Somewhere North of Nashville, 1863
They'd attacked in the dead of night. It wasn't a full force invasion, just a warning to the Union soldiers. They'd been pushing farther and farther onto Confederate soil, and it was time for them to be taught a lesson.
It was quick, in and out just the way General Karofsky planned. They'd raided their food and beer supplies and even managed to get a few war prisoners to help out around camp. Overall, it was a successful mission.
The Confederate soldiers rode back to camp, perched confidently on the muscular backs of their horses. The newly captured men were forced to walk, tied together at the wrists by some coarse rope found in one of the Union tents. Most of the men trudged along, faltering every now and then over unseen rocks or mud holes. One soldier, though, stood tall and proud, nose slightly lifted into the air. He looked slightly out of place among the others, like a politician rather than a soldier.
"You there!" Karofsky's interest in the boy had grown and he couldn't resist talking to him. "What's your name?"
The nymph-like face stared up at him scathingly, green eyes piercing Karofsky's soul. "Hummel. Kurt Hummel."
General Karofsky smiled, liking the way his voice sounded. Clear and strong. "Well, Hummel, it looks like you aren't enjoying your walk too much. You could ride with me, if you want." The offer was strange and he knew it, but for some reason he felt connected to this boy.
Hummel glanced around at his fellow soldiers and then back to General Karofsky.
"I would rather die from exhaustion than be near the likes of you." His voice was dripping with hatred.
"The likes of me?" Karofsky was slightly taken aback. Usually war prisoners were quick to accept kindness. He began to grow annoyed, not only at the way Hummel spoke to him but also at the warmth he began to feel every time they made eye contact.
"You know what I mean. A redneck, racist, ignorant southerner! I'd never lower myself to those standards.
A Private on his left, Reginald, cleared his throat. Karofsky merely looked over at him and nodded, tapping his horse so that he could speed up to the front of the group. No matter how far away he got, though, he couldn't ignore the cry of pain and cruel laughter of the cocky Private.
Kurt stepped into the huge yet dimly lit tent. A small oil lamp sat near the entrance throwing shadows all around the room. His lip throbbed, still not yet healed from being hit by the butt of the Privates gun a few days ago. He winced at just the thought of it.
Every day since he'd gotten here the General had called for him to do some task, never of any importance. This time when he entered the tent the General was sitting at a small desk in the corner of the tent, rifling through some papers. He barely acknowledged Kurt was there.
"I need my boots polished." He said at last. "They're by the cot along with the polish and a rag."
"Yes… General." Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and practically stomped over to the boots, which were already shining like they'd been polished days before.
"Treat me like a slave…" Kurt said under his breath.
He started working the polish into the boot clumsily, never having polished a thing in his life. Normally his housemaid would have taken care of such things. He felt a slight pang of sadness, it was lonely without Miriam.
The tent was quiet for a long time, silent except for the rustling of papers. Finally the General spoke.
"You- you don't have to call me General. You can call me Karofsky… or even David if you want."
'So that's what his name is.' Kurt thought to himself. 'David.'
Kurt just made a low sound in his throat for recognition and the tent became awkwardly quiet again.
General Karofsky cleared his throat. "I'm not ignorant… or a racist. I'm not any of those things you called me, you know."
Kurt gave him a sarcastic laugh. "Sure you aren't. You're only a Confederate soldier, wherever would I get that idea?"
General Karofsky rose out of his chair and walked to Kurt's side, taking the boots and polish from him. He sat them aside and lowered himself down onto the cot, his eyes suddenly seeming far away.
"I was forced to join this war. I- I fell in love with one of the Negroes on my fathers plantation. When he found out he was furious. Especially when he found out it was a –" his voice faltered "-a man. My father hated him. He beat him to death because I was clumsy and got caught sneaking away to see him."
There was a pause and General Karofsky looked away from Kurt.
" Then my father sent we away to fight in the war, he thought it would fix me." It seemed to Kurt that his words became caught in his throat. "I loved Azimio and I miss him every day. I'm not a racist."
Kurt watched Karofsky, shocked, as he got up and paced to the other side of the room.
"You may go back to your quarters now."
Without question Kurt disappeared through the flaps of the tent, trying to digest every thing that had been said.