FicWad

With Liam in Highton helping Mary to move into Jack’s estate and Colonel Callahan restricted to bed rest while he heals from his third set of stitches, the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry is in a state of disarray. Rose-Marie Callahan is staying with her husband in town, keen upon the chance to see him and her sons again after many months and to let his younger children visit their father and older brothers, whom they have missed very much since the war began. General Callahan, normally a bit of a rakehell, resigns himself to drinking only with dinner and being a mild-mannered gentleman in order to set a good example for his sons. In Bridgeton, he goes out at night, but in Crosspoint, with his family visiting him for only a short time, he would rather not anger his wife or have his observant young sons realize what he does in his spare time. He would rather not shatter their innocence any earlier than he absolutely must. Even though he knows that Conan is of age, General Callahan still laments his innocence having been shattered in the way that it was, and he fears the same for Devon.

Major Fitzmaurice, who, like the other majors, has been very busy trying to keep the camp in order while Colonel Callahan is on his sickbed, is eager to visit Lieutenant Barrett. He gets his chance on a cold, rainy afternoon when there is no battle, but when he gets to her camp, he finds nothing there. He walks to where her tent should be and was, visualizing the camp in his mind, and he sees something glimmering in the blood-stained grass. He bends down and places it flat in the palm of his hand. It is Emmy’s locket. He opens it and sees a picture of her father, easily recognizable as a miniature of the same painting of which he saw a copy daily when he lived in Barrett Hall while attending Bridgeton Military Academy. It was hard to miss or forget, since it was in the lobby of the barracks, opposite the entry’s double doors. Opposite her father is a picture of her mother, who was beautiful and who died when she was very young. Major Fitzmaurice closes the locket and turns it over in his hand so that he can read the words on the back, which say “To my Emmy, love Daddy.” Major Fitzmaurice knows that Emily would not have left her locket behind if she left of her own volition. He merely hopes that it was dropped while her unit fled and that she is with her unit and alive, but he fears that she is a prisoner of war, since he knows what will become of her if she is.

Finding no indication of where her unit went, he returns to his own unit, crestfallen. After a few hours of pacing and trying desperately to calm his nerves, he goes to town to ask Kerrigan, who is staying with Jack for a few more days before returning to Court City, if she has any information about Emmy’s unit, but when he arrives at Jack’s cabin, he finds that it is ablaze. Kerrigan’s and Jack’s horses are trapped in the small stable behind the cabin, and Kerrigan’s son is inside the burning building. Incensed that the boy would be left alone, as he was in his own childhood, and blinded by rage, he runs in with no regard for his own safety. He finds Jack unconscious behind the bed. Major Fitzmaurice rushes in, saving Jack’s portrait of Lynn and a few of his and Kerrigan’s things along with Kerrigan’s son, leading the panicked horses out of the stable, and returning for Jack. Major Fitzmaurice inspects him, and, when he realizes that Jack is not highly intoxicated, which is unusual, he drags him into the street and splashes him with water from a collection barrel near the side of the house.

“Uhn…” Jack moans. “Where am I?”

“Crosspoint City, sor.”

“Who’s there?”

“Major Fitzmaurice, sor, Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry.”

“You know…my son…Liam.”

“Aye, ye know that. Sor, what happened?”

“She…left…an hour…watch the boy…She didn’t…come back…They came…stabbed me…left for dead…Baby wasn’t mine…not worth it…didn’t take it…too noisy…come back to shoot it later.”

“We have to get ye out o’ here. There’s a cart o’ hay. Can ye stand?” asks Major Fitzmaurice, hoping for an affirmative answer so that he does not have to lift Jack.

“No,” replies Jack hopelessly. “Bring the boy…whorehouse…next street…They’ll watch him…Annemarie.”

“By God, I’ve got to return ye to the Thirteenth.”

“Won’t make it…enemy in town. Leave me here. Those who fall behind…are to be left behind.”

“I hate to disobey an order, sor-”

“Bullshit.”

“-but ye need a doctor. Never let a comrade be captured by the enemy alive. Brothers above all else. Ye’re comin’ wi’ me.”

“Won’t make it,” says Jack.

“Aye, ye will,” assures Major Fitzmaurice stubbornly.

“Jus’ like your ma…”

“Am not.”

“When she smuggled…she didn’t take no requests…no orders neither. Run into fire…always got there…Persistent, Liz was.”

“I’m not like her.”

“Not like she is…she was…‘afore Gerald died…‘afore his accident.”

“Accident?” asks Major Fitzmaurice, confused.

“Get me through…I’ll tell ye…can’t…stay…awake…Godspeed, Sir William Fitzmaurice,” says Jack, making Major Fitzmaurice cringe at the sound of his proper title.

Major Fitzmaurice drags Jack over to a cart full of hay, nestles him and the few belongings he was able to save in the hay, harnesses his own horse to it, and ties Spectre’s and Pyro’s reins to the back. Spectre bends down and sniffs Jack’s limp body as he finally bleeds through his thick winter coat and stains the hay around him red. Major Fitzmaurice then runs into the next street, locates a brothel he has often heard praised by the Callahans and Lieutenant Hackett, and asks for Annemarie, who, despite Major Fitzmaurice’s expectations, is a kindly madam with an infant of her own. She agrees to take and hide the baby for a few days. Major Fitzmaurice then returns to Jack and drives him to the camp of the Thirteenth Bridgeton, which is in complete disarray after the escalation of an argument between two of the men into a brawl. Major Moynihan, who is far more experienced than Major Fitzmaurice, stands in the middle of camp attempting to restore order without much luck.

