FicWad

Colonel Callahan is surprised to hear that his father is in camp, and the group who brought him there do not begrudge him the chance to visit with his injured son, though they warn him not to let Owen rise from his bed for his own safety. Doctor Sparrow wants the Colonel to stay in his bed for a week to ensure that his leg heals completely and that he does not tear his stitches. When General Callahan learns that it was Conan who beat Owen in a duel, he leaves to find his younger son to congratulate him. He knows that it is wrong to be congratulating him for challenging and injuring his own brother, but he is very proud of Conan’s combat abilities and willingness to prove himself to his own brothers who are refusing to see his value and abilities. General Callahan knows from commanding his own brothers, sons, and nephews that it is not an easy task to manage a familial relationship and fairly promote one’s relatives. He realizes that Owen needs to rely more upon his family and his subordinates than he does on blind faith and orders. He knows that he must force himself to chastise Owen for not having informed him of the dire conditions in the unit, but he cannot bring himself to do so yet. He could have done far more for his unit, but his pleas fell upon deaf ears because he did not tell of the reality. He made it less unpleasant so that his father would not panic, and it cost men their lives.

General Callahan sits near an empty fire pit with Conan, staring at his boots rather than facing his son, and says, “Thankee.”

“Sor?” asks Conan, who is confused, as he was expecting a stern lecture about the bonds of family and duty, the importance of courage and obedience, and the power of legacy.

“Ye were right, an’ Owen was wrong. He should’ve told me. He should’ve been more straightforward in his letters. He should’ve told me exactly how ye were sufferin’. He told me some o’ the food didn’t arrive an’ that ye were short on socks an’ blankets. He also told me he needed more men. He didn’t tell me ye were out o’ food, water, ammunition, blankets, an’ winter uniforms an’ that none o’ the reinforcements have arrived. The reinforcements will be a while longer, but the rest…granted ‘twon’t be like livin’ in a palace, but at least ye won’t be starvin’ or freezin’. I’m sure ‘twas an error in the communications. I’ll have to see if ‘twas in the orders for supplies goin’ to Bridgeton an’ points elsewhere, or whether ‘twas a problem wi’ gettin’ ‘em to the right units from the depot in Crosspoint. What I want to know is why didn’t ye come to me yourself?”

“I haven’t had the chance, sor. I may be the Colonel’s brother an’ the General’s son, but I’m still a Sergeant. I’ve had nothin’ but watches an’ tryin’ to keep meself alive servin’ wi’ Hagan’s Heavy Infantry one day, the heavy artillery the next, an’ the archers the day after that. I ain’t had time to come find ye. I’ve too many corporals an’ privates under me what ain’t been able to learn to make the switch so good, ye see…so I’ve got to keep ‘em alive as best I can too. An’ I’ve had to take extra watches like everyone else to make up for the ones what died. If Owen were well, he’d never’ve allowed ye to come here wi’ the camp in this state ‘cause he’s ashamed o’ the way everythin’ looks, an’ all o’ the men, an’ that he couldn’t fix it hisself. On’y wi’ him in bed since this mornin’, the Major an’ the Doctor decided we’ve all had ‘nough o’ complete lack o’ everythin’ an’ thanked me for puttin’ him there an’ set up their little plot.”

“Owen’s but a Colonel…he couldn’t fix a supply problem hisself. He’s a damned fool to think he can. He can requisition whatever he wants, but if nothin’s gettin’ here, he can’t do a thing ‘bout it. I can’t believe I raised such a fool. Congratulations on beatin’ him, by the way. He needed some humility, an’ ye’ve really earned a reputation for yourself now. I jus’ hope ye can keep it up. He was a great duelist back in the day…back when he was younger, thinner…” laments General Callahan.

