HONORABLE DISCHARGE

PROLOGUE

AUGUST 1865

“Harrison!”

The tension in his wife’s voice brought Harrison Gresham out of the deepest sleep he’d had in months, “Wh… what, Laura? What is it?”

“I heard someone moving around outside. They sounded… close.”

Gresham’s eyes slowly focused onto his wife’s face, the faint moonlight streaming into their one-room cabin gave her panicked expression an eerie pallor.  He shook off the last tendrils of weariness and focused his senses on picking up any hint of sound. 

“I’m not hearing anything.  Are you sure you…”

“Someone is outside.” Her pale blue eyes glowed with barely contained fear. “Please.” 

Harrison nodded at his beloved wife and moved to the small chest at the foot of their handmade bed. His familiarity with its contents made lighting a lamp unnecessary. He calmly checked the load in his Army-issued .45 revolver. The weapon had served him well through countless battles in the war between the states. He silently prayed it wouldn’t be needed now. Harrison Gresham gave his wife one last glance before moving towards the front door.

His military service had long prepared Gresham for his own death. It wasn’t until he had met and married his beloved Laura that he finally found something more precious than his country to live and die for. When she announced her pregnancy, he felt he would never come down from the clouds. That jubilation now seemed a distant memory as he slowly opened the front door of their tiny cabin to search for the source of his wife’s fears.

Nothing. There was not a breath of wind nor a whisper of sound. He fought back his own sense of foreboding and stepped onto the tiny porch, his pistol gripped tightly in his right hand. In the four months he had lived on this parcel of land, he’d never heard silence like this. Even the endless sounds from the surrounding wildlife had disappeared. The half-moonlight created a strange atmosphere across the property, adding to his growing sense of alarm. Something was clearly wrong. He moved to the end of his porch and searched for any signs of intruders. Again, only the strange silence greeted him. His alarm shifted to panic when his search ended at the barn. 

Gresham strained to hear any sounds coming from the barn’s darkened interior but even his stabled horses made no sound. Slowly, he made his way to the barn door, its hinges creaking as he entered. The relentless quiet greeted him as he moved toward the stables. He could feel the dread welling up in his chest when he reached the horses’ feed trough. Where there would typically be a response to his presence, there was silence. Gresham reached the gate leading into the stalls and his heart sank. The gate was unlatched. The horses were gone.

“HARRISON!”

His wife’s panicked voice shattered the silence. Without thinking, Gresham sprinted through the darkness toward the barn door. He threw it open and froze. The empty space between his home and the barn was now filled with over a dozen red-skinned warriors. Every man wore warpaint on his face, their bare upper torsos, and on their buffalo skin leggings. Harrison immediately recognized their tribal markings and swallowed hard with the realization. These were no ordinary natives. A war party of Lakota Sioux had descended on his home with obviously violent intent.

Several of the Lakotas were mounted on horses, two of which belonged to him. The rest stood in a jagged line blocking him from his home and his wife. In the center of the line, sitting atop a black stallion, was the unmistakable leader of the band of raiders, his enormous headpiece clearly announcing his title as the party’s war chief. 

Gresham’s eyes moved from the chieftain to the group of painted warriors assembled around him. He took note of his two mares bearing the fiercest looking of the Sioux raiders at the end of their intimidating line. His silent survey of the scene ended on the darkened house behind his attackers, the sound of his wife crying for help echoing across their property. His grip tightened around the handle of his service revolver.

“What do you want?” His voice dripped with anger and fear.

The warrior chieftain did not move. He sat on his horse and stared at him, seemingly oblivious to the sounds of the struggle coming from the cabin. The weight of helplessness threatened to crush Harrison Gresham’s heart as he watched two Sioux warriors drag his wife out of their home and throw her into the dirt. Harrison’s eyes met hers and saw her terror. 

He returned his attention back to the warriors’ leader, “My name is Captain Harrison Gresham. You and your men are attacking an officer of the United States Army. There will be severe consequences to you and your men if you do not cease from this course of action and leave my land, immediately.”

The chieftain shifted in his saddle and leaned upon its horn, “Not your land.”

Harrison’s expression reflected his confusion, “What?”

He pointed at Harrison with an edged weapon that was clearly made of bone and stone, “You took land. Not your land.”

Gresham shook his head, “You think… Are you saying I stole this land?”

The war chief waved his arms, “Lakota land. Our land. Not yours.”

Despite his best efforts, Gresham’s fear bled into his voice, “What do you want?” 

The Lakota leader stared at Harrison Gresham with a look of utter contempt. “You leave. Go. Now.”

“Go? What do… You want us to leave? Now? Tonight?!?”

The chieftain raised his right hand and Gresham’s wife screamed as one of the two braves put a knife to her throat.

Gresham’s heart stopped, “WAIT! Wait!” He held up his left hand and waved it at the warrior. “Let the woman go and I’ll give you anything you want. You want the horses?” He gestured toward the two mares that had once belonged to him. “They’re yours. Take them. Just… Please don’t hurt my wife.”

The war chief stared at Gresham for what seemed like an eternity before lowering his hand and returning it to the saddle horn. “You will go. Now.”

Gresham nodded. “I’ll need some time to gather some things.”

Dark eyes narrowed, “You will go. Now.”

