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Subject: {ASSM} AnnD"Johnny Reb"Historical(1/3)
Date: Tue, 20 Jun 2000 20:10:04 -0400
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Long time fans might find some aspects of this story
darker than they are used to seeing from me. This is
a story I've carried around in my head for a very long
time and I finally decided to bring it to life.
Thanks once again to Mordmorgan who helps find and
correct my by now traditional grammatical errors. Any
that are left are my fault not his.
Johnny Reb
by Ann Douglas
(ann_douglas@hotmail.com)
Part One
The midday sun was just reaching its
zenith as the woman in the faded blue dress stood
on the porch. She was looking out to the dirt
road that ran along side what was left of the fence
that bordered the old farm. The house behind her
had seen better days, but that could be said for
just about every house in the county here in the
spring of 1865. After four years of what had
started out as the War for Southern Independence,
the tall brunette considered herself lucky to have a
roof over her head at all. Many of her neighbors
couldn't make that claim.
Ashley Walsh had been born on this farm
some twenty-three years before. Back then, her
family had lived in the main house, built a half
century before on the high knoll an eight of a
mile up the hill. The house had suffered major
damage during a battle between invading Federal
troops and Confederate infantry a year before.
After that, it was easier for Ashley to move into
the smaller house built by her brothers as a
wedding present for her and her husband. Aside
from the house she grew up in, Ashley also lost
something much more dear during those two
horrible days.
Her father, Timothy Michael Flynn had
suffered a seizure, brought on by the loss of all his
family had built, and died right after the opposing
armies had moved on. Laying him to rest next to
his beloved wife, Ashley had been reminded of
what else she had lost in this horrible war.
Her brother, William, so eager to rush off
and enlist, died early in '62 at a place called Blue
Gap. About six months later, her older brother,
Timothy, fell at Clark's Hollow. With him in that
fight had been their cousin, Michael, who had
been wounded so badly that he also died two
weeks later.
The hardest blow, at least to Ashley, was
the loss of her husband, Stephen. A Captain who
rode with Jeb Stuart, he had fallen at Gettysburg
back in '63.
In all, Timothy and Mary Flynn had four
sons who had answered the call to the colors. As
far as Ashley knew, her younger brothers, Robert
and Noah were still alive. They were serving out
west with General Johnston, and no mail had
come from them for months. For all she knew,
Ashley could be the last of the Flynn's. Still, every
night she prayed that she wasn't.
At least one a day, Ashley would take a
few minutes from her labors and just stare down
the road. As impossible as she knew it was, she
sometimes hope she might see Robert or Noah
coming down the road, headed for home. There
was not much else to live for these days, except
the hope that tomorrow would be better.
The war, which had begun among such
high spirits, had gone very badly for the South and
the State of Virginia. Two days ago, one of her
few remaining neighbors had brought news from
Richmond. It was said that General Lee had taken
the Army of Northern Virginia off to fight its last
battles. It was taken as an article of faith that the
end was near. The question on most everyone's
mind was what would come after that.
Ashley turned to head back into the house
and get back to work. She certainly had enough
to keep her busy. Up until a week ago, she'd had
the help of another two sets of hands. An older
couple who'd had their own farm burned out by
the Yankees. They'd stayed with Ashley over the
winter, but with the coming of spring had decided
to move on. Even if she'd had the money to hire
help, there were few able bodied men left in
the county that weren't off with the Army. At
least those she'd trust to be alone with day after
day, or more importantly - night after night.
Pausing for a moment, Ashley caught sign
of a small group of men on foot, just coming over
the rise. They were still too far away to see who
they were, or even if they wore blue or gray. Her
only certainty was that they were heading her
way.
Quick as she could, Ashley went back into
the house and reached behind the door, grabbing
her father's old hunting rifle. In normal times, the
use of such an instrument would be foreign to an
alumni of Miss Thompson's School for Young
Ladies. That these were not normal times would
be overstating the obvious. Ever a practical man,
especially when it came to his only daughter,
Timothy Flynn had made sure that she knew how
to use the weapon, and use it well.
With that weapon primed and in hand,
Ashley stood on the porch, waiting for the three
men to come within earshot. As they had grew
closer, she was able to see that they were
wearing what at least once had been Confederate
butternut and gray. Their uniforms had seem a
great deal of use.
