Post by Norris on Jan 29, 2009 1:23:14 GMT -5
This is a non-BOH short story I wrote on Yahoo! a while ago on a historical forum. I'm posting it here as something to read whilst the Aftermath trilogy is still being prepared. Enjoy. 
Corporal Jack Rawlins, the ageing NCO at Fort Dalesburg, peered out over the high, wooden walls of the fortress. The view was unchanged since the day before - a dim, morose landscape of flat plains that were almost featureless part from the occasional scrub that hoved into view over that soulless part of the Texan plains.
Casting his cloudy, blue eyes away from the scene, Rawlins made his way past the flagpost, where the Dixie flag flapped in a mild breeze, and clambered down from the platform. Ever since the attack, Rawlins had been running the fort single-handed. A small group of Union troops, no doubt seperated from their party, had sighted Fort Dalesburg and had attacked it, hoping for an easy victory.
The sounds and smells of the battle all came back to Rawlins, now. It had been about 5:00 AM when the Feds attacked. Everything turned upside down then. At the time, Rawlins had been off-duty, leafing through an old copy of Aunt Phillis's Cabin given to him by a friend in '61. But barely five seconds later, the bliss and serenity gave way to the harsh realities of war. Gunshots, triumphant whoops from trigger-happy soldiers, and the occasional gasp of a dying man.
The Feds were outnumbered, but they still packed a mighty punch - enough for the commanding officer to send out a rider for help. The rider had made it through thanks to the covering fire, but the number of soldiers in the fort were rapidly dwindling - something Rawlins found hard to believe even now. Most of the soldiers in the Fort were killed instantly, whilst others died of wounds after ten minutes or so. When the fight was over, and the Union soldiers had been wiped out, only Corporal Rawlins and the commanding officer remained of the group of 30 men on duty at the fort.
Rawlins had escaped with a graze to the cheek, but the officer - Captain James Riley - was not so lucky. Having been armed with just a puny revolver, Riley was little match for the rifles that were wiping out Fort Dalesburg. One shot took out his right eye, whilst two more were lodged in his ribcage. Despite all of Rawlins' efforts, the captain was dead by next morning.
Rawlins opened his eyes again, and gazed around the empty fort. Nearly five days had passed since then. Five lonely, despairing days since Rawlins had been left in sole command of Dalesburg, and had toiled endlessly to bury the deceased. The silence was growing unnerving. When would the relief force arrive? Had the messanger even made it safely? What would become of him if relief ever arrived?
He closed his eyes once again, and tried to forget that he - Corporal Jack Rawlins - was a confederate soldier, standing alone.
Corporal Jack Rawlins, the ageing NCO at Fort Dalesburg, peered out over the high, wooden walls of the fortress. The view was unchanged since the day before - a dim, morose landscape of flat plains that were almost featureless part from the occasional scrub that hoved into view over that soulless part of the Texan plains.
Casting his cloudy, blue eyes away from the scene, Rawlins made his way past the flagpost, where the Dixie flag flapped in a mild breeze, and clambered down from the platform. Ever since the attack, Rawlins had been running the fort single-handed. A small group of Union troops, no doubt seperated from their party, had sighted Fort Dalesburg and had attacked it, hoping for an easy victory.
The sounds and smells of the battle all came back to Rawlins, now. It had been about 5:00 AM when the Feds attacked. Everything turned upside down then. At the time, Rawlins had been off-duty, leafing through an old copy of Aunt Phillis's Cabin given to him by a friend in '61. But barely five seconds later, the bliss and serenity gave way to the harsh realities of war. Gunshots, triumphant whoops from trigger-happy soldiers, and the occasional gasp of a dying man.
The Feds were outnumbered, but they still packed a mighty punch - enough for the commanding officer to send out a rider for help. The rider had made it through thanks to the covering fire, but the number of soldiers in the fort were rapidly dwindling - something Rawlins found hard to believe even now. Most of the soldiers in the Fort were killed instantly, whilst others died of wounds after ten minutes or so. When the fight was over, and the Union soldiers had been wiped out, only Corporal Rawlins and the commanding officer remained of the group of 30 men on duty at the fort.
Rawlins had escaped with a graze to the cheek, but the officer - Captain James Riley - was not so lucky. Having been armed with just a puny revolver, Riley was little match for the rifles that were wiping out Fort Dalesburg. One shot took out his right eye, whilst two more were lodged in his ribcage. Despite all of Rawlins' efforts, the captain was dead by next morning.
Rawlins opened his eyes again, and gazed around the empty fort. Nearly five days had passed since then. Five lonely, despairing days since Rawlins had been left in sole command of Dalesburg, and had toiled endlessly to bury the deceased. The silence was growing unnerving. When would the relief force arrive? Had the messanger even made it safely? What would become of him if relief ever arrived?
He closed his eyes once again, and tried to forget that he - Corporal Jack Rawlins - was a confederate soldier, standing alone.
The Union soldiers had killed all but two of the fort troops, but the Union troops were eventually driven off. The fort is empty said for the lone corporal, who isn't quite sure whether he'll still be alive by the time the reinforcements arrive.