FicWad

After Liam’s drunken rampage, Colonel Callahan decides it wise to punish the unit in order to better control the behavior of his officers. Enlisted men are already required to leave and return in groups of at least two when going to town unless they are formally on leave and inform the watch of their departure and arrival. Officers may come and go as they please, so Colonel Callahan requires the officers to begin informing the watch of their movements as well. He sets a curfew of midnight for anyone returning from town without leave paperwork. Anyone returning from town after curfew must stand watch every night from midnight until morning every night for a week, be they officer or enlisted, and must still do battle the next day. They are also confined to camp with the exception of battle during their week of watches and the following week. He also bans hard liquor in the camp. He does not ban beer or cider, since they are given beer with their rations and since it is the height of the local apple harvest, and cider is a favorite commodity in Crosspoint’s famous markets. He cannot ban his men from drinking in town, as it would be logistically impossible, so he puts restrictions upon those who are intoxicated and returning from town, requiring them to surrender all of their weapons aside from their folding utility knives to the watch upon arriving at the edge of camp.

Anyone refusing to surrender a weapon will be flogged thirty lashes at muster the next morning. Drunken brawling within camp results in a hundred lashes each at muster the next morning. Anyone too drunk to participate in battle gets three nights of sixteen hour long watches and no dinner for a week, plus a ten day ban on traveling to town. Anyone caught trying to smuggle hard liquor into camp on their person or found distilling it receives fifty lashes, no dinner for a week, no travel for a month, five eight-hour long evening watches, and is to be confined to their tent excepting battle and watches for ten days. He makes an exception for those who are injured, whom he allows to drink under Doctor Sparrow’s supervision, and for those receiving hard liquor in packages sent to them by family members, whom he allows to drink outside the boundaries of camp, confiscating all liquor that comes with the mail and marking it with the name of its owner. He disassembles all of the stills and searches all of the tents, including every single footlocker. His men see this as unnecessary cruelty, but, when they realize that he will not reverse his decision immediately, they learn to live within the limits placed upon them by the new rules. With each passing day, the weather grows colder and frost begins to cover the ground. Most nights, an ankle-deep fog rolls into camp just after sunset, and the grass is covered by frost the next morning. The icy weather only adds to the punishment, since those being flogged must kneel in frosty grass wearing no shirt, and the blood turns to ice on their backs if they are exposed to the cold long enough, as they would be in the case of a punishment of a hundred lashes.

Liam’s hands are slowly healing, but he is still barred from combat for fear that he will not be reliable and because of his other injuries. He is confined to his tent with the exception of meals and trips to the latrine, so he has nothing to do all day and night but stare upward at the canvas of his tent or sleep. He has begun to sleep fourteen and even sixteen hours each day, and he has become apathetic. Captain Boland and Captain Fitzmaurice will not speak with him. Nobody will speak with him. The cuts on his hands are slowly healing, but the lacerations across his back from his own flogging, his badly broken leg, and the cut on his face remain painful. He has nothing to dull his pain, and he has no distractions from it. He remembers prison, as he has been several times, and he remembers the year he spent in the brig of a ship, never seeing the deck or breathing fresh air. His confinement this time is far more humane. He is fed two meals a day at first, being denied dinner as punishment, though he eats very little, subsisting only on biscuits. He can breathe fresh air and escort himself to and from the latrine, provided that he does not leave camp. All of his weapons, including the shotgun he never uses, which lacks any ammunition, and his utility knife, which poses little threat to anyone, have been confiscated. The punishment does not hurt him, but the mistrust does. He was a great officer, second in line to become a major, before he went to town and drank too much. It pains him that he ruined such a situation. The pain makes him yearn for alcohol, but he cannot have any, and he cannot go to town.

Eventually, he becomes listless. He stops eating or even attending meals. He begins to sleep almost constantly, and he will not speak when another speaks to him. He stares blankly ahead in the two or three hours each day that he is awake, and his expression does not change. Doctor Sparrow set his leg in a cast, rather than healing it with blood. Having to heal naturally was part of his punishment. He is less than halfway through the expected healing time when his eyes glaze over. It is then that Captain Fitzmaurice realizes how dire Liam’s situation is, making his own urgency to return to battle while his eye was injured seem petty by comparison. Captain Fitzmaurice petitions Doctor Sparrow to help him. Liam is slowly dying, and Captain Fitzmaurice is the first to realize that. He waits until the Colonel is away at one of his card games and sneaks into his tent to read Liam’s service record, which contains his blood type. He then returns to Doctor Sparrow to tell him that it is the same letter as his own. Doctor Sparrow informs him of two things: Liam’s blood is negative and theirs is positive, meaning that it is still incompatible for them to give him their blood, though he could give them his, and that he cannot heal Liam with blood without either the Colonel’s explicit permission or a higher order.

