The Long March - Raising the Stakes

(Source)

The Major looked out of the tent, the sky was getting lighter. He shivered as he thought back on the ambush last year, on the first time that the regulars had been opposed by the militia in the field. He remembered shooting the man who had refused his orders. The day had started bloody and became bloodier still. He remembered the long retreat, the bivouac, then the turning back into the forest and that nasty hill fight. It felt like it had been just yesterday ...

"Major?"

He shook himself, "Sorry Joshua, woolgathering, some of those memories are painful. What might have been solved by talking, wound up becoming a bigger mess with dead on both sides. But here we are ..."

At that moment a man poked his head into the tent, "Sir, I've just come from brigade. We're to hold here for the moment, do you want to go and speak with the Colonel? He thought you might ..."

"Yes, I reckon I better."

Nodding his thanks to Joshua, the Major followed the corporal. Near the brigade headquarters tent he saw the Brigadier, talking with the Major's regimental commander. His colonel spotted him and waved him over.

Saluting the Brigadier and then the Colonel, the Major spoke, "Morning, Sirs. New orders?"

The Brigadier nodded to the Colonel, who answered, "Yes Major, we've been ordered to hold here and await reinforcements from the capital."

"The provincial capital?"

The brigadier answered that one, "No Major, from the capital."

Looking puzzled, the Major pointed out, "It would take them a week of hard marching to get here."

"Yes, but they left three days ago," the Colonel answered the Major's puzzled look.

"Who are they, how many?" the Major was still trying to get his head around this. Why would they have set off without waiting at camp for the reinforcements? Then it struck him, show the enemy one thing, then do something else.

"We're getting a cohort of Imperials, the Fourth, Feroces Victores.¹"

"Imperials, away from the Ruler?"

"The Ruler's son is coming with them, the General Staff has indicated a need for the boy to have experience in the field."

"Ah, Sir, the man is ..."

"Yes, he's a drunkard and a wastrel, but those are the orders," the Brigadier left no room for debate, but the Major spoke up anyway. Something the Colonel often mentioned in their meetings together.

"The Fourth has never been in combat, as a unit, they have veterans in the ranks, but they're mostly people from the constabulary. Police, not soldiers." The Major was thoroughly confused now, an Imperial unit, unbloodied in combat, led by a fool, what sort of reinforcements were those?

"I know, but that's that. You're dismissed, gentlemen." The Brigadier ended the discussion with a crisp nod.

Five days later, the Imperial Fourth Cohort marched into camp. Their equipment and uniforms were immaculate, it looked as though they had spent at least a day cleaning themselves up before making their grand entrance.

"Parade ground soldiers, good for parades and attacking unarmed civilians," the Sergeant spat on the ground after saying that. She came from the hill peoples in the south of the Empire. A people who had no tolerance for pretense and show.

"Easy Sarge, perhaps they will be of some use. They certainly look pretty."

"Sure, Major, they'll attract rebel fire. There's no love lost for those bastards among the militia."

"It's a cynic you are, Esther," the Major offered with a grin.

"Nossir, I'm a realist, those pretty boys won't stand up in a fight where the other side is shooting back, mark my words."

The Major wondered if her disdain for the Fourth had anything to do with the lack of females in their ranks. The commander of the Fourth had shed all of the women under his command when he had received word of their assignment.

"You think the Prince cares that there are no women in his little command?" The Major said, looking carefully at his Sergeant

The Sergeant spat again, "Yeah, no skirt to chase after hours. At least it might keep the bastard from embarrassing himself. Maybe he'll stay drunk enough to not mess up this operation."

The Major shook his head and turned to watch the Fourth fall out and proceed to set up their encampment. Things were starting to get interesting, he had a bad feeling about this campaign, a very bad feeling.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"Try not to look too worried, it upsets the troops when they see you pouting," the Sergeant had a smile on her face when she said that, though it didn't extend to her eyes.

"If you weren't so good at your job, I might take offense to that, Sergeant. But I'll behave, no use upsetting the troops is there?"

"No Sir, that wouldn't do at all."

¹ "Fierce Victors." Imperial regiments, those directly under the Ruler's command, were called cohorts.

