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The ambush had worked like a charm! Hundreds upon hundreds of mounted warriors had hid in the gulches between the forested ridges near the hated fort that guarded the Road of Thieves which cut right through the Powder River hunting grounds.

The decoy group had attacked the wood cutters from the fort. Predictably, the soldiers in the fort had sent a relief force thundering across the ice-caked plains towards the ensuing skirmish. The decoy warriors had feigned cowardice, fast enough to make it look like a hurried retreat, yet slow enough to make sure the horse soldiers would try to move in for the kill.

All the while the Lakota and Cheyenne fighting men - and women - had silently waited in the gullies. Not one had sprung the trap too early. Maybe it was the freezing temperatures that had made everbody whish so hard to make this one big fight the one that would decide the matter.

Finally the signal had been given, and all of a sudden the warriors had swarmed out of their hiding places! There had been a vision that the warriors would kill a hundred soldiers. It surely looked like a force of a hundred soldiers they had faced. The fighting had been fast and savage. Quarter was neither given nor expected. The horse soldiers had been followed by foot soldiers. In their greed for taking the scalps of the brave decoy warriors, the horse soldiers had galloped far in advance of the struggling foot soldiers. The warriors had quickly surrounded and beaten them. Panicked, the surviving horse soldiers had scurried back to the foot soldiers. The rout had become a gruesome chase. One by one they had felled the hated bluecoats. The last of them had now sought refuge among a formation of rocks between the snowy pines, hoping to make a stand.

But Eagle Road Woman and Hawk Woman had already been waiting for them there. Eagle Road Woman had cast off her warm buffalo robe and sent arrow after arrow into the thick mass of panicked, writhing and falling bluecoats. The cold was cutting into her skin as she emptied her quiver. Two of the last bluecoats who were still mounted galloped through the pines right towards her and Hawk Woman!

She loosed another arrow, aiming at one of the riders but missed. Her hands were getting numb from the cold.

" Ná-ná'tȯsėhe'onávose...", [My hands are cold...], she mumbled to herself, reaching for another arrow. Her next arrow hit the horse of one of the bluecoat riders. It reared, throwing the frightened rider off. She smiled grimly. Better than nothing! If it only wasn't so awfully cold!

As he scrambled back on his feet she unleashed her last arrow, aiming straight for his head! The vé'ho'e stumbled, and her arrow only hit his hat, taking it with it into the snow.

" Matse!"[crap! ], she hissed. Her arrows depleated now, she cast away her archer gear and grabbed her gunstock club. Now she had to get this one up-close! Dashing through the snow, she quickly cast an envious glance over to Hawk Woman who was standing by the war ponies, comfortably ensconced in a five point blanket capote. That buffalo robe which you couldn't fight in had been a silly idea!

" He'anó'o'xeha!" [Go get him!], Hawk Woman shouted!

Determined, she closed in on the disoriented ve'ho'e! It was the bugler, the man who gave the signals for the other bluecoats with his yellow metal broadflute! She would silence him forever, here and now! Panicked, the bluecoat raised a pistol at her, but his thick, gloved fingers, failed to pull the trigger in time. The next moment she slammed the broad side of her club into the vé'ho'e with a shrieking yell! He slammed backwards into the snow as Eagle Road Woman dropped the big club and reached for her scalping knife. With a hoarse scratching sound, the blade was pulled from its hard-leather sheath, beamed for a split-second high in the dying evening sun and then thrust down on the enemy. A final leap, and Eagle Road Woman was upon him!

Like it or not, distance was, after all, a woman warrior's best friend as close combat with enemy men was a dangerous thing. Many men were frighteningly strong as she had learned in a rather shocking way several summers ago when she had had a close fight with a cornered, hatchet-wielding brute of a Pawnee warrior. It had taken the quick help of another two fighting sisters who had finally wrestled him down and smashed in his ugly, shaven skull. But this one was different, a boy rather, paralyzed with mortal fear! He tried to swing his metal broadflute at her, but she simply grabbed his hand and pressed it backwards into the snow. Defenseless he lay beneath her as she straddled him and plunged her knife right into his blue-clad chest!