"That's close enough, gentlemen," she
said in a loud voice, bringing her gun to bear to
emphasize her words and the fact that she knew
how to use it.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am," the man in the
lead said, stopping short when he spied the gun
pointed at him and his fellows. "We're sorry to
spook you if we did, but we were wondering if
you could spare some scraps for three tired and
very hungry fighting men?"
Ashley took in the man with a suspicious
eye. He looked to be in his late twenties or early
thirties, but wore a long scruffy beard that made
him look much older. On the sleeves of the
butternut jacket were sergeant's stripes.
The second man was dressed no better and
of a similar appearance. His sleeves, however,
were bare. The third man, who seemed to stay as
far back as he could, looked more boy than man.
His clean shaven face seemed half hidden behind
what looked like weeks of grime.
"I've no food to share," Ashley said,
putting the threat of her firearm behind her words.
Then, thinking of her brothers who wore the same
uniform as these men, she added, "But you're
welcome to fill your canteens at the well."
"We thank you kindly, Ma'am," the
sergeant replied.
They started to move off in the direction
Ashley had indicated in search of the well when
her curiosity prompted to ask them a question.
"Are you part of General Lee's Army?"
"Not directly, Ma'am," the sergeant
answered. "We here are part of Hamilton's
Militia, or what's left of it anyway. The boys and I
figured the fighting's over. I heard tell that old
General Lee was going to face off against Grant
once last time, then it would be all over. Don't
seem right to fight and die if you are going to give
up in the end anyway."
"I can't say as I blame you," Ashley said,
thinking of her own losses and the families that
might be waiting at home for these men. The days
of riding off for flag and glory were long gone, if
they ever existed in the first place.
The soldiers filled their canteens at the
well, then came back to thank Ashley once more.
Before they left for good, she had managed to find
a little food for them to share. She liked to think
that if Robert and Noah were still out there and
traveling some back road, someone would be as
kind to them as well.
Once they were out of sight, Ashley finally
went back to her chores. The visit of the soldiers
had left her far behind, but she really didn't mind.
After all, who was going to notice?
A few hours later, Ashley herself went to
the well to get water to boil some vegetables for
dinner. There she found an old battered and torn
haversack. One of the soldiers must've dropped
it. Curious, she looked inside. There were a few
letters and other keepsakes, as well as the usual
army fare. It seemed a pity for one of them to
have carried it for so long, only to lose it on the
way home. She wondered which one of them it
had belonged to.
Just then, a loud shout from the direction
of the road interrupted her thoughts. Startled,
Ashley looked up to again see motion on the road.
A sudden look of panic filled her normally
composed face. This time there were two men,
both on horseback, riding up the road. Despite the
dust turned up by their travel, it was clear to her
that both wore Federal Blue.
Letting the worn haversack fall from her
hands, Ashley ran as fast as she could for the
house, and the protective rifle she had left there.
Ashley's first sensation upon waking was
a pain and stiffness in her arms and back. It only
took a moment for her to realize why. She was
now in the small house, spread eagle across the
kitchen table; her arms tied to the table and her
legs hanging over the side. Rope also tied her
ankles to the bottom legs of the table. As she
tried to free herself, she could hear the sounds of
someone rummaging through the other rooms,
cursing that there was little of value to find.
Through a dim haze, Ashley remembered
reaching the porch and the waiting gun, just as the
two blue clad cavalrymen pulled up behind her.
Both had pistols drawn as the closest to her leapt
off his mount and onto the porch. She recalled his
gloved hand on her arm pulling her backwards,
away from her rifle. Then a hard pain from the
side of her head which ended in blackness. She
could only guess he'd hit her with his pistol to
keep her from the rifle. That they had further
bound her in this manner, rather than simply shoot
her as she was sure they would have a man, didn't
bode well.
"Hey Sarge, she's awake!" Ashley heard a
voice call out from the doorway between the
kitchen and the parlor.
Tilting her head, she saw one of the two
troopers stepping into the room. He was a tall
young man on the early side of twenty, if that,
with short black hair and matching mustache. His
lower face was covered with a few days stubble.
The uniform he wore was indeed the hated
Yankee blue.