He greets Major Fitzmaurice excitedly, “Thank God ye’re here. I thought ye’d died. We’re all we’ve got. Callahan’s lost in town somewhere, an’ his big brother’s still abed. The other two majors are off on weekend passes.”

“Wonderful,” says Major Fitzmaurice. “They’re killin’ civilians an’ brass in town.”

“We’re waitin’ for an order. We can’t do nothin’ without an order.”

“There won’t be one. The Brigadiers have all fled. As for the Generals, they captured Callahan an’ Malone. O’Casey’s hurt bad an’ where they can’t get him. McMahon’s got a broken skull, but they got him out too. Flannigan’s missin’.”

“An’ the Western Army?”

“Kavanagh retired an’ ain’t been replaced yet. Vaughan’s captured. They think McNamara’s dead, if not, he’s hurt bad enough to look it. Murdock’s hurt. Murdock an’ Ó Seachnsaigh are barricaded wi’ Miss Kerrigan. Hopefully the enemy don’ find ‘em an’ torch the inn.”

“I jus’ realized…Colonel’s ma’s in town wi’ the boys still…” worries Major Moynihan.

“For Christsakes…at least they ain’t been taken…that we know,” says Major Fitzmaurice, always aware of the likelihood of a bad outcome, despite his inherent desire for optimism.

“Where’s Senatorial General Shepherd?”

“In the hay cart. He told me all that. He ain’t in no fit state neither. Been stabbed. I brought him here for the Doctor. He’s not long wi’ us if he don’ get seen soon.”

“Fetch the Doctor. Send Kian an’ Conan wi’ a few men after their ma’ an’ brothers. Send the Doctor, Boland, the Colonel, an’ Jack into the woods wi’ the cart, a bit o’ food, a gun, the medical supplies, an’ their horses. Ye take half o’ the men what’s left an’ go wi’ the other units. I’ll take the other half an’ move camp. Godspeed to ye, Fitzmaurice.”

“To yourself as well, Moynihan.”

Lieutenant O’Dunphy kneels, carefully saying his prayers despite the chaos around him, his sword, belt, and musket by his side, and whispers, “Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Let thy kingdom come. Thy will be fulfilled as well in Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation: but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

“But we ain’t on Earth, Father,” says Conan Callahan, who is donning his armor next to Lieutenant O’Dunphy.

“He can hear us in Hell too. He saves us even here.”

“Even us were born damned?”

“Especially those condemned for the sins o’ others.”

“How d’ye end up a priest in Hell anyway?” asks Conan.

“Some boys, born here like yourself, go to a seminary,” explains Lieutenant O’Dunphy. “I wasn’t one o’ them. I lived ‘afore priests couldn’t marry, back in the good days. I lived a poor, simple, country life, but a happy one, an’ I worked wi’ the poor, unfortunate souls an’ the travelers through the village, ‘til one day I caught somethin’ from one o’ them an’ died. I don’ know what ’tis called.”

“Have ye asked Doctor Sparrow. I’ll bet he knows.”

“No. It does not matter. When they offered me me place in Heaven, I asked ‘em to send me to Hell where a kind word an’ some comfort wouldn’t go amiss. I go where I’m needed most.”

“But how does a priest end up in the Army?” asks Conan.

“’Tis where I’m needed most,” replies Lieutenant O’Dunphy serenely.

“An’ how’d ye become one o’ us?”

“I asked them ’afore I left Heaven so I could live a normal life here, so I could relate to my parishioners.”

“So why d’ye pray so much if ye chose to go to Hell?” asks Conan.

“I’m a priest, Conan. ‘Tis what we do,” replies Lieutenant O’Dunphy flatly.

“I mean ‘afore battle.”

“’Tis ne’er done me wrong. God listens, Conan. Ye may’ve noticed I’m missin’ a few things everyone else ‘round here’s got. I’ve been wi’ the unit longer’n most o’ ye’ve been alive, since the Revolution, but I’ve never once been promoted, nor been injured in combat.”

“No guts, no glory,” says Conan proudly.

“Aye, but glory’ll kill ye. Piety’ll keep ye safe. Tell me, how does a smart boy like yourself end up believin’ in ‘no guts, no glory’ an’ such?” asks Lieutenant O’Dunphy dryly.

“Me da’, sor.”

“I know right well who he is, but I’d’ve thought he’d’ve wanted better for his boys.”

“Were poor, an’ not a man was born a Callahan an’ a coward…well…’cept me. I’m a fuck-up. Sorry for the language, Father.”

“Ye’re not. Ye’re too smart for this…too curious. I don’ think Kian wants anyone to know this, but he got sick from his firs’ battle out here.”

“Really?”

“Aye, an’ your da’ tried to hang hisself durin’ the Revolution, so don’ think ye’re some kind o’ coward to ‘em.”

“That’s our call to arms,” says Conan, hearing shouts from the other side of camp. “I’m to go to town and meet back wi’ Fitzmaurice. No guts, no glory. Yourself?”

“Moynihan. Fight smarter, not harder. Godspeed, Conan.”

