A/N: It has been a while since my last post. Life has been life. Thank you for your patience. Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer. Everything else is a product of my overactive imagination. No copyright infringement intended. Many thanks to my amazing betas who are both better than I deserve: Wuogkat & MaleficentKnits. Please recognize that some of the seemingly awkward phrases in the dialogue are intended to be period appropriate.

April 13, 1862

The sun was setting on the fourth day since Major Whitlock had left the Field's plantation. He was making good time on his journey and anticipated arriving in Robinsonville, Mississippi the following morning. Mrs. Fields had assured him that he would be able to get a free ride on a riverboat as a personal favor for her from the ship's captain.

That, however, would have to wait at least another day, while he slept one more night under the stars. Between growing up in Texas and his service in the Confederate army, Jasper was no stranger to the night sky. He was glad that he had already stopped to make camp for the night, as the sun was deep on the horizon painting a red light across the sky on the clouds.

"Looks like we're in for decent weather," Jasper said rhetorically to Tex as he fetched his canteen the saddle.

He was referencing an old mariner's tale that he had picked up from sailors in Galveston. Red at night, sailor's delight; red in the morning, a sailor's warning.

"I'll be back, ol' buddy," he told Tex as he set off to find some fresh water for the night. It shouldn't be too difficult since he had spent a good portion of the afternoon riding parallel to a stream on the north side of the road.


The Fields family had done more to help Jasper than he could have either imagined or asked for. Not only did he receive a good contact in Robinsonville, but he had clean clothes, his horse had been cared for, and even had his food restocked. He enjoyed the dried fruit and nuts that he had been given, but had finished the last of those provisions earlier in the day. Now a beef stew simmered using the last of the dried meat and rice Mrs. Fields had been so intent on giving him. Although his cooking was not as good as what had been available while serving under Beauregard, one smell let Jasper know that the ingredients were far superior to anything he had eaten while in the field.

"Bet you wish you weren't left with an oat bag don't ya?" Jasper called out to Tex.

Tex whinnied, seemingly in reply as though he knew what Jasper had just said.

"Huh…," Jasper grunted, "just let me know when you're hungry." With that, he tossed another stick on the fire before sitting back against the fallen tree he had been reclining against.

He closed his eyes, dropped his head back, and let his senses take over. He felt the temperature continue to drop as the now darkened sky got deeper into the night. He could smell the stew as it simmered on the fire only a few feet away. He heard the crickets chirp hither and yon and thought about how, in spite of the cool weather, they seemed to be out earlier than normal this time of year.

Sudenly he felt something that made him a little anxious. He felt as if he was being watched. He could sense a kind of excitement from another person who was unknown, but also very close. Tex whinnied, and Jasper knew he sensed it too. He didn't know what he could do, but Jasper knew he had to act.

"Well Tex," Jasper said loud enough for any unseen stranger to hear, "I think this grub's about ready. D'you still have my mess tin?"

As casually as he could, Jasper got up and walked over to Tex and approached his saddle. As he did, Jasper could sense that someone was indeed watching him, and the closer he moved toward Tex seemed to make this extra sensation increasingly nervous.

He moved to the saddlebags and when he turned to open one, Jasper heard a soft footstep a few feet away from him. He grabbed the hilt of his saber, swung his arm wide around as he spun on his heel, and placed the tip of his sword's blade on the neck of a dark haired man about his size standing right in front of him with a gun pointed straight at him.

The stranger stood there, upright and resolute. Just like him, he too had gone a few days without shaving, but more importantly he stood with the same cold resolve that Jasper felt in his defense. Not just resolve, though, Jasper saw confidence as he stared into the stranger's eyes. His face was so convincing that if Jasper could not sense the fear the man was suppressing, he might have actually had to think of a better way out of it.

"Well?" Jasper asked more than stated, as he drilled his eyes into the stoic man before him waiting for a response.

It was only after waiting a few awkward seconds before he realized that his back was to the fire. All of the superbly intimidating looks that Whitlock could have mustered at that moment were wasted as the stranger could not see his face in the first place.

"Clearly," Jasper drawled, "you could strike me as easily as I could end you."

He heard a soft (and perhaps relieved) breath from him.

"...so rather than exploring the infinite depths of stupidity before us, I would much prefer to enjoy a hot meal."

