index


Message-ID: <55637asstr$1176959403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: stereographPanties@hush.com
From: "Stereograph" <stereograph@hush.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Little Drummer Boy (Stereograph) (MFb ped mc hist slow)
Lines: 1295
Date: Thu, 19 Apr 2007 01:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

The following is a work of fiction.  It should not be taken as a guide to
behavior in the real world.  The people, places and events exist only in
the mind of the Author.  This is a work of pornographic fiction, it should
not be read by those who are under the legal age to do so in the
jurisdiction where you live.  It may, or may not, contain matter illegal to
read where you live.  Please know and obey the laws of your own country. 
The Author cannot be responsible for the laws of every country connected to
the internet.  Neither the Author nor society condone some of the actions
which may be presented within.

   Please, enjoy the story.

   ====================={ The Little Drummer Boy }======================

   MFb ped mc hist slow



   "Lieutenant Saunders reporting as ordered, sir," I said at the door to
Colonel Adams' tent.

   "Come in and stand at ease--no, sit down Lieutenant.  We have a couple
of things to discuss and your leg isn't healed yet.  Your leg is one of
them, in fact.  I'm sure you know the tasks we've put you to on light duty
don't need an officer to perform them.  The Regimental Surgeon is ready to
release you for regular duty sometime next week.  I've a new assignment for
you until then."

   "I'm ready to take on any task you wish, sir.  I'm more than ready, if
the task is more interesting than editing routine reports to Cairo."

   The General chuckled.  "It will be, anything is more interesting than
that.  Before I give you that assignment I want to discuss your long-term
future."

   "I'd hoped to return to my platoon, but you've given it to someone else,
sir." I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

   "No reflection on you Al.  You've done well in this war.  Getting shot
during a charge can happen to anyone.  You've been wounded twice, both
times saving us from possible defeat, I think you're ready for an
advancement.  Halleck has finally issued orders to re-organize.  Many
Companies have grown too depleted to maintain their identity.  As part of
that we are putting the stray remnants of several orphaned platoons
together into a new company.  You will head that company.  It's a Captain's
billet.  I can't promote you, but if you turn them into a credible fighting
unit, Congress will.  Will that make up for your platoon?"

   "Yes sir, it will.  When can I start?" I think I failed to keep the
excitement out of my voice.

   "As soon as the Surgeon clears you.  The orders are written and signed,
all they need is a date.  Some new recruits are coming upriver, should be
here by Monday, you'll get a few of them too."

   He took a breath and continued, "You heard the fighting this morning?"

   "Yes, one of our companies on patrol ran in to some rebels scouting us.
I talked to one of their officers, a classmate of mine."

   "One of the wounded rebels taken prisoner was a boy, a drummer, about
eleven or twelve.  He was shot in the calf during the battle.  He was also
sodomized and pinned to a corpse with a bayonet sometime after the battle.
Our boys chased the Rebs for a while and left the field unattended. 
Someone attacked the boy during that time.  We don't know who, not even
whether he is ours or a Rebel."

   "MY God!  How could anyone do that to a boy?"

   "It's sick and rare, but not rare enough.  I've seen a case or two as
Sheriff.  This boy is grandson to Col.  Calhoun on Halleck's staff. 
Sherman has asked me to do an investigation into the matter.  I'm assigning
you to the job."

   "How much hope is there to find the attacker?  Unless someone saw him,
or the boy can identify him, I don't see much."

   "If it was a Rebel the boy can name him.  They only had a company and
the boy was part of it.  If it was one of ours it will be harder.  You have
to try.  This is not a carrot or stick assignment.  You'll have the Company
either way.  Do your best, that's all I ask." He held up a wallet.  "In
here are some warrants to help you.  Each is signed by all the division
commanders.  One authorizes you to search any army property, one to order
cooperation from any personnel, and the last to parley with the
confederates on this investigation.  Do your best.  Any questions?"

   I asked the obvious questions.  The Colonel answered them and dismissed
me.  I stood outside his cabin gathering my thoughts as to how to start. 
The only thing I could think of was to see if the boy had regained
consciousness and was willing to speak to me.  I had little hope of that.
I'd seen a little girl raped and she didn't speak to anyone but herself for
over a week.  If it was a soldier in blue that sodomized him he wouldn't
trust any other in the same uniform.

   The hospital was a warehouse at Pittsburg Landing.  Several doctors and
their staffs had pooled together to clean it up for use.  In a few days I
would see it packed to the rafters and ringed with wounded who wouldn't fit
inside, but that is getting ahead of my story.  Just now there was little
need of it.  We'd been camped around the area for weeks, without any
battle, so there were only the ill and a few wounded in minor skirmishes
like this morning's.  To be sure, the fevers and accidents that follow
soldiers living rough were in flower, but most of the men who came down
with something were treated in their own camp, by their own unit doctors,
and nursed by their comradesinarms.  Today the hospital had about two dozen
charges.  Most were at one end of the room.  About half a dozen were at the
other end and guarded by two armed men.  These must be the Rebels.  In the
middle was a lone bed occupied by a form slighter than the rest.  Miss
Hopkins watched over that one.  I guessed that would be the drummer.

   I walked over to the bed, glancing down at the occupant as I went, and
greeted Miss Hopkins.  "Is this Joshua Calhoun?"

   "Yes.  Why should you care if it is?" Miss Hopkins was the sort of woman
most would call plain.  The look she gave me was severe.  The combination
would have made most men retreat at once.  Not only did duty deny me that
option, but I knew her gentler side.

   "I have been given the task of finding the boy's attacker.  I've come to
find out how he is.  How serious are his wounds?  Will he be able to talk?"

   "His wounds are not life threatening.  I shouldn't think he will want to
talk to any man in blue anytime soon.  You'd best seek elsewhere for his
attacker.  Try among the barbarians in the 72nd." Her expression had not
softened.  "They are Ohioans too."

   "Miss Hopkins--Sarah--I did not do anything to this boy.  I am assigned
to find out who did.  You have no reason to blame me or Ohioans.  It may
have been another Confederate.  It may have been a soldier from another
unit.  It may have been anyone for all we know."

   "Don't you "Sarah" me!  One thing is certain, whoever it was is a man!"

   She had not kept her voice down.  We were drawing stares from nearly
everyone in the room.  Miss Hopkins was the only woman in the room.  In
fact, she was the only union woman this side of the Tennessee River.  She
shouldn't have been there, women were not permitted to serve in front line
areas, but the doctor she'd arrived with had let her remain.

   "I'll return when young Joshua has had a chance to rest.  Thank you and
good day." I retreated to an orderly for help on another matter.

   "Can you show me the boy's personal effects?  If you could tell me about
his condition it would help too."

   He cracked a grin, "Lover's spat?" He sobered a bit.  "She's not let
anyone near the boy since she arrived.  Fierce as a bear with a cub. 
Follow me and we'll talk on the way to the shed."

   We left the hospital and walked around the building.  "The boy's
shoulder is the worst of his troubles," said the orderly.  "If he'd been
stabbed an inch higher it would have hit the artery running to the arm.  If
a couple inches lower he have a punctured lung.  He'll recover with no
worse than a bit of stiffness, but that will take time.  His leg is a clean
wound through the muscle.  The bullet missed the bone and major blood
vessels, just like yours.  He'll be up on a crutch and trying to race in a
day or two.  He'll have a limp for a few months, but with someone that
young it should heal with no lasting effects."

