FicWad

Once the ashes settle, Colonel Hagan’s unit begins to rebuild. They have never before been without their fearless leader. Colonel Hagan remains in the camp of the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry under the constant care of three doctors. He is in excruciating pain, but he does not fuss or stir. Regardless of his lack of complaints, the doctors insist upon giving him painkillers. What concerns them more than his instance that pain does not bother him are the ashy white areas and the charred black areas that he cannot feel and the necrotic infections beginning to develop in some of his burns. The consensus between the doctors is that they are all surprised that he is still clinging to life somehow. They want to send him back to Bridgeton to recover, but they doubt he would survive the journey. He cannot walk, and he can barely eat. There is grave concern amongst his men, many of whom are badly burned or otherwise injured as well, that he will never return to them. Doctor Sparrow, who seldom treats such severe burns, is beginning to believe that giving Colonel Hagan a larger dose of opium than what would be safe and allowing him to die a relatively quick, peaceful, and painless death would be kinder, gentler, and less degrading than the ongoing efforts to save his life, especially considering concerns of loss of function, quality of life, and severe scarring. Doctor Hayes has the most experience with burns because of his extensive travels. He is determined to save Colonel Hagan’s life, regardless of the cost and regardless of suffering in the present or future. Doctor Kiersey is afraid that Colonel Hagan will die, regardless of any effort put forth to save him. He is a member of Colonel Hagan’s unit, and, as such, he fears the loss of a leader with no safe, obvious choice for his successor.

Because Colonel Hagan is recovering from severe burns and Colonel Callahan from gunshot wounds and subsequent infection, General Callahan has taken the majority of their missed workload out of nostalgia and a determination that the units will not fail, but he is beginning to strain from the pressure and the amount of work, especially with Jack away in Highton, as Jack also left him an enormous amount of paperwork in his absence. Although Colonel Callahan has returned to some aspects of his normal routine, he is still ordered to many hours’ more bed rest than he would like each day, is not allowed into battle, and cannot complete all of his unit’s paperwork, especially with Doctor Sparrow watching him closely to ensure that he follows medical advice for a change. With General Callahan overwhelmed and two units falling behind on paperwork, Conan offers a solution. He suggests temporarily combining the units’ paperwork and having a few majors from his unit train for future promotion by assisting with the clerical work that colonels are required to do. At first, General Callahan dismisses the idea, as he is not keen on the idea of training stubborn majors on top of his current workload, believing it easier to simply do the work himself, but after three more days of paperwork, he calls upon three majors to meet him in town for drinks after dinner and tries desperately to convince them that they may as well learn now while they have someone to help them rather than later when they become colonels and have no help. Naturally, some are more easily convinced than another.

Major Callahan is the easiest to convince, as he is eager to please his father, especially because he, like his parents’ sixth son Brian, is quiet, respectable, even-tempered, and decidedly unremarkable. Owen is praised simply for being the eldest brother and having the chance to do things first. Kian has good looks and charm and gets attention for his romantic conquests. Conan has a talent for tactics and a wisdom beyond his years, coupled with fighting skill and clumsiness, so he gets attention for both victyr and defeat. Devon is bold and brave and frequently causes trouble, and Killian is the youngest and naturally gets attention for it. Brian, the sixth brother, is book-smart and shy, and, like Brendan, is quiet, especially about his achievements and opinions, so the second and sixth brothers are lost behind the bolder, louder voices in the family. As a result, both Brendan and Brian tend to accept any opportunity for recognition. Brendan sees the offer to do some of the unit’s paperwork, some of Owen’s paperwork, for his father as an opportunity to be noticed and to impress his father. He hopes to eventually become a colonel so that he can be compared to his brother on equal ground someday and is certain that he would be held in higher esteem, given the chance.

Major Moynihan is not as eager to do what he sees as a tedious, thankless task, though he is not a difficult man to convince to do such a task. Ever since the day that he lost the only woman he ever loved because he chose to remain in the army rather than to leave and raise a family, he has been married to the army, and his unit has been his family. He sees such a task as being a way of providing for his unit, his family, in the same way a father brings home money for bread and teaches his children to walk. He is not ruthlessly ambitious or particularly competitive, but he quietly hopes to become a colonel someday. He hopes silently and patiently. He is happy to be a major for the time being, and he knows that he will become a colonel when the course of duty determines that the proper and due time has come for him to do so.

