Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the uber long wait, I have no excuse to offer you, other than the usual: homework, writers block, and…well…homework. Thank goodness for spring break, up at Santa Cruz, California. My brother is teaching me how to surf. Soul Surfer, ha! It's not as easy as it looks. :(

HeartlessVampireGirl: Lol I know right, talk about 'awkward' on a whole different level.

IceDragonHikari: Lol, thank you! Don't mention it, if you ever want another one drop me a line!

dress4m: Thank you so much! :D

Beagle Bug: Thank you, but she actually DOES exist and we might run into Annie in the future...er...or the past. :D

YaRisVamp: Most definitely the wrong time lol. Actually, Victoria is a beautiful name, as a kid I was jealous because it means victory. Mine has several meanings, one is reflection of the sun, another is light, and yet another is sound of rain or something like that. Sadly, nothing brilliant or heroic. Oh, what's in a name? Lol

CarminaxBuranax: Thank you so much. I hope you break a leg in drama club. (Though please, my friend, not literally, it is not fun, a big hospital bill, and an even bigger owie.) By the way thanks for the review reply thing, PMs and reviews are my crack. Lol about the youtube thing.

BK Love-ah: Haha, thanks, I don't know myself, it might be, Roberts a pretty difficult person to put through words, such a complicated guy. :)

Samantha Story: I am dieing to get to the war part, it's going to be so fun to write. Lol I am reallu excited, but if Alex doesn't get to fight, that's an advantage, it means she gets to live. :)

otose: Arrgh, I hate it when I gey PMS, I become such a man-hater, lol, the war has got nothin' on me. ;D lol

The Silverhand Alcheimist: Lol, thank you! Don't worry, my fellow MJ fan, I'll squeeze him in there for you. :) I'm in the process of making a youtube video for Glory using the song: They don't care about us. Maybe you'd like to see it when I'm done.

smartyjonescrzy: Speaking of your week-long horeshows, I got to go horesback riding on Tuesday on a Santa Cruz beach where my family is currently on spring break. The guy said that I did a pretty impressive job for an amatuer, and was even more impressed when I could tell them where the pommel was (thanks to your horse expertise) Smarty, you'd be so proud of me ;) Btw, I can't believe I forgot to put in iBuprofen, which is like every girl's best friend once a month. (Sighs dramatically) ugh. Oh yes, I made Alex a little slow for the Rio uptake so that audiences who somewhat resemble her mind could understand that I was talking about the wonderful city of Rio de Janeiro. :D

moony1981: Thank you! lol, Rhett Butler forever!

Kendricks adjusted his round, gold reading spectacles...which he hated, and squinted at a sheet of yellowed parchment paper that he had received several days ago from the seventh Massachusetts infantry, sent by their captain-surgeon asking for new medical supplies. Kendricks dropped the slip of paper and removed his small glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, squinting again. It has been a long rainy day, twilight was settling over the land, and he was still here.

Though he was calm, the large quartermaster was still a bit weary from the sudden 'attack' of last week by that blasted colonel. His shelves were still lying in pieces on the floor. Blast it all! Kendricks folded the lackluster dispatch and dropped his quill plume back into the ink well. It landed in the stringy black dew with loud plop! that echoed throughout the empty storehouse. The rain continued to drum rhythmatically against the tin roof, and all seemed calm and serene.

Only it wasn't.

There was a loud knock on the door, and much to Kendricks' boundless irritation, the door was pushed open without him calling out a welcome. A tall form stood silhouetted in the doorway, his face hidden in shadow. Kendricks stiffened, his hand snaking underneath his desk, searching for his revolver. The war left many penniless deserters, and he had heard of scavenger raids all across the state.

He did not want to fall victim.

The mysterious man in the doorway noticed his trigger-happy uneasiness, and his posture was immediately alert. The artfully built, broad-shouldered, slim-wasted man took one long, graceful stride into the center of the room, allowing the fire glow to bathe his face in yellow light. Serious brown eyes narrowed beneath the black visor of his navy Union kepi, and the quartermaster inhaled sharply.

Recognition flooded into his mind at a galloping speed, slamming hardly into the front skull wall of his forehead. He pulled on his collar-it suddenly seemed too tight-and fidgeted in his seat like a dunced school boy. Reluctantly, he released the handle of the revolver. "Colonel, what can I do for you?"

A dark, quiver of Shaw's lips lead to something resembling a smirk blended with a sneer; but with the swift passing of a short moment, it was expertly erased and substituted with a nonchalant, professional, stare. "We need uniforms, Kendricks." The young man looked almost amused as he said this. "I'm sure you won't object."

"Forbes! Forbes."

Forbes raised a slow, leisurely eyebrow at his frantic friend, lowering his coffee cup and gazing calmly at Charlie's stupefied expression. "What is it now?" He asked, not in annoyance.

