Not one. And not one man of God, neither. The city folk are nice and all, but they've never heard of Him. How can we give our men a proper burial if . . . if the Lord's not here to accept them?"
Benton stood up, raising one hand to clasp O'Hare's shoulder. “Corporal, were you taught that He is everywhere?"
"Yes, sir. That I was."
"Then He is here, corporal. We will bury our men as they would have wished to be buried, with the full regulation service, and He will take their souls in His hand, because He is here with us."
O'Hare's face cleared, anxiety being replaced by a relieved smile. “Of course, sir. I knew I should ask you right off, captain. Yes, sir. At the city, sir? We'll bury them there? The city folk won't mind the crosses on the grave markers, will they?"
"No, corporal, the Asterans won't mind."
As Benton mounted again, Lieutenant Garret came to stand by his stirrup. “Captain, that thing you told the corporal,” Garret asked quietly. “Do you believe it?"
Benton leaned forward, looking down at Garret, “Lieutenant, during the war the 5th Cavalry fought in a lot of battles. The Wilderness was one of them. It was also the nearest thing to hell I ever hope to experience. During the Wilderness, I thought the only way I could possibly live through the fight would be if the Lord stayed right beside me. As you see, I did survive the battle. If the Lord could be with me through that, I'm sure He's here, too."
"But what if our world is still there somehow, if both it and this world exist at the same time?"
"If General Grant could handle more than one division, I reckon the Lord can handle more than one world, lieutenant. Make sure O'Hare has all the help he needs to get Private Murphy's and Private Frost's remains prepared for the ride to Astera."
Wearily, Benton rode back toward the fight. The massacre seemed to have stopped, and now the Asterans were holding under guard about two hundred Wikosans who had finally surrendered rather than fight to the death. Benton guessed that something on the order of fifteen hundred Wikosans lay dead on the field.
He spotted Freya riding toward him, a trickle of blood welling from a
long cut on one side of her somber face, and Benton's breath caught for a moment. Freya was wearing the same battle gear as when he had first seen her, and though the rents in the chain mail then had since been repaired, there were new gashes in the mail from today's fight. Thank heavens she's all right. What a woman, to conceive and win such a battle as this. No. All I need say is what a woman. I don't need to add more than that.
Freya reined in next to him and gave Benton an Asteran salute. “My friend and ally. Thank you. This could not have happened without your cavalry. The mounted forces facing us fled when they heard your weapons. I thank the Light that you have survived and brought home the head of an enemy."
There seemed to be a lot of emotion behind Freya's words. Wondering if that was just because of the passions generated by the battle, Benton looked away and found himself gazing toward the surviving Wikosans, who were staring back at him with dread and despair. “What's going to happen to them?"
Freya shrugged. “They laid down their arms rather than die holding their place, so they belong to us now, and there's much work to be done in and around Astera."
It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “They're going to be enslaved?"
"Made to work, yes, as long as they live. They are ours.” She must have noticed his reaction. “What is wrong, my friend?"
He took a deep breath before speaking, wondering if the promising alliance with Astera was about to founder at the moment of its greatest success, and whether his friendship with Freya would also wither. “I have told you of the war my country fought only a few years ago. In just one battle of that war more than six thousand men died and tens of thousands more were wounded. We fought that war to save the Union, but also to eliminate the stain of slavery from our nation. Our Odwan then, a wise man named Lincoln, said ‘as I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master.’ My company will not fight to enslave others, Odwan Freya. To do so would be to betray our comrades who died in that war and to betray the beliefs we hold that slavery is always an evil and a wrong."
Freya listened without interrupting, her eyes on his, and remained silent for a long while after Benton finished. “Did you fight in that war?” she finally asked.
"I did, Odwan Freya. So did Sergeant Tyndall and some other members of my troop."
"It is well you survived that, too.” Turning her horse, Freya rode a short distance until she was right next to the huddled prisoners. Rising in her new stirrups, she addressed the Wikosans, using only those words of her language that she knew Benton could understand. “Choose twelve among you to return to Wikosa. You will tell Wikosa that they may buy your lives and your freedom with any Asterans they hold, and with horses, cattle, sheep, grain, gold, and other metals. What Wikosa has taken will be returned to us, and more besides if they wish you back whole."
She rode back to Benton, ignoring surprised looks from the other Asterans. “Wikosa will pay. It will need them to defend itself when the wolves come to howl at its walls. My people will accept this when they see it profits us. Is this well?” she asked. “Would your Odwan Lincoln approve?"
"He would. Thank you, Odwan Freya."
"Thank you for frank words that ring true. You must tell me more of this Odwan Lincoln. I once said your civilization was backward in some ways, but it seems we can learn from yours just as you have learned from ours."
* * * *
It turned out that there had been one decire of mounted fighters from Lacanan among the Wikosan army, but they had been completely wiped out in the battle, with none to bring home the tale of their defeat. Freya assigned a messenger to bring the news to Lacanan, along with an offer of alliance that would have been scorned before, but in the wake of this battle would surely receive serious consideration.
