Part 15 Part 15a Disclaimer: Well, really, all these characters are mine...any similarity to a certain Warrior or Bard are purely coincidental...but MCA or Renaissance Pics owns them, in case they come a knockin' at my door!!

Violence Disclaimer: This story gets a bit graphic at times...a bit of blood and gore...it is set during the Civil War, and it wasn't a pretty war. Some of the conditions described may not be for the faint of heart.

Subtext: Yes. 'nuf said.

All feedback is most welcome! BardWooHoo@oocities.com

She woke in a deep haze, slowly trying to focus on her surroundings. Hideous sounds tuned in and out as she struggled through the fog of pain in her mind. The fog wrapped it’s smoky tendrils around images in her head, whispering of peace, solace, and an end to the all consuming pain. The young soldier slowly opened her eyes, promising to herself that perhaps, next time, she would answer those whispers. But for now, she just lifted her head and looked around.

She was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being wounded. What was this, she thought, the fourth time in as many months? Waking up in the field hospital was becoming routine. As routine as the long marches, bad food and dysentery. The only thing that wasn’t routine was the pain. It somehow managed to be different each and everytime. Right now, her left foot had a horrible itch, but she was too weak to bother scratching it.

Vibrant green eyes, only slightly dulled by the pain, peered out from golden bangs that were just long enough to be a bother. Slowly she scanned the tent. To her left was a makeshift table with a soldier laid out atop it. One man standing near the injured soldiers’ head encouraged the man to drink some more of what she knew, from seeing this same scene countless times, to be whiskey. The man replaced the bottle with a short length of stick, which the man bit into with firm resolve. Slowly the injured man nodded his head. The muscles in his neck went taut, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. She heard again the sounds that had, just moments ago, roused her from her uneasy sleep. The scrape of blade to bone, the man screaming in agony through his clenched teeth. Others, woken from their own fitful rests moaned, some calling for water, some for comfort. Others for death itself to come and claim them. The young woman closed her eyes and let her head drop back down on the cot.

She casually blocked out the noise, and the all pervading stench which seemed to be coming from every direction, including the ground itself. A tall man walked over to her, sitting down on a small stool next to the cot. He had a full mustache, which hung down nearly to his chin on each side. A small hint of a goatee graced his bottom lip, and, like the receding hair upon his head, was peppered liberally with gray. The gray in his hair matched the gray in his eyes, which were sad and deep. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much, and would be haunted by that for the rest of his life. “Lt. Bardlow.” His voice was gritty, soft and deep, a match to the depth of his eyes. “How are you feeling son?”

A twinkle lit the the young woman’s eyes as she gazed up at her Captain. Appearances had to be kept up. He knew her secret. One of only two others not counting herself and her kin. Captain LeRocka had sponsored her into the regiment, handling all the paperwork as well as the physical exam which had been needed to join the army. He had been a doctor prior to enlisting, and had convinced someone in the upper echelon that his services as a leader were more important than his healing skills. On top of that, he had also convinced them that he could give better care to his own wounded. As a result, he had a lower casualty rate than some other units, even though conditions were nearly as poor as the rest.

It was the quick immediate treatment that the soldiers received on the field that made the difference. Captain LeRocka made sure all his soldiers learned the basic skills to save a life. He hated the wasted lives of this war, but at least in his own little corner of it, it was a bit better.

“Feel like I’ve been dragged through Hell in a handbasket, Sir. Cold use a little water.” “Here,” he reached into the blue surcoat he wore and pulled out a flask, “got somethin’ better than water.” Her face lit up into a grin as she took a healthy swig of the strong brandy. “Always could count on you, Rock.” The tall man leaned in and said softly, “Aw, Reil, you know your Pa would have my head if’n I didn’t give you the best treatment possible.” Reil smiled. she knew the man would take excellent care of her.