Jasper sheathed his sword as casually as though he were putting on his gloves or carrying on any other menial task, turned, and rummaged for a tin cup* from Tex's saddle bags. The newcomer was silent with shock at Jasper's reaction and failed to do anything more than stare, mouth agape, while Jasper returned to the fire for his food.

"I don't think you understand who I am," the man called out, still standing near Tex.

"You," Jasper said as he scooped stew into the tin, "are someone who is going to sleep hungry tonight... I didn't know to expect company," he added with a smile.

Returning to his senses, the stranger closed the twenty or so feet to the fire and aimed his pistol squarely on the major once again.

"I am Marion Hutchinson of the Mississippi Home Guard, and I am placing you under arrest for desertion," he said with all the confidence he could muster.

Jasper, having filled his tin, sat back against the log he had used for a seat ignoring his guest.

"Is this a joke to you, sir?"

"Not at all, Marion Hutchinson of the Mississippi Home Guard," he added hoping to get a reaction, "but if you are trying to impress me, you failed way back over yonder when you pulled a gun rather than introducing yourself politely."

He took a bite and looked up from his stew waiting for Marion's response.

They stared at each other across the fire in silence. As coolly as anyone could, Jasper simply took another bite of stew.

"I can not abide cowards and scuffs who shirk their responsibility," Marion barked, "and you sir are the worst of the lot. How can an officer abandon his responsibility?"

"That is a good question," Jasper began, "but a better question is, what is the 'Mississippi Home Guard,' and why does it seem to be manned with people too damn stupid or lazy to recognize the difference between a deserter and someone on dispatch?"

"Every deserter has an excuse!"

"Hmph..."

"And you are no different," he said with a smile.

"I have signed letter of marque and personal dispatch from General Pierre Gustav Toutant Beauregard that says otherwise."

In the silence Jasper continued with his dinner.

"What is your mission?" Marion demanded finally.

"None, other than to return to my service with the Texas 2nd," Jasper explained. "I was on temporary assignment to Beauregard as his adjutant, but have been released and am returning to General Hébert in Galveston."

This changed Hutchinson's entire demeanor. He lowered his pistol, and relaxed his stance.

"Were you at Shiloh?"

Jasper nodded.

Hutchinson holstered his gun and sat down opposite Jasper at the fireside. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"That depends on who you are and why you want to know."

"I already told you," he said somewhat distrustingly, "I am from the Mississippi..."

"… Home Guard," Jasper said in unison with him. "That's all fine and dandy, but I've already met one of your boys kicking the shit out a corporal and draggin' him behind a horse. If you want to know anything about me, you best be explaining what makes you think you can pull a gun on me without dyin'."

"I already did that now, didn't I?" he half-chuckled.

Then, without any warning, Jasper let go of his spoon, unholstered his gun, and sighted it on Hutchinson, all before the spoon hit the ground.

"Now, do we really need to go down this road again?" Japser asked in a very frustrated voice. "The only reason you are alive right now is because I allow it."

Staring down at the major's pistol, knowing that he had no alternative, the Mississippian gave in reluctantly. "What do you want to know?"

"My primary concern is over this Home Guard. I have never heard of such a thing, but both encounters have given me every reason to think that I should be fightin' you as much as I am Billy Yank."

From the look on his face it was doubtful that Jasper could have insulted Hutchinson in any greater fashion. Then, in a voice filled with clear hostility...

"The home guard is in place to protect the Great States of the Confederacy in the absence of her armies now off fightin' throughout the south."

"Then how is it any different than the armies of Mississippi?"

"Our authority comes from President Davis hisself, and we don't answer to anyone else," he said quickly before adding, "... especially not to no Confederate regulars."

"So what is it that you've been commissioned to do then?"

"We clean up your mess," he blurted.

"Our mess?" Jasper asked with genuine concern. "What exactly do you mean by that?" He wanted to use much stronger language, but there was no need to put the man back on the defensive. Instead, Jasper showed his authenticity by lowering his pistol and leaning forward like a child listening eagerly to a story.

"With all her soldiers gone, Mississippi is left to herself ain't she?"

"Theoretically," Jasper conceded but encouraged, "but we're doing all we can to protect Mississippi and the rest of the western theater. It's not all about Mississippi."

