Cavanaugh's Island Read online

  And the troops at Fort Wallace would likely finish

  it.

  3

  When the army Rucker ambulance wagon rolled up to Fort Wallace, Kansas, there was no parade ready to greet the new commander. He was over three hours late and the small honor guard that had been ready had long since been dismissed.

  The ambulance drove past the first building and the parade grounds up to the fort’s commanding officer’s headquarters. Lieutenant Winchester was there, dismounted and ready to help the commander step down from the ambulance.

  “Sir, I’m sorry we have no parade ready for you. I’ll see to it that we have a formal parade and a proper change-of-command ceremony tomorrow at noon.”

  “Won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. I don’t hold much to all that spit and polish. We’re here to get a job done, not put on a damn show. The only change-of-command whoopteedo I want is to get into my quarters and take a bath.”

  “Yes, sir, Major Owensby. Your quarters are down this way, second door. I’m sure it’s been cleaned for you and should be ready. We’ve assigned Corporal Rogers as orderly until you pick out your own. He’s been told to have hot water ready. Your orderly is a fine cook as well, sir, and he has a stocked larder. If you want ...”

  Major Owensby waved his hand. “I know the drill, Lieutenant. I’ve been in the Army long enough. That will be all.”

  The major marched to the open door of his quarters and took the salute from Corporal Rogers. The major went inside, waved a half salute at the corporal, and closed the door. He looked at the neatly dressed trooper.

  “Rogers, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fine. You’re saddled with me for a few days, until you decide whether or not you want the job. I’m not a hard man to work for. Most enlisted men get a raw deal in the Army. You won’t. I don’t stand on ceremony. Just do your job and we’ll get on fine. You’ll eat here, bunk in one of the rooms if you want to. That way you’ll be free of the damn sergeants. Now, how’s the hot water coming?”

  Captain Marcus Cavanaugh turned his mount over to his orderly at the regimental headquarters and walked inside. First Lieutenant Ike Jackman looked up from the morning report, his round face full of questions.

  “So? So, what’s he like?” Ike asked.

  Marcus stopped and laughed. “Not Winchester’s type of officer. Not a ramrod regulations officer. I’d say we don’t have to worry about a formal parade every Saturday. They get everything of mine cleaned out of the commander’s office?”

  “Sure did, Captain. Your orderly did the last of it. All back in your office next door. We set up the major for things he’ll need right away.”

  Lieutenant Jackman was a cherub of a man, medium sized with a broad face, brown eyes, and brown hair with just a touch of a dark beard showing and a full brown moustache. He dressed precisely correct with the proper uniform, which was always laundered and pressed. His laundry was done twice a week instead of once and he did his own cooking. The officer’s quarters he used were usually assigned to one of the majors slots in the regimental headquarters staff, but since there had been no majors at the fort, he was safe from getting ranked out of the three-bedroom house.

  Jackman was West Point, twenty-eight years old and looking for a wife, but there were no prospects in the entire area. He was a good man at waiting and took care of the detail work as regimental adjutant with dedicated efficiency.

  Marcus headed for his old office, where the executive officer of the regiment sat.

  “Sir, what about that parade we had planned for the changing-of-command ceremony?” Lieutenant Jackman asked.

  Marcus chuckled. “Don’t reckon we’ll have to worry about that. The major and I had a handshake just after he had an argument with fifteen Cheyenne out at the first swing station. I’d say the command has already changed.” Marcus paused. “You put an orderly in his quarters?”

  “Yes, sir. Rogers. Filled the supplies closet with the best we have.” Jackman looked worried. “Some Cheyenne attacked the major?”

  “Hit the swing station about ten miles out east as the stage was about to change horses. They burned down the cabin, shot some horses. But the major led the passengers and crew into the creek bed and was fighting them off when our training patrol saw the smoke and galloped into the rescue.”

  “Just like in the western dime novels,” Lieutenant Jackman said, grinning. “At least the major didn’t get wounded. Then you escorted the stage into town?”

  “About the size of it. It tells better than it happened.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll get back out into the field.” “Maybe, but only when you get a replacement for yourself who can do your job better. Send for Sergeant York from that special training troop we set up. We need to talk.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain.”

  A private who had been sitting on a bench along the far side of the room stood and walked over to Lieutenant Jackman and nodded. He left by the front door.

  Lieutenant Winchester came in, took off his black campaign hat with the wide brim and held it under his arm. He came to attention in front of the adjutant.

  “Sir, Lieutenant Winchester to see Captain Cavanaugh.”

  “Winchester for ...” Jackman shook his head. “Knock on the door and go on in. We’re all friends here. ”

  “Yes, but ...”

  “This isn’t division headquarters or the Point. Just go on inside.”

  He knocked, then opened Captain Cavanaugh’s door. “Sir, do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to have a parade for the major.”

  “I heard.”

  “And no changing-of-command ceremony.”

  “Yes, it seems that way.”

  Winchester squared his shoulders. “I respectfully suggest that it doesn’t seem right to disregard basic command regulations.”