It had been that way ever since she had met him. He had always looked out for her. Being an old friend of the family, he often stopped by for visits. Her father, on occasion, would be off to the next town buying supplies when Rock would arrive. Rock had kept quiet all those years, but he knew how Reil’s mother had treated her when her father was away. It pained him, but he never said anything, a man’s family was his own business. He saw that Reil had talent. She was smart, crafty in the ways she handled her mothers unwanted abuse, and a damn good shot with a rifle. Growing up in Texas had hardened the young girl, but she had grown into a determined young woman, setting her own path in life.

When she turned fourteen summers old, Rock had turned up one day, had a talk with her father, and the next thing she knew, she was on her way to New York. She didn’t have to think twice about the sudden change her life took. She left Texas without looking back.

Under the care of Rock, she had gone to school, helped out on his small farm in upstate New York and led a peaceful life until the war broke out. Rock and her father had always taught her to stand up for her beliefs. She took them to heart, always knowing that she had a destiny to fulfill. She knew it wasn’t a destiny including cooking, cleaning and sewing the rest of her days. She felt the call that so many young people were drawn to. And she answered it.

As soon as the first whispers of war were afoot, he knew what Reil would want to do. He also knew there was no talking the headstrong young girl out of it. After writing a letter to the girl’s father, the two of them headed off to Cornwall, to enlist in the Union Army. Rock was given command of Company A, 124th New York State Volunteer Regiment. He had prior service in the local militia that qualified him for the position. As such, he was able to wrangle a commission for Reil, putting her in charge of a special squad of expert marksmen. It wasn’t long before the 124th, known as the Orange Blossoms, went to war.

Reil came out of her musings of the past, anxious to get back to her unit. Struggling to sit up, she gave an eyebrow up to Rock. “Where ya hidin’ my boots Capt’n? Gotta go, lots of work to do.” The tall man visibly paled in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, he was at a loss for words. “No Reil, you’re goin’ home.” She grabbed the front of his uniform, and stared the man down. All the fears of the past few years were coming back in full force. She was being sent away. Maybe she had been injured one too many times, perhaps Rock had finally gotten fed up with trying to hide her secret. She wouldn’t go home!

Rock saw the fight in her eyes, and lowered his own. He couldn’t look her square and lie to her. “Reil, it’s for the best, look at your leg.” Reil released one hand from it’s hold on the officer’s uniform and pulled back the wool blanket, revealing her leg. The bandages which covered the leg from the knee down were soaked through with blood, and her foot had a strange coloring to it.

For a moment she simply stared in shock. A bit of relief was that she still had both her legs. Must’ve been the stitches that were causing all the itching, she absently thought. But it didn’t look good. “How bad Rock?” she silently asked. The man hesitated, then just before he spoke Reil demanded, slightly louder this time, “How. Bad. Is. It.?” With each word, the hand on the surcoat gripped tighter, the other forming the blanket into a knot. “I want the truth, don’t you go lyin’ to me now.”

The man who had seen much torment, had tried to explain the loss of limbs to young boys much younger than Reil, found he had no words for her. But he tried anyway. “You took some nasty scrapnel. A lot of the bone was blown right off. There will be a good deal of scarring. Chances of walking again are slim, and if you do, you will definitely limp.” He got the words out, in almost a clinical manner. But Reil saw the pain in his eyes. She knew that he had been the one to tend her, nobody else was allowed...Rocks’ orders. She also knew that he had done everything to save the leg, and at best, she would be a cripple. A lone tear snaked down her face. She wasn’t gonna let that stop her destiny, she thought madly. She just wasn’t gonna let that stop her.

THIS IS WAR CHAPTER 2

Two months prior...

It was begining to get warmer, being the latter part of March. The unit had stored away their winter gear in exchange for summer uniforms. Not much difference, thought Reil, both were wool. She slowly scratched an itch along her ribcage, the bandages she used to bind her figure itching slightly. For the hundreth time that year, she again wondered why women should be banned from fighting. She knew many that were just as good a shot as she was, and just as willing to fight. But not so many had as understanding a friend as she did in Rock. She sighed, stretching out her small form as she sat in her camp chair. Ah, well, she figured there was no way to change the way people think, especially when men run most things that are counted as important in life. The young woman decided she didn’t need the headache that would accompany trying to change the world, she settled for changing her corner of it, one day at a time.