"Yeah, I knows that, but whose gonna take care us? We gotta take care of our self, but ever since Shiloh, it seems that we're pickin' up alotta you boys runnin' away from it... now you tell me how that's protectin' anyone."

"So you're like some kind glorified constabulary?"

"Ain't that simple now, is it?" Hutchinson leaned back and drew a deep breath as if searching for the right words. "It's like this... everyone expected a quick end to the war; a kind of single-battle-for-freedom and all would be over, and we'd be free of them damn Yankees. Hell, no one thought it'd take this long and b'for you knew it people started runnin' home. Some're scared, others just needin' to work on the farms, or whatever excuse they comed up with. Well someone's gotta keep 'em all honest to their contract..."

"... and that's where you come in?" Jasper asked.

"Perty much," he said with a nod. "See, they're startin' t'run and all that's gonna do is make us less safe."

"Well if you're so in favor protecting the home front, why aren't you fighting like the rest of us?"

"I was out there," he said quickly, almost defensively, "but I'm stuck here convalescing."

Then there was a long pause. Hutchinson simply hung his head for a moment as though he was ashamed.

"I ain't from Mississippi, see? Ima Virginian. I was up there last year with the Army of the Kanawha... it was a small regiment up in the mountains of the western part of the state. At a place called Cheat Mountain, I myself got caught up in an engagement that looked as organized as a bunch of goats given free range. Survived that blasted excuse for a battle... We lost five men for each o' theirs. To call that general incompetent would be too kind."

He paused again, obviously reliving the experience in his mind. His anger was clear even without Jasper's honed senses. Even he was surprised how enthralled he was to learn Hutchinson's story.

"Davis called the general to Richmond," he finally continued, "and the rest of us to Tennessee where we got licked at Ft. Donelson, back in February. That's where I got my own bit of hurt... a ball to the leg. Ain't as bad as expected, but I still needed to be treated. So followed them down this way with the medics. I been here since."

Jasper sat there in rapt silence, with a greater appreciation for the stranger. He was not some power-hungry man intent on abusing his authority. Marion Hutchinson was a man who was demoralized and defeated by his own injury, and Jasper's previous feelings of resentment were quickly replaced with pure empathy. Although he didn't realize it, his feelings were having a direct effect on Hutchinson as well.

"I heard about Donelson," Jasper spoke up. "Grant was the Yankee general there."

"Yup. That's U.S. Grant... the bastard. You know they say his initials stand for 'Unconditional Surrender'."

"That was the Army of Kentucky, wasn't it?"

"Well, Army of Central Kentucky at least. I aint heard nothin' 'bout them in a while. Any idea where they're at now?" he asked.

"Believe it or not, I do." Jasper explained. "After Donelson they disbanded and joined the Army of Mississippi under Beauregard. I fought with them at Shiloh... an sure nuff we saw your boy, 'Unconditional Surrender' there."

Hutchinson hung his head at the mention of that battle.

"You were there," he said to the major. "What happened?"

"The quick answer is we got beaten like a painted lady."** Now it was Jasper's turn to feel a little of his own shame and embarrassment. "Y'see, we shoulda whipped them on the first night, but it was a viscous battle and daylight waned fast."

Jasper was choosing his words carefully. It would have been easy to blame the general for poor decision making, but Jasper still had enough respect for Beauregard that he did not want to sully the general's name or his legacy.

"Then we got our hands on some bad recon... telegram said their reinforcements weren't coming. Mix that with thinking our position was better than it actually was, and you got a recipe for what happened. Multiple brigades showed up and we were out numbered and unprepared. By the time I showed up on the field, I was jus' tryin' to hold the line. In no time flat, we was licked and pushed south."

The spring night air was getting noticeably cooler as they sat there in silence, until Hutchinson finally spoke up.

"Sounds about like Cheat Mountain. At least Beauregard knew what he was doing... there's a big difference between losing when you outnumbered and losin' cuz your general's incompetent."

Jasper never would have called Beauregard incompetent, but he sure as hell would not have said that it was lost due to numbers alone. Beauregard had made some foolhardy mistakes, but mistakes are not synonymous with incompetence. However, rather than attempting to go down that road, Jasper changed the topic in his mind and in the conversation.

