A.N: Hello again guys. This should be the last couple of chapters set in the Wounded Knee period of the Time line. I swear to God this must be the longest prologue EVER for anything. After this we should be moving along to a point where Booker is invited to Columbia, or at least has a huge time skip.
As always, please send a review at the end of the chapter whether you like it or hate it. All a follow or favourite tells me is I'm doing something right. Reviews are the key to me finding out just what needs improvement and that is damn good motivation.
And now, on with the show...
CH4 – The Massacre at Wounded Knee
December 29th 1890 – 0500
Dawn was just breaking as Booker woke, and in the east the sun was just cresting over the ridge. Around him the flock was still sleeping, so he was careful to keep quiet when he got up. The fire was practically embers at this point, and the chill of the winter night left everyone shivering in their sleep. Booker resolved to fetch some firewood.
Reaching into the sack he had slung around Mary, he retrieved a small hatchet, looking at it in disgust for a moment as he remembered what a similar weapon had done to his comrade the previous day. Finally, he hooked it to his belt and wandered over to a cluster of trees some 100yards away, not wanting to awaken his fellows. The hatchet proved more than enough to cut through the soggy lumber, and soon Booker was dragging a sizeable pile back towards the remains of the fire. Lighting the drier pieces by match proved enough to start it up, and the wetter ones rapidly began to join them.
Booker heard the person approach before he saw them. Mathias, the man who had been causing trouble the last few days, sat down a few feet away. The two kept to themselves, staring into the dancing waves of the fire in front of them. After about 10 minutes, Mathias finally broke the silence.
"So what's on your mind?"
Booker didn't react in any way. He wasn't really in the mood for a conversation, especially with the man who had made his life so difficult these past few days. Mathias obviously realised this too, but decided to press on regardless.
"Oh come on kid. You and I both know something's got you worried, and it isn't all your dead friend. I'm sorry bout that by the way. No one deserves what they did to 'im..."
Booker finally turned and met Mathias's gaze.
"Nothing you could have done. Getting him out would have cost the whole mission." Booker sighed and held his head in his hands " And yeah you're right. Lean and Vivian should've been back by now. Hopefully they just got lost but..."
"Doubt they're that stupid right?"
"Yeah, Monroe's too good at reading maps for that."
"What do you reckon our odds are without 'em?"
Booker looked over at the man once again, defeat showing just barely in his expression.
"Honestly, I don't know. Head on assault we've got no chance, even if those two were here. And they sure as hell aren't letting you guys back in now."
"Well then I guess we better come up with a new plan."
Though he tried not to show it, Booker couldn't quite hide the incredulous look on his face. "You have any ideas lay 'em on me"
Mathias's face was now grinning.
"Weelllll, while I'm all for killing every SOB in that camp, seems to me we're gonna have to sneak a few guys in somehow, bust out that family, and get the fuck outta there. We can still probably pick a few off if we're quiet."
If Booker had been doubtful before, the look he was giving Mathias now practically screamed are you crazy!
"Yeah great plan and all, but how the hell are you gonna get us into that camp at all, in daylight no less!?"
"Simple. We get the quieter guys together into the infiltrating group, and everyone else makes as much noise as they can over the hill. Maybe kidnap one of 'em or something. That should draw away most of the fighting bastards at least."
"That actually might work! But what about the distraction team? They'll get slaughtered if they come in force."
Mathias shook his head at that. "No you don't get it. The distraction only has to draw away the fighters for a few minutes. As soon as the injuns see us, we'll retreat back into the trees and grab some horses. If we're lucky, we'll make it out scot-free and the infiltrators will have plenty of time to bust in and out again. Sounds good right!"
"I can't believe I'm saying this but yeah. I can't think of any better ways at least."
By this point a few others were beginning to stir as well. Witting, slightly ahead of the others, decided to sit with the two men.
"What could you two possibly be discussing at this hour?"
The two men glanced at each-other, before Booker replied.
"How we end this whole thing."
December 29 1890 - 0620
Surprisingly, no one had voiced any complaints to the plan. It was surprisingly sound for one which had been conceived on such short notice. More surprising was how willing most were to play bait for the occasion. The flock had been divided into the two groups. 16 men alongside 7 horses would make up the distraction team, and were led by Mathias after he had revealed he had experience in gunfights. The horses would be overburdened, but there simply weren't enough of them to give to what amounted to acceptable casualties. The remaining 5 men, alongside Booker, made the infiltration group, and had 4 horses between them, 3 for the men and 1 for the hostages. Witting was also in this team, and would be acting as a second in command.
