Chapter 19
Murphy’s Laws of Combat #23
“The only thing more accurate than incoming enemy fire is incoming friendly fire.”
Melissa hissed out a breath. An Irishman. This wasn’t promising. The street was too narrow for the horses to turn around easily, and the soldier advancing on them knew it. She maneuvered her gelding sideways, so it crowded its head behind the captain’s mount, giving her a clear aim. Shooting her a warning glance, the captain then sat calmly watching the Irishman approach, his horse still facing forward on one side of the narrow street. The corporal eyed the captain, and then he didn’t react, walked into the ‘L’ they had created with their horses.
The man eyed the saddle blankets and then the captain’s gabardine overcoat. “You be Frenchees?” When neither she nor the captain responded, the corporal turned to the group watching in a stupor. “Hey, Bunting, you speak Frog talk. Get up here.”
“He’s sleeping it off, Calley,” said one man among the soldiers in a mix of black-green and red uniforms. As the men laughed, they parted to reveal a body sprawled in the street.
“Well, shite, I guess I’ll have to parly-vousy about the toll for using our street me-self.” He smiled at Melissa as he laid a hand on the hindquarters of the captain’s mount. “Yer a bluff cit. I might leave your francs if you gave us something else.” He turned to his comrades when they laughed. “Should I grab a buck to see if the mademoiselle is amenable?”
The captain suddenly moved his mount forward, out from under the man’s hand. The man stumbled and in a flash of anger, lunged for the captain’s reins. “Lookee here, you bloody toadsticker, we’re gonna—”
Melissa started at the speed of the captain’s attack. Seated in his saddle, he seized the man’s hand twisting it from the outside in, pulling the corporal’s arm up behind his back. Captain Starke hauled him against his horse, with no apparent strain at all.
The man shrieked, “Ye’re breaking my arm, damn ya!” He waved erratically at the others with his free hand and yelled, “Don’t just stand there, shoot the bleedin’ sod.”
The men surged forward, several going for muskets leaning against walls nearby.
Melissa flipped back her poncho and cocked the flintlock. The sound made everyone freeze.
The captain’s expression hadn’t changed. His face remained granite still as he held the corporal’s hand immobile. Only his eyes were alive with a terrible light. “I’d stay right where you are. The lady shot a Frenchman for our horses, so she’s more than willing to put a hole in any of you maggots.”
The men stared at her and took a step back,
“That’s right, just keep moving,” Captain Starke said. “We’re coming through and if you don’t let us pass, at least two of you will die in short order.” The men continued to stare.
“MOVE.”
They all jumped and shambled backward as and kicked his gray forward past the retreating men. Melissa glared at them, trying to appear fierce, but felt only a nerveless fear that her trembling legs would expose her deception. The men looked more confused than angry, but the corporal swore and grunted as he stumbled along on tiptoe, his back up against the captain’s horse.
“Don’t follow us. We’re taking Calley here for a ride, just as insurance. I’m sure you won’t mind.”
The captain’s expression never changed. She found it unnerving. She kept the musket trained on the group over the rump of her roan as they disappeared around the corner. They wove through side streets, to throw off any trailing soldiers. Finally, the captain stopped at a dead-end. He blocked off any retreat with the horses and then released Calley.
The man fell and slowly stood, holding his arm. “Ya broke it, ye did, ye great bokey cur.”
Melissa trained her carbine on the man, and he shut up.
The captain spoke in a quiet, steel voice. “No, I haven’t, yet, but I will do more than that if you don’t cooperate.”
“What do ya want?” His mouth worked for a moment with no sound, and then he said with surprise, “You ain’t French at all.” He squinted at the captain, his camouflage pants, and then the matching tan boots tucked in the stirrups. “Who in me mother’s hell are you?”
“Where’s the British army? How far ahead are they?”
The man quickly broke eye contact and glared at the ground. “Gen’ral bleedin’ Moore left more than two hours ago with the rearguard. Abandoned us here, the General did, while we was following his orders.”
“Ask me if I care.”
Calley didn’t say anything but continued to glower at the cobblestones.
“How do we get to the road to La Corunna?”
When Calley looked up, a calculated glint shone in his eyes. “I can lead you out, govn’r, that I can.”
The captain studied him silently for a moment, then patted his pants pocket. “If you do, I have a gold coin for you.”
Even though Melissa squeaked a shocked “What?” Calley looked unconvinced.
The captain leaned toward him. “If you don’t . . .” he said and let the consequences remain imagined. He motioned the Irishman over his horse. “Put your hand on the stirrup.” Once he did, reluctantly, Captain Starke said, “Take your hand off, and the lady here will put a bullet in your ear.”
He eyed the Irishman, who furtively glanced at Chief’s head even as he nodded at the captain’s warning. Suddenly the captain leaned over and yelled as he swung his arm at the horse’s eyes. The beast barely flinched. She and Calley froze in surprise.
“Just wanted you to know, you aren’t going to startle him.” Calley gave him a black look in return. The captain turned to Melissa and waved her back to cover Calley.
In ten minutes, they were standing on a rutted road leading up into the mountains, debris marking the continued retreat of the British army. The captain stopped and barked “Get over there” to the Irishman, pointing his chin at the wall of a small hut.
Calley dropped his hand and walked away, burning resentment in his stride. When he stopped and turned, the captain pulled a gold coin out of a purse and held it up. Calley’s mouth fell open as the captain tossed it to him.
Turning his mount west, the captain motioned Melissa to follow him. She still had the musket trained on the corporal, though her shoulder burned and twitched from the strain. As they rode away, the Irishman stared open-mouthed after them and the gold in his hand.