The Long March - Ambush on the Road

(Source)

Though the ambush had caused a number of casualties, the Sergeant noticed that the volume of fire coming from the rebel entrenchment was rather desultory. It was almost as if the militia were somewhat reluctant to press home their attack. He wondered if they were having second thoughts in taking on the regulars.

He looked to his right, a messenger was coming down the line, yelling out instructions. He heard what the man was saying at the same time as his Captain did.

"Extend the line to the left, come on! Move out! The Colonel wants to out flank them, they're weak on their right! Extend the line!"

As the Captain started to move, the Sergeant already had the troops up and moving. They were trying to stay low as the ditch did provide some protection from the incoming rounds. Not enough, the Sergeant realized when a woman to his front grunted, spun to the side and went down hard.

"Don't stop for the wounded, keep moving! Keep your damned heads down! Go! Go! Go!" he shouted as one man stopped to help his fallen comrade.

The company which had been to their left had to be one of the slowest moving units the Sergeant had ever seen. His own company was continually stopping, then moving. What the hell was wrong with those people?

"Sarge, get up there and light a fire under those people. We'll never get this done at this rate!"

"Sir!"

He advanced quickly by skirting around the line of troops shuffling forward at the crouch. As he moved he saw an officer lying dead by the side of the road. Then he knew what the slow company's problem was, their commander was dead.

"Alright people, come on, get moving you're holding up the entire flank. Come on, move, move!"

He heard one of the troopers shout out, "F**k you, you're not in our company!"

While the man perhaps thought the crowd gave him some kind of immunity, the Sergeant had spotted him. He rushed forward, grabbed the man by the collar of his tunic and pulled him out of line.

"I don't have to ..."

The stunned look on the soldier's face when the Sergeant shot him in the chest was enough for the rest of the man's company to pick up the pace.

He hated himself for what he had done, but it was necessary. Allow the troops to question the orders, to allow them to actually defy their officers and noncoms in battle was the beginning of the end. He had learned that as a new private many years ago in his first battle.

"Move, move!" the Sergeant turned as a lieutenant came up behind him.

"I got this Sarge, get back to your company. We're about where we need to be and will be moving up the hill shortly."

The militiamen were starting to look to the rear as the regulars continued to extend their line. The furthest company to the militia's right was already deploying into line and moving up the slope, well out on their flank.

"Steady people, steady. We've got time. Hold your ground!"

Young Sebastian Abeles kept looking over at the regulars, there were a lot of them and they were very organized. Though they had left a number of dead and wounded on the roadway, it wasn't enough to deter them. He was already regretting volunteering.

"Don't fret, Sebastian, the officers know what they're doing!" his close companion and bunkmate Efron Talbot assured him. Sebastian wasn't so sure.

He fired his weapon once more at the regulars shuffling down the ditch on the far side of the road. He reached into his ammo pouch for another round, he was out.

"Efron, do you have any bullets?"

"Take them from those who no longer need them!" his friend shouted back at him as he fired at the regulars.

Sebastian was puzzled, why couldn't Efron just ...

Oh, the dead, there were a few of them in the trench, that's what Efron meant.

He bent down and began rifling through the pouches of a girl who had been shot down right next to him. He kept telling himself, "Don't look at her face, don't look at her face."

As he shoved the last of the pilfered rounds into his own pouches, he looked at her face. Her eyes stared at nothing, they already were coated with dust from the trench floor. If anything, she looked puzzled as if "why has this happened to me?" Then he shook himself.

When Sebastian was done vomiting, Efron punched him in the shoulder, "If you don't want to join her, get up and follow me, we're done here."

Sebastian saw that his unit was falling back towards the nearby forest. Some stopped and fired, some of those were shot down where they stood. Then one of the officers panicked and screamed, "Run for it!"

Sebastian looked behind him one more time, then ran as fast as he could, the regulars were advancing up the slope, bayonets fixed.

The Sergeant was behind the line, making sure the troops kept their alignment. One or two fell to enemy fire, but it didn't matter, not now. The enemy was on the run.

"My God Sergeant, what have we done?" the Captain came up next to him. He had a look of horror on his face as he watched one of his troopers bayonet a wounded militiaman.