Captain Fitzmaurice’s movements are not restricted. He may leave camp any time other than during a battle, though he must return before midnight. As soon as he is finished with dinner that evening, Captain Fitzmaurice saddles his steed and rides to town seeking General Callahan. General Callahan once promised him that he would return him to combat, so he wishes to inquire if he might do the same for Liam. Captain Fitzmaurice finds him carousing with the young women of the town unbeknownst to his wife, who is in Bridgeton with their youngest three sons. Captain Fitzmaurice interrupts him and threatens to write a letter informing Mrs. Callahan of his doings if he does not order his son to allow Liam to be healed by blood on the grounds that Liam has suffered enough and his punishment has become torturous. General Callahan does not agree with Captain Fitzmaurice’s assessment until Captain Fitzmaurice tells him that Liam’s eyes look dead. General Callahan has seen the expression before, having seen Jack do the same thing several times in the past, and he knows how dire the situation has the potential to become. Jack most recently did so as soon as Maire decided to divorce him, and his destruction lasted for months. The longer it lasts, the more difficult it is to help Jack. General Callahan supposes that Liam is probably very similar to his father in that respect, so he decides to visit camp later that evening and assess the situation for himself, promising to consider Captain Fitzmaurice’s advice, though stating that he will determine the severity and course of action for himself. He knows that his son will be gone until nearly midnight, so he spends the evening with the young women, and, after having fornicated with three beautiful young women, the oldest of whom was only eighteen, leaves them in his hotel room promising to return in about an hour after attending important business.

He arrives at camp before his son returns, and he meets Captain Fitzmaurice at the flagpole, where he is sitting and cleaning his guns. Captain Fitzmaurice wakes Liam and asks him to come near the camp’s fire. Liam follows silently, wearing only his nightclothes and cast, hobbling into the light. General Callahan recognizes the lack of expression in Liam’s eyes immediately. He has given up all hope. General Callahan knows from his experience with Jack that Liam’s situation is, indeed, as dire as Captain Fitzmaurice believes it to be, if not more so. When Jack’s eyes start to look dead, General Callahan knows that he will become nearly catatonic for at least a month, if not several. Jack is a man of action, and his son is no different. Boredom may be intolerable for a man like Captain Fitzmaurice, but for a man like Jack or Liam, it is not the boredom that initially causes the apathy. Liam, like Jack, is a man prone to the types of mistakes that would cause others to mistrust him, and the mistrust causes a lack of activity because of the inherent nature of the jobs that both men do and always have done, which, in turn, coupled with the initial mistrust, causes the apathy. Liam is also in great pain and is being given no respite from it. If his Colonel had not banned hard liquor, he would be drinking to dull the pain of his shattered thigh. Instead, he is sober by force and has nothing to do in his waking hours but sit and reflect on his own misery. General Callahan instructs Captain Fitzmaurice and Doctor Sparrow to take Liam to the surgical tent and to wait for further instruction. He then goes to his son’s tent and sits at the desk in darkness and silence, and he waits.

Colonel Callahan drinks, but liquor is not his vice. He, his father, his uncles, his cousins, and all of his brothers have strong vices. Some are gamblers, others womanizers or drinkers, and some regularly engage in any number of vices. His vice is gambling. He cannot resist the allure of money earned without work. He does not bet on horse races or prize fights. He prefers gambling on card games, since he can alter the outcome easily. He does not always cheat, as he is an accomplished player, but he must when the stakes include the contracts of members of his unit. He has never lost such a game. He even gambles with enemy officers upon occasion, even though such games are considered high treason by both governments. Weapons, uniforms, men of lower ranks, women, and civilians are banned from the meetings. Numbers must be even between sides due to mutual mistrust, and money, prisoners, and intelligence information are explicitly disallowed in the gambling pot. There is an exception made for weapons and uniforms that are being used as gambling stakes.

Many of the Werewolvish officers have a fondness for whiskey, though vodka is their national liquor. Whiskey, among most other spirits, is banned in the Werewolf Territory. In the Vampire District, many of the little trinkets that Werewolves make to decorate their homes and the toys they make for their children are items that are difficult to find, due to the fact that the forests that once covered the entire country were removed from many lower elevations long ago in order to facilitate farming. The geography of the Werewolf Territories is varied from mountains to steppes, the mountains being heavily forested, and the Werewolvish government controls most things directly. The penalties for minor crimes are stiff, and those for major offenses such as high treason are severe, often being execution. This does not deter many of the younger Werewolvish officers from gambling and illicit trade, since most of them spent their entire lives traveling with the military, being raised by and traveling with fathers in the military until they reached the age when they were eligible to join themselves. Many are surprised to learn that they can get whiskey from Vampiric officers for little trinkets such as painted eggs and nesting dolls. Many Southern Army Vampiric officers are also willing to trade whiskey for vodka once they’ve tasted it at such meetings because vodka is relatively expensive and difficult to find in certain areas of the Vampire District, the same areas where whiskey is readily available, which is most of the range of the Southern Army’s native lands.

