Little Bighorn

Plisken woke on the cool green grass of Montana. He groaned as the light from the early morning sun hurt his eyes. He glanced around, looking for anything that looked like the Dwarf. The only thing that was there were three of his other crew mates: Alex, Phil and Miss. Moreau.

"This is new," said Plisken as he picked himself up, brushing grass from his clothes. After he had flicked the last strand of grass from his shoulder, Plisken stopped and stared at his right hand. Only a minute ago had that hand, and his arm, been made of a highly durable metal that was able to with stand almost anything. It was no just flesh and bones!

"What the smeg!" shouted Plisken as he felt the hand, making sure it was real.

Alex Solvay jumped up from the grass as well but didn't bruss any of it off.
"What's so important about the arm? Is it not good that's flesh again?"

"NO!" shouted Plisken, annoyed that someone had seen it fit to remove his arm.

"Whoa, calm down," said Phi, as she and Phil both joined Alex and Plisken, "Does it really matter?"

Plisken took a breath, calming himself. "Perhaps one day I'll tell you why I need that arm," said Plisken, trying to not give anything away.

"Where are we anyway?" asked Phil.

But before any answer was given, a man riding a tall horse came over a little hill not to far from the group. He was dressed in a blue shirt and a brown cap on his head.

"You scouts! Colonel Custer wants to speak with you!" shouted the man.

"Custer," muttered Alex, maybe remebering someting.

"Oh, no," said Plisken, "Not Custer, anyone but Custer." Plisken looked around frantically. "It looks like Montana, and it looks like...Little Bighorn."