“He still is,” confides Conan. “He wasn’t easy to beat, but I know how he fights. He’s stronger’n me by far. But he relies on shock an’ awe. He relies heavily upon his strength an’ overpowerin’ an’ intimidatin’ his opponent. All us Callahans do. Ye taught every last one o’ us boys how to fight that way, but what happens when the opponent can’t be intimidated?”

“Ye rely on skill.”

“Aye. An’ skill he’s got, but endurance he lacks. I let him attack, blocked him, an’ waited ‘til he got tired. Then I sped my pace up a bit. Doctor Sparrow says I almost killed him.”

“From that cut on his leg?”

“No. From fightin’ him so hard he nearly died. He’s like the rest o’ the family. He won’t quit even when he knows ‘tis what’s best for him. So he’s got no sense to stop, even when his heart’s about to quit.”

“His heart?” asks General Callahan, shocked at what Conan has told him.

“Aye, the Doctor said Owen’s so unfit to fight that his heart nearly gave out an’ I was lucky I’d cut him when I did. ‘Course he was cheatin’, too, an’ the extra shirt an’ armor surely didn’t help him any. We wasn’t supposed to be wearin’ no armor.”

“Me own son’d cheat…’gainst his own brother…I didn’t raise the lot o’ ye to be like that.”

“I know, sor. Family honor. I’m sorry I dared to have a real duel to first blood wi’ me own brother, sor.”

“No…ye were right, boy. ‘Sides, that duel might’ve jus’ saved the lives o’ the men in your unit. Ye should be right proud o’ yourself, though. Ye beat a man who was once one o’ the best duelists in South Side Bridgeton. Ye’ve the right to gloat a little. I doubt I could’ve done it, an’ he’s me own son.”

“Aye, but what’ll ma’ say?” frets Conan. “How many times did she tell us boys not to fight?”

“She’ll understand,” assures General Callahan. I’m jus’ impressed that a man wi’ one eye beat one o’ the best duelists in South Side Bridgeton who’s near twice his size. Owen’s proud. Too proud. But even he ain’t mad at ye. Ye won fair against him, despite the fact he cheated. Good on ye, boy.”

“Thankee, sor.”

General Callahan returns to Owen’s tent and dismisses Brendan from watching him. Owen is sitting in bed cleaning his guns and sharpening his swords and bayonets. He looks up from his task and greets his father again.

“I told ye I’d be back, Owen,” says General Callahan.

“Da’, ‘tis always good to see ye again, but I ain’t no different from last time ye was in here half an hour ago.”

“That’s not why I’m here, an’ ye ought to be callin’ me ‘sor.’”

“Sor, I…”

“I’m not waitin’ no longer to discuss this wi’ ye, Owen. Ye’re a damned fool! Ye weren’t brought up to cheat, an’ ye weren’t brought up to watch your men get killed ‘cause o’ your own stupid pride.”

“But, sor-”

“No ‘but, sor.’ Ye ought to know better. Ye’re a colonel. Ye’ve more’n jus’ yourself to think ‘bout. Ye’ve got your brothers, an’ ye’ve got your unit,” chastises General Callahan.

“I requisitioned the proper supplies. I requisitioned more when they didn’t come,” says Colonel Callahan defensively.

“Aye, but did ye think o’ askin’ for help?”

“No, sor.”

“There’s a shortage, aye, for sure. But no other unit’s fallen on hard times quite so hard as this. Why d’ye think ye’ve got the worst o’ the worst? ‘Tain’t your requisitions. I’m guessin’ from what I’ve seen that they either got lost an’ not put on the full order, that the order got miscounted when they sent it to Bridgeton an’ points elsewhere, or that it got misdirected in the supply depot in Crosspoint. I can get ye your material supplies in a day or so, a week at most if I need to send for ‘em, once your men are done punishin’ me for your stupidity.”

“Punishin’ ye?”