Major Fitzmaurice, though ambitious, already has obligations to the unit in training new troops, some of whom have yet to arrive. Most of the men who have arrived already still require much training. This is a lawful order from Colonel Callahan that still stands, and he must respect it unless he is ordered otherwise. He also has an unwritten agreement to aid Doctor Sparrow whenever possible. Major Fitzmaurice dreads paperwork because it reminds him of his days as a schoolboy. General Callahan does not want to breed resentment in a man for whom he has tremendous respect, both as a marksman and as a tactician, especially when that man has acquired a talent for finding talent, but Major Fitzmaurice is a difficult man to convince. Neither patriotic duty, nor promise for promotion, nor the offer of a little extra pay is enough to cause him to agree to do it.

“What would convince ye?” asks General Callahan, willing to answer any demand because he is so desperate for help.

“Colonel’s pay for colonel’s work. If I’ve got to train them an’ do the paperwork on top o’ a major’s duties an’ shared command in the field, I want a colonel’s pay for meself, an’ Moynihan, an’ your son ‘til your Owen comes back in full.”

“Fair enough.”

“I also want to have a favor I can use when I need it an’ your promise to allow me to do what I must besides the one duty.”

“What d’ye mean about other duties?”

“I assist Doctor Sparrow in some surgeries because he an’ I can talk to each other silently an’ because he usually needs someone to hold the patients down when he’s got no opium. Do not impede that. It would put lives in jeopardy.”

“Jeopardy?”

“Danger.”

“All reasonable enough. Tell me, Fitzmaurice, how a man so reasonable as yourself found hisself in the army.”

“Always wanted to, sor.”

“But why not somethin’ safer like a doctor.”

“Don’t like needles, an’ the law bored me half to death.”

“I don’t blame ye. Thankfully, the army’s paperwork is simple. But ‘twixt two units an’ the army as a whole, there’s just too much for one man. Ye jus’ sign an’ file every paper ye see. Nothin’ to it. ‘Afore ye become colonel, though, ye’ll have to learn a proper floggin’ technique so’s ye don’t tire yourself out, o’ course.”

“Great. Turns ‘im to a barbarous, ruination o’ a tyrant, . Ye gods, that’d be jus’ what we’ll be needin’,” jokes Lieutenant Hackett, who came to town with Major Fitzmaurice.

“Shut the fuck up, Hackett. Better to have him than what we’ve got. He’s next in line. Ye know it, an’ I know it. Let him deal the punishments. I sure as fuck don’t want to,” says Major Moynihan, who is the eldest and wisest of the three of them, defensive of Major Fitzmaurice, his friend and former protégé.

“Enough!” shouts General Callahan. “I asked ye for help. If ye bicker an’ fight, I’ll dock your pay. If ye continue, I’ll demote ye, or discharge ye, or somethin’. I’ve done far worse to far better men. Moynihan, I’ve half a mind to give your job to Fitzmaurice’s fiancée. She’d do better wi’ less complaint, an’ she’s not a drunk. Hackett, I don’t know how ye’ve survived this long, but I know a dead man when I see one. Believe ye me when I say your days are numbered.”

The next evening, Major Fitzmaurice, who needs to clear his mind, returns to camp after parting ways with Lieutenant Hackett, with whom he had gone to town to meet the mail train on Doctor Sparrow’s behalf. Lieutenant Hackett’s intention tonight is to visit the local brothels that some of the other men have praised, much to Major Fitzmaurice’s chagrin. Rather than lay around and drink like most of the other men, Major Fitzmaurice sets up five paper targets in a clearing in the woods and begins to fire two of his pistols, seemingly without looking. Conan, who is supposed to be spending the night with his father and brothers, joins Major Fitzmaurice instead. Conan has always been more comfortable with swords than guns, but he has been practicing with a borrowed pistol. Major Fitzmaurice hands him a loaded pistol from his personal collection and tells him to fire it. Conan insists that he could not do so, afraid to damage such a valuable gun. Major Fitzmaurice, in a marked difference from his temperament in battle and training, does not order Conan to do anything. He stands and waits, outwardly patient but secretly eager. Conan has his respect as a man, just as he has the general’s respect, and, when they are not on duty, Major Fitzmaurice sees Conan as an equal rather than as his inferior. He remains patient while Conan examines the gun gingerly, just waiting for the younger man’s curiosity to fire it to overtake his fear of breaking it.

