FicWad

Major Fitzmaurice is not a cruel man. He is not a selfish man either. He is a quiet man who entirely dislikes bars and the general business of corruption. He often ponders whether Colonel Callahan’s decisions are morally sound before following orders, making him a wonderful leader and a terrible soldier. He is both well-liked and well-respected by the men, despite the fact that he rarely goes to the bars in town. He is well-liked because he will not lead men into certain death, regardless of orders, and is not above aiding even the lowliest private out of a dangerous situation. He is well-respected for his marksmanship, his education, and the fact that, although he joined as a lieutenant, the result of his having attended Bridgeton Military Academy, he earned his promotions, rather than being given them by a father, brother, or uncle. This earns him the respect of the men struggling to make the next rank because they have the wrong surname and no powerful relatives. Some of them languish for years as privates before becoming noticed by their colonels. Major Fitzmaurice has a definite eye for talent and is able to see a future leader even in the most inexperienced group of newly trained recruits. Some of this skill was taught to him in Bridgeton Military Academy, but much of it is luck and intuition. While he does question some of Colonel Callahan’s decisions, he does not strongly oppose him having the position that he does, and he is not a dissenter or a mutineer himself, but many of the enlisted men believe him to be a better leader than the Colonel is and wish that he would personally challenge the Colonel for control of the unit.

Colonel Callahan and Major Fitzmaurice are not friends, nor are they bitter rivals. Major Fitzmaurice resents the fact that the uneducated son of a general could rise above him in rank, despite being younger than he is and having only the most basic of education, but he does not hate Colonel Callahan for that fact, nor does he hate him for the fact that he never had to earn a thing. It is in Major Fitzmaurice’s nature to question decisions that he believes to be ill-conceived or ill-advised, but it is not in his nature to hate anyone who has not wronged him. He is not a bitter man, nor is he an evil one. He is ultimately practical and believes in the value of a man’s word based upon that man’s honesty rather than his rank as well as surviving to fight another day being more important than one’s personal desire for unrivaled glory. He does not believe that Colonel Callahan was ready for the burden of command when it was given to him, nor does he personally believe that he himself is ready. He would prefer to have an older, wiser colonel, and would probably be happier in a unit led by one, but he realizes that he cannot pick and choose his leaders, merely the leaders of the future.

His reputation for finding the best talent where it would seem indistinguishable has earned him a reputation amongst the officers both in his unit and throughout the units stationed nearby. Just as the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry is often informally called the “General Maker” because of the number of Generals who once commanded it, Major Fitzmaurice is known as the “Officer Maker” because of his ability to select leadership talent. Many men have tried to curry his favor with gifts in order to bribe him to select them for promotion by their respective commanding officers, but he remains decidedly impartial, preferring not to know the men’s names before he observes them so that he may pick the future leaders without the influence of their family names or their gifts. He knows that his type of leader will be prominent in the future, when people learn to realize that a bloodline does not guarantee greatness and that the only way those bloodlines got the reputations they have is through the actions of an individual or a group of brothers at some point in the past.

Major Fitzmaurice hopes for a day when officers are selected primarily based upon education and also upon earned merit from the ranks of the enlisted, rather than being based upon one’s ability to prove one’s relationship to a Senator or a General. He doubts that the nation will ever accept the idea of electing common men to the Senate, but he dares to hope that one day, the people will have the chance to elect their Senators from amongst the wealthy, as he knows that certain Senators rarely attend to their duties but are able to keep their titles because of wealth. He lacks the power to initiate a change in the minds of his countrymen, but he has the ability to change the lives of a few deserving men and feels that it is his personal duty to do so. A debt owed to his closest friend’s father changed his life forever and gave him his education and, therefore, his rank. He knows that he would probably still be a corporal or maybe a sergeant if he had not gotten that opportunity for education and had joined the Army at age sixteen, since he is not related to anyone currently serving or anyone who is a former high-level commander. So he knows that he must do as much as he can to influence those in charge to select the correct men for promotion. He is not outwardly very political, though he is certainly opinionated. He prefers to keep his opinions to himself and to focus on everyday matters, such as how to get his unit out of the trouble his colonel causes.