“Aye, they’ve got me an’ Jack here fightin’ wi’ ‘em so we see why we can’t trust ye to report their sufferin’ honest to us so we know to fix things. The men’ll take longer to get than the supplies will. Ye’re the colonel o’ a light infantry unit. Ye don’t work in supply. Ye’ve no power to change any o’ the supply problems. Why didn’t ye tell me straight what’s happenin’? Why didn’t ye do your duty to your men? Why didn’t ye come to me for help?”

“I didn’t think-”

“No, ye didn’t think. That’s the problem wi’ ye. Ye don’t think. Ye even cheated in a duel wi’ your own brother. ‘Twas to first blood, but d’ye even know how close it came to bein’ a duel to the death?”

“No, sor.”

“Very. Your brother almost killed ye ‘cause o’ your own stupid pride.”

“But ye taught us to be loyal an’ brave an’ not to quit a fight ‘afore ‘tis over.”

“I also taught ye to keep yourself alive. Doctor says that a few more minutes an’ your heart would’ve quit. Ye’re not the fighter ye once were, nor are ye the fighter ye think ye are. I suggest tryin’ to run the point wi’ your men on foot an’ carryin’ the flag yourself sometime. I suggest tryin’ to survive a day in battle from the front, not the back, o’ your unit. I suggest trainin’ wi’ the new men when ye get ‘em. They don’t come from basic trainin’ in Bridgeton knowin’ what ‘tis really like. Ye know that. So ye’ve got to train ‘em what’s what. So teach ‘em by showin’ ‘em…not by standin’ ‘round eatin’ while they work their arses off. Your ma’ didn’t teach ye to eat ‘til ye’re stuffed like a Yuletide goose, an’ I didn’t teach ye to eat while your men are starvin’. For feck’s sake, look at your poor brothers! Kian’s but skin an’ bones, an’ Conan’s half dead from the cold, an’ from no food, an’ from bein’ awake o’er a week straight now. At the very least, ye should be able to take care o’ your own brothers. Ye’re a goddamned disappointment, Owen!”

“Sorry, da’. Sorry, sor.”

“Get some rest, Owen. Doctor’s orders. But I had to give ye me thoughts on the matter ‘afore I go to stand watch.”

“Stand watch?” asks Colonel Callahan, who is confused at the thought of a general performing an enlisted man’s duties.

“Your men have me an’ Jack here to suffer alongside ‘em, like I told ye. Jack an’ me are standin’ watch tonight like old times. We’ve not done that since the unit was new. ‘Course, back then, the Colonel stood watch, as did the officers. We’d less people than ye’ve got now an’ were perfectly viable. But that was a different war an’ a different time. Oh, an’ Colonel?”

“Aye?”

“Your little brother’s got a real pair o’ balls on him…so does the Major…perhaps ye should’ve listened to ‘em sooner, aye?”

General Callahan leaves his son’s tent. He and Jack are entitled to as much of what is left of the rations as everyone else. Tonight is the last time they will eat. The single sack of grain that they have left is not nearly enough to provide everyone with dinner. The portions are small, and the mood is extremely somber. Everyone knows that it is their last meal and that they will begin to face starvation and death when the morning comes. Nobody dares to complain or to cry, and everyone takes the smallest bites possible, hoping for the food to last just a little bit longer. Lieutenant O’Dunphy, who tries to deny his own portion so that others might have just a tiny bit more to eat, is ordered by Major Moynihan to eat his dinner tonight and to enjoy it if he can, knowing that tomorrow will only bring starvation. Lieutenant O’Dunphy prays aloud before and after the men eat, thanking God for the food that they have and humbly begging Him to sustain them through the shortage. He prays that the men might all live to see a better day. For once, the men do not see his prayers as foolish. They are in Hell, and they are suffering, but they still dream of a day when they can at least have a full dinner. Every man in the unit joins in the prayers, all with a heavy heart and an honest need in mind. For once, they are repentant and humble, a mindset that Lieutenant O’Dunphy, the unit’s resident chaplain has never seen from these men before.