  “I remember once back at the Point,” Cavanaugh began, staring up at the lieutenant, “when you were a class ahead of me and you picked me out as your target for special harassment for almost a year. Do you remember?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That was part of your job — to whip the first-year men into shape. And you did damn fine. But in the field, there’s no call to be knocking your men out over rule. Especially since it looks to me like Major Owensby plans to run the fort without much fanfare.”

  A knock sounded on the door, it opened, and Sergeant York came in.

  “Trooper, we’re busy here!” Winchester barked. Sergeant York began to back out.

  “Come on in, York. We were just about finished. You and I have some work to do on those recruits.

  Have you asked Lieutenant Winchester to lead one of our training patrols?”

  “No, sir, not yet, Captain.”

  “Good, I’ll do it. Thursday morning, Winchester. We’ll be doing a thirty-mile ride on scout to give the new men some training before they get into a fight and get butchered. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Yes, but ...”

  “Good, we’ll see you there. Boots and saddles at six-fifteen.”

  “My company drill ...”

  “Lieutenant O’Hara can take care of that nicely. We’ll count on your help. That’s all, Lieutenant.” Winchester stormed out of the room, but closed the door gently.

  Sergeant Lamar York grinned broadly as he held out the clipboard for Captain Cavanaugh to inspect. “What are you grinning about, Sergeant.”

  “Was I grinning, sir? Just remembering a good joke, I reckon.”

  “I reckon you did, too. Now, how are your charges coming along?”

  “Damn slow, sir. They need more riding training. Some of them can’t even shoot their weapons. I’d say rifle training and target practice are the two biggest things. This afternoon the ones who fired didn’t hit a single Indian. There were six up there, maybe 300 yards, and the men missed them all.”

  “Tomorrow, rifle practice. Field stripping t
heir weapons, and prone and sitting positions target practice. Take care of it, Sergeant. Fifty rounds per man. Draw it from my supply with Sergeant Quinn over at the Quartermaster’s office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep after them, York. What you’re doing is helping these men to save their own lives, and just maybe helping us to win a skirmish with the hostiles.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve both been in enough to know about that.” He saluted smartly, took Marcus’ return salute, did an about face and walked out the door.

  About half an hour later, Major Owensby walked in unannounced, his hair still wet from his bath.

  “Don’t get up, Cavanaugh. Need a favor. Can you walk me around this place? I want to find out what I’ve got to work with here besides half a roster.”

  “Be glad to, Major. As you said, about average on manpower strength. Damn good surgeon and an apprentice surgeon who just came in under Dr. Lassiter to learn the trade.”

  For the next two hours, the two men walked the fort, nosed into most of the buildings, checked the stables and the horses. The major had a long talk with Sergeant Udall, the veterinarian sergeant in charge.

  As the shadows started to lengthen, they completed the tour, and the short, square commander pulled at his scraggly beard.

  “Cavanaugh, I like the way you deal with people. Figure you can give me an honest rundown on the officers?”

  “Figure I can, Major Owensby.”

  “Then come have supper with me. Rogers is fixing for three, so there should be plenty. As you can tell, I don’t mind a good meal now and again. I want the lowdown on every officer on post. I’ll remember it. Winchester I know enough about already — damn near too much. Let’s start with the headquarters staff and then hit the troops. Hear we’ve got only one officer in most of our line troops.”

  They went to the commander’s quarters, where Corporal Rogers had a fried chicken dinner with mashed potatoes, chicken gravy, fresh peas and carrots., and hot biscuits and jam and lots of hot coffee.

  During the meal, Captain Cavanaugh gave his honest opinion and evaluation of every officer on the post. Now and then the major had a question, but mostly he listened.

  When Cavanaugh came to Lieutenant Timothy O’Hara, the major held up his fork.

  “Is there any problem with the lieutenant having his enlisted father on the same post? I heard about it only the day before I left Chicago.”

  “Lieutenant O’Hara has been on post for about six months now and we haven’t had any problems that I’ve heard of. And I hear about most everything that goes on. He’s sharp, well trained, went to the Point, and knows where his duty lies. Sergeant Major Kevin O’Hara is an excellent man and does a damn fine job. He’s honest, fair, a good organizer, gets along well with the men. The only officer who seems to resent that his father is enlisted is Lieutenant Winchester.”.

  “And they’re both in A troop, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Seems fine to me. Would you object to a glass of wine to polish off this fine meal, Captain?”

  The next morning Major Owensby called Captain Cavanaugh into his office. His frown was a mile wide.

  “What’s this I hear about a dinner dance reception to be held in my honor tonight?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Bound to happen, Major. You know how these army wives are. ”

  “Your wife cook this thing up?” the major asked. “No, I’m not married, sir. It’s Major Lassiter, our chief surgeon. His wife Rebecca likes to organize these things. Seems to be good for morale.”

  “I see. Well, hell, I guess it can’t be helped. At least I can meet all of my officers. Get that out of the way. Figured you might be able to stop the fool thing.”

  “Not when Rebecca has her mind made up.”

  “Yes, I guess we better go. My wife is back in Chicago. She said this was the end of the world and didn’t want to come out here. I’m just as glad. Damn shame when they let women come on an army base, anyway. We have laundry women here?”