This creates a natural rift between men like Major Fitzmaurice, who made their own way in the world, and men like the Callahans, who have followed their fathers and brothers into the Army and were guaranteed easy promotions. Even Donald Hagan, the ornery colonel of the Fifty-First South-Side Bridgeton Heavy Infantry, agrees with Major Fitzmaurice, who is usually a target of his ridicule and contempt. Colonel Hagan earned his rank through his skill with weapons and his knowledge of weakness. He challenged his superiors to duels on the condition of rank and won his promotions during peacetime by exploiting their flaws and challenging them to duel him with weapons with which they were unfamiliar, much in the same way that Conan exploited Colonel Callahan’s lack of endurance. It is widely considered to be a highly unethical practice when done publicly and for personal gain, as opposed to for the purpose of honor, the settlement of disputes, or to prove a point; but it is legal and a widely used and legitimate means of earning promotion in some units, nonetheless. Colonel Hagan and Major Fitzmaurice have nothing but contempt for each others’ lifestyles. Major Fitzmaurice believes that Colonel Hagan is nothing but an overzealous, aggressive bully with no style or sensibility and an uneducated, prejudiced farm boy whose only purposes in life are to get extremely inebriated, consort with farm animals, beat people until they are senseless, and generally cause havoc. Similarly, Colonel Hagan believes that Major Fitzmaurice is nothing but a fashionable, delicate pseudo-gentleman with no sense of manual labor or his own place in life and an overly educated, egomaniacal city boy whose only purposes in life are to mess with the order of things, chase women, incite change where it is neither needed nor wanted, and generally cause havoc. The only thing that Colonel Hagan and Major Fitzmaurice agree upon is that Colonel Callahan was given his command by his father, as he even became a colonel on his birthday, and that the majority of his orders ought to be thoughtfully considered and often slightly modified for logistical and safety purposes before they are followed by his subordinates.

Colonel Callahan is not a bad leader, but he does not always see the danger in certain situations, and he believes that glory and honor are of the utmost importance. He is dedicated enough to his unit to know that his personal beliefs are not those of his men and that the discipline that his father instilled in him and his brothers, while fine to instill in a small group of men, particularly from young boyhood, would only cause resentment amongst a group of grown men as large as an entire light infantry unit, particularly in a unit where the men pride themselves on belligerence as a way of life. He is intelligent enough to surround himself with competent majors of differing opinions, a counsel of sorts, rather than a group of people who unconditionally fold to his every demand. Only one of the five current majors is unconditionally loyal to Colonel Callahan’s wishes, and he is his brother. The other four majors give thought to matters before agreeing with his rulings. He still gets the final say, and they obey his orders, but they tend to modify small things so that the orders are more palatable to those who have to obey them. He does not mind this, as it usually causes things to go far more smoothly for the lower ranks. Unfortunately, Colonel Callahan rarely has a chance to meet with all of his majors at the same time, so each major modifies his orders differently, which occasionally leads to chaos.

Among the enlisted men, a rift has formed and fights have started. Some men have nothing but contempt for their colonel and his mismanagement, and many want either Major Fitzmaurice or Major Moynihan to succeed Colonel Callahan, despite the strong likelihood that Colonel Callahan’s brother will succeed him, and they want that change of command to be immediate. Neither Major Fitzmaurice nor Major Moynihan particularly wants to be the colonel of the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry anytime soon, particularly because neither of them wants to be the colonel who allows the unit that so many generals have called their own to fail. Neither of them believes that the unit is viable, and both of them favor disbanding it over having its men fight as mercenaries and replacements in units where they are not trained to handle the type of combat in which the host units specialize and put themselves in grave danger by handling weapons with which they are unfamiliar, which is the current situation.

By the calculations of Majors Fitzmaurice and Moynihan, they are losing more men, and particularly more new recruits, to death and debilitating injuries aiding other units than they would be fighting alone as a small unit. There are repeated promises from Bridgeton of dozens more men that are supposed to be arriving any day, but the messages have been arriving for months, and less than a dozen men have arrived since the capture of Crosspoint, far less than the number of men who were killed, wounded badly enough to merit a medical discharge, resigned their commissions, or retired their contracts since then. The number of men who have arrived account for a number that is less than half of the casualties in Major Fitzmaurice’s part of the unit during the loss of Crosspoint alone. Those who can leave and have served their mandatory minimum of five years are doing so, leaving the rest to suffer in silence. Doctor Sparrow is busy repairing broken bodies at a faster pace than any single doctor should be able to handle without at least two competent apprenticed assistants, and the men’s morale is more broken than their bodies are. There are few men who are loyal enough to want to remain until certain death, given the choice. There are a handful of officers determined to save as many of the lives of those who cannot leave, either because they cannot yet retire their contracts or resign their commissions or because they have no other prospects for employment and need the money in order to support their families, as they possibly can.

