The sun beat down relentlessly
on the hot
bare nest of rocks.
The few living bearded soldiers waited
dirt and
sweat streaking their shirts.
They were bloody from the enemy’s fire,
weary of
the relentless wave of Comanche attacks.
What were they doing here?
The
warriors were defending their lands,
the troopers their hair.
They were
poorly paid
and for some these were the only jobs to be had.
Others had
opted for the cavalry
rather than a cell grim and bare,
and still
others had just wanted to go somewhere far away.
Now they were all somewhere far away and waiting here,
waiting to
end their day.
The Comanche were still out there
on their
dancing ponies
half naked and painted and working up to another charge.
Suddenly
with blood curdling shrieks
the red men raced over the hardscrabble ground,
toward the
shells of once proud soldiers.
“Wait until I tell you to fire”
the
lieutenant cautioned his men.
The soldiers patiently waited there,
wiping
sweaty hands on dirty pants.
As the warriors charged
their
shrill cries echoed off the hills.
Hard hooves pounded the ground
a rolling
thunder over the white’s unsigned wills.
The cavalry waited, exhausted and desperate.
Dry dust
filled the air
in a hell of sound and dying men and grit.
Nobody
wanted to die here.
Once blue
hot dirty and torn fabric
stretched over aching shoulders,
and hard
ground cradled sorely used bodies.
Flies buzzed around open wounds,
the smell
of blood and sweat hung in the air.
The hot sun spilled down from brassy skies;
the red men
kept coming.
The defenders watched the brown bodies
weave and
dance on their ponies.
As they closed with the soldier’s position,
the whites
saw the sun glisten
off the hard sweaty Comanche backs.
The ground
shook harder
with the pound of the ponies hooves!
The
charging warriors
were getting closer with every second!
Sweat
dripped off the soldier’s brows.
What were they doing here?
But now it
was too late to think of that.
All they could do was keep down
and wait,
just wait
in a world gone mad.
The riders
got closer!
A wall of dust
rolled up
to meet them
and still
the
lieutenant said nothing!
What was he waiting for?
The
Comanche were too close, too damned close.
They should have already fired!
Pandemonium
reigned.
The men squeezed their rifles.
What was
wrong with their leader!
By Ralph Montrone