When their guide was out of sight, the captain moved back next to her and said in a gentle voice. “Here, let me have the carbine.” His voice and eyes held an approval which flowed through her like warm chocolate on a cold afternoon, but his face looked worn and gray. He uncocked the carbine and retied it to her saddle.
Melissa said the first thing that came to mind. “How did you know the gray wouldn’t bolt?”
“I didn’t, but figured if Chief here was going to panic, it would be better to have him do it when I expected it, and the corporal didn’t.” She eyed him incredulously, which made him shrug. “If he stood still for me in the river while all those shots were grazing him, I figured he wouldn’t think much of my hand,” he said, shared humor in his grin.
Melissa smiled back, the pleasant glow returning. She caught herself before saying something untoward. “Why in heaven did you give that egit gold?”
“Because he could have led us anywhere and we wouldn’t have known it. The man keeps his word if nothing else.” The captain shrugged. “Besides, I said I would.”
Melissa waited because she was positive there was more to it, but the captain just headed up the road.
Here and there an unconscious drunkard lay, but the road proved dry and clutter-free. The air grew far colder as the morning wore on and the wind began to howl. Her teeth chattering, Melissa kept thinking the captain would turn off someplace and make camp, but he kept on until their horses were dragging their hooves with every step.
“Captain, we must stop, or we will ruin the horses. The snow is the only thing keeping them from laying down.” Or I will fall out of the saddle.
“Yes. I spotted a small cabin up ahead. It’s to the north of us. I’m guessing it’s abandoned.” He turned his horse off the road and onto a little trail. The trail did not show any hoof prints that Melissa could see.
After their trek among the ravines and slopes, Melissa was relieved to see the cabin appear in a flat, grassy area. A shallow stream, frozen over, was visible on the far side. There were no rocks to dismount on.
“It’s a bothy n’ brye,” Melissa said.
The captain eyed her with bleary concentration. “A what?”
“A peasant shepherd’s station when tending their sheep. There’d be nary a soul out here in the dead of winter.”
The captain nodded and told her to wait as he walked his drooping mount around the crest of the little valley. When he returned, he slowly stood in the saddle with a groan, and eased his braced leg over the gray’s rump. He pulled his other foot out of the stirrup and slid down rather than place any weight on his bad leg.
Melissa succeeded in dismounting by herself.
The dilapidated cabin was part stall, without straw on the floors or in the mangers. The two of them laboriously unsaddled the horses. They were both ready to collapse, but they still had to rub the horses down, and give them the last of the hay they’d been carrying as well as all of the remaining corn they once they cooled down.
The cabin had a rough, rock fireplace and a dirt floor. They laid the tarpaulin out and lit a small fire, a piece of jerky, Craisins, and crackers and cheese their only dinner.
~ ~ ~
January 3, 1809
Melissa awoke in the dark, took a deep breath of the musty air, and whispered, “Captain, are ye asleep?”
“Not really.”
“I’m too played out, and now beyond sleep it seems.”
“It happens.”
“I feel like crying, I’m so disjaskit.”
There was a long silence, and then a bemused, “Is that a fact?”
She shot back, “It tis, and ye making sport of me words will not make me feel less dowie,” but her tone was as teasing as his. “Disjaskit is when ye are weary and of low opinion. Dowie is to be ailing and weak dejected, do ye see?”
“Yep, I feel that way too.”
Then there was silence again. She stared at the dust motes floating in the light from the fire. A nervous energy ate at her, making her reckless in her curiosity.
“Captain, I have answered many a question for ye, but I know little of your life.”
“Then call me Rig. Captain is a bit formal for someone you’re sleeping with.”
She smiled at his teasing tone. “Are all men from your time so brazen?”
“Oh, some. Probably no more than your run-of-the-mill gentleman today.”
“Ye may think that if ye wish.”
“Why thank you.”
She enjoyed his dry wit and the purr of his deep voice.
“Why Rig? Isn’t your Christian name Richard? Tis a strong name.”
“My mother’s family is Riggs. It’s my middle name. I was always mechanical, always rigging up things, so I got the name Rig. It stuck.”
“Do ye have family in the United States?”
“No. My father was one of the few U.S. troops to die in Desert Storm.”
“In what?”
“A military operation. My mother died two years ago. I haven’t seen my uncle or cousins in years.”
A desert storm? She had never really studied the geography of the North American wilderness. “Do you miss them?”
“No.”
Melissa frowned but before she could speak, the captain said, “My dad died before I could know him, and my mother disowned me when I left for the army.”
“Whatever for?” she blurted out, shocked. “The army is an honorable pursuit.” She hesitated over another possibility. “Did you leave her without support or go against your family’s wishes as the first born?”
“Uh, no. She was happy I left.”
“Why?” She immediately apologized for her unseemly question.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s a long story.”
Melissa waited.
Exhaling a deep breath, the captain said, “My mom had a farm outside Washington, North Carolina, fifty acres. She trained guide dogs.”
“What kind? Fox hounds?”
“Guide dogs are trained to help guide the blind or physically impaired. She was good at it. We did well. We were a good team, and I enjoyed the farm work. Even at ten, I enjoyed build things, adding to our success, making the farm better. Then, when I was fifteen, I got involved in high school sports and my friends and I started a band. I wasn’t around as much. She found herself a boyfriend.” The sardonic tone on the last word made her cautious.
What he said about his school involvement in made little sense to her. Mel asked, “Does a boyfriend involve a romantic attachment?”
There was a chuckle in the dark. “Yep. Jake Tassler was his name and he moved in.”
“Into your home? He didn’t marry her?”
“No, thank God. No, he just took over.”
There was a long silence. After the captain admitted such a scandalous thing, Melissa was afraid he wouldn’t say more. “What happened?”
“He made a point of being nice at first, until I caught him stealing money from the cash box.”
She could feel the anger in him. “What did you do?”
“I got rid of him.”