The tent she shared with Rock and the other lieutenant in the company was sparse. Looking around, she didn’t think it was much to write home about. Several chairs, a table set up which held maps as well as a pot of yesterday’s coffee, a small stove in the center, vented through the top of the tent, three cots and three footlockers made for as comfortable a tent as could be expected during war. A small folding camp table was set up along one wall, for personal use. A few pictures sat atop it, the faces staring back at her with no expression.

They had made camp several months ago, settling into a fairly familiar routine. Each company would take turns scouting the perimeter or clearing trees, both rather mundane tasks which led to boredom, fatigue, and general unrest. Several times word had come down from higher command that they would soon see some fighting. Each time had been a false alarm. Daily drilling, poor weather and terrible food took it’s toll on morale.

Lieutenant Bardlow tried to keep the spirits of the men high, but it was a daily task which wore on her own reserves as well. Fortuneately, the men had been paid, and so were able to make use of the Sutlers, purchasing better food than the army could supply. Things like fresh eggs, butter, and sugar were in short supply, so when the Sutler came around, men were able to break the monotony of their rations of hard tack and salt pork. Peddlers were also there, unlicenced locals seeking a new market, part of the entourage of followers that often tagged along with units, selling milk, pies, or other comforts that reminded the men of home.

Reil had never liked the idea that groups of people would follow around after an army. In her mind, she equated them to something akin to a horde of vultures. They would watch a battle from far off, like it was a play put on for their amusement alone. Some of those people would be from whatever town or city was near the battlesite. They would return to the safe comfort of their homes when the fighting was done. Some were even related to the men in the camp. Another part of that group, however, were those who followed simply to make a profit from the war. They cared little for what the dispute was about, only that there was cash to be made.

Reil disliked this group the most. She had lied about her age, her gender, simply to give what service she could offer to her country. She simply couldn’t understand why others wouldn’t do the same. In the back of her mind, she knew that wasn’t a completely fair judgement to make. Many people donated in whatever ways they could, opening their homes to injured soldiers, tending the wounded, some paying the ultimate cost of losing a son or husband to the war effort. Those Sutlers and peddlers were probably doing a great service to the Union Army, maybe they wouldn’t have made a good soldier and were helping in the only way they knew how. Reil just wished they didn’t make her feel like they were just circling in on an animal they knew would soon be wounded.

Some of the camp followers were quite useful, they provided services such as mending, entertainment and morale support. It was, in particular, one ilk of entertainment that had the young lieutenant the most concerned. As with any army, men would become restless. In order to relieve this, many sought comfort in the arms of those who cared not about home, hearth or family, but carried on the age old tradition that had been around since time began. Their tent even had a lantern with red shutters hanging outside.

It wasn’t that Lt. Bardlow begrudged her men some enjoyment, but when a man took sick, it was harmful to the unit as a whole. Often enough, sickness followed an army like bees to honey, it didn’t need any help from an indiscreet coupling. More than one young private (as well as a sergeant) had to be sent for treatment which would keep them away from the unit for at least a week. Reil decided it was time to visit the followers’ camp and have a talk with whomever was in charge of “Hooligan’s” as she had heard the men call the tent in question. Apparently, the men had quite the rowdy time there.

Her men had never questioned the fact that Lt. Bardlow never visited Hooligan’s. It had been assumed by them (thanks to a little help from the Captain) that while the Lt. was most definitely indoctrinated in pleasing a woman, he had more important things to worry about, and that a certain young lady back home had already stolen his heart, and he couldn’t bear to be with another. The men had accepted this, Reil helping to also allay any suspicion by engaging in friendly banter with the men, thus causing them no reason to doubt that there was anything unusual about their lieutenant.