“Yourself as well, Father.”

Doctor Sparrow and Captain Boland, who is still weak himself wait in the woods with Colonel Callahan and Jack while they await news. Jack remains unconscious, and Colonel Callahan moans continually. After several hours, Doctor Sparrow realizes that the fate of the war and the nation rests in his ability to save Jack’s life. The men have seen their leader, the master tactician, broken and battered, and they believe the cause to be lost without him. The spirit of the unit is shattered, despite the Majors’ rallying cries and the chaplain’s prayers.

Lieutenant Coffey is among the last to leave camp to follow Major Fitzmaurice into battle, and he is sickened by the silence. He shouts, “Do they call us ‘Jack’s Heroes’ for nothin’? Do the wolves have ye by the balls? Will ye take the slaughter like lambs or will ye stand an’ fight like ye ought? Are the men o’ Bridgeton cowards? Go fight! Now, ye bastards!”

After hours of waiting for news and with daylight waning quickly, Doctor Sparrow takes a lantern and a gun and hides in thick brush for cover. Jack’s breathing is extremely labored, and his body is as cold as ice. He removes Jack’s clothing carefully, as they have little else in which to dress him. The closer he gets to Jack‘s body, the bloodier the layers are until he reaches a makeshift bandage tied by Jack’s own hand. Under that, Doctor Sparrow sees a fresh stab wound among all of Jack’s old scars. Jack’s face is ashen from blood loss. Doctor Sparrow stitches Jack’s wounds and returns him to the relative warmth of the hay, wrapping the blankets they have around him and nestling him in with as much of the hay as possible, careful not to use too many supplies, as he is certain that the supply chain has been disrupted and that he can expect heavy casualties when the unit comes to find him and the other lost souls. The unit never comes, and the casualties never come. Night falls, and nobody comes for him. When dawn breaks the next morning, Captain Boland wakes him, and he turns to see if Jack survived the night. With no food for themselves except for a few berries and mushrooms scavenged from the forest, they feed the horses some of the hay from the cart, and they head toward camp on foot, but, finding nothing there, turn back toward the woods, lest they be seen.

“’Tis been captured,” hisses Lieutenant Boland. “We’re in enemy territory. If we’re caught we’ll be killed or worse.”

Doctor Sparrow finds a little-traveled path through the woods that leads to the swamps and meadows north of the city. He hopes that it is unguarded, as it is marked but not well-worn, and he is afraid of what he will see as he travels down it, unsure of where he is headed. In order to hide the identities of himself and his companions, he hides the most recognizable parts of their uniforms, their weapons, and his medical bag under the seat and dresses Jack only in his bloody shirt and trousers, despite the cold. Colonel Callahan, Captain Boland, and Jack all have varying shades of red hair but bear little other resemblance to each other. Doctor Sparrow hopes that to an inquisitive foreign soldier, it will be enough for them to pass as brothers, should they be stopped along the road. Doctor Sparrow harnesses Jack’s horse to the cart and has his own, Colonel Callahan’s, Captain Boland’s, and Kerrigans tied in a solemn procession behind. Jack’s horse will not budge for his unfamiliar driver until he sees that Jack is there.

Conan sits on the ground beside Lieutenant O’Dunphy, who ran away from camp against Major Moynihan’s orders to warn Major Fitzmaurice of an enemy advance. Major Fitzmaurice, still uncomfortable with the burden o command, sits alone, shivering from the cold, wishing that Major Moynihan had been able to reach him with a location for the camp. Major Fitzmaurice’s men, who withstood the brunt of the action, have no fuel, no food, no water, no blankets or tents, and no medical supplies, the heavier items having been left with Major Moynihan’s party, which was charged with moving camp. Kian, whose small band of men found Major Fitzmaurice’s men fighting in the streets of central Crosspoint, walks over to Major Fitzmaurice and puts his winter coat around the Major’s shoulders.

“Ye did the best ye could,” assures Lieutenant Callahan.

“’Twasn’t good enough,” laments Major Fitzmaurice.

“There’s no way ye could’ve prevented casualties. The fact ye were able to warn us a’ ‘tall surely saved lives, in our unit an’ the others nearby, an’ ye’re a good leader. If ye weren’t, all the men ‘afore ye’d be dead.”

“Civilians shouldn’t’ve been killed.”

“That was the enemy’s doin’. Not yours.”

“But we should’ve seen ‘em earlier, prevented ‘em from ever reachin’ the city.”

“Ye’re a Major, not a General.”

“If this is jus’ o’er half the unit, an’ I know from O’Dunphy that Mohnihan’s lot was worse off once we left, for they’d the gear to slow ‘em down…Jaysus, what’ll your brother think?”

“We don’ know where he is or even if he’s alive. Kian an’ me found ma’ an’ the boys. Da’s been captured. Brendan’s still missin’, an’ Owen’s lost wi’ the Doctor. Last we heard, Moynihan survived, but last we heard was when O’Dunphy found us. Ye may be the on’y Major left wi’ no Colonel.”

“Where’s Owen, Boland, Jack, an’ Doctor Sparrow?”

“We’ve no idea. O’Dunphy didn’t tell ye, but last we heard, Moynihan left ‘em in the woods when he broke camp ‘cause o’ the fightin’. Didn’t want ‘em exposed. From where the lines are drawn now, I doubt anyone made it back to fetch ‘em.”

