The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry. Charley Brindley

dozen foot-soldiers waited nearby, watching the surrounding woods.

      Autumn took a yellow and blue scarf from an inside pocket to cover the captain’s genitals, at least what was left of them.

      “Goddamned animals,” she whispered as she spread the scarf over him.

      “Did they do this because we killed so many of them on the trail?” Sharakova asked.

      “No,” Alexander said. “He’s been dead for several days. I think they killed him as soon as he landed.”

      “They must have seen him coming down and captured him when he hit the ground,” Autumn said. “But why did they have to torture him like this?” His body was covered with numerous small wounds and bruises.

      “I don’t know,” Alexander said, “but we have to get him buried. There’s not enough of us to fight off a major attack.” He glanced around at the darkening woods. “Not out here.”

      “We can’t bury him naked,” Sharakova said.

      “Why not?” Lojab asked. “He came into the world that way.”

      “I’ve got a Mylar blanket in my backpack,” Joaquin said, turning his back to Sharakova. “It’s in the side pocket.”

      When she removed the tightly folded blanket, a long object fell from his pack. “Oh, sorry, Joaquin.” She knelt to pick it up.

      Tin Tin Ban Sunia noticed the shiny instrument, and her eyes widened. She nudged Liada with her elbow. Liada saw it, too, and it was apparent both of them wanted to ask about it but decided this wasn’t the right time.

      Sharakova handed the instrument to Joaquin, and he brushed dirt from the polished metal, then smiled at her. “It’s fine.”

      She spread the silver blanket out on the ground, while the others started loosening the dirt with their sharp knives. They began digging the grave by hand. Tin Tin and Liada helped, and soon the hole was three feet deep and seven feet long.

      “That will do,” Alexander said.

      They placed the captain’s body on the blanket and folded it over him. After they gently placed him in the grave, Autumn stood at the foot of grave and removed her helmet.

      “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

      The others removed their helmets and bowed their heads. Liada and Tin Tin stood with them, looking down at the body.

      Autumn finished the Lord’s Prayer, then said, “We now commend our friend and commander to Your hands, Lord. Amen.”

      “Amen,” the others said.

      “Sarge,” Joaquin whispered as he held up the shiny flute that had fallen from his backpack.

      Alexander nodded, then Joaquin placed the flute to his lips and began to play Ravel’s Bolero. As the somber notes of the music drifted over the twilight clearing, the other soldiers knelt to begin filling the grave with handfuls of dirt.

      Liada, too, knelt, helping to cover the dead captain.

      Only Tin Tin Ban Sunia and Joaquin remained standing. As Tin Tin stared in open-mouthed wonder at Joaquin playing the music, her right hand moved as if by its own accord, like a creature coiling and blindly feeling for something in the leather purse at her hip. She lifted the old wooden flute she’d made at Carthage, eleven years before.

      Joaquin noticed the movement and watched as she took the flute in her fingertips. His hands, though scarred and powerful, danced a delicate ballet over the silver keys. Tin Tin waited until he paused, then she put her flute to her lips and began to play.

      The others seemed not to notice the notes of the music as they worked on filling the grave, but Joaquin certainly did—she was playing, note-for-note, Bolero exactly as he’d played it a few moments before. He began his music again, matching her place in the song but playing an octave lower than she.

      Autumn looked at Tin Tin, then at Joaquin. She smiled as tears ran down her cheeks, then she smoothed the dirt over Captain Sanders’ grave.

      It was after 9 p. m. when they returned to the encampment.

      “We go to find Cateri,” Liada said as she and Tin Tin turned to leave the soldiers of the Seventh.

      “Okay,” Karina said. “See you later.”

* * * * *

      It was a somber evening that night by the campfire. Kawalski had come around while the others were taking care of Captain Sanders. He felt a lot of pain, but he shook his head when Autumn asked him if he wanted another shot of morphine.

      “That stuff knocks me for a loop. I can live without it.”

      Karina told Kawalski how the captain had been tortured to death.

      “Damn it,” Kawalski said. “Now I’m glad we killed twenty of those nasty sons-of-bitches.”

      “A couple hundred, you mean,” Karina said.

      “I’m talking about me and Liada. Man, is she good with that bow. And when she ran out of arrows, she grabbed my rifle from the ground and used it for a club.”

      “Yes,” Karina said, “after the battle, I helped retrieve her arrows. She was deadly.”

      Fusilier took some MREs from the weapons container. “Who wants menu 7?”

      Lojab raised his hand, and she tossed it to him.

      Everyone sat on logs around the fire.

      “Menu 12?”

      “I’ll take it,” Sharakova said.

      “Menu 20?”

      No one was very enthusiastic about a cold meal, but a few of them tried to eat.

      “Hey, Sarge.”

      “Yeah, Sparks.”

      “Look who’s coming.”

      Alexander saw a wagon coming toward them. “That looks like Cateri.” He got to his feet, dusting off his trousers.

      “And she has someone with her,” Fusilier said.

      “It’s Tin Tin and Liada.”

      Autumn greeted them as they rolled to a stop. “Hello.”

      “Hello,” Tin Tin said.

      Liada jumped down from the wagon and went to Kawalski, who was struggling to get up.

      “Need arm.” Liada took his arm and placed it around her shoulders.

      “Yes, I do need help.” He held her tight as he took a few wobbly steps.

      “Come see.” She guided him to the back of the wagon.

      “Wow,” Kawalski said. “Hey, guys, come take a look at this.”

      In the bed of the wagon was a large iron pot filled with steaming grain and chunks of meat. Beside it was a dozen round loaves of bread, along with several bowls carved from wood.

      Cateri reached to pull the pot to the edge of the wagon bed, then slipped two long wooden handles through metal rings on the sides of the pot.

      “Here,” Alexander said, “let me help you.”

      She said something that sounded more like “whatever” than “thank you” as they lifted it together and carried it to the fire.

      “This really smells good, Cateri,” Alexander said as they lowered the pot to the ground by the fire.

      Cateri shrugged and brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face as she removed the wooden handles from the pot and took them to the wagon. Alexander watched her walk back toward the fire, where she untied the leather string at the back of her neck, letting her hair fall. Thick and long, her shiny brown hair fell below her shoulders. She held the leather string in her teeth while gathering the loose strands together, then tied her hair at the back. She brushed by Alexander to go help Liada and Tin Tin as they broke off chunks of bread and passed them out with the bowls they’d filled from