"Who was your leader up in Virginia?" Jasper asked.

"Some idiot name Lee." There was clear pain and even a little hatred in his voice just mentioning that name. "General Robert Lee he was. They said that he's a hero from the Mexican War, but I didn't see nothing special 'bout him. All he seemed to do was let us git killed."

"Lee... the name rings a bell, but I don't really know anything about him***."

"So how do you do it?" Hutchinson asked.

"Forgive my ignorance... how do we do what?"

"You officers lead men and boys into battle, stand in back and watch us dyin' or gettin' shot up, and you don't ever seem to care. You just sit back in safety, and worry about how the battle will 'fect your 'honor'."

Jasper had not thought about this kind of question since the night he went down to the battlefield. Truly this was concern of the front line soldier. To so many of the poor farmers who were fighting for whatever reasons they had, none of them were fighting for their honor or a commission.

"That's a tough question," Jasper responded with a level of confidence that calmed his guest. "You seem to think that we sit back and watch with little interest. Let me be honest, when the battle is raging... we don't think about men. We don't think about families. All we think about is logistics and strategy. We look at maps, and dispatches from officers, and how many men we have to move."

Marion dropped his head. It was as though all of his ideas were confirmed. "I shoulda known," he breathed.

"You only asked about the fight," Jasper retaliated, "there's a big difference for us between the thick of battle and any other time."

"How so? Ain't never seen any officer care about us."

"Just cuz you don't see it doesn't mean it ain't there," Jasper explained. "I've worked with two armies; one in Texas and one in Tennessee. In both places I have gotten letters from wives and sisters and mothers and other lady folk all asking for the same thing: they ask us to make certain that their men return home safely. Some pray to God, beggin' for safety in the field, and askin' for His help in gittin' them back after combat.

"But we don't have time to answer all those letters, and we certainly don't have the time to call in each soldier whose 'Betty' wrote us.

"Worst of all, none of you know the one thing that remains true for damn near every officer I ever seen; every night, before we go down, we are on our knees askin' God for the exact same thing they are. Only we are also begging Him for more than those moms and wives. We're asking guidance and inspiration as we read those maps, as we move those troops, and every single night we are hoping to God that all that training we've put you through has sunk in so that you will, in fact, go home."

With that, there was nothing more to say. Marion Hutchinson felt ashamed for thinking such things about the officers. It was as though his father or an uncle had just reprimanded him, and never had he imagined that the officers were concerned about anything other than how a victory or a loss would effect their social standing.

They sat there in silence except for the incidental sounds of night: a crackling fire, crickets, and an occasional noise from Tex to remind them that he was there. Jasper, after debating silently with himself, opened up about his first encounter with the Home Guard. He recounted the story of Corporal Lost having been beaten and stuffed in a bag.

"I've only been in the Guard a short time, and I've heard of a few bounties for catching deserters," Marion said, "but I have never heard of anything like that."

"A bounty is actually offered for Confederate deserters?" Jasper asked incredulously.

"Yup. Officers are worth more of course." He chuckled as he added, "that's why I was so excited to try and catch you."

Jasper let out a slight laugh as well, but did not really have more desire to talk. With little more than incidental exchanges, the two men prepared to bed down for the evening. Jasper finished his stew and both he and Marion laid out their bedrolls. Jasper didn't realize that Marion had dropped his rucksack in the woods just before confronting him.

As he lay there, gazing aimlessly at the stars peeking through the trees above, the major pondered the role of the Home Guard and how it fit with the war effort. As a concept, everything made sense to him, but still it didn't seem right that those who fled the war could be hunted down like a runaway slave. He To make matters worse, he couldn't get a certain image out of his head. Could it be that the various armies of the Confederacy were going to fight the Union on one side and potentially the Guard on the other. The strategy-minded major could not help but wonder if the Confederate States had just declared war on itself.


*A simple tin cup served many purposes from morning coffee (if available) to a makeshift bowl for whatever food was served.

**Painted lady – Slang term once used to describe a prostitute, as they were the only class of females that would wear make up.

*** In April of 1862, Lee was not yet Commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, where he made a name for himself as one of the greatest generals in American history. He was serving in Eastern Virginia about to make himself known in the Peninsula Campaign.