The soldier, whose name she would learn
was Butler, now stood silent at the bottom of the
kitchen table. Ashley could see his eyes and the
look she found there didn't give her much
encouragement. Men too long without the
company of a woman, especially those immersed
in the horrors of war, were capable of anything.
"What are you yelling about, Butler?"
Sergeant Virgil Rourke said as he stepped into the
kitchen as well.
"I said she's awake," the private repeated.
"So she is," Rourke said as he moved
alongside the table.
A cold chill filled Ashley's breast. The
look in the older man's eyes made Butler's look
tame in comparison. The redhead stoked his tight
beard as his eyes moved up and down his helpless
prisoner.
"It's a good thing we tied this rebel bitch
up after we caught her," the NCO said. "It looks
like she's the only valuable thing in this lousy
place."
Fear filled Ashley's eyes at those words,
while excitement filled those of the younger
soldier. She pulled at her bonds, only to find once
more that they were stronger than her arms.
"Sarge, are you sure we should be doing
this?" the younger of the two said, having a
moment of conscience. "Captain Rossi said..."
"Captain Rossi's not here!" Rourke
snapped back. "Besides, haven't you ever heard of
spoils of war. She had a gun in her hand when we
caught her. I could've shot her instead of simply
giv'n her the butt of my gun."
Private Butler was about to mention that
Captain Rossi had also said that once someone
was a prisoner, they were supposed to be treated
according to the rules. What Rourke said next,
however, wiped out any concerns the young man
might have had.
"Have you ever been with a woman,
Jimmy?"
His silence answered the Sergeant's
question.
"Then this is your chance, boy," the older
man said. "And with a white woman too. Not one
of those darkies some of your friends have been
fornicating with."
As the Union Army had occupied an
ever-shrinking Confederate States, they had
encountered a numbers of slaves who had either
been freed by previous divisions or had simply
run away. Some of the black women had been
willing to show their happiness in their newfound
freedom in a most physical and satisfying way.
Despite his disparaging remark about them,
Rourke himself had partaken of their ebony
charms more than once.
Jimmy Butler looked down again at
Ashley. He had to say she was probably
the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Not
that he had seen a great many of them, excepting
kinfolk of course. The woman spread out before
him was as tall as he was, with long brown hair
tied back with a ribbon. Of course the first thing
he noticed about her were her large breasts. They
were almost as big as his cousin, Alice's. He'd
walked in on Alice taking a bath once and the
memory of it still made him stiff.
A stiffness that he now also felt as he
undressed Ashley with his eyes. Sergeant Rourke
however, preferred a more direct view. Grabbing
the top of Ashley's threadbare dress, he ripped it
open, exposing the pale flesh of her breasts.
Butler's mouth dropped open as she saw
the dark pink nipples that capped her mounds. It
was a lot more than he had ever seen of Cousin
Alice.
"Ain't they some set of titties," said
Rourke as he reached out to touch them.
"Don't touch me, you Yankee scum!"
Ashley yelled out, using language she had never
imagined she would ever use.
"Figures a rebel bitch like you would have
a foul mouth," Rourke laughed as he roughly
grabbed her breast, pressing his thumbnail against
the nipple. "Well I have something that I can
use to fill that mouth and shut you up."
To illustrate his point, Rourke grabbed his
crotch with his free hand and pumped his erect
cock a few times through his pants. Ashley's face
turned pale.
The thought of the Sergeant's manhood
being used in the manner he indicated, terrified
her. Once, right after she had first been married,
she'd heard her brothers talking about a girl in the
back woods who did such a thing with her mouth.
At the time, Ashley had refused to believe it could
be true.
"I bet you're one of those southern girls
who prefers her darkies, aren't you?" the crass
soldier said, assuming that all southerners owned
slaves. "Just like your men prefer their nigger
wenches. Well I'm going to show you what it's
like to be fucked by a white man. Then when I'm
done, you can give the boy a turn too."
Unable to do more than scream in anger,
and unwilling to give the Yankees the satisfaction
of hearing her do just that, Ashley closed her eyes
and tried to bear the unbearable. They might be
able to degrade her body, but they couldn't defile
her mind.
