PATH OF DESTINY

Chapter 1

June 22, 1876

Montana Territory, Confluence of the Rosebud and Yellowstone Rivers

General Alfred H. Terry drained his glass with a groan and placed it on a corner of the large map that was spread out on a desk in the major's cabin of the river boat, Far West. The general's disquiet sprang from multiple sources. First and foremost was his immediate superior, General Phillip Sheridan, a man who neither offered nor accepted excuses. Unfortunately, General Terry had little else to offer. The winter campaign to drive the non-treaty Indians onto the reservations had failed miserably.

It had been a good plan; the Indians were at their most vulnerable during the winter, scattered, immobile, half-starving. Their precious horses were lean and weak for lack of grazing. The powers in Washington had been so convinced of the inevitable success of the campaign that they had rashly decreed that any Indians not on a reservation by January 1 would be declared hostile and that deadly force was authorized.

To be truly fair the utter failure of the campaign was due more to the most severe winter in fifty years and the miserly logistic resources available to the Army than to any personal or professional shortcomings of General Terry and his subordinates. Now the Army was kicking off the campaign in midsummer. The prairie grass was at its most lush. The Indians were fed, rested, and spoiling for a fight.

Two weeks previously General Terry received his orders and he and his staff had put together a plan of operations. The plan envisioned three columns advancing in a coordinated thrust to drive the hostiles north toward the reservation. That or destroy them.

A column of a thousand men under General George Crook would advance northward from Fort Fetterman in the Wyoming Territory. Colonel John Gibbon would lead a column east from Fort Ellis in western Montana and a third column consisting of the Seventh Cavalry, a battalion of infantry, and a Gatling battery would march west from Fort Abraham Lincoln in Dakota Territory.

Like the abortive winter campaign, it was a good plan that began to fall apart almost immediately. On the 17th, a mixed force of Lakota and Cheyenne led by Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse managed to surprise General Crook's column on the march and inflict such a severe drubbing that Crook withdrew back into Wyoming and took no further part in the campaign. More significantly, he failed to notify General Terry.

The general had just decided to refill his empty tumbler with the truly excellent rye whiskey provided by Grant Marsh, the taciturn but highly competent major of the Far West, when there was a firm knock on the cabin door. "Come in," Terry called out and stood as three officers entered and stood at attention.

The general returned their salutes and gestured for them to be seated. "Gentleman, I have two pieces of information that I need to make known to you. Major Reno and his battalion of the Seventh has returned from his scout." He paused and his sour expression told the other three officers that the news was going to be unwelcome. "Major Reno was not able to establish contact with General Crook's column and he did not find a concentration of hostiles that I had reason to believe was located around the headwaters of the Tongue River."

"How far did Major Reno advance?" the officer on the left of the group, sporting the two stars of a major general and an impossibly ornate jacket, demanded imperiously.

General Terry seemed on the verge of reprimanding his subordinate but harrumphed and continued his briefing. "Major Reno scouted to the headwaters of Rosebud Creek. No hostiles but the remains of a large village with several hundred lodges and a lodgepole trail heading north. The scouts estimated six to eight thousand Indians

"That's a lot of Indians," the third officer observed, "a thousand to fifteen hundred warriors."

"Any sign of General Crook's column?" Colonel John Gibbon asked with a touch of worry. Crook's column was the strongest of the three forces and in the best position to cut off an escape.

"No sign of Crook," Terry responded. "He must be farther upstream or Reno would have crossed his path. We're going to change plans or the hostiles will scatter and we'll never round them up."

"They have to be somewhere between the Rosebud and the Bighorn," the general in the flamboyant non-regulation attire spoke as if daring anyone to disagree.

"I think you're right," Terry muttered, while studying the large map that was rolled out on the steamer major's desk. The map showed the southeast corner of the Montana Territory, bits of Wyoming, and South Dakota. The Yellowstone River flowed from west to east across the top edge of the map. Tributaries generally flowing south to north joined at intervals with the Yellowstone. From east to west the larger tributaries were the Powder, Tongue, Rosebud Creek, and the Big Horn River. A few miles above the confluence of the Yellowstone and the Big Horn, the Little Big Horn River joined its larger namesake.

After studying the map for a few minutes General Terry announced, "Custer, I want you to take the entire Seventh Cavalry and follow the trail that Major Reno found. Pitch into anything you find. I'll take the infantry up the Yellowstone and march to the mouth of the Big Horn. You will rejoin the rest of the column at the mouth of the Little Big Horn on the 26th."

Custer nodded. "We'll leave in the morning."

"I'll assign a battalion of the Second and a Gatling gun battery—"

"Not necessary," Custer snapped. "The Seventh can handle any hostiles we encounter."

General Terry shrugged. "Very well, Colonel." He'd be damned if he'd address that cocky glory hound by his brevet (honorary) rank of major general. The Civil War had been over for a decade and Custer was still parading himself as a general instead of his official rank of lieutenant colonel. "Dismissed, gentleman. Major Castle, remain please."

The youngest of the four officers who had been standing quietly in the background snapped to attention. He almost managed to control the sudden thrill of fear. Surely they hadn't managed to track him here.

General Terry chuckled at the major's startlement. "Relax, Castle, you're not in any trouble. Quite the contrary. Take a seat, Major."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Major Castle slipped into one of the two chairs but remained upright and somewhat rigid.

"Major, what would you have done in Custer's place?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Would you have accepted the extra troops?"