A surprising addition to the ranks of the officers who are determined to save as many enlisted men as possible is Kian Callahan. Most of the men thought that Kian would remain stoutly loyal to his older brother, just as Brendan Callahan did, but Kian, largely influenced by the inquisitive Conan, has seen that his own father and brother are destroying the very thing that they want to protect. He can see that his family is going to be torn apart if things do not change soon, and he wants to remain with Conan, should that happen. He is loyal to his younger brother above all because he sees himself as his protector. Should the family tear apart, Conan would be ostracized, and Kian does not want to see him go through that alone, even if it means being ostracized himself. He is less willing to break the bonds and traditions of his family than Conan is, but he, at least, has not been poisoned by the corruption of power and will stand against his brothers when he knows that they are wrong. Conan and Kian are in a unique position, creating a bridge between the officers and the enlisted men because of their familial relationship. The strong bond between the Callahan brothers and the fact that neither Major Fitzmaurice nor Major Moynihan support open rebellion are the only things preventing the unit from descending into a state of lawlessness and mutiny.

Once Doctor Sparrow finishes his surgery on the Private whom Major Fitzmaurice shot, he returns to his tent, dons his gray flannel pajamas and his blue flannel bathrobe, though he is wearing boots. He has learned not to walk barefoot or wear civilian shoes in camp, since the pathways are usually muddy, icy, or both, depending on the season, and there are sometimes items such as bullets, nails, and blades in the ground. The only part of the military uniform that the civilian doctor does not object to wearing is a spare pair of boots given to him by Major Fitzmaurice after he stepped on an arrow point hidden in the mud and ended up lodging it in his foot shortly after he first arrived in Crosspoint and had to stitch the bottom of his own foot together without anesthetic, being the only doctor nearby. He still wears those exact boots every time he leaves his tent, and even now, he wears them to his belated breakfast. He locates his mess kit and carries it to the mess hall, but when he arrives, he discovers that there is no food there. He returns to his tent, hungry and in no mood for the usual cheerful greetings of the men whose bodies he has repaired more times than he wants to fathom. He puts away his mess kit but removes his tin mug and a small cooking pot that he rarely uses from it. He takes it to the stream in the woods, which is still frozen solid. He walks out onto the stream and stands in the center of the ice. He stomps his foot on it until the bottom of his boot goes through the ice. He then breaks a chunk of clean ice away with his hands, puts the chunk of ice in the pot and carries it back to camp. He builds a fire in one of the communal fire pits and hangs the little cast-iron pot over it. The air is so cold that he can see his breath hanging in front of him clearly. He is exhausted, and nobody dares to venture near him. Eventually, while Doctor Sparrow is still fighting the elements trying to make his ice melt and boil for his tea, Major Fitzmaurice returns to camp, Lieutenant Barrett having returned to her own unit hours earlier.

“Can I join ye for tea?” asks Major Fitzmaurice.

“Aye, I don’t see why not,” replies Doctor Sparrow.

“I’m guessin’ ye had to clean up the mess I left.”

“Aye.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Ye really do have the worst temper o’ anyone I’ve ever met,” says Doctor Sparrow.

“Sorry,” apologizes Major Fitzmaurice.

“’Twouldn’t’ve been so bad if I’d not been tryin’ to go back to sleep after the mess wi’ Colonel Callahan. Conan won his duel, but he cut the Colonel’s leg bad.”

“Is that what the boy was tryin’ to tell me ‘bout?”

“Aye, ye really shouldn’t shoot the messenger, Billy.”

“I know better…I know. But, to be fair, he did startle me.”

“The poor kid’s on’y sixteen an’ he’s got a little girl. He can’t afford to lose that leg.”

“He shouldn’t’ve joined the Army,” says Major Fitzmaurice coldly.

“He was desperate,” says Doctor Sparrow, trying to reason with Major Fitzmaurice and force him to see a different kind of logic.

“That don’t matter. I’ll admit I was wrong to shoot a friendly, but if ye can’t afford to lose your limb or your life, ye don’t belong here, especially not now. Why d’ye think we’re gettin’ our arses handed to us, hm? ‘Tis because we got men what don’ know where their undying loyalty leads an’ what don’t know the danger ‘afore they come here.”