Conan’s father began to train him to use a wooden sword when he was about three years of age, but, for the sake of safety, the none of the Callahan boys ever fired a gun before the age of ten, so there is a significant learning gap between the two techniques. Conan has a great respect for his father’s and Major Fitzmaurice’s marksmanship skills. He works very hard to improve his skills, trying to aim better and fire more quickly. He is a very adequate marksman with long guns, but pistols present him with a problem. He has yet to find a gun that is a natural fit, and his blind eye makes dual wielding and aiming difficult.

Eventually, Conan becomes curious enough to test the pistol. He holds it up and finds that the grip fits his hand perfectly, as if it were carved for him, and the weight is perfect for him to hold it level without any strain. He cocks it and prepares to fire. Before he can, Major Fitzmaurice hands him a second gun, which is identical to the first. He instructs Conan to fire both, which he does, hitting near the center of the target with both bullets. Conan smiles briefly and offers the guns to Major Fitzmaurice.

“Keep ‘em. They’re yours. A present from your father an’ meself.”

“What for?”

“So’s ye can have a proper pair o’ pistols. Take a closer look.”

“There’s a mark, jus’ there, an...is that an eye?” asks Conan, confused at why an eye would be freshly carved into the bottom of the grip on such a fine gun.

“Consider this your initiation,” says Major Fitzmaurice, taking a metal stamp form his pocket and handing it to Conan. “Marksmen do not stand on ceremony, not ours anyway.”

“Thankee, sor. These must’ve been expensive.”

“They were once. I haven’t used ‘em in years. I had Doctor Sparrow’s father find ‘em in this big trunk I stored in his attic when we first came to Crosspoint, have ‘em cleaned up, an’ send ‘em out here. They’ve got a case jus’ there.”

“Thankee, sor.”

Eager to change the subject, Major Fitzmaurice asks, “How’s Kian? His arm was bad off.”

“He’ll be alright,” replies Conan calmly. “To be honest, I’m more worried ‘bout his nurse. Sergeant Tracey ain’t exactly one o’ the lads.”

“She can hold her own surprisingly well.”

“Ma’d jus’ adore her, not least ‘cause she’s well on her way to tamin’ Kian. Ma’s been tryin’ to get him to find a nice girl an’ settle down for years. It seems he’s finally got a girl he’ll wait for.”

“Perhaps. I’m not entirely sure she’ll be ready to give up her career an’ settle down to bein’ Kian’s housewife jus’ yet.”

“I like her. She’s not afraid to tell him off, but she’s real nice ‘bout it. He listens to her, which is more’n I can say for Owen.”

“Has she been formally introduced to your father yet?”

“She hasn’t. She knows Owen o’ course. She barely knows me an’ Brendan. She’s on’y met da’ once or twice, an’ ‘twas a right dire situation each time. Ma’s ready for a wedidn’, though. ‘Specially a proper one, since Kathleen was in the family way when wed Owen, an’ Deidre and Brendan was childhood sweethearts. ‘Course, she’ll start after me soon’s Kian’s hitched.”

“I would think she’d rather see ye make lieutenant first.”

“Da’ would, but ma’s always for a weddin’. Ye’re damned lucky Emmy knows the life.”

“Gettin’ her to give it up for marriage’ll be the hard part.”

“Like all the old songs say, eh? ‘A Soldier’s Life for Me’ an’ that?”

“Not really. Eventually, ye stop believin’ in old songs.”

“When?”

“Right ‘round the first time ye’ve got to go to battle after makin’ captain.”

“Why a captain?”

“Ye’re inevitably stuck wi’ either an insolent pair o’ bastards for lieutenants what no other captain’d want, new lieutenants ye’ve got to be afraid o’, lest they fuck the whole unit o’er by doin’ somethin’ stupid, or ye get one o’ the first an’ one o’ the second ‘til ye can shove ‘em off on some other poor bastard. Ye stop believin’ in them old war songs when ye’ve got good men to wrry ‘bout an’ idiot lieutenants bound to get ‘em all killed on ye. I feel bad for the poor bastards who had to be me captain.”