A cry, first silent, then louder and louder with shock and pain, rose from his grotesquely wide open mouth, his eyes almost popping out of his pale face. She thrust the blade a bit deeper into his chest, just enough to cause him unspeakable terror and pain but not deep enough to kill him yet. She didn't feel the cold any more in this moment of triumph. She relished the moment, eagerly drinking the boundless terror from his wide open eyes. She knew that he knew that she was going to kill him right now! She looked down at his alien clothing which seemed to cover, layer upon layer, every little part of his body. The fact that he didn't wear a breechclout made him look pathetic and unmanly. His enclosed-rump-leggings reminded her of the bloomers which could be observed on white women when they were captured on the warpath and sometimes their skirts came off. She felt his legs kicking beneath her, the hard, cold whiteman-leather of his ve'ho'e hightop-mocassins feebly slapping against her freezing behind. She bowed down closer to him, savoring the brutal intimacy of the moment to the fullest.

"Please... don't...!", the unintelligible squeamish sounds seemed to plead with her. What a fool.

"Shhhh...!" she cautioned him not to ruin this magic moment. He didn't understand. As his quivering lips tried to form ever new pleas for mercy, she gently cooed him into silence and, slowly leaning forward, putting all her weight on the blade, pushed it slowly down into him to the hilt.

____________

On this very day, at this very moment, exactly 150 years ago, Lakota and Cheyenne warriors annihilated Captain Wiliam Fetterman and his force of 80 soldiers just outside Fort Phil Kearney in what would later become Wyoming. It is said that the bugler, corporal Adolph Metzger, fought with his bugle after he had run out of ammunition and died last.

The battle, then dubbed the Fetterman Massacre, was the biggest defeat of American troops at the hands of Plains Indians ever and remains the second biggest defeat of US forces on the plains after the battle of the Little Bighorn. It was a decisive blow that helped win Red Cloud's war, the only Indian War that ever ended in a strategic US retreat.

Description

The ambush had worked like a charm! Hundreds upon hundreds of mounted warriors had hid in the gulches between the forested ridges near the hated fort that guarded the Road of Thieves which cut right through the Powder River hunting grounds.

The decoy group had attacked the wood cutters from the fort. Predictably, the soldiers in the fort had sent a relief force thundering across the ice-caked plains towards the ensuing skirmish. The decoy warriors had feigned cowardice, fast enough to make it look like a hurried retreat, yet slow enough to make sure the horse soldiers would try to move in for the kill.

All the while the Lakota and Cheyenne fighting men - and women - had silently waited in the gullies. Not one had sprung the trap too early. Maybe it was the freezing temperatures that had made everbody whish so hard to make this one big fight the one that would decide the matter.

Finally the signal had been given, and all of a sudden the warriors had swarmed out of their hiding places! There had been a vision that the warriors would kill a hundred soldiers. It surely looked like a force of a hundred soldiers they had faced. The fighting had been fast and savage. Quarter was neither given nor expected. The horse soldiers had been followed by foot soldiers. In their greed for taking the scalps of the brave decoy warriors, the horse soldiers had galloped far in advance of the struggling foot soldiers. The warriors had quickly surrounded and beaten them. Panicked, the surviving horse soldiers had scurried back to the foot soldiers. The rout had become a gruesome chase. One by one they had felled the hated bluecoats. The last of them had now sought refuge among a formation of rocks between the snowy pines, hoping to make a stand.

But Eagle Road Woman and Hawk Woman had already been waiting for them there. Eagle Road Woman had cast off her warm buffalo robe and sent arrow after arrow into the thick mass of panicked, writhing and falling bluecoats. The cold was cutting into her skin as she emptied her quiver. Two of the last bluecoats who were still mounted galloped through the pines right towards her and Hawk Woman!

She loosed another arrow, aiming at one of the riders but missed. Her hands were getting numb from the cold.