“An’ then they turn to me an’ ask, ‘Can ye save me leg, sor?’ As if I’m a ‘sor!’ I knew more o’ what to expect when I first got here than half the soldiers do. An’ to think, they was trained for it an’ I wasn’t. I jus’ answered an advertisement in the Bridgeton papers askin’ for doctors willin’ to go an’ help the men at war. I went to the office, said what unit I wanted to serve, turned out nobody’d come forward askin’ for this unit, so I got it. I packed me things an’ rode out here the next week. They’ve been trainin’ for months, an’ they don’ know who who’s ‘sor’ an’ who ain’t.”

“They don’ know how to hold a rifle for shite either. For feck’s sake, Devon Callahan knows how to hold a rifle better’n half o’ the new recruits, an’ he’s what? Twelve? Honest, I’d rather have him than ten new recruits. He listens when ye say ‘No, ‘tis too dangerous,’ an’ he knows how to shoot.”

“He ain’t reckless nor a coward, neither,” says Doctor Sparrow, shocked that they would consider a twelve-year-old to be a better soldier than many grown men, though he agrees with Major Fitzmaurice. “Half o’ the injuries I get to fix are injuries that could’ve been easily prevented if the men wore their armor like they’re supposed to an’ loaded their weapons right. Hell, I know how to keep a rifle from backfirin’, an’ I’m a doctor what’s on’y ever shot paper, or wood, or clay targets ’cept that one time we went Dog huntin’ wi’ the Colonel an’ Liam.”

“Ye can shoot better’n half the men in this unit,” agrees Major Fitzmaurice. “Half o’ ‘em don’ know how to aim a rifle, an’ forget lettin’ ‘em run wi’ pistols. That’d be askin’ ‘em to shoot themselves. Our dear Colonel Callahan needs to train the men he’s got better. They need to be able to fight for themselves in case their commandin’ officers get hurt, killed, or captured. Hell, Colonel Callahan needs to train hisself physically or he won’t be any use in combat no more.”

“He nearly died this mornin’. That’s really why the boy was sent to find ye.”

“From a cut to the leg?”

“No. From the fact that his heart nearly gave out while he was fightin’. That cut was a mercy blow if I ever saw one. Not in the typical sense, but the fact he almost bled to death actually saved his life. Owen Callahan’s in no fit state to-”

“No fit state?” interrupts Major Fitzmaurice, laughing. “Aye, ye’ve got that right. He ain’t in no fit state. Ye must be tired. Ye don’t talk like that when ye’re awake.”

“I am,” admits Doctor Sparrow, staring into the distance.

“Water’s boilin’, by the way. Ye look like ye’re ‘bout to fall off the bench, there, so I’d best get it. No need for a surgeon to be burnin’ hisself.”

“Maybe that’d keep ‘em out o’ combat,” Doctor Sparrow says, sarcastically and hopefully.

“Ye know right well it wouldn’t,” replies Major Fitzmaurice candidly while pouring two cups of water and putting tea leaves into them, staring into the water as if it could possibly contain answers. “Still, I can hope that this unit finds its way before it claims all our lives.”

“At least if I die here, I’ll die next to someone who’ll see to it that I get fixed up proper ‘afore they send me home to me wife.”

“Aye, I’m sure Emmy’ll see to it we both get buried proper after they crucify us.”

“But ye ain’t never done nothin’ wrong to ‘em. Sure, ye’ve had a few fights, but ye’re tellin’ the men to find a way to keep themselves alive.”

“No, I’m tellin’ ‘em to think. Nothin’ could be worse for an army than a group o’ soldiers what think for themselves. Even if ‘tis a direct order.”

“But the Generals don’t want us all dead. They can’t.”

“Ah, but they want to say the way to fix things. Let ‘em have the credit. I don’t care, jus’ so long as everyone, an’ I mean everyone, gets out alright.”

“Ye can’t save everyone.”

“No, I know better. I know some’ll die, but I want to save as many as I can. Ye can’t fight a war without men, an’ ye can’t fight a war if ye treat the men ye’ve got like they don’t matter a’ ‘tall an’ like their lives mean nothin’. Too many needless deaths ruins morale. Leaders what don’t listen ruins morale. Havin’ so many new men what don’t know how to save themselves ruins morale worse’n the rest. They cause good men to die, an’ they can’t save themselves, so they die, so they’re replaced by more men what don’t know what they’re doin’. ‘Tis a vicious, vicious cycle.”