   "What about his mind?  The ordeal must have been horrible!"

   "You're right on that!  Getting fucked up the butt is so sick I can't
imagine how it would feel." He looked me in the eye, "If that was all he
had to deal with it would be bad enough.  The bayonet was buried to the
socket and wedged between the ribs of the corpse.  It took two strong men
standing on the body and pulling to remove it.  He could have been trapped
like that for up to an hour, awake and trying to get loose." The orderly
shuddered.  "The pain must have been unbearable.  I don't think he'll get
over all that easily.  Might leave him scared of his own shadow for the
rest of his life."

   "Is there any help to be had for his mind?  Anything doctors can do?"

   "There's some that claim they can help, but I take what they say with a
grain of salt.  I worked at an asylum for a while, before the war.  I saw
few really get well, most got worse.  Had to leave 'cause I couldn't take
seeing them suffer.  I'd say the boy will have to get by as best he can on
his own.  Most folks do."

   We arrived at a small log built shed about then.  Inside were sacks with
paper tags on them.  The orderly selected one and opened it.  "These are
his.  He won't be able to use much ever again." The first things out of the
sack were shoes with socks stuffed inside.  One shoe, and the sock in it,
was soaked in blood.  Next came a pair of drawers.  They were ripped down
the back and fouled.  The drawstring had been cut cleanly.  Then came
trousers, also torn down the back and fouled.  The waist and laces were cut
through.

   "What kind of bayonet was used?  Could it have been used to cut these,"
I asked?

   "No, it was the triangular type.  I think the bayonet was already
pinning him down." He shook his head as he said it.

   The next item was a shirt.  It was soaked in blood.  There was a ragged
hole through the left shoulder, front and back.  Then came a jacket, also
blood-soaked and sporting a hole in the left shoulder.  Next, a harness
with a hook to hold a drum.  It was cut through the belt.  "We cut that to
get it off faster.  It was whole when we found him," said the orderly. 
Last out was a belt with cap and cartridge pouches.  Inside the pouches was
the sort of dross a boy tends to collect.  There was nothing else in the
bag.

   "Where are his cap and drum?  Were they left behind?"

   "There was no cap found, it would have been picked up if there was.  The
72nd.  will have the drum as a trophy."

   I left the shed with the resolve to visit the camp of the 72nd.  Ohio.
One major problem this investigation faced was we couldn't narrow down the
list of suspects.  When the Rebels were routed both they and their
attackers would have left wounded and stragglers behind.  There were units
camped close to the site.  Locals couldn't be ruled out either.  The ride
to the camp took most of an hour and the afternoon was waining.

   My first conversation was with my friend from school, now a lieutenant,
in hope of learning who was left at the battle site.  I wanted a list of
possible witnesses and suspects.  He helped some, but caught up in the
fray, he didn't have the chance to see more than his immediate
surroundings. He introduced me to the other lieutenant and several
sergeants.  They did provide a partial list of wounded.  One of those
wounded was Sgt.  Szabo, who was present.  His hat sported a hole and his
head a crease made by a bullet.  He claimed he had not seen anything after
being wounded.  He had been knocked out by the blow.  Having suffered the
same type of wound myself I believed him.  An interview with the wounded
housed at camp yielded no results.  No one would admit to seeing the
attack. I left unsatisfied that I had learned nothing.

   After supper I returned to the hospital.  My purpose was personal.  Miss
Hopkins might be a plain looking girl, but she held a certain appeal to me.
When she smiled her face was transformed into a vision of joy.  Indeed I
was not alone in seeing it and she had other potential suiters.  I was
flattered that I was the one she seemed to prefer to spend time with.  I
thought it might be a good idea to mend our fences and for her to take a
brake from tending Joshua.  I found her by his bed reading.  It took only a
little persuasion to get her to take a walk with me.  She seemed very tired
and her earlier anger dampened.

   "I'm sorry I was so harsh with you earlier," she said.  "I cannot
understand how anyone could do that to a boy."

   "I can't understand it either.  I've never felt any attraction for boys
or men."

   "That was not what I meant.  I mean the violence of the attack.  How
could anyone do that to another person?  I've heard of men who favor boys,
but how could someone brutalize one so?"

   "I'm afraid war can make monsters of some men.  Perhaps it can do that
to any man on some occasion." I pondered for a moment.  "I've seen things
in this war that make me sick to the core.  It will be impossible to guess
what made this seem right to his attacker until we discover who it is."

   "Joshua is very upset and confused.  He won't talk to me about it at
all, but his pain is clear.  His very self-image has been shattered. 
Without help he may never recover his will.  I have been trying to figure
out the best way to help him.  Al, have you ever studied the mind?  The
theories on how it works are fascinating.  The Scottish and German schools
seem incompatible, but some American thinkers have merged the two in recent
years.  I've been going over the texts I acquired while at school to help
me with a cure for Josh."

   I had been aware Miss Hopkins had attended a women's collage run by a
Miss Beecher, sister to the abolitionist writer.  Miss Beecher's ideas on
reasoning and morals were controversial, not for the morals which were
quite conventional, but for the reasoning used to justify them.  I had paid
little attention to such matters and knew only what was commonly known. 
"Have you found what you're looking for?  I'm not sure what you mean by a
cure.  Given time Joshua will heal."

   She shook her head, "Josh's self identity is shattered.  The pieces must
be reassembled." She looked at me squarely, "I have an idea.  To be sure it
is correct I'll need the answers to a few questions."

   "What questions?" I asked.

   She looked embarrassed.  "Do boys play with themselves?  You know, with
their," her composure broke down and she turned away, "you know?"

   "Yes, boys play with themselves.  I confess I don't know what that has
to do with anything you've said.  As young as Josh is it won't have gone
further than a few squeezes at a time.  It didn't with me until I was
older."

   "Can they do more?  If they were to try could they?" She still hadn't
recovered fully, but seemed in more control.  "Are they curious about
girls? About women?"

   "I don't know if a boy Josh's age can play with himself to completion. I
never tried then.  Other boys bragged about doing things to girls, but it
was all hollow talk.  Boys that age are curious to see, even touch, girls
and women, but they have no real interest them except to satisfy
curiosity." I was puzzled by her questions.  "What do you want to know
these things for?"

   "Hush now and answer what I ask.  I have an idea, but I won't be ready
to tell you for a while, tomorrow at the earliest.  I need to think about
it and read some more before I can judge it's wisdom.  Al, if I gave you
the chance would you bed me?  I know I'm not every man's dream girl. 
Still, you seem to like me, as do others.  Could you go beyond talking to,"
again she looked away, "more?" She remained turned away with eyes downcast.

   "I must confess that I would do so given a chance.  Sarah, I will not
push you into anything like that.  I have done something, in the past, that
made me doubt my suitability as a man and have vowed to remain chaste
hereafter.  I have not resolved to wed you, yet, and do not expect you to
compromise yourself for me.T"

   "Al, although I had wished to remain virgin until my wedding night, I
have desired you since shortly after we met.  If you had tried just a
little bit more I would have yielded, gladly.  I may, only may, soon be
eager to be bedded by you.  I will let you know if that becomes true."

   She looked me in the eye and said, "It would be best if you took me home
now.  Come to the hospital tomorrow morning before Parade.  You can help me
feed Joshua and try to make friends with him."