“Me best girl an’ me best friend in the same day…” laments Major Fitzmaurice.

“Emily’s dead?” asks Lieutenant Callahan, surprised that Major Fitzmaurice is able to function at all, let alone lead the unit.

“I don’ know. I went to find her an’ they’d already broken camp. That’s how I knew. All I found was her locket, an’ Brendan’s God on’y knows where…”

“Ye’ve got to stay strong. If ye go, we all go. I’m afraid to lose ye,” frets Lieutenant Callahan. “Ye’re actin’ as Colonel now.”

“Ye’ll not be rid o’ me so easy,” says Major Fitzmaurice with a defiant spark of his usual personality shining through his gloom. “I wish Liam was here.”

“He ain’t. Let him enjoy Mary’s company a while. God knows when he’ll see her again.”

“Aye, but he knows how to survive this, an’ I don’t.”

“Ye’re not meant to. No one is. Liam’s seen worse’n we could imagine. Ye may’ve grown up on the streets, but ye’d brothers to look after ye, a sister to care for ye, a ma’ who really did love ye, an’ a family to take ye in when your own fell apart. Ye even got an education. I always dreamed o’ the chance to go to the Academy, but I never got to. I really wish Conan could go, though. He’s meant for somethin’.”

“Aye…but what?”

“No idea, but I hope he survives this war. Poor thing. I forget he’s on’y seventeen.”

“As do I. He’s different. He’s just not one o’ the men.”

“Maybe he’ll be a chaplain or a surgeon. Ma’d like that.”

“No…he’s more…he reminds me o’…”

“Ma’ Kerrigan?”

“Aye. Some. ‘Tis as if he’s got Jack’s spirit, your da’s courage, your ma’s smile, Liam’s temperament, an’ her ways.”

“He has that, but ye forgot somethin’.”

“What?”

“The Doctor’s curiosity, Colonel Hagan’s thirst, an’ your own way wi’ words. Sure, he could start a fight an’ end it in one breath.”

“I eagerly await the day he becomes an officer,” says Major Fitzmaurice, daydreaming.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” says Lieutenant Callahan coldly. “I’ve the need to make Captain first, which won’t happen any time soon, an’ then Conan’ll eventually make Lieutenant, then no more promotions ‘til Owen gets promoted or resigns his commission. Da’s rule.”

“An’ here I thought ‘twas easier for Generals’ sons.”

“On’y firs’ sons.”

“By God, Kian, ye’re drunk!” realizes Major Fitzmaurice.

“Aye. Ye caught me, Major. Took ye long ‘nough. So clap me in irons an’ flog me arse blue,” says Lieutenant Callahan cheerfully.

“Lieutenant, I was merely going to ask if I might partake o’ the same meself.”

“Ye’re the commandin’ officer, though.”

“As if Owen don’t drink.”

“We could be attacked or forced to retreat at any time,” frets the normally cheerful Lieutenant Callahan.

“Lieutenant, I lost me commandin’ officer, me best friend, an’ me girl on the same day. The one man I know who’d know what to do in this particular situation ain’t here. We’re in a field in the middle o’ nowhere wi’ no supplies, an’ ‘tis snowin’. I jus need a drop to warm me bones,” reasons Major Callahan.

“Major, ye’ll be asleep after a drink or two…”

“Have the enlisted men take four hour guard duty shifts. Tell everyone to rest. Should anything’ happen to me, I trust yourself an’ Morrison to share command. Ye’re more aggressive, an’ he’s more logical. Between the two o’ ye, the right decsions’ll be made.”

“Go see me ma’. She’s a blanket for ye an’ a drop o’ the pure.”

“I’d rather one o’ the wounded men get that blanket. I’ll survive,” insists Major Fitzmaurice.

“No heroics, Major,” says Lieutenant Callahan somberly and sleepily. “The men wanted yourself to have it. Not a soul’ll take it, neither, not even the boys. I asked all the men meself. They respect ye. Ye saved their lives an’ as many more as ye could, as any man could. Whoever’s left’ll give ye a medal, no doubt. Tonight’s too snowy…too foggy, but tomorrow night, ye can signal an’ find other camps if ‘tis clear. But go, get some rest. Ye need sleep, Major.

Major Fitzmaurice stands and stretches before slowly stumbling across their rough encampment to Rose-Marie Callahan. Meanwhile, Conan keeps watch over Lieutenant O’Dunphy. Conan should be sleeping, since he must stand guard from midnight until four. Lieutenant O’Dunphy whispers something, and Conan asks him to speak somewhat louder.

“I’m wounded, Sergeant.”

“I thought God protected ye,” says Sergeant Callahan jokingly.

“He must’ve been distracted ‘cause I was movin’ too fast. No guts, no glory,” says Lieutenant O’Dunphy, smiling weakly.

“Where are ye hurt? I don’t see no blood?”

“Chest. I can barely breathe. I need ye to take me confession an’ bless me. I’ve no other priest here.”

“I might be able to save ye, sor.”

“’Tis the Lord’s time for me to go. Me work on Earth was done long ago, as now is me work in Hell.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Conan takes his flask, pours a little on his knife, and cuts between Lieutenant O’Dunphy’s ribs. He then breaks the plumes off of a broken writing quill, pours a little alcohol on it, and stabs it forcefully into his incision in order to drain some of the blood from Lieutenant O’Dunphy’s lungs. Lieutenant O’Dunphy falls into an uneasy sleep in a pool of his own blood with the help of a flask full of whiskey after Conan finishes his surgery.