“An’ where does that leave us?” asks Doctor Sparrow. “I get to try to put back together the bodies o’ the men who tried to save ‘em. I get to tell young boys they’ll ne’er walk again an’ that their friends is dead. An’ for what? A few fields?”

“I get to watch ‘em destroy themselves, clean up the mess, try not to get killed meself, an’ hope someone sees sense ‘afore we’re all destroyed by it. I get to see those boys die an’ try to save me career when they tell me ‘tis me own fault when I’ve no power to give ‘em what they need to keep themselves alive,” replies Major Fitzmaurice, dismayed. “At least the tea’s half decent.”

“There is that.”

In Crosspoint, Liam is at his lesson with Jack. Since Kerrigan left Crosspoint, Jack has been continuing Liam’s lessons in reading and writing. His hand is still very shaky, but he can read signs in town and military paperwork. Jack is attempting to teach Liam how to read the newspapers, but it is difficult for him because he personally has no interest in the local news of Crosspoint, merely in its military happenings. Kerrigan sent some books of folktales from Earth that she has read to her children, but Jack hates to pull them out because they remind him of better days. He is a broken man, and he knows that he must carry on for the sake of his army and for the sake of his own wife in Highton. His son tires of the lesson and asks him if he would mind going to one of the local pubs for a drink. Jack never minds the chance to drink a few rounds, and it has been a very long time since he has shared a drink with his son. Jack does not remember the last time that he and Liam went to a pub together, but he knows that it was before Crosspoint was captured. He worries about how they will be received, as they are both wearing their uniforms. They go to a familiar establishment near the ashes of Jack’s cabin, rather than the tavern where he is staying and avoiding the new cabin, rebuilt on the same site. The cabin is rebuilt and waiting for him, but it will never be the same. For this, he is both dismayed and grateful. He misses the familiarity of it and the fact that it almost felt like home, albeit more like a home from his childhood than his estate in Highton. Jack will not miss the memory of raping Kerrigan in that room. It is one of many memories that he does not wish to have and one of many things that he has done that he wholeheartedly regrets.

Jack does not know that Liam has set him up for an ambush and that he is walking directly into a threat upon his life. Liam feels horrible for having agreed to the plan, but he knows that it is for a good reason. He merely hopes that his father is sensible enough to listen to reason, even if the people who are asking him to do so are far below his rank. Jack may have given Liam his rank, but nobody who has been in the Thirteenth Bridgeton for any significant length of time objects to his having the rank he does, given that he is competent and fair and that he has not been corrupted by his powerful surname. Even Lieutenant Callahan is not begrudged his rank, despite the fact that he rose from having been a corporal for a very long time to a Lieutenant in a few short months because of his familial connections, since he did have to wait so long before becoming a sergeant.

Sitting in the bar is a collection of several the remaining officers of the Thirteenth Bridgeton, all dressed in their worst uniforms, Conan Callahan, dressed likewise, and Doctor Sparrow, who is wearing a shirt and pants that he has worn during many amputations. Liam’s uniform is torn and has blood all over the pants. Major Fitzmaurice’s uniform is the most gruesome sight, since it is the one in which he was once tortured to death. It is soaked with blood, bone marrow, and dirt. Doctor Sparrow sewed it back together for this very occasion, since he saved it, buried at the bottom of a box of stained shirts that he wears for particularly bloody surgeries, as a reminder of the worst that could possibly happen. Captain Boland is wearing a uniform that he wore when he was suffering from consumption and coughing blood almost constantly. Major Moynihan, Captain Morrison, and Lieutenants Callahan, Coffey, Gaffney, Hackett, and Killane are all present and dressed similarly. Conan Callahan’s uniform is stained red from the blood of men that he has killed. He tends to wear it in battle because, like most of the enlisted men, he lacks the funding to replace all of his uniforms regularly, so he has a few that are blood-stained or worn through in places, and he has one that is seldom worn and remains in excellent condition buried at the bottom of his trunk for inspections. They were very nearly denied patronage to the bar for their state of dress, but, given the promise that Jack would eventually arrive, the barmaid allowed them to enter.

