Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
His men had been given one larger tent to crash in. Another way for them to feel expendable.
He pushed into the gloomy interior and stood there for a moment. Snoring filled the air, his men were exhausted and had crashed after getting more than a field ration.
Damn it. I don’t want to do this.
Orders were orders and orders were to be followed.
“Everything okay, sir?”
First Sergeant Wilson stood beside him, his beard sat there scraggly and rough. Uniform hanging off his frame, a testament how this was affecting everyone.
“No, we have to get going.”
“Really sir? We’d been told we were getting twenty-four hours.”
“Colonel Sanderson has decided differently.” He cleared his throat, took another five seconds and called out to the men. “Wake up! We have new orders.”
His men jumped to with swiftness, even bleary eyed they stood straight as if expecting an inspection.
“Get dressed, take a shit all the things. We’re moving out.” He cracked his neck. “Colonel Sanderson wants that hill. And we’re gonna give it to him.”
The hill wasn’t really a hill but more of a cliff. At least on one side. It wasn’t easy to get up or down. The Indians weren’t playing nice but to be fair, they were trying to push them out of their own homes so he got it.
“Yes sir!”
He rubbed the nape of his neck and sighed. A terrible feeling lingered and he did his best to shake it off. He owed it to his men to make sure he was operating at the best possible. Hurrying out, he waved for his horse to be readied.
Not a lot of cover for him or his men to be found. The night was a clear one and the moon, nearly full.
This is not going to go well.
His gut hadn’t let him down yet. Not during the years of avoiding his old man’s fists. When he first enlisted in the army it had saved his life numerous times. And right now, it blatantly informed him whatever he was heading into now, wasn’t going to be easy or end in a good way.
“Your horse sir.”
He didn’t speak, just nodded his thanks before swinging up on the back of his mount. A coal black gelding, the one nice thing from his father. Big, strong, and easy to ride, the horse didn’t have an issue with his size, the horse didn’t tire and also didn’t let but about three people touch him.
His men lined up and in the waning light, their exhaustion obvious, he picked up on their determination and commitment to him. He was proud of them.
“Let’s go, men.”
It went as expected. The hostiles waited for them and the seemingly quiet night soon filled with screams of pain, shots, and shouting through the ranks. Charging up the side on his ride, he slowed at an extremely steep part, his horse blowing hard but ready to carry on if that’s what was asked of him.
It was.
Clucking his tongue, he regripped the reins in his left hand and held the pistol in his right. Tossing his head, the horse surged forward up the most dangerous part of their climb. He didn’t try to guide him, allowing the animal to pick the best way up.
Nearly to the top he fired a shot when someone jumped out at them, spooking his horse. With a yell, the man thrust a spear at the horse’s exposed chest. He pulled the trigger as his mount fell back.
Cyrus had no clue if he even hit the man who’d shoved a spear in his horse’s chest.
He hit first, the heavy weight of his horse slamming onto his leg before they began sliding down. The first bump brought tears, the second, removed him from the pain reverberating through his body as he fell into unconsciousness.
He bolted up in bed, sweat dripping down his body. Even now, his hip and leg still ached. Cy ran a hand over his face and swung his legs around to the floor, needing to get up and move.
Years. It had been years since he had the dream.
He poured himself a drink of water and gulped it down before topping it off and having another. His limbs shook and his heart continued to pound out of control.
Thirst quenched, at least for the moment, he took a deep breath and reached down to the scar on his leg. He’d not only lost his army career that day but the one decent thing from his father, that stallion. He’d had to be put down to end his suffering.
The doctor had been a drunk and a fool, not setting his leg right. Even his hip hurt at times now but mostly his leg when he had to ride a long distance or on the occasion he made a wrong step.
Either way, refusing to head home with his tail tucked to face his bastard of a father, he had tried for the Pony Express once more and jumped at the chance to head this station when the chance came.