Over to the west. A shrill scream. Probably a woman's. A gunshot and the scream was gone. Oh Mathias you sick bastard.
The natives obviously heard it too. At that moment, all eyes were pointed westwards. A harsh cry from one of the men in the camp got everyone moving again. It was like an stampede of bison, as over half the camp dove into tents before running back out again, rifles in hands, feet set firmly westwards, and away from Bookers team.
"A'right people we've gotta get down there now!" he spoke in a harsh whisper.
Leaving the horses tied up a few meters into the tree-line, they rushed through the valley towards the Lakota camp. Keeping as low and fast as possible, they burst past the first line of tents. Mathias had done a great job in pulling away the warriors. The camp was almost deserted save for a few stragglers and the children, most of whom hadn't yet woken.
They had made it about halfway to the door when one of the few remaining armed men in the camp passed a tent in front of them. The natives eyes widened in shock as Booker slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs and tackling him to the ground. Somehow, the man was still able to fight back, and using his right hand to fend off the soldier, slipped a knife out from its sheath. It was a simple blade, but still cut deep enough into Bookers shoulder to make him yell out in agony.
Recoiling from the pain, it was only instinct which saved Booker from another swing. The same instinct also caused him to draw his own serrated steel combat knife. Adrenalin coursed through his veins, and his body entered its fight or flight stage. Seeing the winded native still pinned below him, it chose fight.
Blade met blade as both soldier and injun desperately sought to end each-other. Booker was only dimly aware of his comrades around him, unable to safely attack the enemy and so staying at a safe distance as the two men fought to the bitter end.
It felt like minutes had passed by the time the fight was over, but in reality only a few moves were made. After being stabbed, Booker had lunged at the injun, who successfully blocked the attack. Seeing that they were locked in position, Booker took advantage of his superior position on top of the man to head-but the native in the face. The unexpected move proved enough to distracted the native from the knife fight, and Booker took full advantage. Within five seconds of that move, the injun laid dead with a slit throat and two bloody holes carved into his chest.
Booker pulled himself back to his feet.
"Booker, you allright mate?"
"Come on we've gotta get..."
The voices zoned out as Booker stared at the corpse, eyes wide in shock. He'd just killed a man. It wasn't the first corpse he'd seen, Gardener, and Charlie both came to mind, and he'd seen several dead bodies floating down the river back in New York. But one thing he'd never done in his time there, no matter how hungry or angry; no matter how good the offer, was kill another human being.
It scared him how good it had felt. His blade plunging into the man, cutting through flesh and scraping bone.
Looking at the corpse in front of him now made him feel sick. He finally forced his eyes away from the ghastly sight, and watched as his fellows backed away from him, eyes wide in fear and staring at his chest. He looked down uncomprehendingly at himself, before working out why. He was covered in blood and gore, both the dead man's and his own, leaking out from the wound in his shoulder.
Someone's arm grabbed his shoulder. Startled he arched away, turning, knife once again in hand, but it was only Witting.
"We can discuss this later Booker, and tend to your wounds. For now we have to get that family out of here."
Family... Break out the Comstock's... Kill as many of the native bastards as you can...Avenge Gardener...
Booker shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. When he turned back to Witting, he was still in a state of shock, but looked better than before.
"Yeah...Yeah let's go."
"Mr Dewitt, sir. That shout you gave might've alerted some of 'em" One of the other men, Michael, whispered to him.
"Too late to worry bout that now. We better get a move on."
And with that, they moved on, leaving the cadaver of the recently living man to grow cold in the winter morning.
"Right lets break through this door."
They'd made it through the rest of the camp with, miraculously, no further incident. It seemed no-one else had been close enough to hear the fight that had gone on mere minutes ago, and the path ahead was fortunately clear of people.
"Dewitt, you sure they're inside?" one of the men asked.
"Gardener's last signal to me said so. Beyond that though, no idea."
Whatever was beyond that door it must've been pretty bad. Booker had seen quite clearly Gardener's expression as he looked through the bars. Absolute horror and disgust. Booker had half a mind to warn the others, but he held back. Last thing he needed was for their morale to drop now, when they were so close.
"Okay, Michael break it down"
Michael was the technician for a nearby town, and had luckily decided to bring his tools with him on for the missionary trip. He had hoped that he could have brought some modern technology as a gift to help persuade the native, but instead they (or more specifically, a crowbar) now served a new purpose; breaking down the door to the prison.
"Okay Dewitt, here we go."