   Since I was on the sick list, I did not have to be at morning Parade.  I
agreed and led her back to the cabin she shared with a widow and her
daughters.

   The next morning I returned to the hospital.  Josh was sitting up in
bed. He looked alert and not so pale as he had the first day.  He looked
ready to kick up a fuss.  Laying in bed, with nothing to do, is hard enough
on older men.  One glance at the rest of the room proved that.  It must
have seemed the next thing to hell for a boy.  The nurses were passing out
breakfast.  For most that was hardtack and coffee.  Miss Hopkins came up
behind me with a basket covered by a napkin.  "Come on, lets feed Josh,"
she said.  When we came to the bed Miss Hopkins said, "Lt.  Albert
Saunders, I'd like you to meet Pvt.  Joshua Calhoun; Joshua, Lt. 
Saunders." The look the boy gave me was venomous.

   "Pleased to meet you, Master Calhoun," I said.

   Josh turned to Miss Hopkins, "He's a damn Yankee!  I ain't talking to no
damn Yankee!"

   "Boy, you will apologize to Miss Hopkins this moment, or I'll haul you
to the woodshed faster than you can believe!  Has no one taught you any
manners at all?  You don't talk that way to a lady."

   Josh hung his head down.  "I'm sorry.  Didn't mean to cuss, but why must
I talk to him?"

   "Al is a very good friend of mine and he has been assigned to look into
the attack on you.  I'm sure you needn't take his threat about the woodshed
seriously."

   "The woodshed part is alright, I deserved it.  Sgt.  Wheeler was always
saying that my mama would take him to the shed she caught me talking like a
soldier in camp.  Why would the da...ulp, Yankees care about findin' out
who hurt me?  Was one of theirs..." The boy clammed up with a blank look on
his face.  I knew that look from taking care of a girl that had been raped.

   "There are rules to war.  Harming non-combatants are outside them," I
said.  "Most of the time both sides keep to them, especially in this war.
Whoever did that deserves a lot worse than a woodshed." The boy looked at
me, but he said no more.

   "Lets eat before the food gets cold," said Miss Hopkins.  "After that we
can try to get you up on a crutch Josh.  Lt.  Saunders has a wound just
like yours and I bet he can help you learn."

   Josh proved eleven year old boys are made of sterner stuff than ten year
old girls.  "Can I see your leg?" he asked.  I started rolling up my
trouser leg.

   "Will you two stop that and eat?  Really Al, you shouldn't egg the boy
on." Miss Hopkins favoured us both with a stare.

   "I'll show you after we eat," I said.

   Breakfast was a real treat.  Fried eggs, ham, and bread with butter. 
There was a jar of honey too.  It was all fresh and good.  Josh clearly
resented being fed, but with only one arm and nowhere to put the plate he
had to put up with it.  Our repast drew stares from the rest of the room.
There was a jar of milk for Josh, Sarah and I drank coffee from the
hospital pot.  Everything was soon devoured.  One thing we'd found out
during this war, the South cured better hams than was true up north.  I'd
resolved to learn the secret of them.

   After breakfast an orderly brought a crutch over to Josh.  Some fitting
and cutting followed.  It was clear the boy would have a harder time with
it than usual.  He only had one arm, and it was the wrong one.  We spent
about half an hour trying before he could get around on his own.  Still he
was happier once he could.  First he went to the latrine on his own.  Using
a bedpan, held by a woman, had to be less appealing to a boy than to a
grown man.

   "Can I go over with the other soldiers?" he asked.  It was clear he
meant the Rebels.

   "I don't see why not, I said, drawing an angry stare from Sarah.  "You,
and they, are prisoners of war.  Don't stir up the guards."

   When Josh hobbled over to the Rebels Sarah said, "Al, you don't really
mean to keep Josh as a prisoner of war, do you?"

   "Nothing I can do about that.  I expect we can arrange for him to be put
under the charge of his grandfather.  The USA isn't out to make war on
little boys, even little boys that are making war on it.  We can't take his
parole, he's not an officer.  He's also not old enough to give his word
legally.  Or to find his way back home on his own.  He'll be fine under his
grandparents care until the war's over, and his mother can visit any time
she wants.  Kentucky never seceded."

   "I guess that will be alright.  If we have to keep him, why couldn't we
keep him with your regiment?"

   "We can't be burdened with prisoners.  It will be best for the boy to be
with family.  Don't you think his grandparents are able to do a better job
than I would?"

   "But I won't be able to see him once he goes."

   "It will be for the best.  I doubt this will be the last drummer boy
wounded in this war.  You'll find others to play mother hen over."

   Miss Hopkins was quiet for some time.  She gazed at Josh with his
fellows.  "Al, come by this evening.  We can take Josh out for a little
air. Please?"

   "I'll be happy to.  Will just after Parade do?"

   Miss Hopkins agreed.  On the way out I asked the doctor in charge of
Josh a few questions.

   My next stop of the day was to the staff tent.  I turned over all the
papers I'd been working on to the clerks.  Then I saddled my horse,
Copperhead, and rode out to the camp of the 72nd.

   Lt.  Henry Shaw was with me in the same class at Virginia Military
Institute.  Like me he was from Ohio.  We didn't graduate.  Secession
interrupted our senior year.  Still, our attendance won us election to
officer's posts in the companies we'd joined.  It was he I'd come to visit.

   "Henry, I need to look over the site of the skirmish.  Could you give me
the guided tour?"

   He agreed.  "Let me get a squad to guard us.  It's in territory we don't
really control."

   I pointed out that all his men were suspect.  We sent a runner to bring
men from my regiment, mounted.

   The battle site told me why this had been such a fierce fight.  Most
contact between scouts consisted of a quick exchange of shots, followed by
mutual retreat.  Here things didn't favor that.  We were on a road between
two fields.  Neither field had been planted this year.  They were broken
and muddy.

   "The Rebs were in that line of trees," said Lt.  Shaw.

   The trees where on a slight rise above one of the fields.  There were
many downed trees, perfect cover for soldiers.  A line of split-rail fence
was all the cover the Seventy-second had.  That would have been enough for
an exchange of shots, but not for an extended firefight.  We crossed the
field on foot.  The horses would not have had footing to be ridden across.
Mud caked our feet, thick and heavy.  One soldier lost a shoe in it.

   "We had to advance through this.  The Rebs took a heavy toll."

   "Why didn't you just retreat?" I asked.

   "We tried to, the Rebs peppered our backs with shot.  Fighting them was
the only solution."

   It had been a hell of a fight.  Pits had been left where the 72nd stood
to volley.  The impressions left by the wounded and dead where scattered
about.  All were filled with water now.

   "The only thing that saved us was that not all the Rebs were firing.  I
think they were short of ammunition.  We gained respite, and the advantage,
at this dry ground."

   The start of the rise had a split-rail fence along it.  Several large
trees were down just beyond the fence.

   "The Rebs weren't behind those trees, they were higher up.  We reformed
and fixed bayonets in safety here.  Then we fired several volleys from
cover and charged.  They routed and we chased them for near a mile."

   "Did you notice where the drummer boy stood?" I asked.

   "I didn't see him.  He must have been with the Color Guard.  We found
him close by them later.  Several of them were shot and the colors left
behind in their retreat." He looked around for his bearings.  "It was just
over here that they stood."

   The ground had been scuffed heavily.  The spot was pretty well
sheltered. Bullets can find a way even into a spot like that, if enough are
fired.

