Graves

Part of the Blogging from A to Z challenge 2012 for the letter G
This is a continuing story, if you would like to read the from the beginning, the letter A : Aces and Eights  But... each letter/story stands alone as well. Enjoy:)  

Graves

The small but growing town of Dixon was just ahead. Ben grinned as he slowed his horse to a walk. Just a few more miles and he would be home. First, he had to stop at Macintyre General Store.

He stopped on the boardwalk and brushed off some of the road dust. He heard a voice filled with surprise. “Benjamin Mason. As I live and breathe.”

Ben looked up into the face of Frank Macintyre. He walked into the shop and held out his hand. “Frank, it is good to see you.  Do you still carry ready-made dresses? Or maybe just a new bonnet.”

“Ben…. “ Frank didn’t know what to say, how to say. It was obvious Ben hadn’t gotten the letter. 

Ben continued as he looked around the shop. “The ladies in Washington had these fancy woven bonnets, I could see Ellen in one with her hair all tucked back…” He paused and grinned. “Sorry, I’m goin on and on, I’m glad to finally be home.”

Frank nodded slightly, his own expression not so joyous. “Ben, did you get Pastor Grove’s letter?”

Something was wrong, why would Pastor Grove have sent him a letter? “No, I’m afraid the army mail system wasn’t very reliable at times. It’s been eight months since I’ve heard from Ellen.” Ben looked at the shopkeep. “Frank, what is in the letter from Pastor Grove?

Frank rubbed his double chin as he tried to find the right words. “Ben…. Ellen is in town. “

Before another word could be said, Frank called back to his wife. “Luella, I’ll be back in a little while.”

She walked out and put a hand over her heart when she looked at Ben. “Take your time, dear. Mr. Mason…. I’m so sorry.” 

Ben’s gaze went between the two, he was deeply concerned, and what would she be sorry for? Before he could reply, Macintyre lead him out of the shop and down the thoroughfare. “Much has changed since you went to fight. The first year or so things were calm. Ellen was quite proud of you, so was your uncle. Old Pete would brag a storm about his nephew the lieutenant.”

He glanced at Ben. “The railroad folk started comin through, buying up every property they could get their hands on. The ones that didn’t succumb to the bags of money they were offerin, well were pushed off.”

Ben stopped walking and looked at him. “Pushed off? Pushed off how, didn’t any one stop them?”

Frank nodded but he could tell Ben was already taking this hard. “Yes, several fought them. Formed coalitions and wrote to the congressional offices and solicitors. Every thing legal. The railroad folk didn’t play by the same rules. They turned this town inside out to get their way.

“They burned barns, houses, poisoned livestock, harassed wives and children when they new their husbands and fathers weren’t there to stop it.” He nodded when he saw the question and horror etched on Ben’s face. “Yes, Ellen was among them. She fought them back as hard as she could. Pete stood with her.”

He motioned with his head toward the direction of the train depot. “The last rails went down six months ago. Two moths after it happened.”

Ben’s breath was short with anxiety, where was his family? “When what happened, Frank?”

Frank walked with him a few yards more to the cemetery. There were several graves not more than a few months old. Ben’s eyes fixed on one name. His hands shook as he knelt down and wiped the dust from the wooden cross to see it clearly. Here lies Ellen Mason. Wife and Mother 1864. Next to her a smaller cross.

Ben’s hands gripped the mounded grave dirt as a cry of grief tore from his chest.  For five long years, he fought to come back to them and now, there is nothing left to fight for. He sat for hours knelt between them until his grief had rung out and something else took its place.

Something dark and thirsty, vengeance. There was something to fight for, he would make sure those that did this would know as painful an end. Benjamin Mason would bring hell to the rails. 