Pushing Butler out of the way, Rourke
took up position between Ashley's legs. His rough
hands slid up her legs, taking in the softness of her
skin. Butler watched as his Sergeant's hands
disappeared under the faded dress, gripping the
sides of an equally worn undergarment. With
strength born of lust, he ripped the material until
he could pull it off her body. Ashley bit her lip as
she tried to show no reaction.
He pushed up her dress to expose her
womanhood. The younger man leaned over to
look over the Sergeant's shoulder at the bushy
brown mound between Ashley's legs. He watched
in fascination as Butler took his hand and rubbed
it hard against her mound, pushing two fingers up
inside her.
"Goddamn it, you're a dry bitch," Rourke
said as his fingers encountered an unexpected
friction. "Well that's just too bad for you."
Inwardly, Ashley felt a small measure of
satisfaction. Even if it was harder on her, she was
thankful that her body hadn't betrayed her. She
wouldn't watch as Rourke opened his pants and
pulled them down to his ankles. He opened his
long underwear to expose his manhood, rubbing it
a few times once it was free. Raising his hand to
his face, he spit on it a few times, filling the palm
with his saliva.
He brought it to his cock, rubbing the
makeshift lubricant over the head of it. An evil
leer filled his face as he guided his cock to the
entrance of her womanhood, pressing against it.
Putting all of his weight behind it, he pushed his
way inside her.
Ashley screamed, this was an assault she
couldn't ignore. The cry of pain only seemed to
excite her rapist even more. Grabbing both of her
legs, he began to thrust in and out of her with a
savage fury. It was far worse then her first time,
for Stephen had been the gentlest of lovers.
"Sarge, did you hear something?" Butler
asked as he turned in the direction of the kitchen
window.
"It's just the fucking horses," Rourke
angrily snapped back at him for interrupting his
fun. "Now shut up or I won't let you have a turn
at this Reb whore."
The thought that he might lose his chance
to be with a woman bothered Butler greatly, but
not as much as the chance that Captain Rossi or
one of the other patrols might discover them.
Rossi had some mighty particular ideas
about how the Rebels should be treated after the
surrender that everyone said was coming soon.
As much as he wanted to be with a woman, the
nineteen-year-old didn't want to pay for it at the
end of a rope.
Finally, deciding Rourke wouldn't even
notice his absence, Butler decided to step outside
and make sure everything was all right. He'd be
back before Rourke knew it.
As quiet as he could, although he figured
Rourke wouldn't hear a Calvary charge right now,
the Private undid the lock of the door that let to
the outside from the kitchen. As he did, he began
to draw his pistol from its holster. He had only
opened the door an inch or two when it suddenly
slammed back into him with enough force to
knock him off his feet.
The sudden motion of Butler falling, more
than the noise he made as he crashed among the
pots and pans, caused Rourke to stop and look
up. It took him a long moment to register the
image in front of him, not realizing it would be
the last thing he ever saw.
In the two seconds left to him, the soldier
in Rourke recognized the weapon pointing in his
direction from a few feet away as an 1860 blue
steel army revolver. He remembered the fact that
it fired a 44 caliber round less than a half second
before one of those bullets shattered the left side
of his skull.
The force of the close range shot was
enough to send the already dead sergeant
tumbling away from Ashley and onto the floor.
Half of his brains were scattered across the
kitchen walls and the manhood that he was been
so proud of had already wilted into insignificance.
Stunned both by his fall and the loud,
deafening explosion that had followed it, Private
Butler looked up and saw a smoky figure in
butternut and gray. He brought up his own pistol
to fire, but was already dead before his finger
could close on the trigger. The second shot from
the Confederate revolver had passed right through
his heart. From the time the door had first burst
open on Butler, to the time his heart abruptly
stopped, only eight seconds had passed.
Giving the second corpse no more thought
than the first, the new arrival turned to Ashley.
Only now was she aware that something had
happened. She looked up and saw that another
had taken Rourke's place at the foot of the table.
It took a second for her to focus, then she
recognized the face as belonging to the youngest
of the Confederate soldiers she had given food
and water to this afternoon.
"I had come back for my haversack,"
he said in a low quiet voice.
A large knife appeared in the young man's
hand, the type of which Ashley had once seen a
drawing of in the newspaper. Her husband had
said it was called a Bowie knife. The new arrival
looked down at the brunette's exposed sex for a
brief moment, just long enough to see that the
Yankee soldier had died unsatisfied. Then with a
practiced precision, he cut Ashley free.
