CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

THE SPACE BETWEEN

“Submariners are volunteers for the most dangerous duty in the Navy to begin with,” Captain Anderson said. “During World War n. the loss rate among German U-boat crews was more than ninety percent.”

Dane could tell Frost was shocked by Anderson’s apparent pride in such appalling numbers. Having served in the Special Forces during the Vietnam War, Dane knew the perverted pride men took in being among the elite.

Anderson sighed and looked between Earhart and Dane. They were in his cramped wardroom onboard the Nautilus. Even the ship’s captain seemed to see the weakness of his own words. “Our Earth--our time line as you call it--is dead. We’re all that’s left, and we’re not even there anymore. Some of the men now think we could have a life in another time line”--he held up a hand to forestall Earhart—“but I don’t see how. H the time line is viable, then this ship did its mission and returned home, so we, us in another time line, would still be there and, hell, I don’t know. I just know it wouldn’t work.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Earhart said. “I’ve been trapped here in the Space Between for a long time. I accepted early on that there was no going back and then no going sideways.”

Dane stirred. “Why?’’

Earhart turned to him in surprise. “What?”

“Why did you accept you couldn’t go back to your own world or go to another time line?” Dane asked.

“The portals,” Earhart said. “Some tried to go through, and they ended up like the crewman caught on the deck.”

“But you have Valkyrie suits now,” Dane said.

“But which portal to go through?” Earhart argued.

“Any,” Dane said.

Anderson and Frost were trying to follow their argument, but were lost.

“You can go through any in the Valkyrie suits,” Dane continued, “and you’d be all right. You could check them out. Maybe find a world where you could live instead of here--” he waved his hand, indicating the strange place outside the submarine.

Earhart stared at Dane. “Because the voices told me to stay here.”

Dane finally nodded. “Okay. As long as we’re clear on that. We’re all here”--he looked at Frost and Earhart--“because we believe we’re part of a larger plan. One that fights the Shadow. Correct?”

Both nodded in turn.

“Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we don’t have choices,” Dane said.

“Why is that important?” Earhart asked.

· Dane shrugged. “Because we don’t know diddly. I still believe we need to follow the Ones Before and fight the Shadow, but I don’t know what the end of this is going to be. And some day before the end of this war, I think we’re going to have to make our own decisions.”

“That is all fine and well,” Commander Anderson said, ‘’but you started this by saying you were going to need my crew, volunteers for a mission in which they were sure to die.”

“Not just die.” Dane said. “but die horribly.”

Anderson rubbed his hands across his face. “How many men?”

“I don’t know,” Dane admitted. He had counted the number of slots in the “power” room, but he didn’t know how many they would need to do what needed to be done. “There are a hundred slots inside the sphere.”

Surprisingly, Anderson laughed. He removed a small badge clipped to his shirt pocket and held it to Dane.

“My radiation badge,” Anderson said. “We used a crystal skull charged by the reactor core to open the portal that got us here. Moving the skull through the ship, well--” he ripped open the covering on the badge. The strip underneath was bright red.

“We’re all going to die horribly anyway,” Anderson said. “We might as well do it for a reason.”

Nobody said anything for several moments, then Earhart spoke up. “Then where next?”

“We find a world that still has ozone and no people,” Dane said.

“And how do we do that?” Earhart asked.

Dane stood up. “I think we’ll see that once we power up the sphere.”

“Why do you say that?” Earhart demanded.

“The golden orb in the power room,” Dane said. “1 think it not only consolidates the power, but is also a portal map.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

LONESOME CHARLIE REYNOLDS

They could all hear firing to the west. They couldn’t see anything because the entire unit was riding in the low ground formed by a ravine running to the north. Four miles had · passed since they’d looked from the high hill and Sergeant Kanipe had been dispatched to bring up the pack mules. Lieutenant Cooke rode just behind Custer as the long line of troopers moved at a trot. Lonesome Charlie Reynolds was also close to the general.

“Perfect,” Custer said to Cooke. ‘’Reno will fix them in place. They don’t know we’re coming--these hills are a perfect shield.”

Reynolds didn’t quite share the general’s optimism, but the · scout didn’t say anything. The horses and-men were nervous both from the sound of the fighting to the west and the knowledge that they were heading toward the massive Indian village.

The Crows scouts, who had been ahead, were now sitting off to the side of the ravine. Custer paused and looked at them. They didn’t look anxious to continue down. Custer crooked a finger to them. He signed with his hands, indicating they were released from duty.