For Colonel Callahan, there is a certain thrill about meeting those he would otherwise be killing. Tonight, he is playing against a respected opponent, an enemy Light Infantry colonel with a reputation for being tough on his men and tougher on his enemies. Colonel Dmitry Borshevsky is of a very distant, and, in his opinion, accidental, relationship to the Werewolvish royal family, as all men of his rank in the Werewolvish Army must have a relation to them. He is a big man with fair hair and a cheerful, pink complexion caused by lifelong exposure to sun and wind. Colonel Juriy Maslianka leads a Werewolvish Light Cavalry unit. He considers himself to be a Zaporozhian Cossack and ethnically Ruthenian. His royal relation is through his mother’s family, though he does not disclose how close or distant it may be, even to his own troops. He has striking features, with relatively narrow, dark eyes contrasted against his fair skin, round face, and blond hair. He is the same height as Colonel Callahan, but he is somewhat lighter in frame. Colonel Ryan Mulgeehy is known among his men as the “Honest Thief,” a name deriving from the fact that, as a child growing to adulthood during the final days of the Revolution, he frequently stole from the King’s forces, though he never once lied about doing so. His men come from central District Thirteen and are Vampiric Light Artillery archers. Outside of battle, he is seldom seen without his intricately carved wooden pipe. He is a smaller man than the others, light of both gait and build, and this suits his duties well.

With the opponents at the table, the card game begins. Colonel Borshevsky gambles an old hat from his uniform. It was ruined in terms of following regulations when an arrow pierced it and has since been replaced, so it is useless to him. Colonel Maslianka gambles a sizeable bottle of vodka. He has plenty more in his own camp. Colonel Mulgeehy gambles a scarf knitted in the fashion of the Aran islands. He has another in better condition in his foot locker, and they are as popular for Werewolvish officers to give to their wives as nesting dolls are for Vampiric officers to give to theirs. Colonel Callahan, who typically bids whiskey, gambles a wooden flute. When the Werewolvish Colonels ask why he has no whiskey, he explains to them that he was forced to ban it in his camp, though he does not see the ban becoming permanent, for fear of mutiny. Colonel Callahan wins the majority of the games and returns to his camp just before midnight, carrying his odd collection of winnings. He is in defiance of his own rules, having drunk a considerable amount of whiskey brought by Colonel Mulgeehy as refreshments for the card game, but he is nearly sober after so many hours, so he excuses himself to his tent to sleep the last of the effects off, the watch not having noticed his inebriation. There, he finds his father, and when his father is in the camp, he knows there is trouble.

“Owen,” says General Callahan authoritatively.

“Father,” replies Colonel Callahan apprehensively.

“I have orders for you.”

“Aye?”

“Let the Doctor heal Liam.”

“’Tis part o’ his punishment-”

“His punishment is over unless you want your arse brought up for disobeyin’ me own direct orders. I’m a General, ye’re a Colonel. I can do that.”

“Ye don’ pull rank, an’ ye don’ mess in nobody’s business unless ‘tis important. What happened? Ye did it wi’ Fitzmaurice’s guns, now Liam.”

“Fitzmaurice’s guns was a different story. Ye knew better then, but ye didn’t help him. This time, ‘tis truly important, an’ ye can’t’ve known it. Liam’s stopped eatin’, he’s stopped movin’, he’ll wither to nothin’ if ye don’ do somethin’ an right soon.”

“I set the punishments in me own unit-”

“Ye’re not listenin’. Ye don’ know no better. If ‘twas anyone else, I’d not be sayin’ this. Let him have a drink. Let him be healed. Let him back in combat.”

“How do I know I can trust him after what he did? I’m jus’ waitin’ for his leg to heal to send him back to Bridgeton on a dishonorable discharge. I’d do it now, but I know he’s no family to care for him, an’ I don’ want to hear he died on the streets unable to find work or walk ‘cause o’ me sendin’ him home battered an’ broken.”

“Would ye rather he dies in this camp ‘cause o’ ye?”

“He’d off hisself?”

“No. He’d not do that, but he’s stopped eatin’, an’ he’s thin to begin wi’. He stopped eatin’ near a week ago. He’ll not be much longer.”

“Are ye suggestin’ I force-feed him? I thought that was torture.”

“’Tis. An’ tisn’t what I’m sayin’. He’s in tremendous pain. Ye’re torturin’ him already. He won’t last much longer.”

“How d’ye know?”

“He’s Jack’s son. I know Jack. He does the same thing. The mistrust makes him listless, an’ soon he’s near dyin’. Kill Liam like this, an’ Jack’ll follow. I promise ye that. If ye don’ at least go see him, I’ll jus’ tell your ma’ what a thing ye’ve done.”