After dinner, as the bells toll midnight on the distant churches of Crosspoint, carried through the air on the crisp, clear night and easily heard in camp, Jack and General Callahan relieve two of the enlisted men who are eager to go to their tents and try to get some sleep. There is no fire to keep them warm, and the uniforms they have been given are so worn that some of the patches have patches, and even those patches are threadbare. The uniforms look more like they were made from quilts than from fine, stiff wool, their color so faded and stained that it is hardly a ghost the deep emerald green that the men are supposed to wear. The uniforms they are wearing would not pass inspection by even the most lenient of colonels. Jack, who is extremely underweight, is shivering, his body unable to keep him warm due to a lack of body fat. He is wearing one of Liam’s old uniforms, and General Callahan borrowed one of Conan’s old uniforms. Most of the officers have replaced the uniforms that would not pass inspection, but Liam, who joined the unit with a large amount of debt, and most of the enlisted men, who have smaller salaries, keep a good uniform for inspection and wear the poorer ones in combat. Liam has only recently been able to afford new uniforms, so he still has some that are threadbare.

Snow swirls gently to the ground, and Jack is reminded of how he died, frozen in a snow bank, alone in winter. General Callahan, who is faring somewhat better in terms of staying warm than Jack is, stuffs his hands into his pockets and finds a pair of gloves for Jack. Conan is particularly kind to let his father borrow scarves and gloves for the cruel exercise. Their boots, which are perfectly shined and in excellent condition, stand in stark contrast to their dilapidated uniforms. It has been many years since they have worn uniforms in such poor condition or stood outside in freezing cold weather guarding their territory overnight. Men from nearby units, unaware of the situation in camp, walk by and do not notice that two of the highest ranking men in the Southern Army are standing watch as if they were among the lowest ranking men. Their watch is on the edge of camp which faces the road to town. Shortly after their watch begins, Lieutenant Barrett arrives at the edge of camp. Initially, she walks past them, not noticing who they are. She is dressed in civilian clothing, and she is from the Western Army, so the men on watch are not required to salute her. Everyone in the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry knows exactly who she is, so nobody asks her for her name and business when she arrives any longer. Were she anyone else, the man she was seeking would have to come to the edge of camp in order to escort her into camp and would have to remain with her until she left. Lieutenant Barrett takes five steps into camp, turns around and stares.

“General Callahan? Senatorial General Shepherd? What, may I ask, are the two o’ ye doin’ here?” asks Lieutenant Barrett.

“We thought we’d have a little fun. We get bored o’ drinkin’ expensive whiskey in town,” replies General Callahan.

“What are ye really after?”

“Ask your precious Billy,” grumbles Jack. “He’s the one keepin’ us here.”

“Can’t ye just overrule him?” asks Lieutenant Barrett. “Ye do outrank him.”

“Ah, we could,” begins Jack.

“But we deserve it,” finishes General Callahan. “So we stay. Strictly, we ain’t supposed to tell ye, since ye ain’t from this unit, but Billy’ll tell ye anyhow, so I might as well jus’ say it. We’ll be here all week.”

“Go, get in out o’ the cold, Lieutenant. I’m sure Major Fitzmaurice is waitin’ for ye,” says Jack. “Jus’ be gone ‘afore dawn, aye? Your colonel don’t know ye’re gone, does he?”

“He doesn’t. We’ve an easy day tomorrow, but I really ought to get back as soon as Billy’s…well…” trails Lieutenant Barrett.

“Satisfied?” suggests General Callahan.

“Don’t be so rude to her,” says Jack. “D’ye really want him to give us double watch every night we’re here? ‘Cause one watch a night is plenty for me when we’ve got to follow ‘em into battle.”