The scouts nodded their agreement, then turned their horses and rode back toward the south. Custer spit. “Cowards, all of them. I’d rather not have such with me.”

Reynolds thought the scouts were the smartest people in the area.

Custer cut into his brooding. “How do we get down there?”

Reynolds pointed ahead and to the left, where the ground started descending more steeply. “That’s Medicine Tail Coulee. It runs into the Little Big Horn.”

“Can we cross down there?” Custer asked.

“I Suppose,” Reynolds answered weakly.

“I rode up the Little Big Horn during the ’74 expedition,” Custer said. “It’s not deep. I’m sure we can cross. We’ll go down and smash them against Reno’s blocking force.”

As far as Reynolds could recollect, Reno wasn’t supposed to be a blocking force. Reno’s battalion was supposed to be attacking the village, but Reynolds didn’t see any point to reminding Custer of his own orders. A light was in the general’s eyes, one that Reynolds had seen before, the light of battle. There was no stopping the man now.

“Trumpeter!” Custer called out.

Martin rode to Custer’s side. ‘’Ride to Benteen,” Custer instructed. “Have him link up with the pack train and bring m forward on the double.”

Lieutenant Cooke tore a page out of his notepad, scribbled on it and handed the piece of paper to the man. “Go!” Cooke yelled. Martin galloped along the line of troopers. Cooke watched his departure with sad eyes.

Custer faced downslope. “At the quick, men!”

The coulee narrowed as they descended, forcing the column of fours to become twos. Reynolds was not far behind Custer, who led the entire force. Reynolds happened to look up and see an eagle circling high above, floating on currents of warm air. “I wish 1 were you,” he whispered.

WALKS ALONE

The vision was true. The soldiers were coming down out of the heights and falling on the camp. But the others had not listened, drawn in by the firing to the south. Walks Alone had remained, but not totally because of the vision. He was only twelve, and he’d been ordered to remain behind if the camp was attacked. He was to use his rifle to defend his tribe’s portion of the camp, along with several other boys and old men. It had been very difficult for Walks Alone to remain in place as he heard the firing and war cries to the south, but he had done so.

And now his obedience to his orders was bearing fruit. More blue coats had just been spotted coming down Medicine !ail Coulee, just opposite his tribe’s lodges. Walks Alone and the handful of armed boys and old men left in the camp had raced to the opposite side of the Greasy Grass from the coulee and taken up position, watching the blue coats get closer and closer while a messenger was sent to the south to warn the warriors of this new threat.

Walks Alone steadied the barrel of his old rifle on a tree. There were only old men and a handful of warriors at the west side of the ford. And there were so many soldiers--a file, two by two, as far as he could see up the Medicine Tail Coulee. In the lead was a slender white man in pale buckskins, followed by a soldier carrying a fork-tailed banner with crossed sabers on it.

There was a grassy half-bowl on the east side of the river. Medicine Tail Coulee, down which the soldiers were streaming, entered the bowl from the southeast. A sharper, more deeply cut ravine branched up to the northeast, about forty feet north of Medicine Tail Coulee. A high ridge abutted the river between the two coulees.

The lead soldiers paused in the bowl, gathering strength for a charge. The buckskin soldier was gesturing, crying out something in the words of the white man, gesturing right toward where Walks Alone was hiding and the village behind him.

Walks Alone now knew he had not been a coward. If he had run to the sound of the firing he would not be here to see Sitting Bull’s vision come true. He knew now why the hills · had drawn him.

The hooves of the buckskin soldier touched the water, the first of the white men. Walks Alone pulled back on the trigger, surprised at the kick of the rifle against his shoulder. The buckskin soldier twisted in his saddle and crumpled, a look of shock on his face. He was kept from falling only by the quick actions of another soldier at his side who spurred his horse to the buckskin man’s side and held him.

Walks Alone pulled back the lever on the rifle, the spent · shell casing tumbling out. His fingers shook as he pushed another cartridge in the chamber. The soldiers would overrun them, he knew that. There was no way the handful of warriors could stop them. But he would stand here and do his duty. He looked up and was surprised to see that the soldiers were milling about. Not charging. The column in the coulee was halted by the confusion. The soldiers were not falling into camp.

Walks Alone sighted in on another blue coat and pulled the trigger.