"We've done our jobs, Sir. No more, no less."

The Captain shook his head, "The Major says hold short of the forest, we're not going in there. The rebels know this country, we don't."

"Sir!"

Efron and Sebastian didn't stop running until they came to the old logging road, deep in the forest. Panting, hands on his knees, Sebastian looked at Efron, "Where's your rifle?"

"Threw it away so I could run faster."

"The commander will have your ass for that." Sebastian said, gasping for air.

"No he won't, I'm not staying, I'm going home."

"But you signed up, you have to stay."

Shaking his head, Efron started across the logging road to go deeper into the woods, "You're a fool if you stay," were his last words to Sebastian.

The company had regrouped and gone back down to the road. The march to Foreston would continue. The second largest town in the province had declared itself independent of the provincial government according to messengers coming in from the capital.

"Casualties, Sergeant?"

"One dead, two wounded, one of them will fight no more, she's probably going to lose a leg."

"Damn," the Captain shook his head, "the troops fought well, but we're not done yet. I've been told that the lead battalion was hit pretty hard. The rebels caught them in a crossfire, we were lucky."

The Sergeant thought back on the people he had seen go down, on the man that he himself had shot for refusing his duty. "Not all of us were lucky. Sir."

"No, you're right. Some folks live through a battle and forever after try to figure out why they lived and their buddies died. Luck has a lot to do with it, at least that's what I think."

"Better lucky than good, Sir?"

"Which would you choose, Sarge?"

"Yup, skill will only take you so far. You can be the best soldier out there, stand up at the wrong time, go left instead of right, next thing you know, you're bleeding out on a dusty road somewhere."

"Indeed, Sarge, indeed."

The Long March - Where It All Began

(Source)

"Get the troops under canvas tonight, we might be here a couple of days. I want to send out patrols, give the new kids some experience with that. Ya know, hostile environment and all," the Captain mopped his brow, the inside of his cap was soaked with sweat.

The former Corporal, now Sergeant, nodded and asked, "Anything else, boss? Might be a good idea to dig fighting holes around the perimeter, keep those manned while we're here. Also good experience for the kids."

The Major nodded, "Good idea, Top. I'm going to put my head down for a bit, wake me if you need anything."

The Sergeant had taken over the role of sergeant major in the battalion. Regiment had offered one of their superfluous senior non-coms to the Major, he had declined. The man they'd offered had never been in the field, he needed fighters, not paper shufflers. Regiment refused to promote her past sergeant, said she was too young. But the Major called her "Top," for "Top Sergeant" as he considered her the senior non-com in the battalion, and in fact she was.

She looked at her commander, he looked worn and beaten. "Get some sleep, Sir. You look like shit."

The Major offered a sardonic grin, "Thanks Top."

His sleep was fitful. He kept having dreams about the events which led up to his current position, in life, and in the regulars. He awakened in the dead of night.

He sat up, he felt rested, not completely, but enough.

"I might as well get up," he muttered to himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice responded.

"Mornin', Sir. Or good evening, I'm not sure."

The Major rubbed his face vigorously before looking at his batman, Joshua.

"Why are you up?" he asked the man. He sometimes forgot that as a commanding officer, a field grade officer at that, he was entitled to his own personal servant. He still wasn't used to it.

"Just cleaning up your kit, Sir. Rubbed down and fed your horse, then fixed my own kit, now I'm finishing up yours."

The Major shook his head, "When do you sleep, man?"

"Here and there, I catch a nap in your wagon when we're on the move. My only job is to assist you, Sir.'

In truth, the army had decided, long ago, that commanding officers had enough on their plates without having to maintain their kit and take care of their own horses. As one general had put it, "Tired officers make mistakes, mistakes kill people. Give them a personal servant, we wouldn't be the first army to do that."

It still bothered the Major that he had a manservant, but it did help him get more rest. Which he appreciated.

Joshua went outside as the Major tried to focus his eyes, he was rested, but damn what he wouldn't give for eight hours in a real bed. As he contemplated that, Joshua came back in, holding a steaming tin cup.

"Like some tea, Sir?"