Come morning, there is a layer of snow on most of the men. Shortly before dawn, Major Fitzmaurice wakes, hearing the men on watch making their rounds. He cannot feel his feet, and his fingers are painfully stiff and blue. He slowly sits and removes a woman’s hand from his chest. Rose-Marie Callahan wakes to his touch and draws herself backward, her sleeping son Killian in her arms. Major Fitzmaurice dons his glasses and sees Devon and Brian sleeping together nearby. The rest of the men are either still sleeping or dead. He would rather not fathom which. Major Fitzmaurice’s horse stomps, snorts, and tries to graze on the stubble left in the field.

“We didn’t-” begins Major Fitzmaurice.

“No. We didn’t,” replies Rose-Marie Callahan. “Ye were warm an’ close by, an’ I had to save the baby. I thought ye’d understand o’ all people.”

“I do. I do, ma’am. I jus’ didn’t expect-”

“Don’ worry. There’ll be no rumors. First off, they wouldn’t dare. Second, ye were the first asleep. Third, ye were drunk.”

“I need to get these men to safety today. They won’t survive another day without food an’ another night without fire. I fear some may’ve already passed. But where do we go? We won’t see campfires ‘til nightfall.”

“Major, look on the horizon. There are bonfires aplenty. Send Kian an’ Conan to scout. If they’re friendly, that’s where we go.”

“If they’re not?”

“Ye’ll be safe here.”

“But Kian an’ Conan- I can’t risk your sons’ lives. Kian an’ Conan-”

“Won’t be stupid enough to walk where they’ll be seen ‘til they see our colors and wouldn’t tell where ye were if they were caught. Wake ‘em. Those two could use the discipline.”

When Kian and Conan return, it is dawn. They are accompanied by about a dozen men and a horse and cart. Among them is Colonel Hagan of the Fifty-First South Side Bridgeton Heavy Infantry, who is eager to help for a change. His men and the men of the Forty-Third North Side Bridgeton Cavalry, out of District Twenty Bridgeton, have come with supplies for the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry. Doctor Considine was roused from his bed when it became known that the Thirteenth Bridgeton was without a doctor. Michael Jameson, who shares a tent with Doctor Considine and is a very light sleeper, volunteered to help when he heard which unit needed assistance.

“Major Fitzmaurice, this all that’s left?” asks Colonel Hagan.

“I don’ know,” replies Major Fitzmaurice. “Major Moynihan took half the unit to move camp. I took the rest to fight. Conan an’ Kian went to find their ma’. They found me after, quite by accident. Doctor Sparrow went missin’ wi’ Captain Boland, Colonel Callahan, an’ Senatorial General Shepherd, who I brought from town, as he was hurt.”

“I’m sorry we didnae come sooner. We didnae ken ye was in trouble. We thought ye Wolves.”

“For what reason?”

“Ye’re aboot a mile into enemy territory, Fitzmaurice. Ye’re lucky they didnae ken ye’re here. How many wounded survived the night?”

“O’Dunphy’s got a slow bleed to his lung. Conan saved his arse. Tom Finnerty’ll lose his arm for sure. We’ve a few broken legs, a shoulder what needs to be set, an’ any number o’ cuts what need stitchin’ an’ broken heads sittin’ wi’ the watch. Considine’ll be busy all day. Colonel…?”

“Aye?”

“Thankee.”

“Jus’ don’ never say I ain’t never done nothin’ for ye,” says Colonel Hagan gruffly.

Michael Jameson, seeing the rank on Major Fitzmaurice’s lapel and seeing no colonel or other majors, walks over to him, hands him a thick blanket and a flask, and says, “Major, I’m terrible sorry.”

“Why, Michael?” asks Major Fitzmaurice.

“Have we met?”

“At your sister’s weddin’, though it seems like ‘twas ages ago, considerin’ all that’s happened since.”

“Major Fitzmaurice?”

“Aye.”

“I didn’t recognize ye.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“’Fraid so.”

“I hope Emmy don’ see me like this.”

“I’m sorry to say she won’t. Emily Barrett is a confirmed hostage. She was targeted for her gender and her wealth.”

Major Fitzmaurice remains silent, but he drinks to steady his nerves. Everyone keeps their distance from him except for Major Jameson, who, having lost his sister for thirty years, realizes that Major Fitzmaurice needs companionship. Conan Callahan, confident that Lieutenant O’Dunphy will survive under Major Considine’s care, dares to approach Major Fitzmaurice, despite Kian’s advice to leave him alone with his thoughts.

“Major…?” asks Conan cautiously.

“Aye?” asks Major Fitzmaurice, his voice shaking.

“Can I sit wi’ ye?”

“O’ course, Conan. Ye’re always welcome. Ye remember Major Jameson from the weddin’. He’s Mary’s brother.”

“Aye.”

“Ye’re one o’ General Callahan’s brood, aye?” asks Major Jameson.

“Aye. His fourth. D’ye know me father?” asks Conan.

“No, an’ I doubt I’d want to. I jus’ hope ye’ve more sense’n he does,” replies Major Jameson.

