Command {Elliott Reid} | Escape (12-06-49)

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Welcome to the old-time radio westerns.

I'm your host Andrew Rines, and let's get into this episode.

This episode is gonna be western stories.

Original air date comes from December 6, 1949.

It's gonna be an episode of escape and it's a story called

Command. The story is about the Union Army.

Let's get into it and hope you enjoy.

And again, thanks for listening.

For walls of today, for a half hour of high adventure.

Tonight, we escape to the prairie west of the plat river

and to the fighting U.S. cavalry of the old west.

As James Warner Bella describes it in his exciting tale, Command.

Captain Brittle's here, Sergeant.

There comes the senate call back with a patrol.

Yes, I see him.

Call the column.

Yes, sir.

Call him!

Call him!

Call him!

Call him!

Call him!

Call him!

Hand me my field glasses, Sergeant.

Here you are, sir.

Thank you.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Captain Brittle's there, Mr. Coyle.

Here's the best body of grass, sir.

This slope with a small run below for water.

This is the best big whack for tonight.

Mr. Coyle, you see the rise there

and the left behind you across the valley?

Yes, sir.

What are those shapes lying on that slope?

A small herd of buffalo sleeping, it seems.

We didn't go that far.

We turned back when we saw them.

The wind has shifted a bit.

Take a deep breath, Mr. Coyle.

Get it into your nostrils.

Tell me if that thing you smell is sleeping buffalo.

No, sir.

Smells like dead men.

They're not freshly killed.

Lieutenant Gresham and his squad, sir.

I imagine so.

And then we've come to find.

We'll make sure after midnight.

Mr. Coyle, there are several fairly obvious differences

that we can't find.

We'll make sure after midnight.

Mr. Coyle, there are several fairly obvious differences

between the Greek planes and a classroom at West Point.

There you can fail and try again.

Here you may not have that chance.

There they taught you I'm sure that accuracy and observation

is a military virtue.

I suggest that you cultivate it here.

Yes, sir.

Sir, do you know the back?

Yes, sir.

This is the Bivouac, Dismountain on Saddle.

Night grazing area between the crest of this hill

and the Greek bottom.

Use the picket rope.

No individual pins.

Yes, sir.

Dismount!

It failed!

Yes, sir.

Captain Brittles.

No, sir.

Captain Brittles.

Of all the officers in the United States cavalry,

why did they have to assign me to him?

A handbook soldier.

Overage in grade.

A gray, bitter failure of a soldier.

Marking time out here on the planes until he retires.

Taking up space in the table of organization.

Standing in the way of younger and more aggressive.

Yes, more capable officers.

My father wouldn't be guessing.

My father would be over Yonder right now

to see if those corpses are really Gresham and his men.

Father would have made sure,

instead of losing time making camp,

the broken rattle sergeant utter back

had found it noon, showed clearly.

Sir, that broken rattle the sergeant found.

Yes, Mr. Cooil.

When we crossed the trace of that Sue war party

at noon today.

That could have been the trail of a Cheyenne war party

or comanches or a patches.

They all make rattles like that from the ends of Buffalo Toes.

But if they were Sue,

they couldn't be more than 30 miles to the north,

in the deadlands.

They're afraid of ambush,

so they'd be camping away from timber and near water.

Two hours rest,

and we can be at the upper reaches of the river by dawn, sir.

Ahead of them.

Mr. Cooil, I have no orders to be any way by dawn

or any other time.

My orders are to find Mr. Gresham's patrol,

having founded, returned to,

fort Stark and reported.

I think I found him.

I'll know as soon as the moon rises,

and I go over and take a look.

What are the months and a half an hour,

Saddleblank has to be left on until they're warden.

Remember always, Mr. Cooil,

cavalry is a very delicate arm of the service,

depending as it does on the health of a dumb beast.

Yes, sir.

Mr. Cooil,

reading minds is an uncomfortable habit,

but one I have never been able to lose.