The Major smiled, "Bless you my boy! Why don't you take a load off, have a cuppa yourself?"

"I couldn't, Sir, I've got to ..."

"If I make it an order?"

"Be right back, Sir."

Joshua went back out and returned with his own tea. The Major gestured at the camp stool next to his field desk, "Sit, you deserve a break."

The two men sat quietly drinking their tea for some time. When the Major was done with his, he got up to go rinse it out.

"I'll do that, Sir."

"Sit, you're not done yet."

The Major rinsed his cup and hung it up on the small cup rack Joshua had rigged outside of the tent. He stood for a moment by the camp fire, the heat felt good. It was still cold at night even though the days were usually warm. Spring in the high country could be a mixed bag, though he was pretty sure the snow was done.

He went back into the tent and sat on his cot, Joshua looked up.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"How the hell did we get here, killing our fellow citizens? It doesn't seem right."

"Well, that's kind of a long story, but we have some time before reveille."

Ten Months Before ...

The Sergeant looked up from his desk as a messenger came running into the barracks. He saw that the man's horse was just outside, lathered, prancing, and tossing its head, the beast had been ridden hard.

He got up and went down the corridor to the Major's office, as he entered the outer office, the Sergeant Major looked up," F**king rioting in the provincial capital, looks like we'll be heading out before sundown. Get your people together, your captain is down at the stables. Let him know what's going on."

Turning on his heel, the Sergeant saw his corporal coming into the building. She had a questioning look on her face.

"Looks like the shit has hit the fan, get the word to our folks, then send word to the other platoons. Muster in 60 minutes, maybe less."

She nodded and headed upstairs where the Sergeant's platoon was quartered. He headed back to his office and grabbed his gear. He had a feeling things were about to get complicated.

The Ruler had been deposed, under rather questionable circumstances, the year before. He had been very popular among the common folk, the new Ruler was not. The elites liked him for the patronage and the sinecures that went with that. They had never been so well-off.

But there was an undercurrent of unrest in the working population, the people who had to get up each day and do the jobs that kept the country going. In order to pay for the wealth flowing to the elites, taxes had been raised, work hours had been increased, and there was talk of lowering wages.

The final insult was when the constabulary in the provincial capital closed down the newspaper for "printing treasonous lies," according to the governor. The people had rioted and two of the constabulary were killed, dozens more were injured. At least fifty of the common folk had been cut down in the street.

Word had come down from the national capital, "Crush the dissenters, get your province in order." The Governor was forced to act, so he did.

Rumor had it that a gathering was taking place in the second largest town in the province, the militia there had been called to arms, not by the government but by the people themselves.

The regulars were called out, the Governor ordered the generals to "seize the town, arrest any who oppose you, and seize all arms." A simmering powder keg was about to erupt.

The Captain was leading his horse, he preferred to be on foot with his men, only mounting to go up to battalion or up to regiment, which was rare.

"Sir, you really should ride, all the other company commanders ride," the Sergeant admonished his commander for at least the third time this day.

"Man's gotta stay fit, Sarge. Riding is fine for the fancy folk, probably don't want to get their boots dirty."

"Sir, you have a batman ..."

"You're right! Ethan! Get over here!"

The Captain's batman hustled over, "Sir?"

"Get on the horse, Ethan. You work your ass off taking care of me, you should ride."

The Sergeant shook his head. Ethan, grinning from ear to ear, mounted the horse, which not being used to him, pranced a bit before settling down.

Ethan raised his arm as if about to give a command, standing up in the stirrups he shouted, "Soldiers!"

His eyes suddenly went blank and he doubled over, toppling from the horse into the road. The crack of a rifle shot echoed through the nearby hills.

The Captain grabbed the reins of his horse, the animal was rolling its eyes and trying to rear up, "Easy boy, easy."

The Sergeant stopped staring at Ethan's corpse long enough to shout, "AMBUSH! Take cover to the right!"

As the platoon scrambled over the edge of the road into a slight ditch, more rifle shots could be heard. The Captain let his horse go, the animal, unused to combat, ran off as the company commander slid into the ditch next to his sergeant.

"Damn it, Ethan was a good kid."