  “Yes, sir. Mostly enlisted wives do that duty.”

  “Many whores?”

  “Two for the officers, and as I remember, about fifteen work the enlisted.”

  “Yeah. I guess I can’t change the system. I don’t like it, never have, but it’s better than what General Hooker tried. What the hell, I won’t worry about it. Just so the whores don’t cause any trouble.”

  “Been quiet lately, sir.”

  “Good.”

  “Major,” Captain Cavanaugh began, changing the subject, “I’d like to put in a requisition for twenty thousand rounds of .52-caliber ammunition for the Spencer carbines. I’m working on a regiment-wide target practice system. Some of these recruits have never fired a weapon in their lives. We can call most of it ammunition fired in patrols and engagements with the hostiles.”

  “Think target practice does any good, Captain? Some of the brass back in Chicago have been stopping target practice.”

  “Yes, sir. But they don’t have to lead men into the field who can’t hit the side of the barracks if they’re standing six feet away from the boards.”

  Major Owensky shook his head. “You’ve got a point. I’d have given a lot to have a squad of sharpshooters with me yesterday afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir. If our men can hit what they need to, instead of just firing blindly and hoping, we’ll win more than we lose.”

  “Put in the requisition, I’ll send it right to General Sheridan.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  That night at the dinner, Rebecca Lassiter went all out. She was a big woman, nearly five-eight with a full figure and an infectious laugh. She should have been a diplomat. There never was a Stranger in her home. She was a friend to all and had a small sweet face that automatically brought a smile from people meeting her for the first time.

  The Lassiters had rolled up the carpet in the living room and put in a long table and benches for the supper. She served thirty-seven, including the wives of twelve officers.

  The meal was delicious — ham, turkey and wild pheasant, half a dozen vegetables and side dishes, and three kinds of salad. For dessert she had found strawberries somewhere and fixed them on individual shortcakes with fresh whipped cream that everyone raved about.

  After dinner, the men carried out the table and benches and four enlisted men came in to play for the dancing. One on piano, a fiddler, a guitar man, and the fourth on accordion. Before the dancing began there was a formal reception of the new commander and a receiving line. Captain Cavanaugh saw the major holding himself in check a time or two as he struggled through the formalities. When the last officer and lady had come through the line, Mrs. Lassiter called for the music and took the major by the hand.

  “Since your lovely wife is in Chicago, I’ll fill in for the first dance with our honored guest,” she said. She swung the shorter, rotund officer onto the floor and proceeded to lead through the entire three minute dance. When it was over, Major Owensby headed for the punch bowl and took half a glass of the fruit juice punch and filled the rest of the cup from a flask of whiskey in his jacket pocket.

  After the major had fortified himself, he danced with three of the younger and prettier women, then held court at a small table in the corner of the room and talked soldiering with Captain Cavanaugh, young Lieutenant O’Hara, and Major Lassiter, the surgeon and host.

  As was the custom, none of the guests could leave until the honored guest did. Major Owensby took pity on himself and the other men and bowed out relatively early. Most of the couples stayed and danced until after one A.M.

  4

  The next morning, Lieutenant O’Hara was waiting for Captain Cavanaugh when he came into his office just after breakfast. The captain invited him in and the young officer stood rigidly in front of his desk.

  “Sir, Lieutenant Timothy O’Hara of Able Troop, Thirteenth Regiment. I respectfully request a change of duty assignment to another troop on this post.”.

  Captain Cavanaugh loo
ked at Lieutenant O’Hara with surprise. “What was that again, O’Hara?”

  “I want out of Troop A and into another troop, sir!”

  Captain Cavanaugh checked the officer closely. He was not a large man, five-nine perhaps, 140 pounds but strongly built with good shoulders and a trim waist. He was single, came out of his West Point class in the eighth spot out of forty-five, four higher than Cavanaugh had five years previous to his posting in the West. He had brownish-red hair and a full bushy moustache but otherwise clean-shaven. His green eyes were angry now.

  “Sit down and relax, Lieutenant,” Cavanaugh said, waving his hand. “Now tell me what this is all about.”

  Lieutenant O’Hara remained standing at attention in front of the desk. “I’d rather stand, sir. My reasons concern the unprofessional conduct of another officer whose name I’m prevented from stating out of military courtesy.”

  “Lieutenant O’Hara, I need you in Able Troop. I’ve made it our Quick Ride. We need two officers there for the best tactical operation of your fifty-one men.”

  “I know that, Captain. I hate to leave the men, but my position at present is intolerable and interferes with the performance of my duties.”

  “I respect your adherence to the honor code, O’Hara. I’ll look into the problem. Give me a week. For now, just stay with your men.”

  “Thank you, sir. I don’t mean to complain ...”

  “I’m glad you came in. Dismissed.”

  O’Hara returned Cavanaugh’s salute, turned sharply and walked out.

  The fort’s executive officer dug into his paperwork and was halfway through with an overview of a request he was making for additional, vitally needed officers at Fort Wallace, when Jackman knocked and burst into the room.

  “Sir. We just brought in a wounded civilian from an Indian raid. Major wants you over to Doc Lassiter’s office right away.”