“Fine, fine. I don’ want ma’ hearin’ anythin’ ‘bout nothin’ out here. I’ll go see him. Wait… ye smell like perfume. Ma’ don’ use that kind o’ perfume…ye’ve been wi’ women in town. I’ll tell her what ye’ve done.”

“An’ ye’ve been gamblin’ wi’ the enemy colonels. I know ye didn’t get that vodka in town. Hell, ye don’ even drink vodka. An’ that’s an enemy colonel’s hat. I’ll tell her that too. That’s enough to get ye hung for treason.”

“Ye wouldn’t hang your own son for treason.”

“Try me.”

“Point taken. So where is the bastard?”

“He’s in Doctor Sparrow’s surgery. His leg is sorely infected. I’ve seen it meself. The muscle’s near gone. He goes much longer, nothin’ll save that leg, not blood, not magic. We’ll have to amputate it an’ leave him a cripple. Nothin’ he did or ever would do merits that, an’ I don’ want to have to relive what I had to do to Ardal Malone, not least to someone what looks so much like oul’ Jack.”

Colonel Callahan shudders, not wishing to even give a thought to the story he has heard many times over about Ardal Malone’s leg, and says, “Alright. I’ll give it a look.”

Doctor Sparrow is standing over Liam, who is stretched across the operating table completely exposed, his bandages already burning in the camp’s fire. Captain Fitzmaurice is sitting on a crate outside because, despite being close friends with a doctor, he is remarkably squeamish. Part of Liam’s leg injury has become necrotic, and the odor of the now-exposed wound is nauseating. Doctor Sparrow expertly removes the dead, infected tissue, though he has seen few such wounds in practice, even in Crosspoint. He considers putting maggots on the exposed flesh, since they consume only dead flesh and will stop feeding when only living tissue remains, separating the two more exactly than his scalpel can. However, that would take at least two days, and he only has a matter of hours. He cleans the area thoroughly and examines it carefully, making sure that he removed everything that was necrotic. He then examines the cuts on Liam’s hands and the stitches along his cheek, which have fared much better than his leg has, though they seemingly have not healed at all, despite having shown some small signs of progress a few days earlier.

Colonel Callahan ventures into the medical tent, and Doctor Sparrow looks up at him from his position bent over the table seeking permission to progress further, which, unfortunately, lacking a willing donor with Liam’s blood type, the Colonel and his father being type A positive, Doctor Sparrow and Captain Fitzmaurice being type O positive, nobody else being informed of the situation, and Liam being type O negative, would require Liam to be woken in order to consume the blood to promote the healing since intravenous injection or pouring it onto the wound would result in further complications. Colonel Callahan agrees to the procedure, and they wait patiently for Liam to emerge from the haze of the ether given to him for surgery. When he does wake, Doctor Sparrow draws blood from Colonel Callahan, General Callahan, himself, and Captain Fitzmaurice for Liam to drink and gives him opium for the pain once he has done so.

Captain Fitzmaurice thanks General Callahan kindly, to which the General replies that he wishes that it was brought to his attention sooner. He promises that he will personally ensure that Liam will receive a full military pension should his leg not heal sufficiently enough for him to fight and leaves to return to his hotel room and his women, hoping that they will not be too disappointed with him for having tarried longer than he intended. Despite the opium he was given, Liam is in excruciating pain as his leg heals. No self-respecting Vampire likes to drink the blood of another Vampire, and he is no exception. The typical Vampire likes meat, usually cooked rare, due to a commonly shared iron deficiency, which has led to the misconception by other groups, such as Witches and Banshees, that they, as well as Werewolves, who are primarily carnivores, indiscriminately feast on blood and raw flesh. With the prohibition in effect and no liquor with which to drink the blood, the metallic taste of blood remains in Liam’s mouth, sitting on his otherwise parched tongue, coating the inside of his mouth with an iron film, and defying all attempts to swallow it. Liam hears conversation around him, but his mouth is so dry that he cannot open it to reply. The blood, being salty, only gives him a greater thirst, which he has no way to satiate. He feels no hunger, despite not having eaten or drunk anything in many days. He does not remember how long it has been since he had a meal, though he does remember picking at food served to him out of a lack of desire for it.