The Sergeant shook his head as he scanned the nearby hillside. Damn, the militia had actually dug an entrenchment. "I know he was, Sir. A lot of good kids are going to die today. Looks like the militia want a war."

The Captain nodded, "Well, they've got one now."

An Explanation

Prise de la Bastille et arrestation du gouverneur M. de Launay, le 14 juillet 1789.
(Source)

Imagine, if you will, a story which has elements which you can almost grasp, can almost figure out the time and place of its happening, then something occurs which makes you go back to square one and reconsider just what it is you are are reading.

Well, if you've been following along lately, that's where we're at here at the Chant du Départ. The story is intentionally vague as to the when, where, who, and how. There are elements of the French Revolution, the Spanish Civil War, the American Civil War, (damned near any civil war, really), the Thirty Years War, and maybe a bit of the American Indian Wars thrown in for good measure.

My goal was to look at how people act (and react) in times of chaos and social upheaval (war in other words) and perhaps provide a bit of perspective on those conflicts of the past. Anyway, that's the goal.

Most of you seem to be enjoying it so far. If it gets to be uninteresting, then I'll wrap it up. This started as one of those two or three episode posts and has kind of grown from there. I'm absolutely fascinated by what's going on and the Muse is trying to keep me guessing at every turn. (I swear, stuff just leaps into my brain while I'm writing. I mean, I have a rough outline, but the details? All rather spontaneous. Sometimes I'm as surprised as y'all when something seems to come out of the blue.)

While I do have another episode in the hopper, it's going to take maybe another day to flesh it out and get it posted. Time waits for no man and the paying gig has been busy as of late.

Bear with me ...

Oh, just one more thing ...

(Source)

I do get ideas from you folks in the comments, so keep 'em coming!

Until next time ...

The Long March - Spring

PxHere

Spring had arrived, though the distant mountaintops were still white, the flatlands were green with new life. The Major knew that soon, they would be heading into those mountains once more. The rebellion still raged, this district was, as yet, "unpacified."

He was waiting, with some trepidation, outside of the General's office. He had been ordered to report in his full dress uniform, something he hadn't worn in months. He was surprised how loosely it fit. The rations at this outpost of empire were plentiful, but uniformly bad. Unappetizing even when prepared by a professional chef, the outpost had none of those. The mess attendants' attitude could best be described as surly. Their competence was also questionable. So he had lost weight, quite a bit from the look of things.

The door to the makeshift office opened, "The General will see you now."

The Major entered the room, noticed the General was standing up as he entered, he came to attention and saluted, "2nd of the 5th, reporting as ordered, Sir!"

The General returned the salute then sat back down, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk, "Have a seat, John, relax. Would you like something to drink, tea perhaps?"

"No Sir, I'm fine."

"There has been talk about the camp, John. Rumor has it that your troops executed wounded militiamen up there in the mountains late last fall."

"It's quite possible, Sir."

"Ah, so you don't deny it?"

"I have no knowledge of that, General, one way or the other. I'm sure it happened, the troops were pissed off, worn out, and thought they were going to die. They came out on top, sort of, but we had to withdraw, so ..."

The General nodded, "Wouldn't be the first time that's happened, probably won't be the last. How's your battalion, ready to take the field?"

The Major looked out the window to his right, he saw troops drilling on the parade ground, somebody else's, not his, "Ready as we'll ever be, barring getting any more replacements. I've got 367 effectives. Over half of those are new recruits, but I've trained their asses off over the winter. Best I can say is that they'll follow orders, to a point."

"We've had scouts up in the mountains, a couple have actually survived to come back and report, that militia outfit that hit you last fall? They're down to maybe 500 effectives. You cut their numbers by a lot. Problem is, looks like they plan on coming down into the hills and establishing a base to raid our supply lines."

"I hear a tasking coming on." the Major stated, flatly.

"Funny you should mention that," the General said without a trace of levity in his voice. "I want your battalion on the road day after tomorrow. This comes from higher, the other battalions have their own tasking."

"We're going out because of last summer, aren't we?"

The General nodded, "Sorry John, higher doesn't have any confidence in your outfit, in their eyes, you've failed twice. They want to grab the rebels attention, up in those hills. Your folks are the sacrificial lamb. We send you out, the militia gathers to wipe you out ..."