Lieutenant Barrett giggles, curtsies, and goes to find Major Fitzmaurice. A few hours later, she leaves camp along another path, and Jack and General Callahan are still standing watch. It is nearly half past three in the morning, and Jack, who has been awake since seven the previous morning, is exhausted. He lays his rifle by his side, sits on a bale of hay, and rests his head in his hands. He forgot how boring late-night watches could be. General Callahan reaches into the breast pocket of his uniform and removes a small, old tin box. It has a black finish to keep it from reflecting at night, and it is in remarkably poor shape. He has owned it since the Revolution. It was made by a friend who was once a tinsmith and who has since died. He opens it and removes a cigarette. He flicks a match with his thumb, careful to conceal the flame from view with his other hand and lights his cigarette, smoking it with his hand cupped around the end, rather than resting along the side, so that nobody can see the flame and therefore his position from a distance, meaning that he can smoke his cigarette without the risk of being shot by an enemy archer or sniper. It is an old habit from his days in the Revolution. He stands stiffly, his rifle slung by its strap around his body, smoking his cigarette and staring off into the distance. He knows that he must keep Jack awake, since they will both have double watch the next night if Jack is caught sleeping by any of the men who brought them to camp. Still, he does not move. He is reminiscing of his own glory days, of their glory days, of the unit he once loved so well, and of the men who are not alive any longer alongside whom they once fought. Standing on watch again brings back the memories of how he earned his reputation, the reputation that he has passed along to his sons. He was a young man then. He realizes that he is less than halfway through is watch, and his feet and knees already hurt. It was a far easier task to stand all night when he was younger and his body did not ache so badly from his accumulated battle scars, but he is determined not to show any weakness.

Four hours into their watch, the rest of camp is asleep. Jack is not faring very well, and General Callahan, whose knees are finally starting to bother him enough that he wants to sit, pokes Jack with his rifle to wake him. Jack bolts to his feet and looks around, panting. General Callahan laughs raucously and sits on the hay next to Jack. Jack stretches and yawns. He is not in a good mood. He is afraid of falling asleep in the snow, even though he trusts General Callahan and knows that he would not allow any harm to come to him. Jack remembers his wife kicking him out of the house in the winter. He remembers going to a pub to drink, and he remembers the pub owner telling him that he could not allow him to spend the night. He remembers trying to walk to his brother Shane’s house, freezing and drunk in a rare snowstorm. He remembers collapsing in the snow and falling asleep, and when he woke, he was in Hell and missing the bottle of whiskey he was holding when he died. Jack hates being outside on cold nights, particularly if there is snow. It is March, and the snow should be gone soon, if not already, but it stubbornly persists. Jack hopes for warmer weather the rest of the week he is forced to stay with the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry. He shivers, takes his flask from his pocket, and offers some to General Callahan, who, instead of accepting, takes his own out of his pocket and toasts Jack silently. He dares not to say a word when Jack is in one of his ill humors, and he hopes that it will pass shortly, as they sometimes do. Jack’s ill humors, though rarely contagious, are certainly enough to irritate General Callahan, as they make him feel as though his boisterous personality is not welcome.

After another hour, Jack returns to sleep, and General Callahan closes Jack’s flask and returns it to his pocket. He then stands leans back and begins to smoke again. He is amazed at how easily he has forgotten the long, seemingly endless nights of standing watch and hoping for dawn when he could return to his hiding spot and sleep. Those were the days and the glory of the Revolution, when, after a night’s watch, a man could hide in a barn, cellar, shop, attic, or anywhere else he could find where the enemy would be unlikely to search for him and rest for a full day and night before having to return to battle, though sleeping through the sounds of the screams and the fighting proved to be a challenge at first. General Callahan can sleep through anything, a result of many days spent sleeping in hot, stuffy attics or cold, dank cellars and hearing the sounds of fighting in the streets, drunken shouting, and women and children crying and wailing over the bodies of the injured and deceased, all the while fighting off the nagging of his own empty stomach, knowing that there was no food to be had.