Charlie seemed to fidget a little. "Well, Sir, Alex…" Ah yes, Alex, why bother asking? The very name was a woeful curse. "Well, she's…she's…" Charlie was uncomfortable as he struggled for words. "She's acting…er…crazy…sir." He spoke the word as if it was vile and tasted bitter in his mouth.

Forbes was unmoved, nothing out of the ordinary. "Crazy like Alex or crazy like a normal human being?"

Charlie's expression drooped as he tried to pretend that wasn't amusing. "Crazy like a normal one, Sir." He replied flatly

Stop calling me 'Sir', dammit. "What the devil did she do now?"

"We're not quite sure, Forbes, she was assisting Lieutenant Andrews and in the next moment was hollering and screaming bloody murder." Charlie looked panicked, again. "I'm not proud to admit this, but I'd rather not cross paths with her."

Forbes's sudden laugh-snort was so sharp it stung his nose. "Fine, Captain. Be a man, Char, let's go see."

"It's right there!"

I pointed to it, widening my eyes. "Andrews, do you not get me? It's right there!"

The guy had to be blind. How could he not see that? It was two feet in front of him and as big as my face. He was getting seriously irate, I could tell. "I'm sorry, Miss Janeiro." He didn't sound sorry, he sounded pissed. "I really don't comprehend!"

Drop the big words buddy, this is a matter of life and death, not Language Arts. "Really, it's right there!" You can't miss it, it looks like Godzilla.

"Where the devil is that Alex?"

Forbes came charging in, his eyes leveled into 'ready-to-fight-Superman' mode. My hero. I froze in my odd position that I'll tell you about in just a sec, as he entered the clinic room. He stopped short when he saw me, his eyes widening along with mine as they took in the length of me, frowning and widening repeatedly as they checked me and my situation out. I bit my bottom lip super hard.

Now I realize how utterly queer I looked.

Sadly, it was all because of a damned cricket. I am terrified of crickets. I would so go for Antietam rather than pick up and hold a stupid cricket any day. I wasn't even bothering anybody this time, promise. I was just minding my own business, until all of a sudden I see something huge and black hop around the room. I begin to panic, and I scream like a banshee when the thing bounces closer and lands right on the rubber toe of my un-civil-war-ish Converse.

I kicked and scrambled past Andrews, knocking him down in my search for refuge. Quickly, quickly, it's coming to get me! Faster, you stupid little girl, faster! My fear yelled at me and my head spun as I searched around the room for something high off the ground. I found it. There were wooden crates stacked up about six feet off the ground, one on top of the other, sticking out in odd angles and directions. I have no idea how I reached the top.

Been here ever since.

I sniffed indignantly, and pointed at a large black spot by Forbes's shoe. "Cricket."

Forbes looked down. Then, slowly, he raised his face back to look up at me. He stared at me before speaking for a long, long, long…long…long...long, long-long time. Then he opened his mouth, and laughter piled out. He laughed so hard that he had to sit down. Big laugher, aren't you Forbes? It annoyed me. I was on the last day of my voyage aboard the PMS Mother Nature, and I still had the feminism left in me.

"Stop laughing! Shut up! It's not funny! Kill it!" I screeched, leaning dangerously close to the edge of falling off of the boxes. Forbes looked at me and laughed some more. Charlie, however, stepped in on my behalf. With the use of his gloved hands, he picked the cricket up-that is so disgusting-and disappeared out the door way. After a few short moments, he was back, empty handed. Thank you, dear knight.

I guess it was safe to come down now.

One minor problem. I peered over the edge. "Err…guys? How do I get down?" It was easier to get up than down, I was almost eight feet off of the ground, and I had no leverage to support my descend.

Forbes sobered, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips and peering at me through them. "How did you get up?" He retorted.

I bit my lip, reddening slightly. "The cricket was roaring!" I exclaimed. "It was practically drooling at me. Charlie, did you see its fangs?"

Charlie's smile reflected my own. Forbes however, continued to stare at me, leaning against a wall and scrutinizing my every moment, like he was trying to be Sherlock Holmes or whatever. Suddenly, he pushed off the wall and staggered towards me. He spread out his arms. "Jump." He ordered.

"You're kidding? Right?" I hoped. His proposition was easier said than done.

"Do it." He ordered, flatly.

"No."

He sighed loudly, dropping his arms. "Come on, I'm rescuing you, I'm not proposing marriage!"

"Dream on, Forbes, you can't make me jump." I vowed.

Forbes turned away. "Fine. I hope you like the view from up there, Alex."

That was it. That really made me mad for some reason. "You are a jerk, Forbes! You're lucky I can't reach you otherwise I'd be on you like a cheap suit!" I love Danny DeVitto.

Forbes grinned. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

I reached up to my head and threw my cap at him. It hit him in the eye. He laughed again. "Then be a big girl; climb down."