The door came away from the frame with a sharp crack, causing the men to all wince. Hopefully no-one had heard that. Taking a deep breath, Booker pushed through the small opening into the cave beyond. The first thing he noted was the stench.
It was virtually pitch black, the only light coming from the open doorway and a lit torch held on a rack. In the end he was thankful for the dim lighting, because the sight in front of him was straight out of a nightmare. From the cave ceiling, two mutilated corpses had been strung up by their ankles. Their arms had been tied to their torsos and legs to each-other so none of the limbs hung loose. Both had a various cuts and bruises displayed on their limbs and torso, though any blood had drained and dried quite a while before hand. The 1st and older corpse's face was permanently contorted into a silent scream and unrecognisable after the swelling and black and purple bruising, while the other one's was missing entirely, alongside the rest of its head. The others entered he cave behind him, most of them bringing their arms to their mouth in an effort to stop themselves from retching. Several, including Michael, lost that fight when they sore the corpses.
One of the men who had just managed to stop himself spoke first "Holy shit. Is that Gardener?" Booker turned to him.
"Yeah I think so. Sons of bi..."
Witting cut him off "There's nothing we can do but pray he finds heaven now."
"Who's this other one?" Michael asked.
Everyone examined the other corpse. It seemed it had been there far longer than Gardener had, and was beginning to show several signs of decay. Despite this, it was clear to see it had once been a women, and quite a beautiful one at that The remains of a blue Petticoat and dress were held in place by the ropes.
"Not sure, but if I'm right, we've found the wife..." Booker let that comment hang for the others to digest.
"What about the others? Gardener signalled he saw 'em right?"
"Doubt he would've bothered to if he just saw a corpse. Come on we're running out of time."
Grabbing a torch, Booker moved further into the cave, the others following close behind. Every few meters another torch, unlit, was held in a rack, and Booker made it a point to light each one as he passed.
As they proceeded Booker heard a noise. A pitter-patter of something soft hitting unyielding rock. Footsteps, but too quiet to belong to a native or the any grown man for that matter. And now safely ruling out the mother, that left only one explanation; the child. Booker racked his brain as he began to give chase down the passage. What had the Lieutenant said her name was?
Began with an E. Elle? Eliza? Elizabeth!
"ELIZABETH!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping that either she or the major would hear. He was now jogging down the corridor himself. "ELIZABETH WAIT!"
The girl didn't reply. Probably scared outta her wits, Booker thought. He knew he would be in her shoes. They finally made it into a chamber, the narrow corridor giving way to a large, box-styled room. Despite his torch, it was too dark to see beyond the circle of light it provided him, so following the edge he proceeded to light several other torches attached to racks.
The girl was facing away from him when he first saw her. She wore a tattered skirt and corset, but they'd obviously once been beautiful; unsurprising considering Major Comstocks financial situation. She was sobbing, the tears falling down her face and practically hyperventilating.
She's terrified. What did they do to her?
Slowly, so he didn't alarm the girl too much, he began to move towards her.
"Hey Miss." No response came, so he took another step forward. "Miss!"
CLANG " ARGH!"
Booker cried out as a stone the size of his fist was slammed into the side of his head. Luckily he'd made the decision to take his helmet with him, or his brains would probably have been dashed around the cave. He barely had time to react before the 11yr old girl came at him again, rock swinging wildly as she tried to once again smash through the now slightly dented helmet. She was screaming the whole time, but whether in a battle-cry or fear was a mystery to him. Booker just managed to grab hold of the arm she held the blunt tool in, but even with his superior strength he found it difficult to keep a hold on. The other members of the team were arrayed around the pair in a circle, neither willing to risk harming either, nor wanting to face the same fate as Dewitt.
Even when it was clear Booker wasn't going to lose this fight, the girl still fought to break away, pulling at her trapped hand and trying to kick, claw or even bite at the soldier to free herself. Her face was filled with tears, but her expressions were changing to fast for Booker to read them all. He caught onto the fear, anger, rage and then defeat, as she finally accepted she'd lost.
Booker also saw the hope on her face when she actually looked at him properly. The darkness of the cave, even with torches, made this more difficult than it should have been, which may have explained why she had attacked so readily. He didn't doubt that some of her captors would speak English, so really she had had no reason to trust him at all.
"Are you real?" she asked, voice breathless after the short fight.
"Real enough." was his only reply.
As he said that, the entire cave shook, sending pebbles and dust down from the ceiling. Alarmed, eyes wide, the majority of the group turned to Booker and Witting, who had been silent the last few minutes. Most were already shouting.