With Liam completely exposed, it is obvious how emaciated he has recently become. Liam is a thin man, and he always has been, a result of his poverty and inability to afford food on a regular basis. His height usually makes him seem far thinner than he truly is when he is wearing clothing, and nobody in camp has ever seen him shirtless before now. With his body exposed, it is very obvious that he has not eaten anything in a very long time as well as having suffered a lifetime of malnutrition. All of his ribs are clearly visible, as are his hip bones and the joints of his elbows and knees. Colonel Callahan is horrified that one of his men could get into such a state without him noticing. Doctor Sparrow notices something else unusual. Liam’s intact leg is badly bruised for no apparent reason. His fight was well over a week ago, yet the bruises are not healed. He calls Captain Fitzmaurice inside the tent and asks him if Liam was hit in certain places, to which he replies that he could not have been, meaning that the bruises are fresh. He moves Liam onto his side and sees bruises where protruding vertebrae touched the table. He calls Colonel Callahan and asks both him and Captain Fitzmaurice if either of them had seen Liam consume anything other than alcohol, grains, and salted meat. Captain Fitzmaurice and Doctor Sparrow recall that when Kerrigan made dinner, Liam ate only steak when Kerrigan served them dinner, and seemingly survived on rolls and biscuits in camp. Doctor Sparrow dismisses Captain Fitzmaurice, but he does not wander far from the medical tent, watching over Liam in much the same manner Liam watched over him while he was injured. Liam is still awake, though barely. Doctor Sparrow gives him a little more opium in order to put him to sleep, and, once he loses consciousness, begins to discuss his condition with the Colonel.

“Why’d ye put him out? That much opium…wouldn’t it save another man a lot o’ pain?” asks Colonel Callahan.

“’Twould, but I can get more easily, and it does not take very much to induce anesthesia,” replies Doctor Sparrow. “I didn’t want Liam to be awake to hear this. See how the blood isn’t helping as quickly as it ought to be?”

“Aye.”

“Liam won’t heal well.”

“Why not?”

“As ye can tell, he’s severely malnourished. The last time he ate anything of consequence was over a week ago, an’ the last time he had a decent amount o’ anythin’ was in Bridgeton at the Senatorial Ball.”

“I know he’s too thin.”

“He’s beyond thin. He can’t feel the hunger anymore. He’s the worst case I’ve seen still alive, an’ I’ve seen plenty o’ these cases in Bridgeton.”

“Aye. I know men starve in Bridgeton all the time, usually to feed their children. What are ye sayin’?”

“Liam is on the brink of death from starvation, but there are also complications. I’m glad Billy caught it when he did.”

“Caught what, is Fitzmaurice sick?” asks Colonel Callahan.

“Liam is, but Fitzmaurice ain’t. Liam can’t infect anyone.”

“Tha’s good.”

“Are ye drunk?”

“A little. I was hopin’ ye’d not notice.”

“I’m a doctor. I’m trained to notice,” says Doctor Sparrow sarcastically. “Ye’re also startin’ to slur your words.”

“So, how bad is it?” asks Colonel Callahan.

“Your drunkenness or Liam’s starvation?”

“Liam.”

“He’s the worst case o’ starvation I’ve ever seen in a livin’ adult. Look at his mouth.”

“What about it?”

“See the blood there?”

“Aye.”

“’Tisn’t from what he drank. He’s got scurvy.”

“I thought that only existed in District Six,” says Colonel Callahan, baffled that anyone could get such a disease on land.

“Not a’ ‘tall. I’ve seen it in Bridgeton plenty. Ye don’ see it so much since they get like Liam is. ‘Tis painful. They’ve no energy. They’re injured easily. Old scars open. Once the teeth go, they can’t eat. Usually, it takes longer’n this to develop, but that’s assumin’ the patient’d eaten well before. Those statistics are based on District Six. ‘Tis most common there ‘cause o’ the fact the entire economy’s based on the sea. Liam’s always been close to starvation. Ye’d expect an onset of visual symptoms twenty to forty days after the last good meal, an’ ‘tis been twenty days since the Senatorial Ball. He probably wasn’t far from gettin’ it then either. The worse-off the patient beforehand, the faster the onset. As I said, we’re lucky Billy caught it when he did.”

“Can ye fix it?”

“Not wi’ blood an’ not wi’ medicine. He needs food.”

“An’ his leg?”

“Fitzmaurice is a good shot. He missed the femoral artery, which spared Liam’s life. If he’d shot to kill, Liam would be dead. You see how slowly it is healing compared to what you would expect?”

“Aye.”

“’Tis ‘cause he’s weak from the hunger. He’ll not be able to walk well for some time. He’ll still need his crutch.”

“How could I have been so blind!?”

“We all were. Don’ blame yourself.”

“’Twas right in front o’ me.”

“He’ll be alright. Go to bed, Colonel. The rest o’ the unit needs ye.”

“Me brother can bring ‘em to battle again. I need to be here for Liam.”

“Me an’ Fitzmaurice can take care o’ him.”

“I want to be here when he wakes. I have a gift for him.” Colonel Callahan walks outside the tent to where Captain Fitzmaurice is sitting on wooden crates and says, “Thankee, Captain. If ‘twasn’t for ye, we’d never’ve caught it in time. Thankee for goin’ o’er me head an’ usin’ bribery to get it done. ‘Twasn’t honest, but it had to be done. Ye’ll have a medal for this.”

“Sor?”

“Ye saved a good officer’s life, an’ ye stopped a colonel from doin’ somethin’ extremely stupid an’ losin’ a good officer o’er a misunderstandin’. Ye deserve a medal for it.”