“Major, I’m sorry ‘bout Emmy. I’ll get her back for ye. I promise,” says Conan.

“Thankee, Conan. I know ye know pain. If ye help me get Emmy, I’ll help ye get your father back,” replies Major Fitzmaurice.

“He’s probably dead.”

“I doubt it, though the sight o’ the state o’ him’ll give ye nightmares. The priority now is to get your ma’ an’ the boys somewhere safe.”

“Major, ye should have Doctor Considine look at your arm,” says Conan, observing something unusual.

“Why? I’m not hurt.”

“’Tis blue.”

“By God ‘tis. I’ve had far worse. I jus’ need to sit by the fire a while.”

“Doctor Sparrow told me ye shouldn’t drink if ye’re that cold.”

“Aye, but he’s not here, is he?”

“No, sor.” Conan sits in silence for several minutes and then says, “Major Fitzmaurice, sor, plesase don’ die.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Conan. Ye can be damned sure o’ that,” says Major Fitzmaurice definatly.

“Kian said-”

“I don’ give a damn what Kian did or didn’t say. I ain’t Kian. I don’ even drink wi’ Kian unless I’m desperate. He don’ know me well enough to say what’s what.”

“Sorry, sor. I didn’t mean to get ye mad, sor.”

“Ye didn’t. I jus’ want to get out o’ here unseen an’ have a scrap o’ food. Truth be told, I can’t hold me liquor too good, an’ I won’t be standin’ if I drink much more.

Later in the day, Major Fitzmaurice, sleeping in a spare bunk in the privates’ quarters in the camp of the Forty-Third North Side Bridgeton Cavalry, is woken by news that Major Moynihan has the camp positioned in a thick forest nearby. Major Fitzmaurice moves his men yet again, finds his own bunk in the majors’ tent, and drinks himself back to sleep. He does not wake until morning when Major Moynihan calls for muster, after which he returns to sleep until noon, when he wakes, eats, and returns to his bunk. Nobody dares to disturb him. In the late afternoon, Doctor Sparrow locates the camp. Only he dares to enter the majors’ tent to wake his old friend.

“Billy…Billy, wake up. Please wake up. ‘Tis Brendan,” says Doctor Sparrow excitedly.

“Callahan?” asks Major Fitzmaurice.

“He found his way back this mornin’, ye fool. ‘Tis me.”

“Ye’re alive?”

“An’ unharmed. Jack’s in camp, an’ the Colonel’s doin’ better. Boland’s nearly his usual self. He’ll be ready to fight in a week or so more. He even taught me to make bullets an’ shoot a gun like yourself, like ye did an’ I ne’er quite saw the point o’ ye teachin’ me, though I can shoot, an’ now I see why.”

“How come it took ye so long?”

“We followed the oul’ meadow trail ten miles or so to the north where there’s a bit less fightin’, an’ we camped hidden in the woods or the grass ‘til ‘twas quiet. Me an’ Boland left Jack an’ the Colonel for a time, went ahead, an’ found friendly units, then went back for ‘em. I’m glad to see ye made it through, even if ye do look as though ye’ve aged about a hundred years.”

“Emmy didn’t make it. She was captured,” informs Major Fitzmaurice somberly and automatically.

“By God! We’ve got to rescue her!” exclaims Doctor Sparrow, his tone turning from one of excitement to one of indignation and resolve.

“There’s no hope. We’ll ne’er find her. Even if we do, we’ll ne’er get to her. Even if we do, ‘twill be too late. ‘Tis the famous Barrett curse. I on’y wish we’d a child. She’s so beautiful…for her to die so horribly an’ not to have had a child to carry her name or inherit her fortune an’ beauty…”

“They’ll send her body back when she dies. They’ll make a trophy o’ her. She ain’t dead yet.”

“That’s what I fear, an’ I’d rather not think o’ what they’re doin’ to her meanwhile.”

“Billy, there’s no guarantee they’ve done a thing to her. She was on’y taken a few days ago.”

“They do the same to everyone they capture. They torture the men for information an’ kill ‘em. They rape an’ torture the women for months, then kill ‘em or enslave ‘em, an’ Emmy wouldn’t make a good prostitute, no matter how good she is in bed ‘cause she‘s too damn respectable.”

“What’ll it take to get ye to fight again?”

“I’m through, Brendan,” says Major Fitzmaurice, his spirit defeated.

“Bullshit,” says Doctor Sparrow, turning his back on his old friend.

Doctor Sparrow, knowing that Major Fitzmaurice has a propensity for violence at times, leaves his tent, not wishing to start an argument, and is immediately approached by Conan, who asks, “Is the Major alright?”

“He’s in a bad way, Conan,” replies Doctor Sparrow. “A very bad way.”

“He promised he’d help me get me father back if I’d help him get Emmy.”

“I doubt he will.”

“But ye comin’ back must’ve done somethin’. It must’ve cheered him some.”

“No. He knew I wouldn’t’ve been captured. I was either dead from a bullet, sword, or arrow…a quick death, or alive an’ able to return. He knows she’s been taken, an’ the fate for a woman…”

“Doctor?”

“Aye.”

“What is the fate for a woman what’s been captured?”

“I’d rather not say, I rather like Emily Barrett, an’ I don’t want to think ‘bout that happenin’ to her any more’n he does.”