General Callahan is sitting silently in the corner. Kian and Conan convinced him that he was going there to drink with them when he, too, was ambushed. Under the table, his hands are bound together, and his feet and waist are bound to his chair. Captain Morrison apologizes and does the same to Jack. Doctor Sparrow checks the restrains to ensure that they are not causing any loss of circulation before they begin to speak. Technically, they are breaking military law by restraining men of such high rank, but there is no other way to get their attention strongly enough that their statement is guaranteed to be heard. Besides, they are quite certain that a General would not prosecute two of his own sons, especially given that he willingly admitted to a major that he deserved to be punished for his treatment of one of those sons in the past. Jack is not a man to bear grudges against men who detain him with good reason. They can merely hope that he sees their reason, as he has been drinking for much of the afternoon already and is not entirely coherent. Perhaps, though, they reason that this for the better, since Jack is less apt to fight against his confinement if his nerves have been calmed by alcohol. His old reflexes are still very strong, and he has been known to break greater bonds than those which are currently holding him out of a reflex response to confinement.

Major Fitzmaurice is afraid to have to threaten men who outrank him by so many levels, but he sees no other alternative. He cannot speak to Colonel Callahan, as he is currently being guarded by Major Callahan, being forced to obey Doctor Sparrow’s orders to remain silent and get some bed rest. Major Fitzmaurice knows that he will either be considered a hero for saving his men or that he will be executed for the atrocities he is forced to commit in trying to do so. He sincerely hopes that the former is the case, as he would rather not be executed in the near future. Liam glances at Major Fitzmaurice, expectant to hear the speech he has prepared. Major Fitzmaurice, in turn, looks to Doctor Sparrow, his brother in all but name, and seeks some form of acceptance and guidance from him. Doctor Sparrow, aware of Major Fitzmaurice’s predicament, looks up at him sympathetically from his chair, where he is slowly nursing a whiskey. Major Fitzmaurice takes a sip of his own whiskey for a bit of courage, and he clears his throat.

“Senatorial General Shepherd, General Callahan, we, as your own men, hate to have to do this to ye, but we need things to change, an’ we need ‘em to change now. This can’t wait. We know ye both once lead the unit in which we now serve. We know neither o’ ye want to see it fail, but it is closer to failure’n ye believe. Ye haven’t been to see it since the restoration o’ Crosspoint an’ Yuletide, an’ we understand ye’re busy men, but ye’ve issued orders since then that jus’ can’t be followed. We’ve tried, an’ there’s no way. They’re jus’ not possible. The Thirteenth Bridgeton will fail an’ every man ‘afore ye’ll be dead in a few months’ time if things don’t change now. Aye, that includes your own sons.

“This unit either needs to be disbanded now an’ proclaimed a failure, somethin’ I’m sure ye don’t want to do, or it needs to change drastically. No one here ‘afore ye wants to oust Owen Callahan as Colonel. No one here ‘afore ye wants to take power for themselves or make themselves into some kind o’ hero. We ain’t after glory. We’re after our own lives. Sors, if ye came to the unit, ye’d know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. The men are drinkin’ more’n ever. Some are goin’ to battle drunk. There’ve been countless suicides, reckless accidents, an’ desertions. The morale is low…too low…dangerously low. What’s more, we’ve not gotten the replacements we was promised. We’ve too few men to go into battle as our own unit, an’ we ain’t got no replacements for the men we’ve lost. We was promised dozens, an’ we’ve gotten exactly nine, all but one o’ which’ve died or been given medical discharges. The one what ain’t gone is recoverin’ from surgery an’ is bound for Bridgeton ‘til he’s well, if he gets well. The new men got many o’ the old men killed or injured. The nine we got weren’t properly trained. We need men. Moreover, we either need men who’ve been trained right or we need to be able to run drills for a few days after they arrive in order to make ‘em be trained right. All this death an’ injury ain’t good for the morale o’ the men neither. I know ye know that. Ye’ve seen death an’ illness in the Revolution. It don’t help a unit what’s already down to less’n a quarter o’ the men it ought to have an’ less than half o’ what it needs to function.

“’Sides recruits an’ trainin’ we need supplies. I know supplies is tight, but we’ve got nothin’. Doctor’s out o’ most o’ his cures, an’ he’s out o’ bandages now. We’ve on’y one sack o’ grain an’ some potatoes left. Most o’ the officers have given up eatin’ in camp so’s the men what can’t get to town have half a chance at not starvin’ to death. One o’ the corporals said he’d rather be a prisoner o’ the enemy than free an’ servin’ in this unit ‘cause the food’s more reliable in the enemy prisoner o’ war camps. We’ve no bullets to shoot, an’ we’ve no food to eat. We need blankets, boots, socks, anythin’ what might keep us warm. I know the winter’s nearly o’er, but the nights are still cold as could be, sors. We don’t even have no firewood nor coal. The men don’t have time to chop trees wi’ everythin’ else they’ve got to do. They’re lucky to get four hours o’ sleep, an’ that’s ‘twixt battle, watch, an’ the necessities. There’s no time to have ‘em chop trees or they’d ne’er get to sleep.