   "The boy was found here." Lt.  Shaw pointed to a place several feet
away. "He was pinned to the body of a private.  It was kind of an obscene
sight what with the boy's trousers cut away, and blood and shit running
down his legs.  Whoever did that was sick, sick, sick."

   "It was one of your men.  The boy told me that much, but no more.  Has
anybody been acting strange?  Is there anyone you might suspect?"

   "I can't help you yet.  I'll keep a lookout for anything suspicious, but
I don't really know what to look for.  It's not like he'll rape another boy
right in camp.  He might brag to someone, but I'm unlikely to hear about
it."

   We looked around some more, but the cleanup had been too well done. 
Nothing much had been left behind.  Then we slogged back to the horses and
rode to camp.

   We were met by Sgt.  Szabo.  "The Captain looks for you sir," he said to
Lt.  Shaw.

   "Tell him I'll be just a minute more, Sergeant." He turned to me, "I
have to go, is there anything else before I do?"

   "Has anyone reported seeing the boy's cap or drum?"

   "The cap, no, not that I've heard about.  The drum is with our colors,
as a trophy.  I think we earned it."

   I thanked him and left.

   That evening I met Miss Hopkins and Josh just outside the hospital.  I
led Josh to my horse.  "His name's Copperhead.  The doctor said you can
ride, if you ride gently.  Do you know how to ride?"

   "Oh, yes!  My pappy taught me.  He's in the cavalry now.  Can I ride..."

   Miss Hopkins interrupted him, "No!  Josh has a hole in his leg and
shoulder.  How can he ride a horse?  That beast will kill him!"

   "Copperhead is a very well trained horse.  If Josh has any skill as a
rider, Copperhead will obey him.  Did you expect Josh to hobble on his
crutch through the whole outing?"

   "How can he control a horse that big?  He only has one arm!  The horse
will bolt and Josh will be dumped and open his stitches.  The boy can walk
with us." Miss Hopkins looked fierce as she said that.

   "He can ride, it only takes one arm for a novice to control a horse.  A
better rider can do it all with his legs.  Josh, Copperhead is trained to
respond to knee pressure commands.  Did your father teach you to ride like
that?"

   "Oh, yes.  He had me practice that on his horse." The boy beamed with
pride.

   "Good.  You must keep to a walk.  I warn you, Copperhead is trained to
follow vocal commands from me.  If you try a faster gait, you will open
your stitches, so I will call on him to stop.  You must stay with us, do
you understand?" The boy nodded.  "Lets introduce you to him.  One reason I
named him Copperhead is he bites strangers."

   I took Josh to the horse and used the usual means for introducing them.
Then I lifted Josh into the saddle.  A short test of his skills proved him
capable of riding well.  Miss Hopkins fumed the whole time.

   "Can we get on with this walk now?" she said.  "I'm still not sure it's
a good idea for Josh to ride, but we are wasting time.  The light won't
last much longer."

   "Lead on ma'am," I said with a bow.

   Josh listened as well as any boy his age.  That is to say he soon was as
far ahead of us as I'd let him get away with.  Sarah linked her arm with
mine and we walked like that until Josh was out of earshot.

   "Al, I've finished my research.  I think I know how to restore his mind.
What we need to do is restore his self-image as a male.  We need to show
him how men and women relate to each other in love.  His attacker shattered
that, still latent, part of him.  We need to rebuild it."

   "How do you propose to do that?" I asked.  Engineering was my field of
study, I'd avoided as much of the Liberal Arts as I could.

   "We will behave as lovers where Josh can watch.  We'll start slowly,
tonight, and build up to coupling.  This will give him an example to
compare with the way he was treated.  I'll reinforce those lessons using
Prof.  Mesmer's methods at bedtime.  You are familiar with the Professor,
aren't you?"

   "I've heard the name.  Isn't he the stage entertainer?  The one who
makes people think they are chickens and such?"

   "He does do those things at public lectures.  He is a serious physician
who studies the mind.  It is the public who brands him a source of mirth.
The academic world knows better."

   "And you propose that we couple in front of a child?"

   "We must, indeed I hope to involve him.  He needs to build an image of
himself as a man and the proper object of his affections as women.  He may
balk at joining us, I don't intend to force the issue.  The important part
is to give him a model of the difference between love and rape.  Do you
see?"

   "This all sounds odd, at the least.  Are you sure about this line of
thought?"

   "I'll show you the books.  This is ground-breaking, but I'm positive it
will be for the best.  Trust me."

   We talked no more on the subject.  We made our way north to the creek
and found a clearing with a fallen log overlooking the creek bed.

   It was a fine spot for resting, or for canoodling, and we enjoyed
ourselves.  Josh and I compared leg wounds, and each told the story behind
ours.  Then we began comparing scars, and stories.  Miss Hopkins put a stop
to that fairly soon.  Josh tried throwing stones at a tree.  He was awkward
at it and feared an end to his squirrel catching days.  I reassured him the
skill would return once he healed and we swapped hunting stories.  Again
Miss Hopkins soon called a halt.  I began to wonder if she was serious
about reinforcing Josh's male self-image.  Soon the boy began to explore
the surrounding area.  He was awkward, but intent.

   Sarah scooted close to me.  "Now is your chance to kiss me." She cuddled
close.  I looked for the boy, but he was paying us no attention, then
kissed Sarah.  Soon she was on my lap and we were locked together kissing,
holding, and exploring one another.  The nature of such things being what
it is, I can't say how long we did that.  I looked up at a sound and found
Josh watching us.

   "I'm sorry," he said, blushing a bright red.

   I felt my own blush.  It felt like being caught out by my little
brother, in the same position, some years past.  Josh turned away and
resumed looking at a budding bush.

   "We are embarrassing the child," I said, "we should stop now."

   "This is how youngsters learn about love, from spying on their elders,
we're doing him no harm." Sarah smiled at me.  "Just one more good kiss. 
It is late and we must have him back for bedtime soon."

   We went back and I left the two of them at the hospital.  I went to my
tent and a troubled night's sleep.

   I spent the next day questioning prisoners and soldiers involved in the
skirmish.  I learned nothing that helped find the rapist.  I did learn that
Josh and his comrades were not spying on us.  They had been marching to
reinforce Corinth, Miss.  Their Captain led them in a wrong turn and only
learned his mistake on meeting scouts keeping tabs on us.  They had gone to
ground to rest while a guide was being found to lead them in the right
direction.  That was troubling enough.  Corinth, and it's vital railroad
junction, was our objective.  If enough reinforcements were brought in
before we moved, we would have a hard fight.  Worse yet if Johnston
attacked us before we took the town.  We had no good idea where he was and
much of our force was elsewhere looking for him.  He might outnumber us if
all his forces concentrated in Corinth.  Now, long after the fact, we know
that is what he was doing, but then Sherman would hear no argument in favor
of that view.  Grant was elsewhere directing all the efforts of his army
and hought us secure in this gathering spot.

   That evening was very much a repeat of the previous one.  We left
earlier and took a picnic supper with us.  On the way back I confronted
Sarah.

   "I am finding holes in your theory about treating Josh," I said.  For
one, you always try to stop the boy and me when we talk like men and boys
do.  If you want to build up his maleness, that is the wrong way to go
about it."

   "I find such talk boring.  The idea is to teach him about men and women
in love.  When the two of you talk, you ignore me.  He needs to see us
together."