Finally

Part of the Blogging from A to Z challenge 2012 for the letter F
This is a continuing story, if you would like to read the from the beginning, the letter A : Aces and Eights  But... each letter/story stands alone as well. Enjoy:)  

Finally

Ben stood with his men as they listened to the final address given to the men departing service. It had been a long four years since he had seen his family. He tried to stand proud in his uniform; in his heart, he was tired of blood and battle.

This would be the final time he would dress in this uniform, march with his men, or salute the flag. It was time to put away all of these reminders of war and raise cattle and plant corn.

He shifted his feet, like an anxious private on his first day in camp until the General gave his final word.

With a sigh of great relief, he shifted to attention and gave one last salute. The General released them from their service and Ben turned toward the stables. His horse was already packed and ready to go. As he walked, he let his mind wander through the last five years of his life.

When he had enlisted, he felt sure of the cause and his country. With each march, each battle confidence in standing on the right side became muddied. He didn’t care any more who won or lost, only that he was going home.  

He stood next to his horse and took off the blue coat, removed the saber from his side. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. He plucked his new hat on his head and thumbed the rim bending it a bit more over his eyes before he mounted.

Ben took a final look as he rode out the gates. He had peaceful future ahead of him he hoped. He pulled the portrait from his pocket and grinned softly. It had been months since he had gotten a letter from his wife.

He pushed back that inner voice telling him to worry and caressed the worn edge of the frame with his thumb as he slipped it back into his pocket. “I’m coming home, Ellen. Finally coming home.” 

Escape

Part of the Blogging from A to Z challenge 2012 for the letter E
This is a continuing story, if you would like to read the from the beginning, the letter A : Aces and Eights  But... each letter/story stands alone as well. Enjoy:) 


Be sure to mark your calendar for April 29th! Jefferson Bass, author's of the Body Farm series will be right here on Gladiator's Pen to promote their new book The Inquisitor's Key.  

Escape 

The Union prisoners were gathered to the center of the Confederate camp. Ben growled as a soldier prodded him with the bayonet. “Mind getting that stick out of my back Johnny?”

The Confederate scoffed. “Just keep movin Yank.”

Ben searched the crowd of fifty other captives for his men. He spotted Charlie and Douglas to his left, Jackson to his right. He managed to make eye contact with each. After three weeks, this might be their best chance at escape.

The Confederate captain finally made his appearance. Ben wasn’t interested in his long winded speech about the Southern man’s rights as a nation. Ben didn’t care any more he had enough blood on his hands for several life times. He wanted to go home, raise cattle and his son.

The speech went on and while some of the other rebels shouted and cheered. Ben’s attention was called back to the egotistic captain when he heard a familiar voice cursing the southerners.

Tighe, one of the older men in their company, flanked by two large soldiers. One of them gave him a hard shove with the butt of his rifle up the steps of the gallows as the captain spoke. “This man, will serve as an example to you rabble. As further warning against outbursts. Corporal, string him up.”

Ben looked at each of his men. Charlie was wound ready to spring as he glanced back to Ben to get an order. Ben carefully motioned with his hand to hold.

Tighe stood swearing at his captures and issuing curses unto their decedents as the rope was tightened around his neck. The Captain lowered his arm and the hatch beneath the Federal dropped open.

Ben gasped, as he watched the big man struggle, the rope had not snapped his neck. His instinct took over as he spun grabbing the bayonet from the Confederate next to him and driving it into his neck.

He could hear shouts of those around him s fighting broke out. Prisoners against their jailers. Ben picked up the fallen rebel’s musket and turned. Tighe still struggled, but he didn’t have long.

Ben saw Charlie and Douglas almost to the gallows and raised the rifle. He had only one chance and no time to aim true. His finger squeezed the trigger and hoped.

The bullet struck the rope and Tighe fell to the ground, fingers clawed at the rope to get more than a gasp of air. Charlie and Douglas reached him first. Ben grabbed a pistol from another fallen soldier as he made his way through the fighting to them.

They had limited ammo and were in the thick of enemy territory. Ben looked back at his men who followed him into the woods. They were sure he could help them escape. He had to hope they were right. 

