Part V

Christmas had come and Christmas had passed in a matter of days. Russell had noticed definite unrest within the Sioux and only later discovered that it was caused by 40 Native American police officers.

They had been ordered to arrest Sitting Bull. An officer had been shot by the chief's bodyguard, Catch-the-Bear and all Hell broke loose as police attacked and killed Sitting Bull. Apparently, in the aftermath, Chief Big Food led the remaining Sioux away from the scene.

The government had stepped in by the time the twenty ninth of December arrived. Orders had been given by the 7th Cavalry, who had marched into the reservation, to round up all of the Sioux they could and lead them to a camp at Wounded Knee Creek. Edward and Russell had been recruited to help out with the mission.

On the 30th of December, before riding out, Russell gave twelve-year-old Fletcher a hug and told him to be good.

Edward, meanwhile, said farewell to his brother and kissed his wife goodbye.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked worriedly.

"Yeah, course I am," was his reply and he kissed her again. He put his lips to her ear and whispered, "Remember Winry. No matter how far, I'll always love you. Alright?"

"I love you too," she replied, hugging him tightly around the middle. "Promise you'll come back safely."

"I promise."

That day the two young men rode out with the Cavalry to do their deed. They herded the Sioux down a trail to the camp at the creek, pretending not to notice the whimpering children or the shivering men and women.

The night spent at the camp was quiet, almost too quiet. It should have been a sign of what was yet to come, but of course, no one would suspect.

"Drop your weapons here, please," Russell called again, gesturing to a small and growing pile of guns and firearms. "Just put them into the pile now."

He received several glowers from older men and shouts from young children, but he ignored them. "Into the pile, please," he repeated.

Most people had done so, except for one man who either didn't hear him or didn't care.

A private had taken it upon himself to confiscate the weapon. There was a short struggle between him and the Native American and before anyone registered what was happening, a shot rang out in the winter air.

It was the beginning of a truly bloody battle.

"Fire!" a commanding officer shouted, and Russell did as he was ordered.

Men and women ran every which way, children screamed and cried for their mothers. Soldiers hopped off of their horses and ran into the fray, Native Americans picked up whatever they could use for weaponry and did what they could with it.

Russell opened fire on a small group of men running from the fray. He felt his stomach lurch as he saw he had hit one in the middle of the back. He almost puked as he hit another twice, once in the shoulder, once in the leg. The blond looked away; it was almost too much.

"What do you think you're doing, man? Fire!" his superior shouted and he bit his lip, raising the gun in his hands and shooting once more.

A sudden flash of gold caught his eye and he turned his head to see Edward in the middle of it all, on the frontlines with other infantrymen. He ran guerilla-style amongst the Sioux, shooting whenever he could, the disgust at his actions evident on his face. He never saw it coming.

"EDWARD, LOOK OUT!"

So, I guess this is what it feels like to be dying?

He was sprawled out on the frozen ground, snow falling gently around him. The sound of gunfire and of death still occurred, though it was slowing. But it had only been minutes, hadn't it? Edward wasn't quite sure. The pain on his right kept him from concentrating too hard on much else.

"Edward! Oh, Christ, Edward, are you alright?!" He knew that voice. It was… Robert. Richard. Oh, what was the guy's name…? …Renaldo?

"Ed, it's me, it's Russell! Come on, don't die on me now."

"Hey, Russell," he managed, slitting his eyes open to see his worried comrade over him.

"We gotta get you back to town; you can make it, it's only your arm, right?"

"Russ… I'm not gonna make it back there in time."

"Yes, you will! I'll be damned if you don't, Edward!" By this time, Russell was in the process of slinging his friend over his shoulder and hauling him back to where the soldiers were. "Hey! One of you! Give me a hand!"

Two young soldiers, probably only eighteen years of age, looked up, alarmed.

"Come here, help me carry him! He needs a doctor, now!"