“Who was that, sor?”

“Many. Hmm...McGeehy, retired his commission; Taggarty, demoted then killed; Fogarty, suicide; Lehearty, dishonorable discharge, never made it back to Bridgeton, found in the river three weeks later; McQuillian, hanged for treason, assault, robbery, an’ arson after a court martial; Digby, drank hisself to death; MacPherson, jumped into the river and drowned; Eddison, choked on his own vomit in a tavern; Matthews, deserted, ne’er seen again; Andrews, deserted, later stabbed in a pub; Callahan, promoted, eventually became colonel; O’Connell, shot in the foot in drill, lost a leg, medical discharge; O’Donnell, in prison for burglary; Quinlan, his cellmate, in for assault; Callahan, now a major; Tyler, lost his head, rather literally, gambling debts; Paige, smallpox; Parnell, same; Biggs, consumption; an’ oul’ Alexander Kingston, retired his commission jus’ ‘fore the war an’ got me to captain for it. By comparison, I had it easier’n the poor sods what had to command me. Then again, I doubt anyone else would’ve ever wanted Morrison an’ Coffey. They’re too close. Makes ‘em difficult to command.”

“I hope I’m not so bad when I make lieutenant.”

“Your brother’ll make captain ‘fore ye make lieutenant. Possibly at the same time, but ye’ll not both be lieutenants, else ye’d already be one. They’ll just shove ye off on Kian, an’ a right lot o’ good ‘twill do him.”

“What d’ye mean, sor?”

“I may’be been bad, but Kian...well...he’s worse. He’s got that habit o’ drinkin’ at the worst possible time an’ goin’ to town whene’er it pleases him. To put it kindly, he wouldn’t be me first choice for a lieutenant to command. He wouldn’t make a bad captain, mind, jus’ a downright horrible lieutenant. To put it not so kindly, he’s a captain’s worst nightmare.”

“He’s gotten better.”

“He has, but the fact his captain can’t report any negligence or misconduct on his part ‘cause Owen won’t process it makes him all the more difficult to command.”

“How’d Kian get to be a lieutenant anyhow? One day, da’ says he’ll never make it, an’ the next, there he is a lieutenant.”

“He got promoted from sergeant, same as ye’ll be.”

“No...I mean...did he earn it or not?”

“He’s your brother. Ask him.”

“Really, sor, I don’t want to hear one o’ me brother’s glory stories; I want the truth. Did he earn his rank or not?”

“He did an’ in the most brutal o’ ways.”

“How?”

“He made corporal easy enough. Owen’s his colonel. ‘Tis the customary Callahan promotion, after all. Then we came to Crosspoint. He got sent back to Bridgeton to tell your father and Jack to come right quick, as ye’ll recall. Owen didn’t want him here just then ‘cause he went off one night to town to the pubs and brothels when he should’ve been on watch and Owen caught him. Owen lost his temper, and the enemy provided him an excuse to send Kian home a few days.

“He struggled to make sergeant after that, ‘til one day when he got sick and tired o’ waiting. Now, Kian’s not the most patient soldier I ever met. ‘Course none could compare to Lieutenant O’Dunphy for patience, but Kian don’t even come close to the norm. One day, Kian disappeared from camp for three hours and came back with a bloody great sack full o’ severed heads. He brought back insignia and names, too, and most were enemy officers, particularly brutal ones, too. He’d caught ‘em in town, got ‘em drunk, lured ‘em to the woods, and slaughtered ‘em. He dumped the sack out on Owen’s table in the mess. That’s why that one table’s stained all red on top where ye think ‘twouldn’t be. Made sergeant next day.”

“But how’d he make lieutenant?” asks Conan.