Drill

Part of the Blogging from A to Z challenge 2012 for the letter D
This is a continuing story, if you would like to read the from the beginning, the letter A : Aces and Eights  But... each letter/story stands alone as well. Enjoy:) 



  
 Drill

Dawn had begun to break, Ben watched the new recruits move through rifle drills. They would do this for the next twelve to fourteen hours of their life. He flexed the fingers of his right hand.

They were stiff and still numb from the bullet to the shoulder he’d taken in their last battle. The sawbones said the damage was probably permanent. Ben wouldn’t accept that.

He sat back on his cot and picked up his pistol. Good he could grip it, forcing his finger to curl into the trigger was difficult but once there Ben felt he could maintain it. He made sure the barrel was empty of amunition and squeezed.

The gun shifted out of his hand and into the dirt. Ben growled in frustration as he tried again. “You’re my body, obey my commands.”

He tried again, and again, it improved but the unforgiving muscles wouldn’t let him keep hold for more than two shots. Exhaling deeply he tossed the pistol onto the cot next to him and listened to the greenies go through their drills.

Ben turned and watched them for a moment. Determination filled him, he would not be shipped home half a man. Ben dressed full uniform, musket in hand then walked over to the commander of the new platoon. “Major Haute, may I join your men in drills, sir?”

The major gave him a questioned expression but could not find a reason to refuse. “Very good Lieutenant, position at the end of the front line.”

Ben nodded to a nervous new recruit, who gazed his rank as Ben took the spot next to him. “Eyes front, son.”

The recruit snapped back to attention, Ben had to grin as he remembered his own awe at officers among them. The Major raised his saber and began to call out. “Prepare to load. Load.”

Ben lowered the butt of his rifle to the ground and the barrel gripped in his left hand

“Handle cartridge.” The Major eyed Ben and his stiff movement as he concentrated to make his arm bend and pull the packet from his pouch.

“Tear cartridge.”  It took painful effort for Ben to lift his arm high enough to bite down on the paper and tear open the powder. Worse yet he had to hold it there until all the greenies had figured out the step.

Finally the next order came. “Charge cartridge.” It was a relief to drop his arm enough to pour the powder into the gun barrel until the bullet set in place at the mouth under his thumb. He could feel the last weeks of inactivity through his shoulder and down his arm. His fingertips had started to tingle. That was a welcome feeling compared to the numbness he had started to become accustomed.

“Draw rammer.” Ben took a deep breath and pulled the rammer from its slot along the top of the musket’s barrel. He had to lift his arm high to pull it free. He didn’t grimace or curse as much as he wanted to as bone clicked and ground with his movement as he positioned the rammer over the musket ball, and shoved it down with the next order to ram it.

He noticed a few of the greenies eyes glancing down to see his example. Ben did his damnedest to give them a good one and hide his weakness. He stood tall and kept up with their speed. Able to load up to four shots a minute.

Ben worked with them for the day. With each drill, his movement became more fluid. Even the sensation in his fingers and hand had begun to return. He sweated in his thick wool uniform under the sun and felt better than he had the morning he took Johnny Reb’s best shot.

When the Major relented to the young men’s groans of ache and tedium, he released them for supper. Ben grinned as he heard the younger men talking about him and the rumors of his own platoons exploits.

His puffed ego soon deflated as he stepped into his tent to find a telegram from his uncle. They and other ranches were bullied by the railroad for their land. Uncle had not given in to their demands and stood fast that he would not.

This worried Ben, he knew from his experience with the railroads here, they held great power. At the last was good news at least. His uncle mentioned that Ellen and Joseph were well and sent their love.  

Ben set the telegram on the desk and started to pull off his coat when the numbers in the corner caught his eye. A telegram with difficult news barring the operator code 11-88. Aces and eights, his omen taunted again that something was on it’s way.