A sailor on the front deck held out a loop of cut hose. The first man lifted his arm, hooked and caught hold of it. He was swung onto the deck. The second did the same, just as the nose of the Nautilus hit the black circle. The three men were silhouetted by blue against the black.
As if pulled through, the Nautilus increased speed and snapped out of sight, and the man who had rescued the two suited sailors screamed in agony.
Earhart jumped to her feet as a wall of black water surged up and toward the sphere. She slipped as the water crashed over her legs. Dane grabbed her arm and held on, half expecting kraken tentacles to attack. He blinked as the blunt gray nose of a submarine of a type he had never seen appeared fewer than fifty feet away. It was coming straight toward the sphere, and Dane helped Earhart farther up to the very top.
The bow of the sub hit the sphere with a solid thud, bringing the craft to a dead stop. There were three figures on the front deck. Two standing, dressed in bulky yellow suits streaked with black as if they’d been hit with a blowtorch. The third was prone, unmoving, his uniform and skin fried. Another casualty in the war. Dane found he felt little for whoever the man was-no, that wasn’t quite right he realized, it was more he couldn’t afford to focus on it, to allow himself to feel. He realized it was a sad state of affairs, and death was just a small speed bump in events.
Dane now saw the writing on the side of the saiclass="underline" Nautilus.
“I think we’re about to meet Mister Frost,” he said to Earhart.
A hatch on the side of the sail clanged open and several men came out of the submarine and made their way forward. Foremost among them was an old man with white hair. Dane and Earhart walked down the sphere until they were next to the high bow of the Nautilus.
“Mister Frost?” Dane asked.
Frost nodded. “How did you know?”
“I’ve seen you-and this submarine-in a vision.”
“Then do you know what happens next?” Frost asked.
‘1 haven’t seen it,” Dane said, “but we need to get this”—he pointed down at the sphere—“to an Earth time line where we can gather something from the air, then return with it back to my time line.”
Frost stared at him, obviously understanding little of what Dane had just said. He could see the crewmen gathered around their dead comrade.
“We still don’t have power,” Earhart said.
Dane turned to her. He felt old and tired. “Actually, I think we might have enough power to take the first step.”
“Where?”
Dane nodded toward the Nautilus. “There.”
“The reactor?”
“The crew.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
“I thought I saw the gray troop up therein Girard yelled, pointing to the bluffs on the east of the river.
Reno looked in the indicated direction, but he saw nothing · moving. And if Custer was up there, Reno knew he was in a very bad place. His firepower was down by one-fourth simply by the fact that a dismounted skirmish line required every fourth man to hold the other three men’s horses. The other three men were part of the skirmish line that stretched from the river on the right to the scouts far to the left on the low bluff.
Mitchell!” Reno called out His cook came forward, half bent over, as many of the men were, making their target space smaller for the bullets that were whizzing past.
“Go tell Custer we are engaged against hundreds-no make that thousands of hostiles. We need support immediately!”
Mitchell looked about, fear in his eyes. “Where do I go, sir?”
Reno pointed to the high bluffs. “He’s behind those. Find him! Tell him I can’t hold much longer.”
“Yes, sir.” Mitchell ran, hopped on his horse and was gone.
Reno felt a moment of doubt. Had he halted his charge too soon? Could he have carried it into the village? Then he looked to the front and all doubt was gone. He would be lucky to hold this line, never mind attack farther.
The men were steady, Reno saw. They were holding their own so far. He watched as a trooper staggered back as if punched, holding his gut, blood pouring over his fingers, a surprised look on his face.
But still there was no concerted assault by the Sioux. There had to be thousands, Reno calculated, looking at the long lines of lodges as far as he could see above the smoke that was drifting across the battlefield.
The firing was picking up. God, Reno thought, we’re going to run out of ammunition. His pistol was in his hand, and he fired as he spotted two warriors ride out of the powder fog toward the line.
The warriors turned and rode back, disappearing. Reno blinked. There was something flickering in the air and then he realized what it was-arrows falling out of the sky on a high trajectory. Most missed but occasionally one found its mark and tore through flesh. Reno’s shoulders involuntarily hunched up, waiting for the impact of a dart from the sky. He saw one of the horse handlers lose control and the four horses rushed back the way they came.
Someone came galloping down the line and Reno leveled · his pistol at the figure, pausing as he recognized the man. lieutenant Varnum’s horse was foaming at the mouth. “They’re infiltrating along the trees by the river!” he yelled.
Reno looked past Varnum toward the river. If they were cut off there, it was all over. The battalion would be surrounded. Reno looked back down the valley, watching the four horses gallop away into the dust that had been raised during the charge.
“The left flank’s in the air!” Varnum continued. ‘’The scouts have nothing they can anchor on. They could get rolled!”
“Where’s Custer?” Reno demanded.
“I don’t know, sir, but the hostiles are getting behind us along the river!”
“Hold here!” Reno ordered. He mounted and rode to the rear, through the dust until he could see clearly. Nothing. Reno closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then turned his horse around and rode back into the dust cloud toward the firing.
“Steady men,” he called as he rode along the line. ‘’Pick your targets. Don’t waste bullets if they’re out of range.”
“Sir!” It was Captain Moylan of A Troop. “The line’s too bin. If they rush us, we’ll break!”
“What?” Reno flinched as a horrible scream exploded from a wounded trooper’s mouth. The man had both hands on an arrow shaft that was sticking up out of his chest.
“The lines too thin, sir!” Moylan repeated. “I don’t know why they haven’t rushed us yet. They’ve got the numbers.”
“The left,” Varnum said, pointing. There was a great dust cloud there. ‘’They’re rolling it. That’s why they haven’t hit us in the center yet with any force.”
“What should I do?” Reno asked.
Varnum’s lip curled in disgust, but Moylan had no time for that. “Pull into the trees, sir. Get the horses under cover. We’ll lose them out here, and if we lose them we’re dead.”
“Yes,” Reno nodded. “Yes. Do it.” The plan made sense. Move to the trees near the river for cover. Then he could anchor his flank on the river.
Moylan was already gone, issuing the commands to his troops. Reno began giving orders, trying to keep some order as the battalion slipped to the right, into the cover of the trees.
Reno gratefully rode his horse down into a cut, where the river had once flowed, before taking its current course. He had a moment’s hope. This could be a good defensive position. But as he dismounted he saw that all was confusion and getting worse. Visibility was worse among the trees than it had been in the open. Indians were infiltrating behind them along the river and through the trees. Gunpowder smoke was growing even thicker. The troops were mixed up, and command and control were difficult.