As she got up from her chair and made her way down to the small camp, Reil pondered how to approach the subject. She had wondered how a man might handle it, and had asked Rock for advice. “Be polite, yet firm, this is the men’s welfare after all. Try to be as diplomatic as possible, if presented in the proper manner, you can make Mrs. Collingsworth think it was all her idea. And don’t forget yer manners, these are southern ladies you’ll be dealin’ with, even if they do run a bordello. I could always come along with, just to make sure things run smoothly, that is...” After giving him a look that would fell a moose, Reil had insisted that she had to be the one to go. It was, after all, her responsibility. She sighed again, the things a person had to do to keep up appearances!

Her heavy army issue boots threatened to pull off her feet with every step she took. The recent rains had made quite a mess of things, she silently brooded. Mucking about in the mud just helped make a sour mood at having to talk to this woman even worse. She came upon the camp, and found the tent Rock had given her directions to. She saw a stake in the ground where a lantern could be hung. At least they have the decency not to advertise in the light of day, thought Reil. Sitting outside, under a stretch of canvas that had been set up, were two women. Sitting, chatting, acting for all the world like there was no war going on. Both were sipping tea out of small china cups. One of the women glanced up as Reil approached.

Whatever it was that either woman was expecting, it wasn’t what each felt at making eye contact. They would later come to find out that they both had felt the same thing; a deep burning sensation, starting at the bottoms of their feet and working its’ way up, ending back with the eyes till both were almost sure they could see the sparks in the air between them.

Reil was the first to pull away from the intense eye contact. With effort, she willed her face to appear hard, uncaring. She didn’t understand what had just happened, and pushed the incident down in her mind to examine it later. Right now, she had business to attend to. Months of training, schooling her face so that she could lead men into battle, into death, served her well at this moment. For all outward appearances, she looked like a capable officer in service to the Union army attending to business. She calmly executed a small bow to the ladies assembled. “Good afternoon, ladies. I was wondering if I might have a word with a certain Mrs. Collingsworth? I was told I might find her here?” Her voice was smooth and even, nothing to betray how her nerves were reacting, still, to the site of the woman before her.

The woman who had looked at Reil as she first arrived stood up. “Clara, why don’t you excuse us. I believe this officer and I have things to discuss.” The other woman, blonde, but obviously not naturally so, stood and adjusted the front of her dress. She appeared, to Reil, to be quite put out by the curt and obvious dismissal. The Lt. gave her a small smile, another small bow, and got nothing in return except a huff, a snapped open fan and near incoherent mumblings which might have been refering to the other womans lineage. Reil righted herself from the bow, and was once again caught in the eyes of the other woman. Her only thought at that moment was how remarkably blue those eyes appeared to be.

“Why don’t we go for a walk, Lieutenant, is it?” Her voice was rich and deep, velvety, and seemed to stoke a fire in the very depths of Reil’s heart. “Yes ma’am, Lt. Bardlow of the 124th from NY. A walk would be nice.” She offered her arm to the woman, and they strolled for a while in silence toward the edge of the camp. Reil took this time to appraise the woman who had her hand placed lightly in the crook of her arm. She didn’t even want to think about the unfamiliar sensations which that was causing. This woman was not at all what she had expected. In her mind, anyone who ran a brothel, even a camp brothel, should look old and worn. Used. This charming lady was anything but that.

Mrs. Collingsworth wore a long dress, light blue in color, with a high lace neck. A finely woven shawl lay across her shoulders, with a parasol cradled in the crook of her arm, and fine lace gloves, she looked like nothing more than a finely bred southern lady. She was tall, without being towering, and had a grace about her that spoke of gentility. Dark hair was pulled back in a knitted snood which was the same color as her dress. All in all, Reil was quite taken with the site of this woman. The duality of her appearance and what Reil knew was her profession, intrigued her to no end. This might be a woman to get to know, there was just something so *right* about having her on her arm.

