Episode #313

Part One of Five

Disclaimers: The characters from the Queen of Swords are copyright to Fireworks Productions and Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended or revenue expected from their use. The story plot and other characters are copyright to the author, Jorge Krip.

Prologue

Somewhere in the Midwest Territories, two riders on horseback made their way along a desolate trail that consisted of barren, low-rolling hills. It was a hot and windy day; dust devils, miniature tornadoes danced. The white clouds made fast-moving shadows over the ground.

The two men, both wearing red uniform coats with bandanas over their faces to protect them from the stinging wind, rode side-by-side. A gust of wind threatened to blow their kepis away. Both men placed their hands on the hats.

The older of the two stopped his horse and pointed towards a mountain in the distance. Without a word, he pulled on his reins and galloped towards his goal, his companion followed.

The men rode up the incline of the mountain and gazed down upon a stone altar on the plains below. The older of the two men pulled the bandana down from his face. The wind ruffled the large, gray handle-bar mustache and sideburns.

"What do you think, Corporal? I believe we have found the place the rancher told us to look for." His crisp British accent was strong and clear.

"Right you are, Sir. Nothing else so far as the eye can see. This must be the spot!" said the younger man.

"Corporal, what time of day do you make it to be?" The wind picked up.

The young Lance Corporal held his hat on his head with one hand looked up at the sky. He shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight with his other hand. "Sir, I make it to be about eleven."

Checking his pocket watch, the Major leaned over to his companion " I have eleven ten, Corporal," he yelled over the howling wind." The Major turned in his saddle and pointed to a sloping hill to the west as he pulled the bandana up over his nose and galloped towards the incline. They crested the hill and made their way down the other side until coming to a stop at the bottom of the hill and dismounted. The wind was blocked by the hill and they both removed their bandanas.

"I'll take my shot from up there, Corporal. Let's get ready. According to the rancher the guest of honor should be arriving shortly."

The young man brushed the dirt off his jacket with his hat. "If you don't mind me saying Sir, I have a bad feeling about this one."

The Major pulled an 1806 Baker rifle from a scabbard on his saddle. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"That rancher acted rather oddly if you ask me Sir, as if he was afraid of something. He has enough men working for him. If he wanted to kill this Indian shaman and take the bloody savages' land, why not just do it himself?"

The Major nodded as he cradled the rifle in his arms. "Get the box, will you?"

"Sir." The Corporal removed a two-foot-long wooden box from the saddle on his horse and then brought it over to the Major.

The Major laughed. "These Americans are a strange lot. When I fought them in Canada they didn't seem to be afraid of anything, at least the ones I encountered. Can you imagine what a reception we would have received if we were in Paris wearing our regiment's tunics?"

"I right imagine that they would be lining up to take turns to cut our throats they would be, Sir."

The Major dropped to one knee and placed the butt of the rifle on the ground as the Corporal carefully placed the box at his feet. The Major paused and looked up. "Yes, no doubt that would be our welcome in France, Corporal. Here, everywhere we have traveled the people have been more than hospitable to us. They didn't even scoff at my inventions, at least not to my face. You're also right about the rancher, lad. He was definitely frightened about something, but he did pay us in silver dollars and up front also. Now that is what I find odd. These Americans are good business men and he didn't even haggle over the price."

The Major flipped the latch and opened the box to see several compartments, all lined with red velvet. He removed a metal band that had a three-inch brass blade attached to it. He placed it over the muzzle sliding it down until it lined up with the front sight of the rifle. Then, he retrieved a screwdriver from the box and proceeded to tighten the band until it was secured tightly on the barrel. He removed a 10-power brass telescope from the box and carefully, he screwed the scope onto the rifle until it was snug against the barrel. He lined up the tall, brass sight and tightened a setscrew on the side of the trunion until the telescope was locked tightly into place. He stood up and shouldered the rifle. He pointed the weapon at the ridgeline with his left hand and extended the eyepiece of the telescope, focusing it.

The Corporal stood up. "Too bad, Sir. It was a real shame that the Royal Ordinance Office didn't give your invention a fair shake."