“If ye’re wonderin’ what could possibly outdo a bag o’ heads, he saved half the unit by acting in place o’ his wounded lieutenant on a forward patrol. They intercepted a small group o’ scouts, killed the men, captured their lieutenant, dragged him back for a prisoner, and were able to predict a raid more than two hours before it happened, giving the units along the stream time to evacuate the wounded and prepare for battle. He was given a temporary status as acting lieutenant in the ensuing battle, during which he was able to flank the enemy and inflict substantial casualties, saving the lives on an estimated half the unit from lack of surprise, evacuation, and intelligence gathering. His lieutenant eventually lost a leg and got a medical discharge. Kian took his place. If he’d returned from his patrol sooner, he’d’ve saved his lieutenant’s leg but lost vital information that saved lives.”

“So how’ll he make captain?”

“I presume that’s your ma’s discretion. She’ll make a nod to your da’, an’ he’ll tell Owen to promote Kian next, an’ when he does, there’ll be drinks all ‘round.” Major Fitzmaurice pauses. “Listen to me, here, talkin’ to ye like ye’re a student at the Academy. Me, a teacher? That’s a funny thought.”

“I would’ve liked to have gone, sor. I wish me da’ could’ve sent me.”

“He likely could’ve sent ye.”

“How so? We’re not well-off. He may be a general, but wi’ seven children an’ the way he whores, an’ gambles, an’ drinks, he’s not got much saved.”

“He could’ve sent all seven, an’ damn his pride that he didn’t. He knew for years a war was comin’, an’ wi’ deaths aplenty, advancement comes easy enough. He knew he could use family favors easily, but if he’d wanted to, bein’ that he’s a war hero hisself, an’ I’m sure the retired officers runnin’ the Academy owe him at least seven favors ‘twixt ‘em., he could’ve sent all o’ ye at the school’s expense. ‘Course, none o’ them want to be called back to active duty, either, so he could’ve just threatened ‘em an’ been done wi’ that.”

“Why didn’t he? Why wouldn’t he?”

“He probably wanted ye to work your own way up. He probably didn’t want to shame his own legacy by havin’ sons an’ grandsons who couldn’t work out for themselves how to fight proper an’ make officer without help. Believe me when I say they don’t teach ye how to fight there.”

“Then what do they teach?”

“Honestly, not much I remember. History, how to shout at enlisted men, discipline, how to shout at enlisted men, proper tactics that will probably get half the unit killed if ye follow ‘em too close an’ ye’re in a truly bad spot, how to shout at enlisted men, how to sleep standin’ up without fallin’ down after they’ve taken your chair from ye, an’ how to shout at enlisted men. So not really very much a’ ‘tall. ‘S’all rich lads tryin’ to impress men like your father. I was out o’ place meself. They don’t much like a poor boy, ‘specially not one who could take on the lot o’ his floor an’ win.”

“Did ye-” begins Conan.

“No,” interrupts Major Fitzmaurice, “but I know someone what would’ve, had he gone there. His name’s Conan Callahan. He’s on’y got one good eye ‘cause he insists on playin’ the hero. A bit taller’n me wi’ red hair. He’s a sergeant who hangs around wi’ officers. Perhaps ye’ve seen him.”

“Very funny, sor.”

“Ye’ve done fine for yourself, sergeant. If I’d’ve joined up at sixteen, I’d be salutin’ yourself this very day. I on’y went to the Academy ‘cause Jack said I could an’ ‘cause I came from the wrong family. No war heroes there. Ye’ll be an officer soon enough, Conan. Mark me words, ye will. Jus’ wait for your brother to propose.”

“I doubt he will. He’s ne’er tied himself down to jus’ one woman, an’ he’ll ne’er do it.”

“He will. He’s got one now that he doesn’t know what to do wi’ her. She’s innocent an’ quiet. That’s plenty foreign to him. He can’t talk her into bed, an’ he can’t charm her to do what he wants, so he’s got to try somethin’ else. He’s hers now. Ain’t nothin’ to be done ‘bout it. She’ll be your sister-in-law soon enough.”

“He’ll ne’er marry a girl he can’t try out first. He said so hisself.”

“An’ that’s precisely why he’ll marry her. He’ll have to to get what he wants, see? Anyhow, he can’t have her ‘til she’s out o’ the army. She’s a sergeant; he’s a lieutenant. They’re in the same army, same unit, so ‘tis ‘gainst regulation, not that either the lieutenant or the colonel’d give two shits. Family comes ‘fore regulation for the lot o’ ye.”