Yes, sir.

Look at the other side of it, Mr. Cooil.

Suppose that war party was Cheyenne,

which they might be instead of Sue.

They wouldn't be in the Deadlands.

Cheyenne's would head for Timber,

along the lower Mesa Roja,

so with a rapahose,

Kiawars or Comanches,

they'd all be of a whack in open Timber.

And Mr. Cooil,

they all make rattles out of buffalo toes.

Yes, sir.

Pass the word to Sergeant at the back,

that dinner will be at 630,

but the bugle will not sound called.

Yes, sir.

And Mr. Cooil, sir.

There is no shortcut to the top of the glory heap,

so we'll not run all over the West tonight looking for one.

But if death in battle is a soldier's path to glory,

Mr. Gresham and his patrol had found a shortcut.

Yet what we looked upon that night on Yonder's slope

was not glorious.

Ten bodies, stripped naked,

pinned cushioned to the prairie with arrows,

their feet and their right hands hacked off.

They sold their lives dearly.

The empty cartridge cases said that.

At least they respected them as fighting men.

How's that, Sergeant?

Every one of them's skinned bald-headed

so he can cross the shed of waters without trouble.

And whoever did it,

don't want to fight them again.

Why?

Hands and feet cut off.

That's why I'd cripple them in case they meet them in the herafter.

Sergeant, yes, Captain.

You still think the suit did this?

No, sir.

Not now, sir.

Why not?

I made the march from Benzfort to Santa Fe with Steve Carney.

I know in Apache Arrow when I see one, sir.

Even a thousand miles and more than men.

Yes.

But that suit trail we crossed this morning.

That war party could have brushed with an Apache war party

and come by Apache Arrow's that way.

I don't think so, sir.

This job is two days old.

It wasn't that suit war party.

This is a patchy work.

How do you figure that?

Well, mostly because the captain knows it's a patchy work, too.

Lieutenant, go ahead.

Sir.

Take the grave detail.

Yes, sir.

Sergeant.

Yes, sir.

We shall move the company out.

Lieutenant, tonight.

Yes, sir.

We will return to Fort Stark to report this massacre as fast as we can.

Yes, sir.

So he's showing me.

Makes his lieutenant first grave digger

and confides his plans to the sergeant in exchange for flattery.

He's an old woman in blue fatigues.

Can't hide his bad temper.

And worse, he's a frightened old woman.

Instead of striking when he has the advantage, he's going to cut and run.

In a stiff action, I'd probably have to shoot him and take over the command.

A grave doesn't take long to dig in the soft black earth of the plains.

And the rocks were nearby to pile upon the still mounds

against the hungry muzzles of coyotes.

And after, the air was sweeter in the cold moonlight.

And the job done in plenty of time for Captain Brittle's scheduled retreat.

Command is ready to mount, sir.

Very good, sir.

Captain Brittle's.

Yes, Mr. Coheal.

Excuse me, sir, but can't we go after the Indians who did this?

Can't we try?

Mr. Coheal, the United States cavalry is now out here to fight Indians.

We have to watch them and report on them for the Indian Bureau.

We fight only if they attack us.

I refer you to the standing orders of the Department of the Platte.

They are most explicit on this point.

Yes, I know, sir, but Mr. Gresham was attacked.

How do you know that?

Well, I don't, for sure.

Of course you don't.

But he's dead.

And his command, dead and mutilated.

And we ought to...

Talk to what?

Avenge him.

Just abuse yourself of classroom, Valor, Mr. Coheal.

Out here with your bare orders.

Sergeant.

Yes, sir.

That's the word to mount.

Yes, sir.

I'm tank.

You'll pass the word.

That's the word to mount.

That's the word.

Thirty miles already today.

And who knows how many miles ahead of us tonight.

The men are tired. The horses are tired.

Cavalry is a delicate arm of the service, Captain Brittle's.

Hour after hour.