   "That is another hole in your thinking.  Josh and I are westerners.  You
seem unaware, perhaps because you are come from the east, that most
westerners live at least part, if not all, of their lives in cabins."

   "What do cabins have to do with anything?" She looked puzzled.

   "Cabins have only one room, like the one you share with the Widow. 
There is no privacy.  Unless Josh never lived in a cabin, he's seen his
parents love one another.  I grew up living in a cabin, and try as they
might, my parents could not be sure their acts were unseen by myself or my
brothers and sisters.  The same should hold true for Josh."

   "That is all in the past.  Even if what you say is true, he needs to
recover from being raped by a man.  He needs to see normal love now." Miss
Hopkins was determined, that was clear.  "Find us an empty house to use for
this weekend, that's what we need." It was now Wednesday.

   I learned nothing new on Thursday.  Again we took a picnic supper in the
clearing.  After supper Miss Hopkins talked low and rhythmically to Josh
for several minutes.  His face took on the look of a daydreamer.  He sat,
at her instruction, on a stump several feet from our log.

   "You can kiss me now, Al.  Please kiss me now," she said.

   "The boy is watching.  Let's wait for him to lose interest."

   "No, he's mesmerized.  He won't go anywhere, I've been preparing him for
days.  Just kiss me."

   She climbed onto my lap.  We kissed, but I felt disturbed with Josh
watching us.  Sarah began to talk to me as she had Josh.  Soon I forgot
about him.  Kissing her was more natural then.  We kissed and explored for
several minutes, then she said;

   "You may put your hand up my dress.  Go ahead, it's alright."

   She was wearing a full dress and pantaloons.  As I had learned in the
past, the legs of pantaloons were not joined below the waistband.  She
purred and cooed as my hand stroked her thighs and sex.  Her near hand
strayed to my crotch.

   "Oh Al, I like that so much!  Josh, come and watch what Al is doing."

   It amazes me that I did not panic at that.  In later years I've come to
the conclusion that she had mesmerized me as well.  I've learned more about
mesmerism in the years since, one thing being that you can't get anyone to
do something they never would do otherwise.  To get someone to cluck like a
chicken on stage you have to start with someone who would cluck under some
circumstance, then convince them to ignore the audience and cluck.  What
that says about me is not comfortable.

   "Josh give me a kiss," she said.  The boy started to give her a chaste
peck, but she drew him into a full mouth on mouth kiss.  The hand that had
stroked me was now about my back, the other about Josh.  She had me push
her dress higher and guide Josh's hand to her thighs, then to her sex.  She
cooed to him about what a fine boy he was and encouraged him to further
exploration.  She alternated between kissing each of us and imploring us to
stroke her.  The hand she had on Josh stroked his back and behind.  She
moved it to his crotch.

   We all stroked and kissed for several minutes, until she said, "We must
be getting back.  We shall be able to do more tomorrow.  Al is finding us a
house to use, isn't that nice, Josh?" The boy nodded.

   We packed up and returned to the hospital.  My sleep that night was even
more troubled than on the previous nights.

   I found us a cabin out on the Corinth-Pittsburg Road just beyond the
Shiloh Meetinghouse.

   I rented a runabout for the weekend.  In the afternoon I claimed Josh
for the weekend, saying I'd care for him myself with Miss Hopkins' help. 
The Sergeant of the Guard looked disapproving, but said nothing.  I
outranked him after all.  I was glad he would not be in my Company.  A
disrespectful non-com can cause an officer hell.

   At the stable I ran into an officer returning from Grant's headquarters.
He told me Josh's grandfather was coming by boat and due to arrive on
Sunday.

   One very odd thing happened while we packed.  I was joking with another
officer, imitating a German born soldier's speech, and Josh became very
upset.  He would not tell us why, nor speak at all for nearly an hour.

   We enjoyed the drive out.  Back home, for all of us, spring would be
just starting.  Here it was in full blossom.  The trees and bushes were
flowering.  Wildflowers dotted the landscape.  At home only the daffodils
would be up.  In the fields old men and boys, and women of all ages, tended
the crops.  All was peaceful and domestic.  Only the lack of fighting age
men hinted at war, and you had to be paying attention to notice that.

   Once at the cabin, I found a galvanized tub in the shed behind the
place. It was the troth-like kind for a person to sit sprawled out in. 
Sarah had me drag it into the cabin.  Josh and I spent the next little
while hauling water from the well, I let him dump the well-bucket into the
ones for carrying, while Sarah heated the water.  After a while we had a
steaming bath ready.  Sarah declared we would all share it at the same
time. First she undressed Josh, then she and I helped each other to
undress. Josh's wounds were too tender for the heat, so we draped him
across the center with his knees hooked over the side.  Sarah and I took
the ends.  It was crowded, but each had about the space we would have had
alone in a more common washtub.  Sarah's crooked legs left her sex in full
view and spread.  We shared the soap around and helped each other to wash
backs.  Given her past behavior, I expected Sarah to play with one or both
of us, but we only bathed.  Nonetheless, Josh got a very close view of a
woman's body.  Afterwards, we dressed in our nightclothes and Sarah used
the tub to wash our clothes.

   There was no one about, so we did not keep indoors despite our undress.
Josh poked into everything, hobbling about to do so.  Sarah hung clothes
and cooked.  I hauled firewood and then sat down to enjoy a pipe on the
porch.  All-in-all, it was nice to live like we were at home rather than
camping.

   Chores done, Sarah called us in to take a nap.  Now was when things
started to get strange.  She mesmerized Josh and had him sit in a chair. 
She and I went to bed.  Soon we were kissing and caressing one another.

   "Enter me," she whispered into my ear.  "Now is the time, Al.  I'm
ready."

   I hauled up her nightdress.  She pulled it the rest of the way off.  I
took a few more moments stroking her, then thrust my way in.  She chanted
encouragement to me.  We romped until we, first I and then she, found
release.  We lay, entwined, kissing for several minutes.  I had forgotten
our audience.

   "Come to bed Josh," Sarah cooed, over and over.  "Join us, my fine,
brave, soldier."

   Josh came.  He was slow and needed help to climb into bed.  Sarah
wrapped one arm about me and the other about Josh.  She kissed us, back and
forth between us.

   "Al, show Josh what breasts are for." Sarah propped herself against the
headboard.

   I coached Josh to suck and lick and kiss Sarah's tits.  He didn't take
long to get the idea.  Sarah caressed his back and buttocks.  She pushed me
off and rolled Josh to the bed.  She pushed his nightshirt to his neck. 
She kissed her way down his body, stroking his proud little prick.  Stiff
his was almost three quarters as long as mine, though no fatter than my
middle finger.  When Sarah kissed it, Josh nearly jumped out of his skin.

   Sarah kissed, licked, and stroked Josh's prick with fervour, speaking
words of praise to him whenever her mouth wasn't in play.  Josh's face
showed a slight bit of fear at her treatment, but he didn't try to stop
her. Then, as she was speaking to him, Josh's face screwed up, his belly
and thighs quivered, and his seed shot out over his belly.  He let out a
strangled grunt.  Sarah praised him, calling him her "brave little soldier"
and her "fine young man".  Then, to my surprise, she licked the spilled
seed from him and from her fingers.

   "Al, didn't Josh do well at showing what a man he is?" She nestled in
between us.  "A little sleep will do us all good," she said.  We fell
asleep.