“Ye’ve got little faith in me brothers, don’t ye, sor?”

“Call it sedition, but I think ye’re your family’s saving grace. Owen thinks wi’ his stomach; Brendan don’t hardly think for hisself a’ ‘tall ‘cause he’s content to follow any order given by a relative, Kian thinks wi’ his cock. A fine trio ye’ve got for older brothers. An’ from what I can tell, Devon thinks wi’ his fists, an’ he won’t grow out o’ that, certainly not ‘fore he can join, God help us.”

“What about Brian an’ Killian?”

“I don’t know. I’ve scarce met ‘em, an’ they’re too young to say yet. Come back to me in five to ten years. It does frighten me, however, that the saving grace o’ such a powerful family, the most powerful family in the entire Southern Army, is a drunk.”

“Ye could tell, sor?”

“I’ve had plenty o’ practice. Ye can’t hide it from everyone. Ye’ll not fool me, nor Doctor Sparrow. I doubt ye fool your father, but he’s seldom sober enough hisself to care.”

“An’ the rest o’ the unit, sor?”

“Either they don’t notice or they don’t care. I hate to have to inform ye this, but the majority o’ this unit’s got little to no faith in its colonel, an’ they don’t care a damn for the rest o’ the men ‘round ‘em. That’s why we’re bound to fail. That’s why we’ve got one o’ the highest casualty an’ mortality rates in the entire army, not just the Southern Army, neither. We’re a failed unit what knows it an’ refuses to acknowledge it.”

“So, if I may ask, how bad-off are we?” asks Conan cautiously.

“Second-worst after Hagan’s,” begins Major Fitzmaurice darkly, “at least among units what haven’t failed completely yet.”

“Are we winnin’ the war at least?”

“Hard to tell. I doubt your father even knows.”

“I do know,” says a voice behidn them. “An’ we’re not.”

Major Fitzmaurice turns and salutes; Conan merely asks, “How long have ye been there?”

“Long enough,” replies General Callahan. “Fitzmaurice, your instinct is, indeed, correct, as always. We are not winning this war. Ye were trained well, an’ your instincts are seldom wrong. Admirable traits in any man, in any soldier, but I doubt they make ye a happy man, ‘specially in this mess.”

“They don’t, sor,” replies Major Fitzmaurice, afraid to say more.

“A fine colonel ye’d make, too. Pity ye didn’t accept me offer,” says General Callahan, hoping that Major Fitzmaurice will still consider taking command of a unit in the immediate future.

“The Thirteenth is your son’s unit, sor. I couldn’t’ve taken it from him. I’m a little afraid to command after the night they took Crosspoint.”

“Can’t really blame ye. Same thing happened to me after the battle o’ Haymarket Square. ‘Slaughter’ don’t go far enough. That’s why ‘tis called the St. Madern’s Day Massacre. I was sent to the countryside to recover after, an’ the unit had to be temporarily disbanded. I’ve still got lead in me from that miserable sixteenth o’ May, Year of our Lord Fifteen-Sixty, but the worst part, the part that numbed even the most battle-weary amongst us, the part they wrote out o’ the history books ‘fore ye was born an’ seldom mention, was seein’ families locked in their houses, if ye can call ‘em that, an’ the thatch lit on fire, children thrown from windows, babies tossed up like cabbages an’ shot, an’ women’s bodies everywhere, some raped by bayonets, some wi’ their eyes an’ tongues cut out, some wi’ unborn babies cut from their bellies, some wi’ their teeth bashed in an’ raped ‘til they choked, some wi’ their throats slashed to the bone or their heads bashed in. I knew every last one, too, some as neighbors, some as lovers.

“One o’ the women whose child was taken out o’ her ‘fore it was born was a lover o’ mine, an’ that child was mine, too. I watched her bleed to death, but I know from a woman who survived hidin’ in a cellar that the child was a girl an’ that she was alive when they took her to the orphanage. I don’t know what happened after that, but I know I couldn’t’ve cared for her. I never told your mother, Conan. She don’t need to know.