As the moon through our lengthening shadows ahead of us.

Hour after hour.

Walk thirty minutes, trot five minutes.

Dismount and lead ten minutes.

Unbid and graze fifteen minutes every hour.

Hour after hour.

You've got a chore to eat in the back of me, don't you?

I ain't got much.

I'll get me along the sun, huh?

You can get some more at the fort tomorrow.

Ah, here.

Why don't you ever have any your own?

I don't approve that you're on the back.

My mod, don't that it?

Thanks.

God for your money.

Gettysburg wasn't like this.

Wow, dude, tell me.

No, sir.

We rode up to Gettysburg on the steam cars.

Aim it in the door.

Sarberus, back on cemetery ridge again.

Yeah.

Fitty didn't stay there.

By the only mistake Robert E. Lee ever made.

Not to leave Savoweth on him.

Yeah.

Just the same.

The army was army in them days.

Slept in Tenson.

And you've got a furlough there with girls.

Not school as girls.

Yeah.

Well, I'd be liking so much.

Why don't you go backwards, girl.

Of course, I was goldbricked.

That's why I joined up again because they said there'd be fight not here.

Yeah, fighting.

Only fight nice scene west of the Missouri.

Saturday nights in the barracks.

Yeah, sure.

Ain't like the old army.

I'll tell you that.

I remember a girl in Richmond.

Timon.

I was with Grant when we took Richmond.

Pretty as little Virginia creeper he ever did see.

She fried me 43.

Not another back.

Yes, sir.

I'd like to ask you a question.

Yes, sir.

How did you know the captain thought they were a patchies that killed Mr. Gresham's detail?

I've been his first sergeant for a long time, sir.

You get to know.

I see.

Do I get to know?

Well, sir, this is a different kind of service out here.

Like Savoweth, they were saying a minute ago this ain't get his burg and ain't full dress war.

But it's the only kind of captain I ever served in, sir.

How did you get to know it just like you get to know siege operations as Savoweth charged

for company front after you've had enough of it?

During the war between the states didn't it?

No, sir.

Neither Captain Brittle's nor I saw service in the states, sir.

Well, the North and the South were fighting each other.

The West still had to be held.

Well, somebody had to do it.

I see.

Yes, I see a lot now.

That would explain Captain Brittle's contempt for what he calls heroics.

He's jealous.

He never had his chance at glory.

And if he had our wagerie would have muffed it.

In a way, I feel sorry for the old boy.

Sitting a sweaty horse on these endless prairies while the great words exploded across the country.

Vicksburg, Chancellor'sville, Antietam, Appomattox, the policeman on the corner.

While history rolled across Georgia to the sea.

Five hours on the way now.

Less than three hours till dawn.

And we're at the north fork of the plaque.

In a full 25 minutes for watering call.

Some of the men lie sleeping where they've dismounted.

Others huddle together in the moon shadow of the high bank.

Quietly talking.

Then she just left me standing there like a bound boy at a husk.

Hey, what'd you do then?

I want nothing to do except join army.

A little girl in Richmond.

Time I was at Grant when we took Richmond.

She wasn't at all like that.

Not a tall.

Any boys ever had a lobster?

No, not me.

I never even seen one.

And the breast works in front of Vicksburg.

I had a catfish.

Didn't like it.

I could sure put away a lobster right now.

Press yeah, the lobster button into the cooking button.

Live? Sure.

That's the only way to cook a lobster.

Sure, we still have us back in Wisconsin.

I get you back in a state of Maine and you'll be climbing away for buffalo steak.

No true word was never spoken.

Some people just ain't never satisfied.

I ain't never satisfied for a fact.

Tell you that.

That's where you get some place in the world, you know that?

Never be satisfied.

You got you a long way, didn't you?

Got me a stripe.

Looks like you can plan on getting even further suffer.

Captain's getting fidgety again.

Oh, help.

Another day.

Another dollar.