“But what is it?”

“I’ll tell ye,” says a familiar voice, “but not in front o’ the Doctor nor near the Major’s tent. Emily Barrett is a fine woman, an’ too great a loss to bear.”

“Liam?” asks Conan. “The Major’ll have to cheer up now!”

“Doctor, if I’m not much mistaken, Major Fitzmaurice has injured hisself accidentally an’ needs your services right bad,” says Liam.

“Excuse me,” says Doctor Sparrow, ducking into the majors’ tent.

“How’d ye know?” asks Conan.

“I know Fitzmaurice,” replies Liam. “He can’t hold his liquor.”

“Back so soon?” asks Captain Boland, having just returned from washing himself and shaving.

“Couldn’t stay away, I promised Mary I’d take leave as soon as I’m not needed. Ye look better.”

“Much, but go tell the boy. He’ll do somethin’ stupid for the Major. Might as well know what he’ll see when he does.”

Liam steps into the empty surgical tent and says, “Conan, when a man is captured, his value is determined based on his rank an’ name. Captains an’ Majors an’ Colonels know plans an’ names an’ things the enemy wants to know. Corporals an’ Sergeants don’t. Now, ye’re a General’s son. Ye’d be spared torture for your rank an’ execution for your father’s name. They can ransom ye. That is, force your da’ to pay money or give away secrets to get ye back. Now, if ye knew somethin’ an’ ye was captured, would ye tell ‘em?”

“No,” replies Conan.

“So they’d break ye ‘til ye told or died.”

“How?”

“Starve ye, make ye work for ‘em in chains, break your bones, burn ye, hang ye from your arms an’ drop ye, put your legs in the Iron Boot an’ close it ’til it crushes ’em into blood an’ marrow, cut off a few fingers or an arm or a leg, rip out your eye, rip your fingernails off like they did to Captain McEvoy, or break your fingers an’ rip out your teeth like they did to Fitzmaurice…We’re lucky to still have him. We’re lucky he died from it an’ the Doctor was willin’ to spend a fortune an’ break a few laws to get him back an’ save him from death. That was a nasty business, it was.”

“When was Captain McEvoy captured?”

“McEvoy? I suppose that was ‘afore your time. He was on’y gone a few hours. O’Dwyer went behind enemy lines to save him. An’ ye know what happened to the Major…well…that he was captured protectin’ yourself an’ how he came back…not what happened to him meanwhile.”

“Aye…an’ I’m still guilty ‘bout it.”

“Ye always will be.”

“But what happens to a woman?”

“When a woman is captured, well, to put it bluntly, her value is determined based on how large her chest is.”

“I like breasts…does that make me a bad man?” asks Conan guiltily.

“’Course not! Don’t we all…fun to play wi’,” Liam replies, his tone momentarily lightening but then quickly returning to his former seriousness. “But flat-chested women are killed upon capture because, while the men who are strong an’ survive torture or are jus’ chosen then become slaves or are forced to fight for the enemy, the women are all sold into either domestic slavery or prostitution, an’ Werewolves see no value in a flat-chested woman. The prostitutes ye’ve seen an’ slept with chose it, some as a profession an’ others out o’ desperation, ‘cept a small few in the worst parts o’ Crosspoint what are Werewolfish slaves. Imagine bein’ forced into that ‘gainst your will an’ ne’er seein’ so much as a single copper coin for yourself.”

“’Twould be awful.”

“Aye. They break the women by chainin’ ‘em down an’ beatin’ ‘em an’ rapin’ ‘em day in an’ day out for weeks on end. Sometimes they knock all their teeth out so they can’t bite an’ force ‘em to take it in the mouth, sometimes so hard they break their jaws. Once they’re broken an’ will do anythin’ they’re told, they start forcin’ ‘em to eat to fatten ‘em up. Werewolves like their women a bit heavier’n we do. Now, if they get Emmy that far, Fitzmaurice’ll probably want nothin’ to do wi’ her. He don’ like that kind o’ girl. He likes his ladies thin an’ feisty, so I’m told by Doctor Sparrow, who knows him best. If they don’ put up no fight, they ain’t interestin’ to him. He had a bigger girl once, an’ she wasn’t faithful to him an’ she lied ‘bout it. Told ‘em she’d be havin’ his kid, an’, when she did, turns out ‘twasn’t his, as the Doctor tells it. But we’ve weeks or months ‘afore they get that far wi’ Emmy. She’ll be right hard to break ‘cause she’s so damned stubborn. As stubborn as he is…that’ll be our savin’ grace if we go to rescue her. Thankfully, he likes fightin’ girls…”

“If they’ve…touched her…even if she didn’t’ want it…will he….?” asks Conan awkwardly.

“I don’ know,” replies Liam.

“Faith! How could he not- ‘Tisn’t like-”

“Major Fitzmaurice is proud an’ extremely territorial. No man wants to think ‘bout someone else ‘touchin’ his girl. For some, there’s solace in knowin’ she didn’t want it. For others, there ain’t. He’s a hard one to predict sometimes. But I promise ye he won’t completely abandon her. She jus’ might not be…his…is all, might stay more like a friend. If that happens, the question’ll be whether or not she can stand seein’ him wi’ another woman.”

“I like Emily.”

‘As do I. She makes him normal…sane, perhaps.”

“Tolerable?”

“Aye.”