“I thank God Rose-Marie wasn’t caught that day, though. She was less a girl an’ more a woman at sixteen, nearly seventeen. She would’ve been killed if they found where she’d been hidin’, an’ I couldn’t’ve protected her. Accordin’ to the ones who walked away, the stench o’ death hung ‘round the streets for weeks. I was carried away an’ lucky to live.

“When I saw Crosspoint upon me release, I had nightmares for weeks ‘bout Haymarket Square. Once ye’ve seen somethin’ that terrible, it ne’er leaves ye, believe me, an’ when ye’re not in command, ‘twill leave ye afraid to e’er take command, lest ye be blamed for somethin’ similar, for years to come.

“That said, I can’t find a unit for ye, Fitzmaurice, so ye’re safe for now. I’d rather keep ye light infantry, but I can’t find a unit for ye to command.” General Callahan, visibly shaken from having to recount memories that he buried many years ago, clears his throat, lest his son see his weakness.

“What about artillery, or cavalry, or heavy infantry?” asks Major Fitzmaurice, not particularly eager to take command, though interested in his options.

“Ye’re not built for heavy infantry. The on’y time I’d send ye there ‘sides their paperwork’d be for a month or so to train. While it looks like I may need a new heavy infantry colonel, I’ll not send yourself. A marksman’s skills go to waste there. I hated the time I spent there trainin’, an’ I’m not even really built for it. Owen, maybe. I’ve thought ‘bout the cavalry for ye. I wouldn’t be so cruel as to send yourself to the artillery for any length o’ time. A miserable place ‘tis, too. No, I want ye to be a light infantry colonel, an’ I’d rather hold out ‘til I find ye one. Ye’d be good at it. ‘Til then, teach me firstborn son what he needs to know that your fancy education taught ye.”

“What’d that be?”

“I don’t know...whatever they taught ye. How to pick good officers or sommat.”

“A whole lot o’ nothin’s what they taught me. Oh, sure, I learned field tactics, but I’ll ne’er use ‘em, ‘cause this war ain’t bein fought too clean or even on the right kinds o’ fields. Most o’ that’s jus’ common sense, anyhow, not that the rich bastards whose fathers send ‘em there hopin’ they’ll come out a war hero actually have any common sense. I learned to drill, but what good’s a drill when ye’re buried knee-deep in bodies? Beyond that ‘twas a lot o’ shoutin’ for nothin’.”

“So Conan didn’t miss a thing, then?”

“Not much, no. He’s got a good head on his shoulders an’ a father to help him along. Everythin’ he could’ve learned there, he’s already learned from family or experience. I was missin’ the family, so I went there to give meself a chance ‘gainst families like yours.”

“Fair enough. Did ye give him those pistols?” asks General Callahan.

“Aye. Me best pair, too, but they’re replaced easily enough. ‘Tisn’t as if I ever use ‘em anymore.”

“Did ye have to do anythin’ to ‘em?”

“I changed the weight a bit an’ had ‘em engraved.”

“Good man. I suppose I owe ye for our bet. Ye did, indeed, find him a match in one go.”

“I knew I would,” says Major Fitzmaurice smugly. “I don’t bet unless I’m sure I’ll win.”

Major Fitzmaurice leaves Conan and his father at the makeshift shooting range. He has duties to which he must attend. He is not sure what they will be, as Emmy has already gone to bed, and all of the unit’s paperwork was completed by Majors Callahan, Moynihan, and Fitzmaurice earlier in the day. Doctor Sparrow is still awake, but his patients are all soundly sleeping, many due to opium. The doctor checks on his living ghosts one final time before he goes to bed each night. Tonight, Major Fitzmaurice follows him like a dog silently trailing its master. When Doctor Sparrow finally goes to bed, Major Fitzmaurice, who is still restless, takes all of his guns outside and begins cleaning them. He cleans every one several times without realizing that he is doing so. It is only when he begins to nod off to sleep that his cleaning ceases. He feels a firm grip on his shoulder that pulls him out of his sleep. He turns, sees a welcomed sight, and vanishes into the night with it, guns in tow, lest they be stolen.

In the morning, neither Major Fitzmaurice nor Lieutenant Barrett can be found, and nobody dares to search past the tent in the woods, where they find his guns. The only obvious hint as to their whereabouts is a pair of passes signed by the major himself granting the pair of them a weekend’s liberty.