"Yes, a shame indeed. The same idiots that laughed at my telescopic marksmen modification are probably the same fools that laughed at the case shot artillery shell, that is until the French perfected it. No doubt they'll take it under serious consideration when someday someone like the Germans start putting optics on rifled muskets."

"I know one French general who probably took your invention under serious consideration, especially after you shot him from his horse at 700 meters like you did, Sir."

The Major turned his towards his companion and he lowered the rifle. "Do you find something that strikes your humor, Corporal?"

The Corporal started to laugh. "Serves the bloody fool right for riding a white horse like he did."

The Major placed the butt of the rifle on the ground. "Please continue, Lance Corporal."

"At the time Sir, you thought you had just bagged Napoleon himself."

The Major nodded. "That I did, Corporal, that I did, and if that were the case, school children for the next hundred years would have had to memorize the name of Major Winston Dodd."

He turned his attention to his rifle. He pulled the hammer back to half cocked and flipped open the frizzen to check the priming charge then closed it. He slung the scoped Baker rifle over his shoulder. "We had better get moving."

The Corporal ran back to his horse and pulled a 75 cal. Brown Bess carbine from a scabbard and returned to the Major. "Ready, Sir!"

"You got yourself there nothing more than a blunder buss, lad."

"Sir, Bessie here and I cleared the decks more than once at Trafalgar."

The Major shook his head and started walking up the hill. "How's your Spanish, Corporal?"

"Not as good as yours but I can manage. Why do you ask, Sir?"

"After we dispatch this savage to his happy hunting grounds we have a job waiting for us in Nueva Espana. We're going to shoot ourselves a queen."

The Corporal came to a sudden halt. "Not royalty, Sir?"

"No Corporal, this one is not royalty. Rather, she's a bandit queen." Major Dodd smiled. "Maybe the first order of business when we arrive in Santa Elena is to find you a pretty Señorita to spend some time with."

They reached the top of the hill and crouched down close to the ground at the ridgeline. "Corporal, the rancher said that on this day, at high noon, the Indian shaman would be here to perform a ceremony of some kind." The wind picked up as they watched as six Indians wearing bright headdresses dance in a circle around the stone altar. The men had to cover their faces again. One of the six broke from the circle and approached the stone altar.

The Major aimed his weapon and made a fine adjustment on the scope to sharpen the focus. That is my target.

The shaman bent over behind the altar and out of sight. He stood up, holding a small hog-tied calf. He placed the calf on the altar and raised his arms above his head, gazing into the sky. The Indians began chanting and the sound carried to the snipers above.

"You understand their lingo, Sir. What are they saying?"

" Thunderbird!"

The Major tensed up as he took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and as he exhaled, squeezed the trigger. He failed to notice the large shadow that passed overhead. The hammer fell, causing the flint to strike the frizzen, throwing a shower of sparks into the pan. The priming charge ignited a second later. The main charge gave a loud report as the round ball left the muzzle of the rifled barrel.

The Major watched the shaman grab his chest with both hands as the 62-cal. projectile tore into him. A few seconds later, the Indian fell face down onto the stone altar. The Corporal grabbed the Major's arm and shook him as the black shadow crossed over them again. "What in God's name is that?"

The Major turned to look at the Corporal pointing up at the sky. He laid the rifle down as he heard a loud and terrifying screech coming from above. He looked up and shivered.

The horses began to buck and one had broken free from his hobble. The Corporal got up and began running down the hill towards them. The Major tried to grab the Corporal’s sleeve but the younger man was too quick. Dodd got to his feet and saw a black shadow directly above the Corporal. In a flash and blur of movement a black shape swooped down, plucked the young man off the ground and carried him away as if he were a jack rabbit.

The Major ran down the hill to the spot and found the Brown Bess carbine lying on the ground. He quickly picked it up, cocked the hammer and took aim. Pulling the trigger the hammer dropped and the pan flew open but it did not spark. Swearing under his breath he recocked the hammer and closed the pan. He had to aim at least twenty degrees higher than before, as he squeezed the trigger and successfully fired the weapon.