I can't. I'm scared. I narrowed my eyes. "You want me to do the impossible, and you want me to do it alone?"

Forbes turned to Charlie. "Regardez, mainenant que j'ai fait folle." The big bully started speaking French, and instead of being utterly clueless like me, Charlie was comprende-ing. (A/N It means: Look, now I pissed her off.)

Charlie arched an eyebrow, and then smiled. "Avez-vous une idée de comment nous devons la chercher vers le bas?" (A/N Do you have any idea how to get her down?)

Listen, fellas. I only speak two languages. English and bad English.

Why the French connection were they doing this to me? Were they trying to piss me off?

Guaranteed.

Forbes, maybe. But Charlie?

Suddenly, the crates began to wobble; I was subconsciously pushing at the wall in anger.

Oh hell no.

Oh yes. I screamed as one by one, the crates came toppling down to the ground. I closed my eyes securely, gripping the crate that I was sitting on tightly until my fingers hurt, bracing myself for the hard ground. The two seconds of free fall were terrifying. I could not breathe. I stopped screaming, for that was too hard to do. Then, bam! Face, meet smelly, blood-stained floor.

The first few seconds were horribly, terrifyingly, sickening. It was the worst feeling in the world, having the wind knocked out of you. The terrible seconds passed and I felt the oxygen return to my lungs. I breathed deeply, restored. I kept my eyes closed, simply thrilled to still be alive. See, the cricket did try to kill me. Now Forbes, somehow, I told you so, just didn't quiet say it.

"Miss Janeiro, are you all right?"

There is no way my luck is that bad.

I could recognize that gently-frantic voice anywhere.

Very superstitious…writing on the walls…seven years of bad luck…bull droppings. I have enough bad luck for two centuries.

I forced myself to open my eyes, coming to level with a pair of muddy, scruffy black leather boots. One boot tapped the floor, slowly up and down; didn't take a genius to figure out that they were just a tad bit impatient. I looked up slowly. Of course it was Robert. Who else would it be, eh Alex? And of course he would be impatient, you know Robert…places to go…things to do…people to harass…we know the ritual, your royal hotness.

To my surprise, his face was positively calm, not at all angry, as I thought it would be. It was smooth, the usual in-chargeness, and to my utter FML, not at all surprised with my latest episode. I grinned at him…why? Ladies and gentlemen, we've long ago established the unshakeable fact that I. Am. An. Idiot. When I die (by the rate things are going that might be next month) they'll have that line engraved on my tombstone, along with: Here lies Rio, she acquired a personality, and it killed her.

My Cheshire Cat grin loosened up a few notches, and it remained the polite, I-have-no-idea-what-you-want-so-just-please-go-away smile that non-English speaking natives wore when you, the Yankee gringo, vacationed in their country and asked them where the subway was. Robert vaulted an attractive brown eyebrow in a way that made him look a little se… yes, I am also a pervert.

He bent his slim-waisted body and extended an open hand to me. I continued to demonstrate my abnormal surplus of brilliance by going: "Ugg."

He was gentleman enough to ignore it. He reached for my hand on his own and pulled me up sharply, that I had to cling to him for a moment like an ill-minded harpy until I could find my footing. He led me to the medical bunk bed and I was still clinging to him when I realized that Forbes was laughing at me. Like, really hard. Why is it that I am his main source of entertainment? I bet David Letterman did not make people laugh in a whole night as I did in ten minutes.

"Alex." He murmured, wiping imaginary tears away from his eyes. "You are living proof that it is better to be lucky than smart." He grinned. "I can't believe you did not break any bones."

My middle finger is having a rather nasty itch coming on.

Robert watched him, unamused, and following his example I literally wiped off my smile with my sleeve and scowled at him. "Captain, Major, I'll speak with you both outside."

Oh, I see how it is…

The three men stepped outside for a few minutes, and I was trying to eavesdrop but couldn't hear a thing, so I gave up and waited for the guys to come back. Robert did not, but Forbes and Charlie stepped back in. I pounced. "Wazzup?"

Forbes turned abruptly to Charlie. "Was that English?" His face crossed in a frown and a smirk.

Bad English, honey.

I rolled my eyes and sighed good-naturedly. "What did he say?"

Charlie replied first. "He wanted to know how you ended up being sprawled on the floor." Really, Robert only shows up at my darkest moments.

I was instantly alert. "What did you tell him?" Judging by Forbes's smirk, nothing flattering.

"The truth." Says he. "That you saw a cricket and…"

"Nooooo…" I moaned.

Forbes stopped midsentence. "What's wrong with her?"

"Forbes!" I complained dramatically. "All you had to do was look him in the eye and lie!"

That smirk again.

Honestly, all this drama over a damned cricket…

Forbes pulled out his pocket watch, suddenly forgetting about me. He frowned. "As much as I hate to go, I must. I have to organize the distribution of pay rolls to the camp." He looked up and guess what? He smirked again. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

"Adios."

