The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry

“You can’t say ‘Indian’ anymore.”

“Well, shit. How about ‘numbskull?’” Alexander said. “Does that offend any race, creed, or religion?”

“Creed and religion are the same thing.”

“No, they’re not,” Karina Ballentine said. “Creed is a set of beliefs, and religion is the worship of deities.”

“Actually, we prefer ‘cranially challenged’ to ‘numbskull.’”

“You’re personality-challenged, Paxton.”

“Will you people shut the fuck up!” Alexander yelled. “I feel like a goddamned kindergarten teacher.”

“Early childhood instructor.”

“Mentor of diminutive peeps.”

“Jesus Christ!” Alexander said.

“Now I’m offended.”

“More coming,” Kawalski said. “A bunch, and you better get out of the way. They’re in a hurry.”

Thirty people hurried past Alexander and the others. They were all dressed the same way; simple short tunics and no shoes. Their clothing was ragged and made of a gray, coarsely-woven cloth. A few of the people pulled oxen and goats along behind them. Some carried crude farm tools, and one woman carried an earthen pot filled with wooden kitchen utensils.

Alexander stepped out to grab an old man by the arm. “Who are you people, and what’s the hurry?”

The old man yelled and tried to pull away, but Alexander held tight.

“Don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you.”

But the man was afraid; in fact, he was terrified. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, jabbering some words.

“What the hell language is that?” Alexander asked.

“Nothing I ever heard,” Lojab said as he cradled his M16 rifle and stood beside Alexander.

“Me either,” Joaquin said from the other side of Alexander.

The old man looked from one face to the next. He was obviously frightened by these strangers, but much more afraid of something behind him.

Several more people ran past, then the old man jerked his arm free and pulled his ox along, trying to get away.

“You want me to stop him, Sarge?” Lojab asked.

“No, let him get out of here before he has a heart attack.”

“His words were definitely not the Pashtun language.”

“Not Arabic either.”

“Or Urdu.”

“Urdu?”

“That’s what the Pacs speak,” Sharakova said. “And English. If they were Pakistani, they probably would have understood your English, Sarge.”

“Yeah.” Alexander watched the last of the people disappear along the trail. “That’s what I thought. And they’re too fair-skinned to be Pakistani.”

“Uh-oh,” Kawalski said.

“Now what?” Alexander asked.

“Elephants.”

“We’re definitely in India.”

“I doubt we were that far off course,” Alexander said.

“Well,” Kawalski said, “you might ask those two chick peeps where we are.”

“What two chicks?”

“On top of the elephants.”

Chapter Two

“Ninety percent of Indians speak English,” Ledbetter said.

“Hey, Apache,” Joaquin said, “Lead Butt said ‘Indians.’”

“That’s okay; they are Indians,” Eaglemoon said.

“Why not Native Asian Subcontinenters?”

Alexander shook his head. “We’re not in India. It’s probably a circus troupe.”

“Yeah? Well, they must have put on one hell of a show to scare the shit out of all those people.”

“Kawalski,” Alexander said, “are the two women armed?”

“Yeah.”

“With what?”

“Bows and arrows, and…”

Alexander glanced at Joaquin, who raised an eyebrow.