All right, man.

Fallen.

Here we go.

Prepare an amount, pass the word.

Prepare an amount, pass the word.

Mount.

Mount.

Mount.

That's step four.

That's step four.

Step four.

Hands.

Go.

Go.

He's heading north.

How's that, Sergeant?

North.

Captain's heading north.

You're right, Sergeant.

Red Mesa should be to our left.

Instead, it's dead ahead.

That doesn't make any sense.

Pass it.

My father would have done things differently.

In the cold, dying moonlight, I could imagine him.

Young Major Co-Hill, riding out of St. Joe

to convoy the wagon train's bound west on the Oregon Trail.

What a figure he must have been on the old frontier.

When the Missouri River itself was the jumping off place.

Killer Co-Hill, his men had called him.

But the wide roaming Arapahose had another name for him.

Blue devil with eyes in the back of his head.

By this time, father would have cut those uppatches

into coyote meat as they lay sleeping

around their smoldering campfire.

It's a colonel.

It's a colonel, sir.

Yes, Sergeant?

Were you dosing, sir?

No, no, of course not.

I was just thinking.

Captain Brittle's won't you, sir.

They had another colonel.

Thank you, Sergeant.

Sergeant, other back said you wanted him, sir.

Yes, Mr. Co-Hill, I do.

This is Officer's call.

Listen carefully.

I have Sergeant Sutro ahead of me with a point.

You will relieve him with eight men

and push forward fast.

Yes, sir.

You recall the four across Red Mesa, Washington?

Yes, sir. We crossed it yesterday.

Exactly.

There's an old on the east side of the wash.

An old that is crossed by the trail from the top of the Mesa.

I remember, sir.

Beyond that old, the four dawn.

Build a bit of white fire as soon as you arrive.

Do what, sir?

Build a fire.

I want to know when you get there.

I can send a scout back to tell you when I arrive.

I want everyone else for miles around to know a tomb.

Build a bit of white fire, a squad fire, no larger.

Yes, sir.

Should you happen to be attacked?

You'd hold that knoll fighting on foot.

And remember, the dawn light works for you.

But it can fool you in this country.

So don't shoot to the last possible moment.

I don't understand.

You don't have to.

You have your orders.

Yes, sir.

Move out, Mr. Co-Hill.

You're the bait on my hook.

Riggle.

Riggle.

Riggle.

Riggle.

Riggle.

Riggle.

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And now back to Escape.

You knew Red Mesa was there,

only because the star stopped where it stood.

The moon was a honey-colored ladle

spilling blackness over the edge of the plains.

Then the jagged teeth of the Rockies

broke it into ragged pot sherds.

And it was gone.

It was dark.

Black dark.

Cold dark.

The squad fire sputtered and took

and pushed the night back a little.

This was different.

This was command.

This was the final moment of the soldier's heritage.

To stand ready to fire and be fired upon.

To kill and be killed.

And it wasn't at all like you expected.

It just plum-scared you.

And don't stand still, Mittendorf.

Keep moving a little all the time.

And slap those mounts.

Keep them moving too.

Hey, Lieutenant.

Sir.

Yes, sir.

How come that captain sent this up here

to sashay around the top of this little hill?

He said we're the bait on his hook.

The decoy.

If there's an Indian war party,

we're to draw them out.

Better put on some bacon to fry, Lusk.

Make it look natural.

Mean and weons may end up like Mr. Gresham and his patrol.

As always, that possibility.

I need a prospect that pleases, sir.

That's what a soldier lives for, Sarber.

To die.

It is?

I mean, yes, sir.

It was a good performance.

To any watching Sue or Apache,

here was a small white soldier war party.

Like the two yesterday's party,

they had left lying scoutless

in the buffalo grass 30 miles up the valley.

Fire-lighted, bacon-cooking.

Horses unsaddled.

And warriors sleeping from a long night march.

Soft for the killing.

