confirmed were safe.
Rick could feel the injured muscles pull in his right side as he climbed but told himself he was making up for the weightlifting sessions he'd missed. The prairie was in full night now, dark and quiet.
It was a very different scene when they turned to look back. A few illumination flares were still hung up in trees over Wounded Knee, and the night was filled with light: red tracer rounds from machine guns in the bowl of low hills poured like liquid fire into the village and muzzle flashes marked the bunkers of the surrounding forces.
There were no answering flashes from the Indians. Their meager stocks of ammunition and a healthy sense of self-preservation doubtless kept them low and protected behind earth berms, steel bunkers, or just pits in the ground.
Talltrees tapped them on the shoulders, motioned for them to follow, and set off cautiously toward the west. Again, they passed tents and pickup trucks without being spotted although Rick suspected it was the distraction of the firefight behind them rather than any Lakota medicine song.
Slowly, the clamor of battle quieted, a combination of distance and diminishing gunfire. Rick thought that even the federal authorities had to run low on ammunition eventually after an exhibition like that.
Talltrees stopped so suddenly that Eve had to sidestep quickly to keep from walking into him. He sank to the ground and Rick and Eve gratefully joined him.
But Talltrees wasn’t taking a break. He had gone into a prone firing position with his rifle on his shoulder and locked on a target. Peering through the darkness, Rick couldn't see any threat until someone struck a match and lit a cigarette about 30 yards ahead and slightly to the left.
Footsteps approached, at least two pairs of boots crunching on the dry soil. There was no time to find better cover, so Rick put his head down to hide his pale face.
"Hell of a night." A cigarette-roughened male voice.
"About damn time we finally unloaded on those bastards." This one sounded younger, smoother. "Gave them something back for what they did to Lloyd."
"Yeah, that was a damn shame. Think he'll ever walk again?"
"I haven't heard anything since they medevacked him out."
The sound of boots came closer but further to the right. There was a decent chance they would remain hidden. Rick slowly turned his face away from the voices.
"So what've you been up to?” the older man asked.
"I was on radio duty like always." There was a short pause. "I gotta tell you something was weird tonight.”
"Strange?"
"Yeah. Command HQ came on a couple of times and asked about incoming fire on our positions from up here in the hills."
"Up here? Jeez, who the hell had their firing marks that far off?" A short laugh followed by a smoker's cough. "Man, someone is going to get their butts kicked for that. They're sure it wasn't the Indians?"
"Well, that was the strange thing. Command actually raised the AIM security team in Wounded Knee on the negotiation frequency. The Indians said that all their people had strict orders not to fire back because of the risk of exposing themselves. The odd thing was that they said they were taking incoming from the same locations. Command said the Indians thought it was someone out to piss off both sides."
"Well, that's fucking freaky."
"Damn right. Command warned about it on the open net and said they were giving the Indians firing coordinates."
"Firing coordinates?"
"Yeah. They know where we all are, so they could determine where the extra firepower was coming from."
At the sound of a long inhalation of smoke, Rick closed his eyes and tried not to think about lighting up. The voices began to move away.
"Ah, I don't believe it. Had to have been Indians in the hills making trouble."
"Probably." Another laugh. "And if they wanted trouble, they sure as hell got it."
"Hey, did you see that article in Sports Illustrated? They called the Mohammed-Norton fight 'Bury My Heart at Wounded
Rick could feel the injured muscles pull in his right side as he climbed but told himself he was making up for the weightlifting sessions he'd missed. The prairie was in full night now, dark and quiet.
It was a very different scene when they turned to look back. A few illumination flares were still hung up in trees over Wounded Knee, and the night was filled with light: red tracer rounds from machine guns in the bowl of low hills poured like liquid fire into the village and muzzle flashes marked the bunkers of the surrounding forces.
There were no answering flashes from the Indians. Their meager stocks of ammunition and a healthy sense of self-preservation doubtless kept them low and protected behind earth berms, steel bunkers, or just pits in the ground.
Talltrees tapped them on the shoulders, motioned for them to follow, and set off cautiously toward the west. Again, they passed tents and pickup trucks without being spotted although Rick suspected it was the distraction of the firefight behind them rather than any Lakota medicine song.
Slowly, the clamor of battle quieted, a combination of distance and diminishing gunfire. Rick thought that even the federal authorities had to run low on ammunition eventually after an exhibition like that.
Talltrees stopped so suddenly that Eve had to sidestep quickly to keep from walking into him. He sank to the ground and Rick and Eve gratefully joined him.
But Talltrees wasn’t taking a break. He had gone into a prone firing position with his rifle on his shoulder and locked on a target. Peering through the darkness, Rick couldn't see any threat until someone struck a match and lit a cigarette about 30 yards ahead and slightly to the left.
Footsteps approached, at least two pairs of boots crunching on the dry soil. There was no time to find better cover, so Rick put his head down to hide his pale face.
"Hell of a night." A cigarette-roughened male voice.
"About damn time we finally unloaded on those bastards." This one sounded younger, smoother. "Gave them something back for what they did to Lloyd."
"Yeah, that was a damn shame. Think he'll ever walk again?"
"I haven't heard anything since they medevacked him out."
The sound of boots came closer but further to the right. There was a decent chance they would remain hidden. Rick slowly turned his face away from the voices.
"So what've you been up to?” the older man asked.
"I was on radio duty like always." There was a short pause. "I gotta tell you something was weird tonight.”
"Strange?"
"Yeah. Command HQ came on a couple of times and asked about incoming fire on our positions from up here in the hills."
"Up here? Jeez, who the hell had their firing marks that far off?" A short laugh followed by a smoker's cough. "Man, someone is going to get their butts kicked for that. They're sure it wasn't the Indians?"
"Well, that was the strange thing. Command actually raised the AIM security team in Wounded Knee on the negotiation frequency. The Indians said that all their people had strict orders not to fire back because of the risk of exposing themselves. The odd thing was that they said they were taking incoming from the same locations. Command said the Indians thought it was someone out to piss off both sides."
"Well, that's fucking freaky."
"Damn right. Command warned about it on the open net and said they were giving the Indians firing coordinates."
"Firing coordinates?"
"Yeah. They know where we all are, so they could determine where the extra firepower was coming from."
At the sound of a long inhalation of smoke, Rick closed his eyes and tried not to think about lighting up. The voices began to move away.
"Ah, I don't believe it. Had to have been Indians in the hills making trouble."
"Probably." Another laugh. "And if they wanted trouble, they sure as hell got it."
"Hey, did you see that article in Sports Illustrated? They called the Mohammed-Norton fight 'Bury My Heart at Wounded
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