There is no doubt in his mind that the siege tactics used in the Revolution were unnecessarily cruel, but they very nearly worked. He knows that he and Jack would have been beheaded, and the few men in the Thirteenth Bridgeton whose fathers would not have been killed for fighting against the crown, and therefore would have been unable to sire them, would be starving on the streets of Bridgeton with no prospect for a job and facing feeble attempt after feeble attempt at rebellion. He knows that the siege would have worked if it were not for the women of Bridgeton, women like Rose-Marie and Mary, sneaking in food, bandages, and bullets for them. He knows that there will be no such miracle here in Crosspoint, though he dares to remember a time many years ago when he and his wife were young and foolish. He remembers how they met and how he has changed since then.

Keegan remembers Rose-Marie Sheedy, as she was called, when she was a beautiful girl of fifteen. He was many years her senior, and he was told that she came from a respectable, if poor, family who would never let her marry a soldier, despite their Revolutionary inclinations. She had the prettiest green eyes he had ever seen, and she had a laugh that would bring joy to even the saddest of souls. She also had a name that he could never forget. Her mother wanted to name her Rose, and her father wanted to name her Mary. When the time came to christen her, they argued in front of the local authority, to whom the name Rosemary never occurred because of her father’s thick accent. The priest baptized her as Rose-Marie, and the name remained. Out of affection for and pity towards their first-born daughter, her two younger sisters were both forced to bear similar names, Emma-Leigh and Lily-Anne, though their only brother is named simply John after his father.

By the time Keegan met her, Rose-Marie Sheedy had many men vying for her hand in marriage, and he was simply not the marrying type. Her brother was still far too young to fight in the Revolution, and her father did not want to leave his family or his general store to do so. Rose-Marie was fifteen, Emma-Leigh fourteen, and Lily-Anne twelve when they began to smuggle food into the city for the soldiers. Nobody bothered Lily-Anne much, as she was obviously just a little girl. She and Emma-Leigh usually got past the guards with the premise that they were going to visit their grandmother in the countryside or they bypassed the guards altogether by entering and exiting the city through the odd network of holes in the city’s walls, most of them small enough for only a child to pass through. Rose-Marie, though, was mature beyond her years. While her sisters looked like children still, even though Emma-Leigh was less than a year her junior, Rose-Marie looked like a grown woman at fifteen, and that was dangerous.

She had the same peculiarly dark red curls as her sisters, and they all had the same mesmerizing green eyes, but Rose-Marie’s eyes always looked like she knew something darker and more carnal than her sisters, who simply reflected childhood innocence, despite the violence surrounding them, well into adulthood and up until the end of the Revolution. Rose-Marie was always a very seductive woman, and this Keegan liked. Her eyes always beckoned him to come closer, and her body gave him taunting dreams. The way she moved her hips when she walked and the way she moved her mouth when she spoke and ate tortured his thoughts for several years. He remembers how she always wanted to tie her hair up neatly, but how her curls always spilled out seductively across her shoulders. He remembers how her delicate hands used to remove things from her basket and how even that was somehow seductive. He remembers the warnings he refused to heed about how she was above his lot in life and how her father swore that, although he would send his daughters to run food, bandages, and later guns into the city, he would never allow one of them to marry a soldier. Her father did not know the ways in which his eldest daughter seduced men. He was blind to them, and perhaps this was for the better. After all, Keegan would never have survived the Revolution if her father had known about him and about the special favors she did by bringing him more than a few things that were strictly contraband. Her father would have been very angry if he knew how often Keegan snuck away from his unit to spend time alone with her. If her father had known, he would have killed Keegan personally and handed his head to the enemy on a pike, regardless of the fact that he supported the Revolution.