“Thankee, sor.”

Colonel Callahan returns to the medical tent and falls asleep by Liam’s bedside, dreaming of gambling on cards at a crossroads at midnight under a full moon. Outside, Captain Fitzmaurice, who is exhausted, is pacing back and forth trying to stay awake. Doctor Sparrow, who is accustomed to bedside vigils because of his profession, is reading pertinent entries in a medical text from his schooldays. He hears a faint moan and looks over the top of his book. Liam is beginning to stir. It is dawn. It has taken six hours instead of the predicted one hour to heal Liam’s injuries, but the wounds are closed. The entire unit is standing in camp in their uniforms expecting their colonel, but he is nowhere to be found. Doctor Sparrow wakes him, and he excuses himself while the Doctor inspects Liam and helps him dress. Colonel Callahan is stopped by a messenger on his way to inspect his troops. The letter he is given contains direct orders not to join the other units in battle for the day, and it is written in his father’s familiar handwriting. He passes the orders on and returns to Liam’s side, stopping first in his tent. Liam is barely able to hold himself up, but he manages a salute, which Colonel Callahan returns to Liam’s surprise.

“Ye have three men to thank, Liam. Captain Fitzmaurice, Doctor Sparrow, an’ me father. I’m truly sorry for what I did to ye. To make it up to ye, I’ve a little somethin’ for ye. I won a bottle o’ vodka in a game o’ cards last night, an’ I want ye to have it. Ye’re the on’y man in this unit what drinks the stuff. Should be good. Mulgeehy wanted it right bad.”

“I thought no liquor,” says Liam, his voice raspy because his throat is dry.

“I’ll be after changin’ that. Ye’ll still have to surrender weapons if ye’re too drunk to talk right, an’ there’ll still be curfews an’ punishments for brawlin’ in camp, but I’ll have to allow the liquor back. ‘Twas stupid o’ me, really, to ban it in the first place. Anyhow, I want ye to join me, the Doctor, an’ Captain Fitzmaurice in town for breakfast. We’ve all missed breakfast, an’ ye need some food.”

“No need. I’ll be fine.”

“Doctor says ye won’t. Ye’re comin’, an’ that’s an order.”

“Can’t walk.”

“Ye’ll have me own horse. I owe ye that.”

After Colonel Callahan reverses his earlier decision and redistributes liquor to many of his men, he saddles his horse and helps Liam mount it, handing him his crutch. The four men venture into town to the establishment where Colonel Callahan’s father is staying, which is called The White Horse Inn. Colonel Callahan knows that his father was awake the entire night with young women, which means that he must have returned to bed after sending the few modifications to his earlier orders. Colonel Callahan knows his father’s habits, and he knows that he will descend for breakfast around the time when the bell tolls seven. It is nearly that hour when they arrive. When they enter, they find the General with three beautiful young women at a large oval-shaped table in the dining room. He hails his son, the Captains, and the Doctor over to them and urges them to be seated. The food has not yet arrived, so they settle into conversation. Liam, who is exhausted, irritable, and feeling generally ill, is wrapped in his cóta mór and scarf, despite the fact that it is the last day of October, not winter at all. General Callahan introduces the three girls to the men and vice versa. To his right is Alice Madigan, a petite blue-eyed blonde wearing a pale pink dress with matching ribbons in her curly hair. She is the youngest of the group at barely sixteen years of age and is very shy. Next to her is Evelyn Darcy, the eldest of the group at barely eighteen years of age, who has blue eyes and dark brown hair, curled in a similar fashion to that of her friend. She is wearing a slightly simpler, dark blue dress that displays her large chest. Being the eldest, she is the most proper. To the General’s left is Mary Plunkett, who is the tallest of the group. She is wearing an olive green dress and has green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. She is also sixteen years of age and is very outspoken. Colonel Callahan sits with Evelyn to his left and Liam to his right. To Liam’s right is Captain Fitzmaurice. Doctor Sparrow sits between Captain Fitzmaurice and Mary.

“Pleased to meet you, ladies,” says Colonel Callahan.

“How do you know the General?” asks Alice timidly.

“I’m his son.”

“What’s up wi’ him?” asks Mary, pointing to Liam.

“He’s not well,” replies Colonel Callahan.

“I hope ‘tisn’t catchy!” exclaims Mary.

“Mary, ye mustn’t say such things!” exclaims Evelyn.

“’Tisn’t catchy. I promise. I’m a doctor,” says Doctor Sparrow.

“A doctor? Tell me about it,” says Mary, flirtatiously.

“A married doctor, I’m afraid.”

“What about your friend there?” asks Mary, pointing to Captain Fitzmaurice.

“Unmarried but faithful,” replies Captain Fitzmaurice.