"Then the rest of the army hits their main force and their main supply base," the Major finished the General's sentence for him.

"Yup, sorry, John. I think you'll do the job, if you do, the rank you wear now will be made permanent, the battalion will be all yours."

"Or what's left of it ..."

"True. Now get your people ready, you've got a little over 48 hours, make the best of it."

The Major stood up and saluted. As he turned to leave, the General said softly, "Godspeed, John."

"Are your people ready, Commander?"

The commander looked at the representative from the self-styled "Peoples Government," he was slovenly and arrogant, like most politicians the commander thought to himself.

"Yes, what exactly are we supposed to do?"

"Establish an operating base down in the foothills, near their lines of communication. Harass them, kill them, steal their supplies, you know, guerilla shit," the man's grin made the commander want to vomit.

"I don't suppose you'll be coming with us?"

"Oh hell no, I've got other camps to visit, other plans to relay. Remember, it doesn't matter if you and your people don't make it through another summer, if we hurt the enemy, there's a chance of international recognition, with all that entails."

The commander saw that as the opportunity for more politicians to make money. Maybe, just maybe, if those international types sent troops and more modern equipment for the militia ...

"Very well, we march in three days."

"You march tomorrow, Commander."

The commander took a deep breath, "You're not in the provisional capital out here, Representative. A fellow could die out here, real easy like, you know what I mean."

The representative of the people looked for a long moment at the commander, "Was that a threat?"

"Nossir, that was a promise. We march in three days."

"Very well, but I suggest you never come to where I operate, Commander. It can be unhealthy there, you do know what I mean, yes?"

"Wouldn't think of visiting that shithole you call a 'capital,' Representative. My second-in-command will show you out."

"I'll leave ..."

"Nathaniel. show the man to the door, if he refuses to leave, have him carried out. When you're done, come back here with the company commanders, we've got planning to do."

The representative sputtered, but he left when he saw the look in the second's eye. It was obvious that the man would take pleasure in any pain the representative might have inflicted upon him.

As the battalion set out from the encampment, the Major sat his horse and watched. Even the recruits looked good, everyone had fresh kit, their weapons were clean, and the troops marched with a spring in their step.

The colors snapped and fluttered in the stiff wind coming down from the mountains, the Major had insisted it go into battle with them. This time they would come back with honor.

Or not at all.

Retrograde March

PxHere

"Sarge ..."

"Sarge!"

The medic had to grab the Sergeant's shoulder to get his attention. The man was sitting on a dead log, staring in the direction of where the last militia attack had come from, not ten paces to his front was the body of the Captain.

The Sergeant seemed to snap back into the present and turned to look at the medic. "Yeah, what is it, Doc?"

"You okay, Sarge?" Many of the troops were experiencing the adrenalin let down of what he liked to call the "after battle fog."

"Yeah, just, well, you know ..." The Sergeant was still trying to gather his thoughts, to get his act together. Staring at his dead Captain was delaying that. So he got up.

"Sarge?"

The Sergeant held up one finger, as he walked over to the body. He knelt down, stared for a long moment at the Captain's ruined features, then tugged the man's poncho over his head. He placed a hand on the body's shoulder, closed his eyes for a moment, then got up and walked back to the medic.

"So Doc, I take it this ain't a social call."

"No, the Major is dead, the Sergeant Major is a mess, complete breakdown, your Captain is dead, and the Senior Lieutenant is badly wounded."

"What about the Ensign, he was in the middle, right?" The Sergeant had a look of concern on his face, he was not looking forward to what Doc had to say.

"The kid's missing, Sarge. The fighting in the middle was confused and pretty intense, there's a lotta bodies all over the place. One of his guys thinks he saw the Ensign leading a charge down the hill. He's probably out there, somewhere." Doc gestured vaguely towards where the militia's first attack had hit their lines.

"So I guess that makes me the man ... Shit. All right Doc, I need a list of what we've got left and ..."

Doc handed the Sergeant a piece of paper. "That's the bill for this mess, Sarge."

