It Walks on Four legs

Captain Arthur Ashford sat on his haunches beneath a tree and smoked the last of his tobacco. With his right hand he tucked a long strand of his greasy blonde locks behind his ear. He couldn't recall the last time he bothered to shave or trim his hair. It seemed the least of his worries now.

The sun was setting over Milliken's Bend and it seemed like it was setting over the whole confederacy. The day had started with promise. He'd linked up with Brigadier general McCulloch and his brigade of 1,500 men.

They were 3,000 men strong when they descended from the north side, above the bend in the river.

They had won the day, but at what cost? Arthur had seen general McCulloch's horse shot out beneath him and in the ensuing fall, the man was crushed beneath his dead horse. It seemed like a bad omen, from the start.

The union boys had put up one hell of a fight, they had torn through most of the confederates, with heavy cannon fire and that was before they were forced to cross the moving water. It was only by the grace of his second in command Lieutenant Edward Riley and his sharpshooters in the trees that they'd had any chance to get close. They had picked off every man running the cannons at least twice. so much so that they abandoned them altogether.

What the union boys lacked in numbers they made of for in sheer ferocity. Many of his men came to the other side of the river confronted by negro soldiers sporting knifes and using rifles like clubs and began beating their adversaries to death.

His men were still counting casualties but they were likely at about a third of their strength.

Arthur's war secretary Robert Grayson approached. A pale young man who was thin with a round face and a mop of red hair.

"Sir." He said formally.

"What's your report?" Arthur asked.

"We lost 2,144 men sir, including general McCulloch."

"I'm aware that general McCulloch is no longer with us, what else."

"We have 64 men in custody, most of them slaves dressed like soldiers."

"Anyone with a title and rank?"

"We've got a colonel, a black corporal, and a few lieutenants, the rest are regular army."

Arthur snuffed out his roll of tobacco and stood up. He began pacing thinking about what Robert just told him.

"What are our orders sir?"

"We'll give the men who surrendered full quarter as is custom. I'll send word back to general Walker in Oak Grove, inform him of what happened here. “We’ll wait for his instruction.”

"Yes sir, one more thing." Robert pulled a Cherokee tomahawk from his belt and handed it to Arthur. "Lieutenant Riley said this belonged to you, he said he pulled out of a mans skull, washed the blood off and gave it a good polish, he said it was sharper than before."

"I'll have to thank him for that." Arthur looked at Robert, the young man seemed clearly concerned. "Robert, go find some supper and get some rest, we've won the day."

the young man slouched a little before turning and walking away. Arthur held up the tomahawk to the waning light and inspected it. It had been given as a gift from a friend of his father when he was little more that a cub.

Arthur's first encounter had particularly violent. He had left his horse behind to wade across the water. Once on dry land he trained his rifle on the blue coat he saw.

his rifle was knocked away by a black soldier twice his size. The man pulled a knife and swung wildly at Arthur, nearly slicing his throat.

Arthur pulled the tomahawk from his belt and with a horizontal swipe, planted the blade between the man's lips, cracking his teeth and severing his tongue. The man crumbled to the ground but didn't die. Arthur retrieved his rifle from muddy ground and used the heavy end to cave the soldier's head in.