Chapter 179: Sirius Rising

Editor: nnpdad 17 Aug 2021

You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Budapest by Jethro Tull, Written by Ian Anderson

Bugaha.

What was known as Fort Atkinson in the year 1822 would eventually be a part of a city called Omaha in a state called Nebraska; the city which eventually gained the affectionate or disdainful nickname of “Bugaha.” So much so that at one point their college sports teams were called the ‘Bugeaters’ for a short while; that particular nickname was dropped but was still a huge fan favorite in modern times.

With the ‘Dog Days of Summer’ fast upon us the conditions in Bugaha were almost as unbearable as they were in deep winter. It was also a good reminder of how little time we had left before the frost and hard freeze would arrive to deal with the bugs. Slow water, vegetation and heat made for happy, horny insects. Which meant we had more of them then we could possibly desire and they got into everything a person could possibly imagine.

The worst of these pests were the incessant gnats and the chiggers. Neither of these pests were life-threating, but both provided unwanted levels of annoyance and both were found in almost horrifying quantities in Bugaha. A smoky fire was always your friend this time of year along the river. The Pawnee, of course, had some salves to keep most of them away or at least to treat the rash but the sheer number of them made it impossible to avoid all of them short of becoming a shut-in recluse - not really an option in the oppressive heat and humidity of summer in the very Heartland of America.

Well the ‘now’ was currently 1822 for me and this was not the Heartland yet. This was actually an outpost on the far distant edge of the fledgling American nation. Fort Atkinson was in the territories and the tussle over whose land this actually was still had a long way to go. On top of all that the chiggers had gotten to me and I was a tad bit irritable; the salves provided to me only gave minor relief from the rash created by those annoying mites.

I was in a fairly grumpy mood when I approached Fort Atkinson on foot. I did my best to hide that and tried to be as cheerful and chummy as possible. Brin kept perfect heel the entire way and I spent most of the walk observing the shrinking camp town and cursing the humidity. The bustle of the camp town had diminished significantly with the draw down of the rifles regiment and there seemed to be an excess of unemployed men loitering on the streets.

All of these sudden ex-soldiers idle in the area was not a good sign and they were sure to amount to trouble as all of the factors were added up. Growling bellies and empty wallets were a route to violence and discontent. I knew I would have to prod Leavenworth a bit with solutions to avoid violence between the active troops and recently released.