As the militia straggled into camp, the elderly and the children were ready to go. Everyone who could fight had been up on the hill. Everything was packed on the wagons, everyone who could was ready to head into the mountains. The commander was looking for his leaders, without any luck.

"Commander, where are the others?" Moses' wife asked him. "Where is my husband?"

He thought of that moment when Moses was trying to convince him to leave the field.

"Sir, ain't nothin' for it, we got our asses kicked, but we bought time for the families to pack up. Now we need to get the heck out of here. We hurt the regulars, real bad, I've seen the bodies. They ain't gonna chase us, that's for sure."

An instant later, a stray bullet had hit the man he had known his entire life. He had sat with Moses as he died, the medic tried to save him, but to no avail,

"Sir, in my left breast pocket is an etching of my dear wife, I have carried it for years. Please see that she gets it."

"Now look old friend, you can give it to her yourself ..."

He had felt Moses' grip go slack, he took a deep breath, then he had looked up to see one of his sergeants standing there.

"He's gone, Sir. You need to git too."

He had found the etching, tucked it into a pocket, then headed down to where he stood now, with Moses' wife.

"He's gone, Sarah. A stray bullet took him. He's still up there, with the others we lost. There is no time to mourn, we must be away. Those people up there won't follow, we hurt them too bad, but others will come. Now let's be on our way."

The commander waved his hat in the air and the long column began to move out. Deeper into the mountains, hopefully before any more snow fell. The peaks were already white, he hoped the passes were still clear.

The Sergeant was organizing what was left of the battalion. The 297 they'd started with now numbered less than a hundred and fifty. From what the medic had reported, of the survivors at least half were wounded, some critically.

"Can they be moved?" he had asked.

"No Sir, and with the weather being the way it is, most of them will be dead by nightfall."

The snow had stopped, but the temperature was dropping. Off in the direction of the plains, a long line of dark cloud was on the horizon. The Sergeant knew the battalion was finished, they would be withdrawn and perhaps built back up to strength, or perhaps be disbanded, the soldiers going to other units.

"Corporal."

"Sarge?"

"Find any surviving non-coms, have them report here. Looks like I'm the head guy for now."

"Roger that, Sarge."

As she hustled off, the Sergeant watched her. She moved like a deer and fought like a panther. He wouldn't want to make her angry. Perhaps, someday ...

"Sarge?"

He turned, it was one of his men, a lance corporal, he had fought well. "What's up, Solomon?"

"Found this amongst the dead militia ..." he handed over a cloth bundle.

The Sergeant's senses tingled as he unwrapped it.

"It's the colors. What sort of fool takes that into battle?"

"Probably the guy who took it. But I figured you'd want that."

"Keep it Solomon, keep it safe. We'll give it to the regimental commander if we get out of here."

"If?"

The Sergeant nodded, "Okay, when we get out of here."

They had recovered their regimental colors, as the senior surviving battalion, it was their right to carry it. For whatever it was worth, it would at least cheer the survivors.

The regulars found Nemo's body as they checked the dead and wounded. The wounded militia they killed, no one had ordered them to do it, it just seemed logical. After all, they didn't have enough to treat their own wounded ...

"Why worry about these damned rebels?" one of the men had said upon finding a wounded militiaman. So he had bayoneted the man.

The regulars stripped Nemo of his possessions. The improvised camouflage suit they discarded. The bow and the arrows they snapped into many pieces. When they had found the rifle underneath the corpse, they dug into the man's rucksack and found the scout/sniper's camo suit.

The three men and one woman then headed back down towards the fighting positions. The remnants of the battalion were gathering, it was time to move off.

One other sergeant had survived, along with seven corporals, and twelve lance corporals. The medic volunteered to stay with the wounded. The Sergeant had shaken his head. No healthy soldier would stay behind, other than those wounded who could still march, the rest would stay.

The Sergeant looked around, "Where's the Sergeant Major?"

A lance corporal answered, "He's burying the Major, says he's making a hole big enough for two."

"What ...?"

A shot rang out up the hill, where the battalion command post had been.

"Damn it."

The Sergeant Major had elected to stay with his commanding officer.