"EARTHQUAKE!"
"WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT"
"BOOKER LET'S GO"
Booker himself was about to agree, but the little girl tugged on his shoulder, getting his attention.
"Mister, what about my daddy?"
Dammit, I forgot about the Major. "Where is he Miss? We'll get him out don't you worry." Booker asked, keeping his voice gentle. Despite how they'd met, he didn't want to distress her any more than she already was. She'll probably be a handful as she is, and looks like she'll break any moment.
She led him over to the limp body of Major Zachary Hale Comstock. Seeing the state of the man, Booker rushed to his side, putting a finger to his throat. Come on old man, we've been through too much shit for you to be dead now! The throat pulsed slightly, and Booker sighed in relief. The Major was alive, even if it doesn't look like he will be for long, Booker thought, expression darkening.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned to the others. "Okay guys, let's get the hell out!" Michael and another man slung the unconscious man between them while Booker got low enough for Elizabeth to jump on his shoulders. It was the first time he heard her giggle.
December 29 1890 – 0640
As the group neared the surface again, Booker noted that the shocks and tremors were becoming more pronounced. That was odd, surely an earthquake would be more noticeable underground than topside?
When the group finally burst outside (Booker successfully managing to cover Elizabeth's eyes as they passed the corpses) they were met with Fire and Brimstone raining down from above. Half of the forest was on fire, and a never-ending hail of bullets were raining down on the camp from 4 carriages to the west. Grenades were being tossed throughout the camp at random, blasting apart tents and natives with equal ease.
"What the fuck is going on!?" one of the men called. Booker remained silent, eyes widening in comprehension as he worked out the answer. The Lakota camp was obviously under attack, and the fire-power involved left only one group responsible.
"It's the 7th Cavalry! Those carriages over there are Hotchkiss guns! We need to move right now!"
Booker turned and ran, the others right behind him as they desperately dashed through the camp.
By some miracle, the repeating fire from the heavy weapons cut off; either because the gunners had spotted the group or friendlies were beginning to enter the camp. Either way, it made travel a lot safer.
That still wasn't enough to save one of the men. Lagging behind, a grenade rolled by his feet. The others just made it out of the blast, but for the straggler it was to close. Chunks of bloody organs flew in all directions. Another man dead because of this mess, but they carried on regardless.
The rest of the team had almost made it to the edge of the camp when they were caught again. 5 injuns, all armed with rifles, and all pointed at the group, held them up. One of them, the leader by the position in front of the group, spoke to them in a heavy accent.
"Give back soldier and the girl!"
"Over my dead body you sons of "
Booker reached for his rifle, but to his dismay, realised at some point he had somehow lost it. How is that even... fuck the knife fight! That stab must have cut the sling!
The leader laughed at Bookers obvious distress at the situation.
Elizabeth somehow wasn't crying, but tugged at his shoulder, and when he looked down he saw the pistol hidden between their bodies. As subtly as was possible, he took it from her. The leader was still laughing as he aimed
"Gladly white-m"
BANG
The leader fell backwards a a spray of gore exploding from the back of his head as the slagged bullet tore through his skull. The only man left who was holding a weapon in Bookers group was Witting. Taking advantage of the distraction, he fired of a round, sending another native to the floor. That still left three ready to fire though. Booker only had time for one last move. Elizabeth finally screamed as she was tossed to the side.
BANG BANG BANG
The force of the shots sent Booker onto his back, bleeding heavily from the left arm and chest. The third shot hit one of the men carrying the Major. The man collapsed dead, a hole cutting through his heart. Booker was somehow still barely conscious. He didn't have the strength to move, but he'd fallen just so that he saw the next few events clearly, though he wouldn't recall them later on.
The three remaining injuns were loading their shots, intent on killing the last few members of the team in the next volley. Witting and the others had thrown themselves to the ground, desperate to escape the warriors. And then, the warriors were on the floor two, blood flooding out of several gunshot wounds. Several men on horseback entered his vision, with two familiar faces at the front. Bookers head fell to the side, and his vision darkened to black.
A.N: And there's Bookers involvement in Wounded Knee. For those annoyed at how he isn't 'The White Injun' in this verse know that Bookers guilt is not supposed to be nearly as bad here. It stems more from losing his men than killing, and Booker won't become the drunken gambler he is the 'main' verse.
As always, please leave a review of the story so I actually have a starting point for improvement. Next chapter should be the last in this intro setting, and will focus more on Liz.