“I had so hoped the two o’ ye might be interested in little Alice. You would be so adorable together!” sighs Mary.

“No,” replies Captain Fitzmaurice. “Ye’re lovely girls, but ye’re all too young for me, an’ I got a woman already. One’s enough for me, thankee.”

Colonel Callahan chuckles. “One’s more’n plenty in your case, Fitzmaurice.”

The wife of the tavern owner brings them breakfast. Colonel Callahan whispers something to her. She nods and returns with extra food. There is a variety of sausages, bacon, potato cakes, tea, biscuits, pancakes, syrup, eggs, cider, and fruit with cream. Liam insists that he is not hungry, but Colonel Callahan whispers to him that he is ordered to eat. He cannot disobey a direct order, so he does as he is told. Liam cannot help but think how Mary and Conan Callahan would be perfect for each other. Mary is outspoken, and Conan needs someone in his life to shout at him, in Liam’s opinion. If he were any other private, he would not be considered for promotion for at least a year, particularly with the offenses on his service record that he has. Liam’s impression is that Colonel Callahan is not treating his brother like every other private. Everyone in the unit whose surname is not Callahan is given promotion based first on merit, then on time served, with past disciplinary proceedings counting against them and punishment based upon the severity of the offense with rank, prior conduct record, and merit in service counting against the severity of the punishment, so a private with a poor conduct record will be punished far more severely than a major with a good one for the same offense. Colonel Callahan treats Conan too well for an enlisted man in the opinion of most of the unit. He recently broke several rules by going into town alone to buy liquor to bring back to camp, returning after midnight, drinking it before and during battle, and not surrendering his weapons in camp, and the Colonel pretended that none of that happened, angering most of the unit. The Callahan name is an excuse not to be responsible, knowing that there is an older Callahan who will fix any mistakes and make it seem like they never happened. Liam doubts that his father would do anything like that for him.

After breakfast, Colonel Callahan, Captain Fitzmaurice, Liam, and Doctor Sparrow all return to camp. Doctor Sparrow and Captain Fitzmaurice immediately fall asleep. Colonel Callahan takes the opportunity to read through a large pile of mail. Liam, however, is restless. After his long hibernation, despite being extremely fatigued and sore from his injuries and illness, he feels that he must answer to someone for his wrongdoing. He need not apologize to his superiors or his equals. They all understand. He must apologize to a mere private, someone whose opinion he values highly, despite the man’s low rank. Liam can barely walk with the aid of his crutch. His leg is very sore, and he lost a lot of muscle to his injuries. Despite the fact that he was healed by blood, it will be at least a week before he can walk unaided and is without pain. Liam limps to Private Callahan’s tent. When he arrives, Private Callahan tells him that he does not wish to see him. Liam must rest before returning to his own tent, so he sits on a nearby tree stump. Seeing that Liam has not left, Conan wanders outside and sits on the ground near him. Liam takes out the vodka that the Colonel gave him and pours himself a cup. He motions for the cup from Conan’s kit and gives him some as well.

“This from the oul’ still?” asks Conan.

“No. ‘Tis vodka.”

“I don’t drink vodka.”

“Try it. I never drank it ‘til I tried it either.”

Conan sniffs it, and, deciding that it isn’t poisonous, drinks it quickly. “Not bad. I actually kind of like it. Not so much burn.”

“I’ll show ye how to make real poitín sometime.”

“I thought ye were headed back to Bridgeton,” says Conan, curious as to Liam’s intentions.

“No. Your brother decided to keep me here,” replies Liam.

“Did he, now?”

“Aye, he did.”

“I hear he’s goin’ to promote ye.”

“He promised.”

“Ye sure ye’re ready?”

“I want it.”

“I know ye want it, but are ye ready?”

“I dunno.”

“Then ye probably are. If ye’d said ye knew ye were ready, I’d’ve said ye best wait.”

“Why?”

“Ye’ll know when ye have to consider your subordinates. I can’t really explain it to ye other than to say that overconfidence leads to problems.”

“Oh.”

“Look…Conan, I didn’t come over here to lecture ye about promotions. I came to apologize for what I did to ye. How bad was it?” asks Liam.

“Broken head, no brain damage an’ a stab wound to the chest, collapsed left lung, missed all other major organs. Healed wi’ blood that same night. The headache lasted three days, but I’m fine,” replies Conan. “So, are ye askin’ everyone’s forgiveness?”

“No, jus’ yours. Everyone else’ll get over it.”

“What makes ye think I won’t?”

“Because ye’re an honest man. Ye’ve made your mistakes, sure enough, an’ ye’ve found your vices, but ye ain’t dishonest.”

“I ain’t innocent no more.”

“No, ye’re not, but ye’ve got a sense o’ honor an’ dignity an’ what’s right. Your ma’ raised a good son.”

“I still think ye’re a bastard for what ye did to me.”