The recoil from the 75-cal musket made him take two steps backwards. The wind blew the black powder smoke away from the muzzle. The sky was empty as he caught sight of something floating down out of the sky. He bent over and picked up the two-foot long feather that was covered in blood that had landed at his feet. He held it and looked up into the sky. "Dear God. Where is my son?"

Act One

On a clear and calm morning in Santa Elena a month later, Captain Grisham walked across the square towards Montoya's office. He noticed that the door next to his quarters was partially open. He ran to the building and pushed the door open. A young officer was on the opposite side of the room. Grisham watched as the man emptied a saddlebag that was lying on the bed and placed the contents into a pulled-open drawer.

"Carlos, I heard your uncle had recalled you from the Monterey garrison. When did you get in?"

Carlos turned around, "Late last evening. Please, won't you come inside Captain? I was just about to come and see you."

Grisham removed his hat as he walked in. "Please, it's Marcus, and it's good to see you back, Carlos."

"Thank you, Marcus. It's great to be back."

"How do you like your new quarters? They used to belong to Lieutenant Gomez. He was the one who replaced you as commanding officer of the Night Watch when you were transferred to Monterey. They buried him last week. You can have your old job back, if you want it."

"Thank you, that's what I was coming to see you about." Carlos turned back to his saddlebag and removed more items of clothing. "These quarters will be just fine. I am very sorry to hear about Gomez, he was a friendly fellow and a good officer."

"He may have been, but he was short on brains. He tried to take on the Queen by himself. I don’t know how many times I told him not to lower his sword. We have lost four men since the beginning of the year."

"If I remember correctly they had her outnumbered five to one. Lieutenant Gomez should have known better than to try and take her by himself. Too bad his decision cost him his life. Then, that's the lot of a soldier's life, is it not? One wrong choice can result in death."

"Unfortunately, Carlos the men we can recruit just don’t understand. They only see a woman with a sword. I see an adversary."

Carlos nodded his head as he finished unpacking. "Uncle Luis knows that I owe my life to the Queen, and as a man of honor I will do no harm against her. A man of honor does not have to keep restating his position in words but rather show to others his position by his deeds. Speaking of the Queen of Swords, I understand that she intercepted another tax shipment headed for Monterey last night. A large sum of reales, if I understand correctly."

Grisham’s smile faded. "How did you find out about the stolen tax money, did the Queen tell you?"

Carlos laughed. "Oh, how I wish she had. No, I arrived in town very late last evening and saw the lights still burning in Uncle Luis's office. I went to see him and he told me all about it, and how he is going to have to make it up out of his own pocket."

"Was he very angry?"

"Let's just say that now might not be a good time to ask for a raise."

Carlos limped back to the chest of drawers. "Carlos, What happened to your leg?" Grisham asked, curious.

Carlos looked embarrassed. "Actually, it's my foot, and I am almost ashamed to say how it happened. My horse was having a bad day and decided to step on my foot."

"Did you beat him so he wouldn't do it again?" Grisham grinned, thinking of the good Dr. Helm's frequent differences of opinion with his own mount. That man never could appreciate a good horse. Not that 'Equus' was any good.

"Of course not. He just made a mistake, that's all. You wouldn't beat someone for just making a mistake now would you?"

You bet I would. "You'd better have Doctor Helm check it out."

"It will be okay."

"No, that's an order Lieutenant. Sick call is in a half hour, be there."

Carlos snapped to attention. "Si, Capitan."

"Lieutenant, what was your duty assignment in Monterey?"

"The Royal Guards."

"You left The Royal Guards to come back here to the Night Watch? You must be crazy, amigo. You better have the Doc check your head after he looks at your foot. I know people who would kill to pull that duty. I didn't think you cared that much for your Uncle."

"I am not crazy; at least, I don't think so. I came back this time, not for Uncle Luis but for the woman I love."

Grisham replaced his hat as the two men walked out of the room. I wonder which woman he was referring to--Catalina, or the Queen?