   I woke first.  I couldn't have slept long unless my watch had stopped. I
went to the porch for a smoke.  I mulled over my discomfort at the way Josh
and I were being used by Sarah.  I did not think doing the boy any good was
behind it.  I wasn't sure what to do about it, or even if I was correct.

   As such things go, I had a sudden revelation about Josh's attacker.  My
imitation of an accent had triggered Josh's greatest reaction.  Might not
his attacker have spoken with such an accent?  There was no shortage of
German speakers in the Federal Army, most especially in the Ohio units. 
One, however, sprang to mind; Sgt.  Szabo.  He was on the spot and the
Seventy-second was not a company with many Germans in it.  True, he had a
head wound and true just such a wound had rendered me unconscious some
months past.  Could he have inflicted such a wound on himself, after the
attack?  It would have been very risky to do it.  Soldiers have wounded
themselves in much worse ways in their efforts to leave the war.  I
resolved to look into the possibility on Monday.  One thing to look for
would be powder burns on his cap.

   Joshua soon came out.  He claimed a suck on my pipe.  He giggled at the
way smoke curled out of his mouth, then hobbled off to relieve himself.

   Sarah came out and said, "Supper is cooked and needs only warmed up.  We
can eat at anytime." She was silent for a minute or so, then said, "Thank
you Al.  I'm glad I gave my virginity up to you." She grinned, "Beware,
you've woken a sleeping giant!  It will need much more feeding to keep it
happy."

   We ate, and ate well, then settled around the hearth for the evening. 
One thing about spending time with Sarah and Josh, I was eating better than
usual.  Living with the natives gave Sarah access to better food than our
foragers found or the Army shipped to us.

   Josh and I were comparing battle stories.  This time Sarah made no move
to interrupt.  She contented herself with taking in the shirt she gotten
for Josh.  Drummer boys are not kept in the battle line once it is
established.  They normally stand by with the commander until the fight
starts, then trade their drum for medical chores.  Bands become stretcher
bearers, drummers are given less heavy tasks.  That doesn't keep them
altogether safe.  Bullets do not stop at the battle line, they go until
they hit something, even if it is the ground.  Joshua had harrowing tales
about his task of carrying bandages to the wounded.  My own drummer, older
than Josh, had been tasked carry water to the wounded.  My place in battle
was, of course, in front of the troops.  I'd dodged more bullets than I
like to think about and stopped two.  Josh was fascinated by my description
of Fort Donaldson.  He'd never been on either side of a siege.  The idea of
running at a defended position seemed like a bad one to him.  Having been
shot doing that it seemed questionable to me too.  Still, my men taking
that vital redoubt had allowed us to fire on the defenders flank.  That
helped the main attack to proceed to success.

   Sarah piped up with, "There are no good choices in war."

   That put an end to talking about war.  We moved to stories about our
brothers and sisters.  The talk wandered about for a while, then Sarah
called for bedtime.  It was early to bed, even for a boy Josh's age, very
early for grownups like Sarah and me.  I knew what to expect.

   Sarah talked low and in rhythm to Josh and seated him on the chair.  It
did not seem to matter what she said.  He had the daydream look again.  She
mounted the bed and beckoned me to join her.  We kissed and caressed.  I
stroked her sex and breasts, and points between.

   "Oh God!  Al, I'm ready.  I'm ready now!  Josh must be first this time.
Help him, please?"

   She called to Josh.  I helped him into the bed.

   "Josh, come kiss my breast.  Please, my fine and brave young man?"

   Josh kissed her.  I guided his hand to her sex.

   "No more!  I want him inside!  Help him Al."

   I guided Josh between Sarah's outspread thighs.  We got him into a three
point stance on his knees and good hand.  Each time he tried to enter her
he missed and slid up her crotch.

   "Help him put it in Al," she said.  I reached down and took hold of his
little prick.  The feeling of another man's swollen sex in my hand felt odd
to me.  Still I guided it to her opening and Josh thrust himself home.

   Josh had paid attention watching me earlier.  He began to move back and
forth.  Sarah wrapped her legs around him.  She murmured encouragement to
him.  "Al, caress me," she said, "pet me in time with the boy." That was a
thought that had never entered my mind.  I never had shared a woman, or
wanted to.  I lay down beside Sarah and slid my hand onto her sex.  Sarah's
lower belly was rock-hard with tension.  I though she might be trying to
squeeze down her womb on Josh.  Sarah set the pace by chanting short words
in a whisper.  Josh and I moved to her rhythm.  I kissed Sarah, my lips
roaming her face and upper body.  In a while Sarah drew a deep breath that
seemed to fill her to the toes.  All her muscles strained for a second,
then she let out the whole breath in a startling scream.  Josh jumped so
hard he pulled free and toppled.

   When Sarah's breath returned she chuckled at the tangled mess we'd
become.  "Help him up Al, get him back in." Fright had partially deflated
the boy, but we got him back into place soon enough.  "It's alright Josh.
I'm not hurt, not hurt at all." She showed a smile that lit the room. 
"Finish what you started." Josh took a while getting there, but his face
screwed up in the way I learned to recognize and he grunted as his seed
poured into Sarah.  She showered him with words of praise.

   "Come, give me a kiss," she said to Josh.  There was an awkward moment
when his wounded leg bumped her knee, but we soon had him astride her,
mouth to mouth.  "It's your turn Al.  I'm still ready for more.  Enter me
before the feeling passes."

   I push my way in.  The sight of the woman I was making love to wrapped
up with a boy was odd, and a bit off-putting.  The sight of his butt before
me was more off-putting.  How, I wondered, could any man wish to thrust
himself into a boy?  It was not a boy, but a woman I was in.  That thought
brought desire back.  Sarah chanted words of love to me as I ploughed her
furrow.  Her hands caressed and gripped Josh's back and buttocks.  She did
not last long.  Her moments of pleasure over, she still urged me on.  It
was not long before I filled her with my seed.

   After I finished we cuddled, Josh still half astride and I molded to her
side.  Sarah kissed us, moving back and forth between our mouths.  "My
bold, brave, soldiers have made me the happiest of girls," she said.  She
turned to Josh, "Do you want to see what a girl looks like after making
love?  Go take a look." Josh worked his way down until his face was at her
sex.  "Touch it," she said.  He touched.  His face took on a look of
wonder. "Look closer, spread it open so you can see." He did.  "Sniff,
learn the smell of a happy woman." He moved his face forward and I heard
the sound of air drawn into his nostrils.  "You like that, don't you?  Try
a little taste, just one lick." Josh was slower to try that, but he did
move closer.  His head cane up trailing a string of goo.  "Very good Josh.
You are such a good boy.  I would like it very much if you would lick me
clean.  Will you do that for me Josh?" He nodded.  He was slow to start,
but he did begin to lick her.  She urged him on with words of praise and
gratitude.  She asked me to "clean" her torso as well.  Soon words failed
her and she gave out only short grunts and sighs and hisses.  The spasms of
pleasure overtook her.  Sarah collapsed into a boneless heap, smiled, and
told us what good boys we were.  She invited us to snuggle up to her.  We
drifted off into exhausted sleep.

   The new day dawned and Sarah greeted us with a smile.  She told us,
again, what a happy girl we'd made of her.  More privately she told me what
soar girl we'd left her.  "Don't think that lets you off the hook," she
said, with a smile.  "I'm not done with you boys yet."