" Ná-ná'tȯsėhe'onávose...", [My hands are cold...], she mumbled to herself, reaching for another arrow. Her next arrow hit the horse of one of the bluecoat riders. It reared, throwing the frightened rider off. She smiled grimly. Better than nothing! If it only wasn't so awfully cold!

As he scrambled back on his feet she unleashed her last arrow, aiming straight for his head! The vé'ho'e stumbled, and her arrow only hit his hat, taking it with it into the snow.

" Matse!"[crap! ], she hissed. Her arrows depleated now, she cast away her archer gear and grabbed her gunstock club. Now she had to get this one up-close! Dashing through the snow, she quickly cast an envious glance over to Hawk Woman who was standing by the war ponies, comfortably ensconced in a five point blanket capote. That buffalo robe which you couldn't fight in had been a silly idea!

" He'anó'o'xeha!" [Go get him!], Hawk Woman shouted!

Determined, she closed in on the disoriented ve'ho'e! It was the bugler, the man who gave the signals for the other bluecoats with his yellow metal broadflute! She would silence him forever, here and now! Panicked, the bluecoat raised a pistol at her, but his thick, gloved fingers, failed to pull the trigger in time. The next moment she slammed the broad side of her club into the vé'ho'e with a shrieking yell! He slammed backwards into the snow as Eagle Road Woman dropped the big club and reached for her scalping knife. With a hoarse scratching sound, the blade was pulled from its hard-leather sheath, beamed for a split-second high in the dying evening sun and then thrust down on the enemy. A final leap, and Eagle Road Woman was upon him!

Like it or not, distance was, after all, a woman warrior's best friend as close combat with enemy men was a dangerous thing. Many men were frighteningly strong as she had learned in a rather shocking way several summers ago when she had had a close fight with a cornered, hatchet-wielding brute of a Pawnee warrior. It had taken the quick help of another two fighting sisters who had finally wrestled him down and smashed in his ugly, shaven skull. But this one was different, a boy rather, paralyzed with mortal fear! He tried to swing his metal broadflute at her, but she simply grabbed his hand and pressed it backwards into the snow. Defenseless he lay beneath her as she straddled him and plunged her knife right into his blue-clad chest!

A cry, first silent, then louder and louder with shock and pain, rose from his grotesquely wide open mouth, his eyes almost popping out of his pale face. She thrust the blade a bit deeper into his chest, just enough to cause him unspeakable terror and pain but not deep enough to kill him yet. She didn't feel the cold any more in this moment of triumph. She relished the moment, eagerly drinking the boundless terror from his wide open eyes. She knew that he knew that she was going to kill him right now! She looked down at his alien clothing which seemed to cover, layer upon layer, every little part of his body. The fact that he didn't wear a breechclout made him look pathetic and unmanly. His enclosed-rump-leggings reminded her of the bloomers which could be observed on white women when they were captured on the warpath and sometimes their skirts came off. She felt his legs kicking beneath her, the hard, cold whiteman-leather of his ve'ho'e hightop-mocassins feebly slapping against her freezing behind. She bowed down closer to him, savoring the brutal intimacy of the moment to the fullest.

"Please... don't...!", the unintelligible squeamish sounds seemed to plead with her. What a fool.

"Shhhh...!" she cautioned him not to ruin this magic moment. He didn't understand. As his quivering lips tried to form ever new pleas for mercy, she gently cooed him into silence and, slowly leaning forward, putting all her weight on the blade, pushed it slowly down into him to the hilt.

____________

On this very day, at this very moment, exactly 150 years ago, Lakota and Cheyenne warriors annihilated Captain Wiliam Fetterman and his force of 80 soldiers just outside Fort Phil Kearney in what would later become Wyoming. It is said that the bugler, corporal Adolph Metzger, fought with his bugle after he had run out of ammunition and died last.

The battle, then dubbed the Fetterman Massacre, was the biggest defeat of American troops at the hands of Plains Indians ever and remains the second biggest defeat of US forces on the plains after the battle of the Little Bighorn. It was a decisive blow that helped win Red Cloud's war, the only Indian War that ever ended in a strategic US retreat.