He had just received his latest letter from Mary, who was growing more impatient by the day. When will you be home, Robbie? The children miss you so much. Come home, Robbie. It's so frightfully boring being stuck here with Mama and Daddy. I miss you Robbie. He ran his fingers through his black hair, ready to pull it out from the roots. If only he could just leave everything behind, just ride until everything was behind. Leave this wretched outpost on the fringes of civilisation, leave his family, his duties... Even as he thought it, he reprimanded himself. His mother's voice floated through his mind. You'll be no better than your father, running off and never coming back someday. He had a loving family and a country to fight for. What more could a man reasonably want?
Lee heard a soft knock of his cabin door. "Come in" he murmured wearily. The door opened cautiously and Sergeant Grant stepped inside. The demons in Lee's skull cackled and renewed their fierce attack. Grant had to be the sloppiest, drunkest, and most reckless officer in Mexico. He had gained fame among his men by riding a horse sidesaddle through thick enemy fire to deliver ammunition while completely drunk. Normally, Grant was the sort of man that Lee would expect to buckle when the delusions of fame and glory were replaced by the rain of bullets and wails of dying men, but Grant, like a nut, refused to crack.
"What do you want?" Lee asked curtly. He was far too tired for pleasantries.
Grant responded in kind. "More money. Nearly 30 men in my unit are wounded, and they need new bandages. We're almost out of mules, and the locals are asking outrageous prices-"
"How do I know that you won't spend it all on booze?" Lee raised his gaze to Grant's and stared at him. Most people flinched away after only a few seconds of his sphinxlike gaze, but Grant's hazel eyes met his dark brown ones steadily. There were tiny gold flecks near the iris, he noticed. Finally, after several uncomfortable moments, Lee had to look away. He thought something like triumph flashed over Grant's face, but it was hidden well.
"I won't, sir." said Grant evenly. And for whatever reason, Lee had to believe him.
Pulling a few notes out of his desk drawer, Lee handed them to Grant. "Use them well, sergeant."
"Yes, sir." Grant was almost out the door when he turned to Lee. "And, sir?"
"Yes, sergeant?"
"Grant's fine. Or Ulysses. Whichever you prefer." He was out the door before Lee could reply. The impudence of this man was simply astounding, but he couldn't bring himself to be furious with Sar- Grant.
His dreams that night were flecked with gold.