   While she cooked, Sarah had us draw water for a much needed bath.  After
food and bath we settled down on the porch.  Sarah sewed at some sort of
female garment.  Josh worked at a rather good drawing of a horse.  I
whittled at a cup and ball toy for Josh and smoked my pipe.  We let the
morning pass us by in peace.  It was a very pleasant change from the bustle
of camp.

   Dinnertime came and we had a cold repast.  Then it was nap time,
according to Sarah.

   Joshua, anticipating Sarah's wishes, knelt between her legs.  "Not so
fast, Josh.  A girl needs preparing before she's ready for a boy inside
her. I don't want you two poking me this time anyway." She directed him
atop her.  She kissed back and forth between us.  My hand roamed what Josh
didn't cover.  Sarah's hands were not idle.  She had Josh kneel astride her
head and began to kiss and lick at his crotch.

   "Hard pricks are more than I can take, at the moment, but soft tongues
are more than welcome," she said to me.  Several minutes later, she
switched us around.  I don't know how she judged when to shift us, but she
brought me to the brink each time.  Then Sarah went over the top, Josh
licking and I being licked.  The moment she recovered she went at me hard
and I spewed my seed.  She switched us again and brought Josh to a gushing
finish.

   After we'd really taken a nap we returned to a relaxed afternoon.  We
took the buggy out for a drive, mindful that we might meet troops from
either side, looking over the perfect spring landscape.  On our return
Sarah cooked and baked for our supper and for dinner on Sunday.  Rain began
to fall so we repaired to the hearth to talk and rest.  All was peaceful
and pleasant.  We thought that peace would hold until we marched on
Corinth.

   Bedtime was early again and followed the pattern set by the proceeding
sessions.  Josh and I made a team effort at licking Sarah, he from above
and I below taking turns until she shuddered and moaned.  She took Josh
immediately and me the moment Josh was finished.  We cuddled and kissed for
some time before she had Josh lick her clean.  Finally, she took each of
use with her mouth drinking our seed from the tap.  Spent, exhausted, and
soar we fell to sleep.

   Something woke me very early, I could not recall what.  It was not just
imagination, the others were awake as well.  I thought it might have been
thunder.  Sarah declared that since we were all awake and this was our last
day together we should make love.  Josh, primed by the influence of Sarah's
mesmerism, agreed.  He began to kiss her.  I was less enthusiastic and
favored going back to sleep.  They were not about to stop, so I joined in.
We took our time kissing and caressing.  Sarah became so aroused she was
begging for Josh to enter her.  I helped him insert himself and had just
settled down to stroke her when I heard the unmistakable sound of muskets
firing.

   I got up and went to the door.  The sound was coming from the south-west
and from very close by.  It was still dark, but a predawn glow was peeking
along the eastern horizon.  "We should get up and leave," I said, "there is
fighting nearby." The two of them paid no attention to me.  I was not
panicked yet.  This might be no more than a meeting of patrols and no
danger to us.  In the dark they need not even be from opposing sides.  The
firing went on for too long.  Then I heard the sound of drums beating to
assemble.  They were close and from the opposite direction of the Union
camps.

   "Get up!" I cried.  "There are Confederate troops forming for an
attack!" They still didn't pay attention.  Sarah seemed on the verge.  Josh
was shuddering and groaning in the throws of passion.  A body of men came
down the road, running and shouting.  Sarah cried out.

   "Get up!  Get dressed.  We must flee!" I called.

   Sarah, still groggy, said, "What are you going on about?  Come to bed
before we have to start over again."

   "We must flee.  There has been fighting, now there are troops on the
road.  A Confederate army is attacking.  This is not a safe place for us!
Get dressed, now!" My pleas finally got though to them.

   Josh started dressing.  Sarah started to pack our bags.  "Leave those
things.  We can't carry it all.  Just get dressed," I said.

   Sarah looked startled.  "It will fit in the buggy.  It all came here
that way."

   "We can't take the buggy.  There are troops on the road!  We will have
to go cross-country, north then east, and soon.  We must get back to the
Federal lines before the Confederates get there!  Dress!" I was in a panic
now.  I dressed in my trousers and coat over my nightshirt.  I pulled on my
shoes without socks.  I thrust my revolver into a pocket, not bothering
with the belt or sword.

   Josh was dressed much like myself.  Sarah still had not started.  I
grabbed her feet and thrust shoes on them.  "Move!  Go out the door.  Now!
We'll put you and Josh on the horse and go." I pushed her nightdress into
her hands.

   "I can't ride!" cried Sarah.  "Even if I knew how, I'm too tender."

   "Then you can walk with me.  Josh must ride, we can't flee at his pace."

   I pushed her out the door.  Josh followed.  When we got to the stable, I
boosted Josh up.  "This is not a riding horse and we have no saddle.  I
will lead it, just stay on." Josh nodded.

   We set out north across the unplanted field.  I set a fast pace.  The
horse was no problem, but Sarah was.

   "I can't go this fast!  You boys used me hard, take pity on me," Sarah
moaned.

   "You'll hurt worse with a bullet in you, if you can still feel anything
at all.  Take that from one who knows." My leg was already bothering me,
but I refused to slow down.  Sarah started crying, but she kept up.

   We reached the fence that enclosed the field.  There was no gate for the
horse.  I yanked the slats out and we went on.  We crossed a narrow lane
and entered another field.

   "A battle is coming, take shelter!" I called at the house.  I have no
idea whether anyone heard.

   We broke through the next fence and found a small creek on the other
side.  "Time to turn east," I said.  "The lines are not far off now."

   We hurried along to the east of the creek.  Sarah was no longer keeping
up, so I tucked my cane under my arm and took her hand.  Soon we saw
confused men, in hasty dress, trying to form a line.  I dragged Sarah
toward them.  We heard heavy firing from the south.  I heard a few catcalls
from the troops, until a Sergeant without trousers hushed them.  Dawn was
in full bloom.

   I did not recognize the officer in charge of the troops, though I'd seen
him about, so I introduced myself.  I asked the direction to my own
regiment.  Just my luck, it was to the south.  The sounds of firing and
drums beating assembly was continuous now.  I towed my little cavalcade to
the south.

   "I can't go about among men dressed like this!" Sarah called.  "They
will brand me a whore."

   "More than half the men we can see are in little more than underwear. 
They will understand.  We can't find you a dress here.  As soon as possible
we'll get you to the Widow's cabin."

   The firing became heavy before us.  Then I saw men running to the rear.
The line was collapsing!  I released my holds on Sarah and the lead.  I
called out to fleeing men.  Few stopped to listen.  I drew my revolver.  It
was then I realized the folly of forgetting the belt.  I had no reloads.

   I turned to Sarah.  "Take the horse and go to the hospital, now!" She
just stood there, mouth agape.  I turned to Josh.  "Lead her, go to the
hospital."

   "I'm staying," he said.  "You need help.  I can be your messenger."

   Exasperated, I pushed Sarah toward the landing.  I could spare them no
more time.  The collapsing line was even with us and the enemy advancing. I
turned to rallying the men around me.  I gathered a few dozen, no more than
that.  I formed a hasty line and we fell back firing.  Other officers and
non-coms were doing the same.  We retreated steadily toward the forming
troops behind us.