Only the warriors weren't sleeping.

Beyond the yellow carpet of fire-light,

they lay fanned out behind their saddles, waiting.

Sorting the night sounds with straining ears,

pushing at the soft wall of darkness with widened eyes.

Sure wish it was that burned coyotes

didn't sound so much like human beings.

Well, you can be sure of one thing.

No Indians running around in the middle of the night

young like a coyote.

Yeah.

But it sure makes me nervous.

Sound like hoodie owls back home in Maine.

What's that behind you?

Don't get enough fat boys, it's only me.

Oh.

General Grant's chief is stay.

You know you're lucky I didn't put a bullet through you.

Nah, nah you wouldn't do that.

Lieutenant said not to fire till command it.

Any of you fellows ever had engine pudding?

What?

No.

I had sweet potato pudding when I was with Sherman in Atlanta

but I didn't like it much.

Was you with Napoleon at Waterloo?

Nope.

But I've been talking to Luke Tannen.

Naturally.

What's the word from headquarters?

He's made a corn meal in molasses.

What?

Engine pudding.

Oh.

Seen any savages yet?

No, don't expect to yet.

Why?

And rate an Indian in the west of the Missouri

that'll come out and fight at night if he can help it.

That's right.

I'm afraid it'll take a chance of being killed at night.

They believe if a warrior's killed at night

he'll be blind when he gets to the happy hunting grounds.

Well then what are we worrying about?

Who's worried?

Not me.

Oh.

And then you can start worrying.

Domes coming.

Can make out the mesa planar.

Sure would lack some engine pudding for breakfast.

Slowly the light came.

First you could see the outline of the mesa.

Then down below the silver of the water in the wash.

Then the shapes of the men.

And out across the plain the feathers of mist in the draws.

If it was to come, it would come now.

Hold your firemen.

Arrows, they're shooting arrows.

What'd you expect? They're Indians.

They would wudge it.

Hit one of the horses.

Here they come.

Oh my leg.

Hold your fire.

I called it.

They are a patch.

I got one of the heathen.

I got two.

Look at them lying yonder.

That one I'm still wriggling.

I'll fix that.

Hold your fire.

Well I was just going to be back.

That was only the beginning.

Yes sir.

You all right, coffin?

I'll be back.

That was only the beginning.

Yes sir.

You all right, coffin?

My leg sir.

Born shattered.

I heard much.

A little sir.

Those arrows, you're wicked.

Go right through them, man, if they don't hit bone.

Do tell.

No action in the new army, I'm sorry.

Well, it ain't exactly like Gettysburg.

Okay, they come again.

Hold fire.

Man lights better this time.

Makes no difference. Hold your fire.

Yeah, the ones that did miss the grace of me.

Look, that one's wearing corporate shadows.

And it is one with the US cavalry scene.

I just can't brittle, that's what I'm talking about.

I was likely having breakfast at the port.

Deco, where's that man?

On a fire.

But till Carol almost half-hub.

Yeah, they'll be back.

Ah, another wolf.

That's Captain Brittle's now.

Yeah, attacking from the flank.

Hey, Sergeant, Captain Brittle's got him on the run.

Hey, can you pull this Tarnation arrow out of me?

Up down below the knoll, the remains of the Apaches

were streaking for the open plains,

with Captain Brittle's men overtaking them,

cutting them down with thirsty sabers

and pestling the ponies as they ran.

And then it was quiet.

And not an Indian or a pony was left alive.

Coffin sat, propped up against a saddle,

lighting his pipe.

His shattered legs stretched naked and useless before him.

And Sarver lay where he had fallen.

Eyes closed, face blue.

His hands around the shaft sunk deep

and his left side below the ribs.

The feathered tip waving idly

with each shallow breath.

Can't we do something for him, sir?

What?

Look how deep that arrow is.

Right under the heart.

Can't cut it out.

Can't pull it through.

And push, sir.

And finally, so action.