“That I am. I never should’ve gotten ye involved. Your oldest brother, our Colonel, now he’s a different story. He gambles on officers’ contracts an’ cheats men at cards. He ain’t so honest sometimes. I don’ want to do him harm neither, but out o’ the two o’ ye, I’d rather it be him. Ye’re jus’ different than the rest o’ us. Ye’re destined for somethin’ better. I don’ know what, but somethin’. Maybe ye’ll become the first honest Colonel this unit’s ever had.”

“Ye’d call your own father dishonest?” asks Conan.

“He was the worst. Me own father, your father…back then, honesty wasn’t as important as winnin’. Our lives still depend on winnin’, but back in the Revolution, trustin’ the wrong man could get ye killed, so ye had to be fairly secretive an’ dishonest to know who was on your side an’ who wasn’t. They fought dirty so men like yourself could be free, fight honest, an’ break the chains o’ poverty. That, an’ because they jus’ liked fightin’ an’ the king…well, he was a real bastard. If ye think I’m bad, ye should hear the stories ‘bout him.”

“I’ve heard ’em from me father.”

“I’ve a tale ye’ve ne’er heard ‘afore.”

“Try me,” dares Conan.

“Your da’ was lucky. Your ma’ was ne’er caught helpin’ him or the cause, though she certainly did her part. I didn’t fight in the Revolution. I helped the cause by stealin’ an’ smugglin’. Well, I had a woman at the time. Her name was Mary Jameson. We was engaged to be married. Ye’ve seen how stupid I get when I start drinkin’, well, one night, I went out an’ got langers. Next thing I knew, she was gone. We was told she died in prison not ‘cause she did nothin’ wrong but ‘cause she helped me hide.”

“Jaysus! Was it really that bad?”

“Aye, ‘twas. I’ve drank since I was but a child, but I didn’t start drinkin’ like that ‘til after Mary died. She changed everythin’ for me. If she’d lived, I’d not be here. I’d not’ve gone to prison. I’d not’ve tramped the country roun’ an’ roun’ lookin’ for work. I’d be workin’ a straight job in Bridgeton comin’ home every day to her cookin’ an’ the childer by the fire. Maybe I’d still’ve ended up out here. I dunno, but I’d not be drinkin’ the way I do, an’ I’d have a wife an’ childer. That’s certain.”

“D’ye want childer?” asks Conan.

“I dunno,” replies Liam. “I’d like a wife, but not just any woman. I want me Mary back. There’ll ne’er be another woman for me.”

“What’s it…like…bein’ wi’ a woman?”

“I’m not the man to ask. I’ve not been wi’ one in o’er thirty years,” confesses Liam. “I barely even remember anymore. Ask your da’. He ought to have told ye by now.”

“Thirty years?” asks Conan.

“Aye. What’s wrong wi’ that?”

“’Tis jus’…that’s…”

“Almost twice as long as ye’ve been around. I know.”

“How can ye-”

“Stand it? Ye get used to bein’ lonely, an’ after a while, it don’ make no difference. I spent years goin’ from woman to woman an’ town to town, but when I met Mary, everythin’ changed. I didn’t want no one else. She was makin’ me wait ‘til we was married, an’ she died ‘afore we could marry. I’ve not been wi’ a woman since. I don’ miss it no more.”

“Don’t ye get lonely?”

“Aye, but when ye’ve found the right woman, no other woman’ll do. Ye’ll see someday. Don’ be thinkin’ ‘bout that yet. Ye’re too young. Ye’ll know when ye’re ready.”

“Captain Shepherd, sor,” begins Conan, embarrassed and desperate to change the subject.

“Liam’ll do,” says Liam, unaccustomed to being addressed by either his rank or his newfound surname.

“Liam, I forgive ye. Sure, I’m still here, amn’t, an’ I’ll ne’er again make the mistake o’ runnin’ into a fight wi’ no decent weapon knowin’ me opponent’s armed.”

“To be honest, Conan, ye got me good. D’ye know how hard ‘tis to concentrate wi’ your face sliced open an’ blood in your eye? Ye gave me more fight than Kian, Owen, or your father.”

“I didn’t see what happened to them. I was unconscious.”

“Kian lost three teeth. Owen got his arm broke, an’ I cut your da’s throat.”

“Jaysus!” exclaims Conan.

“All without a scratch on me. On’y three men got a good hit on me, you, me father, an’ Captain Fitzmaurice. Ye’re braver than any o’ them. Ye did it alone, an’ ye did it first. Ye took first blood, Conan. In a duel, ye’d’ve won.”

“I was given a medal for it.”

“Ye really earned it. That promotion too. I suppose your brother did make it fair for ye, after all,” says Liam. “Now would ye help me up? I need to go back an’ sleep, an’, sure, the vodka’s gone now.”

“Aye, sor.”

“An’ how many times do I have to tell ye there’s no need to be after callin’ me ‘sor’?”