“We’ve also got a small problem wi’ our assignment. We’re a light infantry unit. Ye know that well. We’re great for fightin’ in the city, the woods, or a field, but when ye send us all to an’ fro, we lose more men than we would if ye let what’s left o’ the unit fight together under its own banner. We’d a man die from the backfire o’ a cannon. We ain’t never been trained to handle cannon. Sendin’ our enlisted men one way an’ our officers the other ain’t no help neither. Most o’ the officers don’ know how to fight in a cavalry unit. An infantryman rides his horse to battle an’ leaves it by the side. Very few o’ our men know how to work a bow or crossbow either, an’ we’ve been sent to supplement the archers. We’ve been sent to a heavy infantry unit as well, an’ we don’t have the weapons to do the job, which makes it an extremely dangerous assignment. Ye could even call it a suicide mission. The men we’ve got, the ones who’ve been here a while were all trained in light infantry combat. If ye’re goin’ to farm us out, at least farm us out to units wi’ the same specialty an’ trainin’ or farm us out in a job like helpin’ dig graves or fetch supplies where we ain’t in combat not knowin’ what to do.

“An’ wi’ the lack o’ men to do the work, we’re all workin’ two, three, or even five times as hard as normal to barely scrape by. The enlisted men’ve got more watches than they can handle, an’ even after an eight hour watch, strap on their armor an’ go to fight, barely awake an’ half-frozen from standin’ in the cold with holes in socks what’ve been darned an’ patched so many times ye can’t see what color they were when they were first made an’ boots what barely pass for shoes a’ ‘tall anymore. We don’t mind work, but this is insanity. There’s no lack o’ courage an’ fortitude. There’s a lack o’ responsible leaders above. There’s a lack o’ information. I know…we all know…ye can’t help us if ye don’t know what’s goin’ on. Well, here ‘tis. An’ if ‘tain’t the sixteen or even twenty hour days keepin’ us from any rest, ‘tis the hunger pains, an’ the cold, an’ the illnesses, an’ the sad thoughts o’ loved ones what don’t know the sufferin’ an’ the misery what goes on here, an’ we don’t want ‘em to know, even if it means livin’ a lie, which we hate to have to do. Some o’ the men here’ve been up a week straight without so much as one half-hour’s sleep. Some o’ the enlisted have been up longer. ‘Twill be their minds to go next, an’ I, personally, don’t want to see the massacre that will follow, whether ‘tis the enemy finally murderin’ the lot o’ our defenseless selves or one o’ our own men delirious from hunger, an’ exhaustion, an’ thirst finally snappin’ an’ takin’ all our lives. I humbly hope the enemy, or the weather, or the hunger takes me first, ‘afore I have to see that. ‘Cause seein’ what we’ve seen…goin’ through what we’ve been through…’tisn’t somethin’ I’d even wish upon the enemy, an’ they tortured me to death an’ raped me fiancée.

“So, sors, we’re bringin’ ye back wi’ us. Ye can think in camp. Ye can see the sufferin’ an’ come to battle wi’ us. Ye won’t leave an’ ye won’t get what we don’t got. Ye’ll be wearin’ our rags. Ye’ll be sleepin’ in our tents. Ye’ll be eatin’ in the mess, an’ ye’ll get the portion ye get. Ye can freeze wi’ us, starve wi’ us, an’ stay awake wi’ us. Ye’ve been awful to us, despite our pleas, so ye now get to see what your judgments is doin’ to us, an’ ye get to see it by livin’ it. We get no food, so ye’ll get no food. We get no blankets, so ye’ll get no blankets. We get no new men, so ye’ll get to fight alongside us an’ stand watch wi’ the enlisted. We get no water, so ye’ll drink no water. We get no bandages, so if ye’re hurt, ye’ll get no bandages. We get no sleep, so ye’ll get no sleep. We’re at our wit’s end. Ye’ve been awful to us. Awful. What ye’ve done is truly wicked. An’ there’s no rest for the wicked.”