"There's three things I'd never turn down, sir," Terry raised a sardonic eyebrow and Castle continued, "a beautiful woman, good whiskey, and more troops. Oh and a good fight."

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Major. Therefore, I'm going to take a battalion from the Second, four companies, and send them under your command to reinforce Custer if necessary or round up any strays that get by the Seventh."

"Thank you, sir. Is Colonel Gib—"

"Colonel Gibbon is aware of your mission. In fact, he was one of two strong advocates for you being offered this command. He says you're a bit unorthodox, but still the best company commander he's seen."

"May I ask who the second advocate was, sir?"

"The president," Terry said with a wicked grin.

"The president…of the United States, sir? President Grant?"

"Indeed, he has a special request."

"Uh, yes, sir, of course."

"There's a reporter outside who wants to shadow a cavalry officer on campaign."

"Do you know the name of this reporter, sir?

"Hamish McGarrity."

Major Castle managed to catch his jaw just before it smacked the desktop. "Hamish McGarrity, the columnist for the Chicago Tribune and Harper's Weekly? The best known and arguably the best journalist in the country?"

"Yes, the very same. So, you're a reader, Major?"

"Well, sir, when you're stationed at Fort Ellis in the winter there's not much to do except drink, gamble, or read."

Three soft but surprisingly authoritative knocks sounded, interrupting the general's attempts at making small talk. "That should be your reporter now." The general stood and strode to the door, passing out of Castle's line of sight.

Rick remained seated, focusing on the campaign map and trying to figure the best way to get his battalion to the rendezvous by the 26th. Far back in his mind he heard the reporter greet General Terry. The voice was soft, almost musical. Not the voice one would normally associate with a hard driving, take no prisoners journalist. Castle turned in his chair, caught sight of the reporter, and had his second jaw-dropping experience of the night. "You… You're…You're a woman!"He exclaimed, as scrambled to his feet.

The woman laughed. Under normal circumstances, he would have thought it a very nice laugh, alluring even. But….

"Do you always demonstrate such mental agility, Major?"

Her lips quirked up in an amused smile. Castle fought off a wave of vertigo. "You're Hamish McGarrity?"

Again, that smile that sent Castle's stomach turning flips. "For my many sins, I am."

General Terry chose that moment to interrupt. "Your pardon, Miss Beckett, but I neglected to properly introduce you. Miss Katherine Beckett, may I introduce you to Major Richard Castle, Second United States Cavalry."

"Pleased to meet you, Major," She offered her hand for a shake but instead he raised her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckle. "Oh my," she blushed, "gallant as well as valiant."

"Ma'am," Castle's smile faded. "This is a truly bad idea. This campaign is going to be extremely demanding and that's not even considering God only knows how many hostile Indians. You should stay here with the steamer."

Kate's glare sizzled with anger. "Why? Because I'm a female?"

"Er…yes, and—"

"This not my first tea party, Major. I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can, but—"

"If you knew me, Major, you'd know I'm more than a little stubborn. I will get my story. Earthquakes, prison riots, fires, wars, pirates, corrupt politicians, Hamish McGarrity has covered them all. I've always told the truth, except for one thing."

Castle met the fire in her gaze with intense curiosity. "What was that, Miss Beckett?"

"I led everyone to believe I was a man. I used a male byline and always went in disguise. I'm tired of it. Sick to death of it, to be more precise."

Castle turned to General Terry for support. "Sir, this is—"

"A direct request from the president," the general responded. "I guess I could send her with Custer."

"No!" Castle exploded.

Beckett took a step back, surprised by the vehemence of his response. Her quizzical glance went unnoticed by the impassioned officer.

"She can't go with him, General," Castle clenched his fists until his skin blanched. "He'll bed her then toss her away like a piece of trash!" The reactions to Castle's outburst ran the gamut. He chastised himself unmercifully for losing control and creating a multitude of questions with a paucity of answers.

General Terry had heard rumors that there was bad blood between Major Castle and Colonel Custer but they served several hundred mile apart and it really wasn't any of his business.

Beckett blushed furiously at Castle's last statement. As it faded she couldn't decide whether to be angry or intrigued, finally settling on intrigued. There had to be a story there somewhere. She turned back in time to hear General Terry's final instructions. "Major, you are responsible for Miss Beckett's safety. You still report to me. You will support Colonel Custer if necessary, but you will in no case go looking for a fight. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. Dismissed."

Castle gestured toward the cabin door and opened it for Beckett. "Well, Miss Becket, I guess we need to find you a horse."

"No need, I have my own. She strode to the gangway and halfway down, she turned back to see the bemused officer standing at the top of the ramp. "You coming, Major Castle?"

A/N

Reposted to correct some details and to allow Lady A to work her magic

This story has been running around in my head since I read a paper that my daughter wrote on women who have transcended gender barriers. She chose to write about female war correspondents. I found that idea fascinating and combined that with a long running interest in The Battle of the Little Bighorn. I chose to insert a female correspondent (gotta be a love story, right?) into the story without totally destroying the historical narrative.

There are many "what if" scenarios attached to the battle. Prior to the beginning of the campaign, Col. Custer was offered reinforcements in the form of a battalion from the Second Cavalry. He refused and led his men into a fight where he was outnumbered by at least 8 to 1! Would the additional troops have made a difference? Maybe. Will the cavalry officer haunted by his past and the female journalist attached to the expedition survive? Will they find the peace they've both been searching for?

Now sound Boots and) and ride into history to the tune of Garry Owen !