Harrison Gresham studied the Lakota warriors for several seconds before realizing the truth of their situation and his fear melted into renewed anger. He slowly cocked the hammer on his pistol while nodding at the warrior chief.

Gresham dropped to his right knee and put two bullets into the two braves guarding his wife. Before anyone could act, he centered his pistol onto the warrior chief’s head. The Sioux leader was dead before his falling body reached the earth.

“Laura! RUN!”

The remaining Sioux exploded into action but not before the kneeling Gresham had put his remaining rounds into three more of his attackers. He watched his beloved wife half-stagger, half-run into the house before rolling to his feet and sprinting for the safety of his barn. A gunshot echoed off the barn’s walls followed by a fiery pain in his right shoulder that took his breath away. Before he could react to the wound, another gunshot announced the arrival of more lead, this time striking his left leg.

Gresham dropped to his knees in agony facing the barn as three angry Sioux warriors slowly surrounded him, all with weapons trained onto him. From behind him, another gunshot sounded. Only this time it was the familiar sound of the shotgun he kept hanging over the cabin door. He glanced behind him in time to see a Sioux warrior running toward his cabin. He smiled through his pain when the Sioux ran directly into a second blast from the shotgun held in his wife’s hands. But his smile quickly evaporated when a second warrior grabbed his wife from behind while she ratcheted another round into the gun’s chamber.

“NO!” His panicked cry fell on deaf ears as he helplessly watched a savage-looking Sioux disarm her and knock her to the ground. His eyes flew across the four remaining warriors desperately searching for some way to save his wife and escape the madness that had descended upon them. His wife’s screams brought his focus back onto the Sioux dragging her by her hair through the line of remaining raiders towards his position. Pain and panic tore through his body when the warrior stopped in front of him, his wife’s dirt and tear stained face reflecting the horror in his own heart.

A wicked-looking knife appeared in the Sioux’s free hand and before Harrison Gresham could utter a word, his wife’s throat was opened in front of him. He helplessly watched his beloved bride’s life pour out of her body before the night air was filled with the sound of his rage followed by gunfire from the remaining Sioux warriors.

**************

DECEMBER 28, 1890

It was a rare morning when Harrison Gresham’s restless slumber was not violently interrupted by the same nightmare. This was not one of those mornings.

“Are you alright, Colonel?” A young private stood at the entrance to the tent serving as Gresham’s quarters. “I heard you cry out…”

Gresham slowly rose from his cot and waved the young man off. “I’m fine, Private. That’ll be all.”

The soldier quickly saluted his company commander and exited without another word. Gresham let the silence wash over him in a futile attempt to cleanse his mind of the anger left in the nightmare’s hellish wake. Twenty-five years removed from that horrible day and his rage was as fresh as the day he had lost her.

Gresham shook his head. No, he hadn’t lost her. She had been taken from him, both she and their unborn child. They had been taken from him by the savages contaminating the land. He moved to the wash basin and stared at his reflection in the glass. The old man staring back at him looked worn and tired. But the fire in his eyes burned with eternal purpose. Twenty-five years of killing had done nothing to soothe his rage. If anything, it had only grown stronger.

“Colonel Gresham.” Another intrusion, this time from one of his officers. “It’s the Lakota, sir.”

The Colonel took a moment to wash and dry his face before turning to the man standing at attention at his tent entrance. “What about them?”

“Scouts report Sitanka’s Miniconjous are camped about 20 miles northeast. And…” the officer paused before continuing, “They’re apparently still performing the Ghost Dance, sir.”

Gresham's eyes hardened as he whispered his reaction to no one in particular, “Give these savages an inch…” He moved toward a lone wooden table covered in maps and papers, his growing anger filling the tent, “Show me.”

The officer joined Gresham and carefully studied one of the maps. “There.” He pointed at a bend in a thin line. “They’re camped here, near this creek.”

Gresham nodded. “Muster the men. Make sure the Hotchkiss guns are loaded up.”

“Sir?”

Gresham turned to face the officer, “Did you not hear the order, Captain Austin?”

Austin nodded, “Yes sir. I’m just wondering why you need artillery to police a group of native women, children, and elderly men.”

Gresham’s cold, pale eyes slowly traveled across his officer’s scarred face. It was the scars, and how the officer had received them, that kept Gresham from lashing out at him. When he finally spoke, his vocal cords were drenched in barely contained rage, “Captain Austin, I would think you, of all people, would be aware of the inherent dangers associated with questioning my orders.” He could feel the heat rising in his face, “I trust you do not wish for me to repeat my clearly communicated orders to you.”

Austin blinked, “No sir, Colonel. I’ll muster the men and… and the guns.”

The Colonel waited until his officer had turned to exit the tent, “Tell me, Matthew. What is the name of the creek they’re camped by?”

“I believe it’s called ‘Wounded Knee’, sir.”

Gresham removed a thin cigar from his jacket pocket as he spoke, “I’ll say this about those savages. They certainly come up with appropriate names.” He stuck the cigar between his teeth.  “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Captain Matthew Austin’s response was a long, silent stare before saluting. He turned without waiting for a response from his commanding officer and exited the tent. 

Colonel Harrison Gresham’s eyes remained frozen on the empty tent entrance until he finished lighting his cigar.

EXCERPT FROM C. W. MURPHY'S NEWEST NOVEL: HONORABLE DISCHARGE