 Recorded books presents The Second Coming of Lucas Brocall by Matt Braun, narrated by me George Guadel, to my folks who lighted the path, by Shelley. I change, but I cannot die. I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, and out of the caverns of rain, like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again, prologue. June 25, 1947, his horse faltered and broke stride. All around him the battle raged, punctuated by shrill war cries and the garbled sounds of death. Dust rose thicker above the hill, mixed with the billowy dinge of powder smoke blotting out the sun. Under the haze, flashes of gunfire blinked like golden fireflies. Arrows slithered past, swift and angry, whispering on the wind. A wayward slug whoumped into flesh, splattering blood across his arle. His horse suddenly went down, tumbling headlong beneath him, and he leaped clear the stirrups. Clutching his carbine, he hit the ground in a rolling dive that left him stunned and gasping for breath. As he scrambled to his feet he saw custer, roaring commands and gesturing like a madman urging what was left of the battalion toward the top of the hill. Fewer than fifty men were still alive, and two warriors were pressing them from the rear and on both flanks. There was only one way to go, uphill and fast. Take the high ground and hold it until the regiment came to their support. The general apparently meant to do just that, rally the men back to back and make a stand, by themselves from time and with it their only hope of salvation. An icy terror suddenly swept over the sergeant. He was afoot and alone, the last of the rear guard cut off from the general by a long stone throw, with more god-damned Indians at his heels than he'd ever seen or believed imaginable. And he already knew what hostile did to live captives, especially the Sioux. Unnerved, all thought shunted aside, he simply reverted to instinct. Plugging the ground, he sprinted forward, leaping across the bodies of men and horses. Custer had everyone dismounted now, found out in a rough crescent around the guidon. Yet there was no sense of panic. The troopers were loading and firing like seasoned veterans, pouring volley after volley into the crazed horde below them. Miraculously unscathed, the sergeant quickly closed the gap, dodging and twisting under a hail of covering fire, then, just as he reached the line, too late for anyone to react, the trap was sprung. A wave of mounted Sioux came boiling over the crest of the hill. The leader, Astrada Bay-Gilding, was brandishing a rifle and blowing shrill blasts on an eagle-bone whistle. Behind him a hundred warriors charged down the slope, followed by another hundred and then a hundred more. The air came alive with the whine of bullets and the feathery hiss of arrows. At last struck from behind, surrounded on all sides, the troopers broke and ran. To the sergeant, these were swift and fleeting images, distinctly etched but somehow apart. His eyes were fastened on the general and he froze in numbed disbelief. Amidst the slaughter and swirling carnage, he saw Custer stagger, grievously wounded. Then the general steadied himself, legs stiffly braced and, coolly, quite deliberately, placed a pistol to his head. There was a puff of smoke and Custer's skull exploded in a burst of crimson mist. A moment later he vanished beneath the hooves of the onrushing war ponies. The sergeant was aghast, unable to credit his own eyes. It simply wasn't possible, not what he'd seen, not the general. It was a coward's death, lacking either glory or pride, an act unbefitting any fighting man. Unforgivable if the man's name was Custer. Aruptly jolted from his funk, he saw a howling sue bearing down on him, war-club upraised. His jaws tightened, his teeth clenched, but he made no effort to escape the blow. He merely stood there, staring calmly at the warrior, waiting with a sense of utter resignation. A moment ago it had all ceased to matter. He simply didn't give a damn. Not now. The dream was always the same. Never quite ending, like a single- Sample complete. Ready to continue?