Her voice had just a hint of southern accent, Reil had noticed before, which indicated the woman was probably from one of the states closer to the north, rather than the south. Sometimes this damn war really did confuse her, the lines were so mixed. More often than not, families had two sons or more fighting in the war, one might be fighting for the north, the other for the south. Sometimes a southerner fought on the side of the north, simply because that’s where his beliefs lay. Coming out of her musings, she realized why she was reflecting on her origins. Mrs. Collingsworth had asked a question. Reil pulled her head back onto her shoulders.

“My, my, Lieutenant, you seem miles away, I was commenting on the distinct lack of mud along this path.” The smooth voice tingled along Reil’s nerves, what in the world was wrong with her. Mentally shaking the feeling off, she replied, “Why yes, Mrs. Collingsworth, I do believe you’re correct. The sun must shine more on this small stretch of Virginia than the one currently occupied by our unit.” By Reil’s estimate, the sun certainly did shine more here, specifically, wherever this woman stood. The taller woman gave a small smile, so this young pup of an officer want’s to play with words, she thought to herself, well, two can play at that game. “Do tell, Lieutenant, what brings such a charming young man to the followers camp?”

Reil’s face became more stern than before, if that was possible. “Well, ma’am, it seems some of the boys from my unit have taken sick. Three of them all had the same complaint, and the same three claimed to have visited your tent at some point or other in the course of several weeks...” This was much more difficult than she had imagined.

“My good sir, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. All the ladies who share that tent, myself not included, have eaten the same foods that were shared with your men, the same brandy has been had by all. Perhaps you’re mistaken. None of those ladies has taken ill.” Emma Collingsworth was no fool...she wasn’t about to admit that the young man was probably correct, but boy was she ever going to have a talk with some of her girls. This was bad for business. Things like this were bound to happen, but perhaps letting a few girls go and calling in a few more from Fredricksburg wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Reil may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. She carefully phrased her next statement. “My dear Mrs. Collingsworth, seek not to trifle with me. I am well aware of the activities that are conducted in that tent, and am only looking out for the welfare of my men.” Their walk had led them back to the tent in question. Emma took her hand off of the Lieutenants arm and turned to look at him full in the face. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, Reil could almost imagine hearing the other woman’s thoughts ticking away. Gentility was one thing, she wanted this matter settled. “Lieutenant, you sully my honor, to think that I have any connection with activities such as you insinuate. I am deeply offended.”

Reil was slightly taken aback. The woman sounded sincere. What if a terrible joke had been played on her? What if this woman, indeed, had nothing to do with the tent of ill repute? Impossible, thought Reil, some deep instinct told her the woman was just trying to cover all her angles. Well, at least she had gotten her message across. Time would tell the good it had done. “Please accept my most sincere apologies, Mrs. Collingsworth, I truly meant no disrespect. If I erred in my thinking, please forgive me and allow me some way to demonstrate my sincerity through some action.” Reil’s voice had the desired effect as she slowly watched the fire dwindle in the other woman’s eyes. Emma’s posture minimally relaxed and a slow smile brought up one corner of her mouth.

“Youth does tend toward exciteablilty, Lieutenant. But I believe your words to be sincere. We shall keep in touch.” Reil knew a dismissal when she heard one, and when Mrs. Collingsworth offered her hand, she gently took it in her own, bowing over it and placing a gentle featherlight kiss upon it. Glancing back up, still holding her hand, Reil replied, “I look forward to it.” Breaking away from the gaze, the young soldier turned to leave the camp. Emma watched as he made his way through the muck, and wondered how someone could appear so graceful in mud up to their ankles. A slight blush ran up her face. Taking out her fan, she sat back down in her chair, absently waving the fan to cool her heated skin. I think a dinner engagement is in order, she thought...as a languid smile graced her perfect features...and soon.

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