"Oh God," she gasped as she looked
down and saw the bloody bodies of her two
attackers.
"It's no more than they deserved,"
her rescuer said unemotionally.
For a moment, Ashley wondered how he
could be so cold, then realized that having been in
the army, the young man had probably seen death
on a scale as to make what just happened here
seem insignificant.
"Thank you," Ashley managed to say,
holding down the bile she felt in her throat.
The soldier merely shrugged and nodded
an acknowledgment. Then he said. "They were
either scouts or stragglers so I doubt they'll be
missed for a while. But we need to get rid of the
bodies right away, just in case."
As he stepped closer to the window to
glance out it, Ashley got her first really good look
at him. As it was this afternoon, a layer of dirt
covered both his clothes and his face, but she
could see enough to reconfirm her earlier
thoughts.
"He can't be more than a boy," she said to
herself, "sixteen years old at most."
Then she reminded herself that whatever
his age, he had just killed two men in less time
then it took him to think about it. It also occurred
to her that despite her state of near undress, the
top of her dress had been ripped enough to give
him a good look at her breasts.
That is if he cared to look, which he
seemingly didn't. An omission that surprised
Ashley. She excused herself for a few minutes
while she changed into a fresh but equally worn
dress.
As she helped him carry the bodies
outside, thankful that he had first covered
Sergeant Rourke's face, or what was left of it,
with a blanket, Ashley learned what had
happened.
Splitting off from his companions, the
young man, whose name she now learned was
John Warren, had doubled back to the farm to
look for the haversack he had finally realized he'd
lost. When you only own what you carry on you,
he explained, the little you had became all the
more important. The boy was an orphan she
further learned, and was eighteen despite his
looks. The letters in his bag had been his last
connection with his parents.
When he reached the fence at the road,
he'd seen the two horses tied up outside. During
the last two years he'd seen the accoutrements on
them enough times to know they belonged to
Yankee cavalry. He made his way to the house,
carefully looking into the kitchen window. That
had been the noise Butler had heard.
If he'd reacted better to his instincts, John
had commented, Private Butler might be the one
still alive. Still recovering from the shock of
everything that had happened, Ashley didn't want
to think about where she might be right now if the
outcome of the situation had been reversed.
"I've tied them to their horses," John said.
"I'll take them about a mile or two down the road
and cut the horses loose. With luck, they'll be far
away from here before anyone finds them."
"I wish we could keep those horses,"
Ashley said, her mind always trying to be practical
and remembering that earlier Federal patrols had
taken what few horses they'd had. "They'd be a
big help around here."
"They carry US Army brands," John said,
pointing to the small mark on the closest horse.
"No quicker way to a noose than to be found with
one of those."
Ashley realized he was right.
"Will you come back after you're done?"
Ashley asked as John climbed up on the back of
the horse carrying the smaller body of Private
Butler and started to lead the two horses away.
The young soldier looked at her for a
moment, a puzzled look on his face.
"So we can find your haversack," Ashley
said. "It'll be dark soon enough and we won't be
able to look for it until morning's light," she lied.
Remembering the task that had brought
him back to the farm, John said he would be back
in a few hours. Ashley waited until be was gone
from sight before she headed to the well to
get the haversack and the bucket she had left
there. She would need the water to clean up what
was left of the late unlamented Sergeant Virgil
Rourke off her kitchen walls.
Long into the night, Ashley waited for the
return of the young soldier. As the hours passed,
it got so late she fell asleep in her chair. By the
time she awakened to the morning's light, she was
sure something had happened to him. A feeling of
sadness filled her as she thought of the young man
lying hurt or dead along the road somewhere. Or
worse, caught by the Yankee Cavalry with the
dead bodies of two of their own.
Worried as she was, there were still chores
that needed to be done. That was if she wanted to
go on eating yet another day. Pouring cold water
into a bowl, she splashed it on her face and set out
to face the day.
All through the day, and halfway through
the next night, Ashley would pause in her labors
and look for John. By the time she finally went to
sleep that night, she resigned herself to the fact
that he wasn't coming back.
(missing parts may be found at)
Ann Douglas Web Page
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Ann_Douglas/www/
ASSTR Donation Page
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