Free Shadow of the Osprey by Peter Watt Page B

campaign Major,’ Michael said by way of conversation. The English officer gave him a sharp look of interest.
    ‘I am flattered to think that an American would recognise the riband, Mister O’Flynn,’ he said. ‘How is it that you know the medal?’
    Michael sipped at his champagne. A bad move to know such things. ‘Knew a Limey once who had the same medal,’ he answered quickly.
    The Major did not pursue the subject except to say, ‘I believe you were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour by the late President Lincoln?’
    Michael nodded and glanced away.
    A short silence followed until the British major decided to restart the conversation. ‘You and I should get together some time and share recollections on the Five Forks campaign,’ he said. ‘A fairly decisive encounter with the army of Northern Virginia by your army. I was rather impressed by the “Boy General” as your newspapers liked to call him. George Custer’s attack on the Confederate right was a rum show. Now there is a young man with a big future. I have read lately that George Custer is doing a spot of duty chasing redskins in the Dakota territory. Damned fine chap for a colonial.’
    Michael knew George Custer and did not like him. He considered the man a dangerous maniac bent on self-glory at the expense of the lives of his men. ‘I believe Lieutenant Colonel Custer is doing so,’ he replied with the emphasis on the lower rank as opposed to Custer’s brevet general rank of his Civil War days.
    ‘If ever there was a man to deal with your native problem then Custer will be the one to bring them to heel,’ the British officer mooted with a note of admiration. ‘We need a man like that here to deal with the damned savages up north. But the blasted darkies prefer to fight guerilla war against our courageous settlers. Won’t stand and fight a battle.’
    ‘Maybe George Custer will bite off more than he can chew some day Major,’ Michael replied sardonically. ‘I can tell you from personal experience that those redskins as you call them are, in the words of one of your own officers, amongst the finest light horsemen anywhere in the world. And man for man I would put my money on the injuns. So long as Custer has the numbers he will beat them. But pity help him if he ever has to face a united nation of the plains tribes.’
    ‘Not likely to happen, Mister O’Flynn,’ Godfrey scoffed. ‘The Indians, fortunately for the white man, are little more than savages, without recourse to our superior tactics and technology. No, Custer will be the man to pacify the savages, mark my words.’ Godfrey could see that George Custer was not a favourite of Mister O’Flynn and tactfully turned the subject. ‘I am rather intrigued by your invitation to the reception Mister O’Flynn. How is it that you know our charming and, might I add, beautiful hostess and her husband the Baron?’
    ‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting the Baron or his wife,’ Michael replied. ‘But I was invited to make the acquaintance of the Baron’s wife by a mutual friend of the Baron and myself in Sydney.’ What Michael said was partially true although he did not know if George Hilary had ever met the Baron or his wife either.
    ‘Ah, I see,’ the major replied, turning to watch the two women strolling towards them across the lawn from the marquees. ‘Then I am pleased to say our hostess is approaching and I will have the honour of introducing you to the beautiful and generous lady.’ Michael half turned and froze. His tanned face drained of blood.
    Penelope White! And Fiona!
    Penelope was smiling as she accepted the Major’s patter of flattering compliments. She turned her frank gaze on Michael who saw a faint flicker of recognition in her eyes. Beside her Fiona had paled and appeared as if she might faint. The subtle exchange between Michael and the two women did not appear to have been noticed by the English major. ‘Mister O’Flynn, may I introduce the