Yeah.

I can hear him now telling St. Peter

about the time he beat the Apaches on the cohe hill.

It's not very funny.

No, I guess he right, Coffin.

As your leg paining you much.

Can't feel anything.

Lieutenant, yes, Coffin?

You think they'll send me back home to get this fixed?

You think maybe I'll get to see the state of Maine right soon?

I hope so, Coffin.

In the land of Gosheno,

you won't get further than the base hospital of council bluffs.

Why are you together to slap a plaster onion

and send your right back to fight Indians?

It was a strange feeling.

A mixture of pride and guilt.

Watching a man die whom I had commanded into action.

Looking at the shattered leg of another.

And a feeling of helplessness, too.

For the moment we could only sit there and wait.

Our horses were dead or stampeded by the action.

We were alone on our little hilltop

in the hot red glare of the rising sun.

And then the company rode back in triumph.

And I was reporting the Captain Brittle's

and it seemed like months instead of hours

since I had last looked at his tired gray face.

Mr. Coil, you did that well.

You may do in time.

Captain, you knew they were a patchy yesterday at sundown.

And you knew they were camped on top of the mace, didn't you, sir?

Mr. Coil, accuracy and observation is a military virtue.

Had you pushed forward to that slope yesterday afternoon,

you would have found Mr. Grisham, not sleeping buffalo.

And had your eyes been sharp, you would have found this

between the slope and last night's bibwack.

And a patchy headband.

That's right. And blood stained.

And had you been a planesman and suspected the patches,

you would have looked at once for smoke at sundown

from the highest ground.

In this case, red mace up.

You had me fooled, sir.

I even thought facts for the record are these.

My patrol, temporarily bibwacked at dawn today,

came under a sudden enemy attack.

Fortunately, it was able to hold until I arrived with the main body.

I understand perfectly, sir.

I'm familiar with departmental orders which allowed defensive actions only

and expressly forbid attack.

And yet, they are in direct violation of cavalry tactics.

But cavalry is extremely weak on the defensive

and can only defend well by attacking.

I believe that is also taught at West Point.

Captain, I'm terribly sorry for my...

Mr. Coil, never apologize.

It is a mark of weakness.

There's a captain out here and tried it once to escape an inquiry born.

He escaped it, but he will die a captain in spite of his apology.

The officer who sought to it could have worked with him

and made a soldier of him if his humanity had been large enough.

Mr. Coil, I'm going to make a soldier out of you.

You may present my respects to General Coil

when next you write your father.

Mr. Coil, take morning stables.

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Escape is produced and directed by William N. Robson.

Tonight we have presented command by James Warner Bella,

adapted for radio by Mr. Robson.

Featured in the cast were Elliott Reed as Lieutenant Coil,

Bill John Stone as Captain Brittles,

and Ted DeCorsia as Sergeant Utterback.

Also heard were Sam Edwards, Tony Barrett,

Bert Holland, and Paul Freeze.

Special music was arranged and conducted by Del Castillo.

Next week.

You're standing on an unfinished road bed,

somewhere in Mexico.

It is night, and a drunken murderous foreman

is forcing you to dig till you drop.

The 45 in his hand means that for you,

there can be no escape.

Gracie Allen's campaign to make George Burns a real singing rival

to Bing Crosby, his Wednesday night neighbor on CBS,

is reaching its climax.

Tomorrow night, backed by the beauty and talent of not one,

but all three Andrews sisters,

George Sugarthroat Burns will definitely try out his tonsils in song.

Being or sugarthroat, it's really no choice for CBS fans,

for you can hear each sugarthroat following Bing every Wednesday night

on most of these same CBS stations.

Now stay tuned for Hit the Jackpot,

which follows immediately over most of these same stations.

This is CBS, where you will find adventure and escape every Tuesday night.

The Columbia Broadcasting System.

This has been an presentation of OTRWesterns.com,

and we hope you enjoyed.

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