As the column moved off, the farm buildings behind them blazed in the gathering gloom. The storm would be here soon.

A number of surviving militia joined the column, those who were wounded were loaded onto the carts, if there was room. Many fell out and were left on the trail.

Of the eight hundred and eighty five militiamen who had gone up the hill, five hundred and twelve had come back down. Of those, fifty six were wounded, of them, thirteen would survive to see the spring.

Into the mountains they went, leaving their dead, and their hopes, behind.

Six weeks later ...

The Sergeant stood to attention as the regimental commander presented him with the colors.

"Major, I trust you will guard there colors with your life. Your predecessors all failed. I am assured that should you come through the spring campaign with honor, the regiment will be allowed to return home. Until then, you stay in the field."

It was taking some time to get used to being called Major. There had been a captain at headquarters who had desperately wanted command of this battalion, until his father-in-law, a general, had pointed out that the battalion was disgraced.

"Not a good career move, son," the old man had said.

So the Sergeant had been jumped up to Major, a temporary promotion he was assured. It was expected that he would take the battalion into the field in the spring. They had been reinforced with over three hundred raw recruits, most of them only semi-trained.

The Sergeant - now the Major, he had to remind himself again - figured that most of the recruits had been offered a trip to prison, or a trip to the front. He doubted that any of them had the stomach for what was to come.

Time would tell.

He looked out the window of the small building at the edge of the encampment, the snow was falling fiercely now. He would have to get the troops out to clear the parade ground and all the pathways around the encampment. The battalion was in semi-disgrace, they would get all the shit jobs this winter.

Come spring, we'll go back out, the Major thought.

Come spring.

That's Life!

 So, gonna be a good, sometimes great, week this week!

Why, juvat?

Well, Beans, quite a few reasons actually.

First, Little J has a meeting he has to be physically present for late next week in Sodom/Gomorrah on the Potomac. He managed to preload 5 days in Texas on the leading edge.  We pick him up in Austin on Friday.  That's going to make a lot of folks happy.  We haven't seen him since late July.

We're going to turn that into a bit of a family reunion.  The three factions will meet up in College Station the following week.  Grandson #1 is due to make his appearance that next Friday, so Little J will probably not be around, but we can still have fun.  

And...

If there's some work to be done around MBD and The Rev's domicile, well...It'll be nice to have another strong back to share the load.

So...We've got that going for us.

Anything else happening in your section of the Lone Star State, juvat?

Well, Beans, probably while you're reading this, I'll be standing in front of a Judge.

Oh, NO! What'd did you do now?

I dint do Nuttin!

Isn't that what you're supposed to say?

Nah, Beans, my sister's Intestate hearing is scheduled at 1100 TxDT.  I have no real idea what going to happen.  IMHO, and with a non-judicially trained brain, this should be about a 30 second deal.  Sign some papers to give me access to her assets, if any (big IF), so I can pay bills and distribute any remainder to her siblings.  

 

Her living room/dining room exactly as it was 4 months ago.

It's taken nearly 4 months to get to this point.  And I think the thing that actually got things rolling was me asking our lawyer what would happen if I said I didn't want to take on the responsibility. All of a sudden documents appeared for signing and this hearing got put on the schedule.  

It better be a quick meeting. As an hour after that meeting, Mrs J and I have an appointment with her oncologist to discuss and start her chemo treatments.

Yeah, that prognosis came from outside of Pluto and rocked my world pretty damn hard. It's a colo/rectal squamous cell cancer in her colon.  According to the surgeon who discovered it during her colonoscopy last Tuesday the probability of a successful outcome is fairly high especially if treated early. We had told him we were VERY flexible time-wise. He said it could take a couple of weeks

Here's why it's "good" news (ok maybe "less bad"), that meeting with her surgeon was Thursday, the procedure appointment was made Friday and will occur mid-day today. Fastest "couple weeks" I've lived through.

And...No Lord, I'm not complaining.  Thank you!

She's handling it (outwardly anyway), pretty well.  I've spent a bit more time out in the Horse Barn talking to them than usual lately.  I think the Big Guy can hear me better from there since he's included in the conversation.

We'll see what we'll see.  But...That's Life!

Peace out, y'all!