And that was one of the ways in which she seduced him. He was powerless against it. To make her forbidden was to make him want her even more. Jack warned him time and time again that she was too young for him. He did not know how young she really was at the time, but he knew that she was beautiful. The day they first met, he was injured in battle and delirious. He had a concussion, and he was blinded by blood on his right side. He was told that he would definitely lose the lower half of his right leg and most of his right arm. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, and then he saw what he thought was an angel. She was not bothered by the sight of his injuries, despite her tender age. She wiped the blood away from his eyes and took his good hand in hers. He lost consciousness after that. He has no idea how long he was unconscious or what happened after that, but when he woke, he was surprised to have all of his limbs. He woke in Saxen O’Casey’s smithy with the sun shining in the window and onto his face, convinced that he had met an Angel until he saw her again. Saxen told him that she came by every day after she finished her smuggling rounds to see if he was well. He was told to wash himself quickly and put on a clean uniform.

Despite his familiarity with his men, Saxen O’Casey rarely invited them into his house. They were often found in his yard, barn, and smithy, but his house was always off-limits because his house was where his wife and children belonged. His wife later died in that house, and it was burned to the ground. His men rebuilt it for him, but they were never allowed into it, nor were the men who smuggled goods. The women, on the other hand, were allowed inside anytime they pleased. Keegan had been inside General O’Casey’s house only twice before that day. Once was when he was injured and unconscious. Jack brought him there, and Saxen laid him down across the floor, and Missus O’Casey tended to his wounds before he was brought to the smithy. The only other time was when the Thirteenth Street Bridade, later to become known as the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry, was founded and swore loyalty to the Revolutionary cause together. A few of the men, namely he, Jack, and Eamon Malone, who were given trust of the three senior most positions in the brigade, were invited into the O’Casey house that night.

On the day he woke from his head injury, he examined his reflection in the side a tin roasting oven sitting in the smithy waiting for spits to be made for it. When he washed the blood off of his face, he saw how neatly his wound had been closed by Missus O’Casey. His leg was in a plaster cast, and he had to have a cane to walk, which was difficult because his right arm was also in a cast and a sling. Saxen helped him wrap a bandage around his head and helped him hobble to the house. He was instantly seated in one of the wooden chairs by the fire, his back to the door, and given a drink of Saxen’s homemade liquor in a rough-hewn wooden cup. Less than half an hour later, Rose-Marie knocked on the door to ask about Keegan, though she did not know his name. Saxen bade her to come inside and see for herself. She was terrified that she would find him dead, as it had been over two weeks since he was injured, and his condition remained the same every time she checked on him. When she saw that he was awake, she smiled her infectious smile and sat down in the chair beside him, her red curls spilling over her shoulders and her seductive eyes laughing along with her. Keegan noticed that she had long legs for her stature and a woman’s figure, so he wondered if she was married, but he saw no ring on her finger. This did not necessarily mean that she was unmarried, as many of the smugglers hid their marital status either by wearing a ring while unmarried or by not wearing a ring while married. It was part of their ruse to evade the king’s guardsmen. He did not dare to say a word about it, for, though her dress marked her as a poor girl, she appeared to be a woman with morals.

“Hello, Miss. I…I jus’ realized…ye saved me life, an’ I don’t know your name,” stammered Keegan, staring at his shoes, realizing that he ought to have shined them.

“Ain’t ye goin’ to introduce us, Mister O’Casey?” asked Rose-Marie coyly.

“Well, I never been good at these things, Miss, but I’ll give it a try.” Saxen O’Casey, the great Revolutionary General, paused. “Keegan, this here’s Rose-Marie Sheedy. Rose-Marie, the man ye’ve been askin’ ‘bout for the last two weeks is Keegan Callahan from the Thirteenth Street Brigade.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Rose-Marie, looking up at Keegan and offering her left hand to shake, as his right was in a cast.

“Pleasure’s all mine, I’m afraid, m’dear,” replied Keegan, kissing her hand rather than shaking it and hoping that he was not being too hasty with her.