   I will spare you a detailed account of the battle.  It is enough to say
it went poorly.  We fell back time and time again.  Josh stayed with me, of
Sarah I had no word until the night.  I gathered reloads, and a spare
revolver, from the dead.  I found a sword and lost my cane.  For hours I
rallied new men and lost them in the fighting.  I anchored my little band
to the left flank of the grove later dubbed the "Hornet's Nest".  Josh
fetched water, ammo, and bandages from the rear.  The rented horse was shot
and for a time Josh could do no more than crouch behind my men.  Then a
stray mule was caught for him to use.

   It was by the Hornet's Nest that I solved the investigation into the
attack on Josh.  We heard someone from another band, close by, calling out
in a Germen voice.  Josh cried out, then huddled on the ground.

   "What is it boy?" I called.  There was no lack of reasons to be
frightened.

   "That's him!"

   "That is who?" I asked.

   "That's the man who hurt me!  Don't let him do it again!  Don't let him
do..." Joshua started bawling.

   It was Sgt.  Szabo.  He was with a small collection of men.  I calmly
drew a bead on him and fired.  Whether I hit him or a Confederate ball did
the deed, he went down.  He did not rise again.

   The Hornet's nest was outflanked and we fell back.  The Generals rallied
men and formed new lines.  They held for a time and collapsed.  We did it
all over again.  And again.  Nightfall found us packed into the Landing,
but the battle was over.  The Confederates stopped for the night.

   I hoisted Joshua onto my back and went to the hospital.  We could not
get in.  Wounded were piled all around it.  They were being tended where
they lay until a surgeon could work on them.  I got as far as the door. 
The room was packed with men.  Miss Hopkins was not there.  I stole an
unattended crutch and hacked it off rudely for Joshua.  We hobbled, he on
his too short crutch and I on a chance found stick, for the Widow's cabin.
Miss Hopkins wasn't there either.  The Widow and her daughters huddled
outside.  A group of officers had taken the place for a meeting.

   Cold rain started falling.  I gave up on finding Sarah.  We sought
shelter instead.

   Oddly enough, it was with General Grant that we found both.  After
failing to find any building we could get into I spied a tree that offered
the best cover I'd seen outdoors.  One man sat beneath it.  We hobbled over
and sat down.  It was then I saw his shoulder boards.  I started to rise.

   "Don't get up.  I'm sure you're tired and there's plenty of room.  Would
you like a cigar?"

   "I wouldn't presume to take your cigar sir.  They will be hard to
replace for a while.  I'm a pipe man anyway sir."

   "I was a pipe man myself until the press made such a tale out of my ride
from a planning session into battle with a cigar in my teeth.  Now everyone
sends them to me by the box.  I've more than a man could smoke in a year
and more come with each mail delivery.  Take the cigar."

   I thanked him and introduced myself.  I thought to introduce Joshua, but
he'd fallen asleep.

   "Ah, have you found the man who attacked the drummer boy?"

   "Yes sir.  He's dead now."

   Grant didn't ask how he died.  What he asked is, "Can you prove his
guilt?"

   "Proof will be found in his tent, I think.  He kept the boy's cap as a
trophy, or I believe he did so.  The boy identified him to me sir."

   "Would that tent be in a camp overrun by the Rebels?"

   "Yes sir."

   "Then we'll have to leave things as they are.  Is that Master Calhoun
beside you?  His Grandfather came on the same boat that I did.  He'll be
grateful to have the boy safe."

   "Yes sir.  Joshua did a good job for us today.  Despite enlisting with
the Rebels and despite his wounds, he did as much as any man on the line.

   "I'm sorry, we'll have to keep that out of the press.  We already have a
heroic drummer boy for today.  He's younger than Calhoun and he's one of
ours.  Don't steal his thunder."

   "By the way," said Grant, "I hear the woman nurse took good care of
Master Calhoun.  Is that true Captain?"

   " She did.  I've been trying to find her, we lost track of her this
morning.  Um, I'm a Lieutenant sir."

   "Not anymore.  Your promotion is in a mailbag somewhere in this
cocked-up camp.  Congratulations.  See you have a proper set of shoulder
boards in the morning.  Your first set may have to come from a dead man's
coat." Grants face took on a look of sadness, "No lack of those around
here, I afraid.  The woman is on one of the boats tending the wounded.  She
asked to be taken to the rear I understand."

   "Thank you sir, and thank you for the information.  She shouldn't have
been at the front in the first place."

   Grant nodded.  We fell into an easy silence and I soon fell asleep. 
Sometime later I was awakened by Grant and a couple other Generals talking.
I gathered up Josh and went looking for his grandfather.

   I never saw Sarah Hopkins again.

   -------------------------{ Post Script }--------------------------- -

   I hesitate to write these words, but fear I must.

   I heard, some months after the events above, that Miss Hopkins had
joined a communal farm, run by a rather strange Unitarian Minister, in
western New York.  Many years later someone mailed me a newspaper clipping
that said she'd been convicted of incest.  Her youngest child had been
fathered by her own twelve year old son.  She was then the leader of her
own communal farm and feared by the nearby community.  The clipping did not
include the leader and I'd no indication of the date or location.

   Joshua Calhoun has a more complicated story.  In 1903 he was found
floating beneath a dock, still alive, and brought to our chapter for
healing.  He recognized me despite the decades that had passed.  He told me
the story of his life one very tearful night.  It is not under seal, I was
never ordained, but I've waited until his death to record it.

   Josh quarreled with his father and only months after the war ended ran
away from home.  He left behind a pregnant eleven year old girlfriend.  He
took his living mostly from petty theft, working his way ever westward.  In
New Mexico he was working for a rancher and got caught up in a range war.
He ended up outlawed.  He spent the next several years working as a hired
gun for ranchers all over the territories.  He killed without scruple.  He
left a string of ill conceived children behind him, often without even his
right name.  At last he could not remain at large in the west and returned
home.  His parents rejected him.  His grandfather found him an honest job,
which he lost due to drink.  He'd ended up doing odd jobs for beer money up
and down the river.  He was at his rope's end.  It was a pitiful tale.

   It was a pack of damn lies.  A little investigation proved most of it
untrue.  He'd never been wanted, except in one little town in New Mexico
just for questioning.  His employer had been an bystander in the range war.
Josh had killed no one, nor even hurt anyone.  He had only two illegitimate
children.  The first girl had been a naive, but willing, partner in the
process of conception.  His parents had done all that they ought to for her
and in her tender years more.  The second was a long time girlfriend.  And
so on.  Josh had lied to Josh for so long he came to believe the lies.  He
wanted to believe that Sgt.  Szabo and Sarah Hopkins had turned him into a
monster, so he needed to believe himself a monster.  He was not any worse
than a garden variety sinner.  Oddly, he blamed me for nothing.  He
believed me a saint who'd tried to save him from the others.  Cutting
though the lies to the truth, discarding the sins that were not his, and
repenting the ones that were, took time and effort.  In the end it paid
off. Josh became one of our most effective missionaries among the drunks
and poverty stricken along the docks.  May the Lord have mercy on him.

   ------------------------------------------------------------------- -

   Taken from the 'Confessions of Brother Dunstan' a manuscript found in
the ruins of St.  Steven's, Covington, Kentucky after the flood of 1921.

   Remove Panties to reply

   - Click to become an artist and quit your boring job
http://tagline.hushmail.com/fc/CAaCXv1P273SFJpzJcwZH82ckOSRvKdk/ 

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+