“Is it true ye killed De Lacey for him?”

“Not jus’ for him, but aye. I gave up a chance at bein’ a Major for him, but that’s jus’ what was right an’ fair. De Lacey tried to shoot some o’ our own men in battle. Said they was scoundrels an’ blackguards. I pretended to be his friend, to agree, brought him to town, got him drunk, started a fight, blamed it on him, an’ saw to it he got what he deserved…wi’ his own rifle.”

“Who’d he want dead?”

“Mostly new privates, Father O’Dunphy, a few men wi’ relatives up north who’d fled the Revolution, Kian, an’ yourself.”

“Why me an’ Kian?”

“Kian because he’s reckless an’ always off in town wi’ the women an’ the whiskey. He thought ye both weak an’ bad luck. I told him he’s crazy for thinkin’ that ‘bout either o’ ye. Some o’ the officers don’ like havin’ a sergeant, or, at that time, a corporal, ‘round. Think ye’re an uppity bastard ‘cause ye’re a general’s son. They’re the ones who get so obsessed wi’ order an’ propriety they don’ know a good idea when they hear it. He was one o’ them. ‘Twas a lot o’ good men or him, so now he’s dead.”

“Why would he-?”

“Don’ try to guess. Ye’ll never know. Don’ torture yourself o’er De Lacey. What’s done is done, an’ there are far more serious matters at present.” Liam pauses. “I’m sorry to hear ‘bout your da’, Conan.”

“’Tis alright. He knew the risk,” replies Conan automatically.

“We’ll get him back. I jus’ don’ know how…”

“Can we set up the still?” asks Conan, desperate to change the subject.

“Do we have everythin’?”

“Aye…I found what we’ll need.”

“Go ask your brother if we can, an’ set it up if he lets ye. I’ll check it later. I doubt a drop o’ the pure’d go amiss ‘round here.”

Conan and Liam build a still in camp and begin to use it. Colonel Callahan wishes it were further away, but he does not voice any objection. The men who remain are battle-weary and disheartened. For every man who finds his way to camp, the rest are reminded of those who have not yet returned and those who can never return. Nearly everyone lost a friend, brother, or cousin. The five women in the unit have been reduced to two, one having resigned her commission as a lieutenant in order to return to Bridgeton to marry, the other two having been killed in battle. The two women who remain, both sergeants, take a mothering role, helping to dress the wounds of the living and to prepare the recovered dead for their journey home or for immediate burial in the military cemeteries being formed in the local area, if they have no families to receive and bury them.

It is late at night when Doctor Sparrow finally finishes operating. Tomorrow promises to be a long day of changing bandages and inspecting wounds. As soon as he steps out of his surgery, Conan approaches him. Doctor Sparrow brings him into the surgery and inspects his eye, as it has been a few days since he has been able to monitor it. He gently cleans the wound and puts a bandage on it so that it will not be irritated by the rubbing of the leather eye patch. Conan did not come for this purpose, but he is grateful for the assistance, knowing that the Doctor is a very busy man when battles go poorly.

“Doctor, sor,” says Conan, “I came to ask ye…where’s the nearest city?”

“Crosspoint, still. Ye know that,” replies Doctor Sparrow.

“No…I mean the nearest city we control.”

“Still Crosspoint, technically. The battle lines may be drawn on the near side o’ Crosspoint, but its government still belongs to us.”

“I mean the closest place we can go to get a drink.”

“The still. I know what ye’re gettin’ at, an’ I don’ know right off…I think…think, mind, not know, the nearest village is Stillwater. Ye’d have to ask the Colonel or one o’ the Majors or sommat. I can’t say for certain exactly where we are on a map, but I believe we’re about six or seven miles south-by-southeast o’ the village o’ Stillwater…but why would ye want to go there now? ‘Tis late, an’ Stillwater ain’t like Crosspoint.”

“’Tis for tomorrow night, sor.”

“We’ve liquor in camp. Why could ye possibly want to go to Stillwater? Are ye after the whores again? ’Cause I doubt ye’ll find any there.”

“I’m not goin’ alone, nor am I goin’ wi’ Kian to find girls. I’m lookin’ for somethin’ else,” replies Conan, deliberately trying to interest Doctor Sparrow.

“Your uniforms are in order, ye’ve food an’ drink, an’ supplies are good enough for the moment. What could ye possibly be lookin’ for?”

“A place to plan.”

“Plan what?” asks Doctor Sparrow, both interested and horrified at his interest, afraid to know what might soon happen.

“A trip to Crosspoint to rescue Emmy Barrett, an’ me da’, an’ the others,” replies Conan resolutely.

“Conan, ye’re mad,” says Doctor Sparrow flatly.

“No…Liam’s in it too…he jus’ figured I’d be able to get ye to tell me what the nearest town is ‘cause he don’t know. ‘Sides…we need your help.”

“I’m not risking me own neck when I’m needed here for-” begins Doctor Sparrow indignantly.

Conan interrupts, “We need ye to help anyone what’s hurt. Ye’re a doctor. Ye do that anyway. Why can’t ye do it for us? ‘Twill be for those what need it most.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it. This is why talkin’ to ye is so much like talkin’ to Billy…er…Major Fitzmaurice. ‘Tis like makin’ a deal wi’ the devil, on’y the devil’s a bit easier on ye.”