She giggled, and Saxen O’Casey said, “I think I’ll leave the two o’ ye alone for a while. There’s more o’ that poitín in the jug by the fireplace. Help yourself, Keegan. Jus’ mind your manners. She’s a lady, an’ I warned her ye’ve quite a pair o’ balls on ye.”

After he left, Keegan asked, “You ever had poitín?”

“No, I can’t say that I have,” replied Rose-Marie. Keegan gave her a sip of his, and she handled it surprisingly well. After a few moments of silence, she asked him to turn around, which he did, and she removed something from under her skirt. When she told him to look, she was holding a rifle. “I’ve brought ye a gift. I hope ye like it.”

“I’ve ne’er fired a rifle ‘afore.”

“I know. Mister O’Casey told me. He said ‘twas high time ye got one, too.”

“I can’t afford-”

“’Tis a gift, Mister Callahan. ‘Twas the first rifle I smuggled into the city. I stole it this mornin’ from the King’s own armory outside the city.”

“For me?”

“Aye. So’s ye can kill the bastard what did this to ye.”

“I think Jack slashed him after I fell, but I’ll be sure to learn to use it once this arm heals. I’ll call it my baby girl, an’ I’ll be sure to kill a good hundred men for ye wi’ this gun.”

“Ye like it?”

“Aye. I do.”

Rose-Marie stood and stepped over to him, gingerly avoiding his shattered arm and leg, careful not to touch the bandage on his head or spill the cup of poitín he placed on the floor in order to examine the rifle. She kissed him, and he knew that he wanted no other woman to be his wife, even though he was certainly not ready to settle down with her yet. She visited him every day until he recovered, and once he rejoined his unit, she frequently came with little gifts for him. He, in turn, kept his promise to kill a hundred men with the gun she gave him. He would not learn until the following May that she was only fifteen when they met. It took him a long time to convince her father to allow her to marry a soldier, and they finally married on Founder’s Day, the day the Senate was officially established. Jack, having just left the Senate after his swearing-in ceremony and still wearing his official robes of state, was Keegan’s best man. The same that was said of him by Saxen O’Casey can now be said of his sons, among others. In his glory days, he really was too bold.

Standing in the cold camp of the Thirteenth Bridgeton in the middle of the night, he is brought back to the warm June day when he met his wife. He still has the rifle she gave him, and it is still his one and only baby girl. He takes it off of his body, and he holds it in his hands. Like his tin cigarette case and his old hip flask, it is quite battered. He won his freedom with that rifle, and he will be buried with that rifle. Suddenly, he is lonely. He feels guilty for not being home with his wife and sons, and he wishes that his wife did not have to suffer being a soldier’s wife any longer. He wishes he could leave the Army and allow another general to take his place. He wishes to return to Bridgeton one final time, and he knows that he will not do so any time soon. The happiest days of his life were spent during his courtship of Rose-Marie. They were also his glory days, fighting alongside his comrades by day and slipping away from his watch post by night to see his dear girl, unbeknownst to her father. He cannot count the number of times he and Jack stood watch together and covered for each other, allowing them to alternate cavorting with women between them. He desperately wishes Rose-Marie were here now to keep him warm, to heal his wounds, and to treat him like a man ought to be treated. With dawn rapidly approaching, he wakes his superior, and they share one last toast to old times before the day begins and the men in camp wake. He looks forward to proving what his battered, old rifle can do.

He, too, has an insignia on his bullets, though it has not yet been seen in this war. He plans to make them before battle. His signature is the triquetera, feared and fabled in the Revolution, and he is a capable marksman, able to rival the best marksmen that the district he commands has to offer. He will continue to fight for his wife, collecting a count of men killed by her rifle, the best gift he received until his eldest son was born. He must prove that he still has the mettle to outpace much younger men. After all, they would have no unit if it were not for the efforts of him, Jack, and a small band of other men who were brave enough and desperate enough to swear loyalty to a hope for a better future. They were Jack’s Heroes, and he will be again.