In the week after the victorious forces returned to Astera, a Telasan force seven decires strong was spotted marching north, but turned back when brought news of the Wikosan defeat. One of the wounded cavalrymen had suffered such serious injuries to one arm that Benton feared he would have to lose the limb, but the Asteran surgeons worked on it and applied their salves and treatments, afterwards declaring that both man and arm should recover fully. Private Murphy and Private Frost were buried with full military honors, the poignant notes of Taps sounding in the city for the first time for that purpose. Construction began on the powder mill, even though Astera was still trying to secure a reliable source of sulfur. Three more cavalrymen married local girls, and the grateful Asteran city council agreed to formalize the regular payment of salaries to the cavalry so Benton could once again be sure of routinely being able to pay his men. He was especially pleased that the pay rate the Asterans agreed to was equivalent to at least twenty dollars a month for the privates.
On the seventh night after returning, Benton walked out onto the walls surrounding the city, looking west toward where the lights of Fort Harker and Ellsworth, Kansas, had been, should have been, but in this world had never been.
"Something troubles you.” Freya had come near and now spoke quietly.
"There's someplace I should have gone, Freya, someplace I should have returned my company. But I failed in that."
"Failed? I do not believe you could have failed."
Benton smiled bitterly. “I'm a fairly good officer, I think, but not outstanding. No one would ever confuse me with Sheridan or Sherman."
"More of your Odwans?'
"No, just war leaders."
Freya waited a moment to see if Benton had more to say before she spoke again. “You are better than you believe, I think. Your men seem happy."
"Most of them, yes. Most of them believe we're still going to get home someday, and in the meantime this is as nice a posting as any cavalryman can hope for. Most of the men in the company didn't have a wife or a steady girlfriend back home,” Benton explained. “A few do, though, and that's a hard thing, to know you may never see them again."
Freya paused, then spoke carefully. “Do you have such a woman, Captain Benton?"
He didn't answer for a moment, decided to only reply in the negative as he usually did when someone asked that, then found himself saying much more. “No. My wife died several years ago, during the war with the South. It's . . . not easy to think of even now, because when I left for the war she was so worried that I wouldn't return, that I'd never be able to come back to her. But while I was campaigning she fell ill and died, so when I came home she couldn't be there. I . . . can't think of it without hoping she didn't know her last hours were her last, because it would have hurt her so to know she wouldn't be there waiting for me when I came back.” Benton couldn't recall the last time he'd spoken of that to anyone.
Freya regarded him gravely. “May the Light ease the burden of your grief and the stars shine in memory of the one you have lost.” The words sounded ritualistic, but she said them with real feeling.
"Thank you. What about you, Odwan Freya?"
She made a sad sound. “I had a man who died nearly half my life ago, in battle. He stays young in my memory. Now I am bound to my duty as Odwan. There has been little room for anyone else. You understand?"
"Yes, I do. I'm sorry for your loss. I'm grateful there is room in your life for my friendship.” It felt both comfortable and strange to be speaking so with a woman, one who truly did share so many things with him, who also knew how the burdens of command could force out personal wants and needs. The only thing standing between them like a wall was a truth that Benton hadn't yet shared with her. “I need to tell you where we actually came from, Freya."
She shook her head. “Whatever led you from there is nothing I need know."
"Yes, I think you do.” He explained his world, the storm, the changed world they'd found afterward, and Lieutenant Garret's theory. “We have no idea how to get back, but if we ever found a way, we'd have to use it. I have a duty to fulfill."
To his surprise, Freya didn't express any disbelief, instead nodding knowingly. “The lightning. Its ancient name is the fire-writer,
that which the Light uses to cast messages in the sky, messages whose meaning we often cannot read. The lightning brought you here from the world you knew, but the reason may never be clear.” She sighed. “Your cavalry has saved Astera not once but twice and guaranteed our safety for years to come. You have already done so much. Yet, you may also help us and other cities build peace in this part of the land again, the type of peace no one has seen since the days of the fallen empire. But our debt and our duty is clear. If Astera, if I, can ever help you reach your home again, we will. But the lightning never repeats the same message twice."
"We say much the same thing,” Benton replied, turning away from the darkness where his duty had lain, turning to face Freya.
She smiled and touched his face gently with one hand. “No matter what the lightning does, you will always have a home here."
* * * *
Postscript
Though historical memory of the Benton Massacre has been eclipsed by the Fetterman Disaster in 1866 and Custer's Last Stand at the Little Big Horn in 1876, it attracted considerable attention for a brief period and remains an enduring military mystery. On October 4, 1870, a company from the 5th Cavalry Regiment under the command of Captain Ulysses Benton left Fort Harker on a routine training patrol of the area south and west of the fort in preparation for campaigning later in the season. The company of cavalry did not return as scheduled, and every attempt to locate Captain Benton or any of his men failed. Nearby tribes all denied knowing what had happened to the cavalry unit, but an official investigation concluded that the only plausible explanation for their disappearance had to be a massacre of the entire company and the concealment of their bodies and equipment. No trace of Captain Benton's command has ever been found.
Analog SFF, April 2010 Page 7