"Shoulder arms!"

Even though Robert stood beside the sinister Sergeant Mulcahy, the situation would have been no more different if he stood alone. The man was not much for conversation, which was no surprise, but he was so unusually silent that Robert started to wonder if he was in health, judging by the normal volumes of the drill sergeant, especially during marches.

Robert felt slightly uneasy today, again, no surprise; but to him it seemed as if the entire world was on edge, waiting in barely-mustered silence, ready to crumble and tumble right on top of him, burying him with its worldly hardships. But truth be told, Robert was expecting it; he had too much good luck lately, anyway. It was like the universal dam that was holding back his victories was broken down and triumph rushed through its gates.

Robert smiled softly to himself, casting meaningful stare down at the well-tailored indigo dress pants of his navy suit. Ah, the uniforms, he could cackle with glee like a small child over a shiny new toy. Attaining the uniforms was his latest victory, and a surprisingly easy one. He and the quartermaster were becoming good friends, Robert though with an amused smirk, thanks to how often he...er...visited the poor man.

Robert's thoughts were stolen by the intruder of sound, who diverted Robert's attention to his right, where the heavy crunch of boot-steps on gravel demanded his solace. He was surprised that he had heard such a symphonic detail, given the fact that the shouting officers and chattering privates were causing so much noise in trying to arrange each other in an orderly fashion.

Forbes was approaching him with confidence, but his face was twisted with an expression of hesitation. Robert stiffened immediately, his posture erect and his jaw set in preparation for another inevitable battle. His usually expressive eyes were void of emotion. The major paused a yard away from him, saluting distractedly. He stretched out a hand that was clutching a yellowed envelope fashioned out of parchment paper.

"From the War Department." He spoke shortly, damning the pleasantries.

Robert accepted it with silence, frowning out his disapproval towards it. Gracefully pulling the envelope open, he reaches in and after producing the folded sheet, scans it quietly. He can feel both Forbes's patient stare and Mulcahy's scrutinizing gaze. Just what he predicted would happen; Robert was already suffocating.

Forbes looks to him in naive hope, perfectly aware that the answer is no. "Can anything be done?"

Robert's eyes sweep over his frazzled group of soldiers. "They've got families."

Forbes sighs, accepting the 'round robin' back in to his own hands. "I know."

Robert knows as well. "We'll protest this through channels...later on." He assured his friend, turning away to examine the crowd once more.

On his way to the stairs of the wooden podium behind him, he nods towards Mulcahy. "Attention, battalion."

The Irishman becomes alive again. "Yes, sir." He barks at the crowd as Robert vaults up the short set of stairs. "ATTENTION BATTALLION!" They are silenced in a matter of obedient seconds.

Robert pauses as he opened his mouth.

Public speaking was becoming a much more agreeable task for him.

Rawlins stood calmly to the right end of the roll call rows. Each man held his own shiny new musket, clutching them tightly to their chests as if fearing someone might take them away. All were chattering loudly, shouting over each other, each man wanting to inject his two cents into the conversation. Rawlins stayed out of it, obviously old enough not to meddle in the childish affairs of grown men.

Instead, he observed the podium straight ahead, and beneath it where a group of Union-clad officers stood. His attention was mostly captured by the young colonel, frowning over a piece of paper. Beside him stood the blonde major, appearing none too overjoyed as well. Rawlins was no fool, and it did not take a Great Thinker to realize that the officers were distraught over evil tidings.

The colonel lifted his head, handing the major the degrading slip of paper and scanning the crowd. He turned back sharply and said something his blonde comrade. With a turn of his body, he issued a command towards that Irishman gliding past him and bounding up the stairs of the podium. Mulcahy, however, shouted out an attention to the men, and like magic, their quarrels were silenced. The colonel waited patiently until he was sure that he held their maximum attention, then he began to speak.

"You men enlisted in this regiment..." He licked his lips and paused, "...on the understanding..." He paused yet again, as if ashamed of what he was forced to say. "That you would be paid the regular army wage of thirteen dollars a month."

The boy seemed to look each and every one of them square in the eye. The soldiers grinned up at his solemn expression, but Rawlins was not as naive, he could feel where this was going. The young man continued. "This morning I have been notified that because you are a colored regiment, you will be paid ten dollars a month." He looked helpless, as if he was sorry but there was nothing he could do about it.

Slowly, it had begun to sink in. "That ain't fair." Rawlins murmured quietly.

Jupiter, beside him, rounded his eyes in disbelief, appearing like someone had slammed him across the cheek. "They said-"

"Regiment!" Shaw shouted, regaining their attention. "Fall out by company to receive pay."

Jupiter obediently stepped forward towards the table, as well as a load of other men. Rawlins followed them with a wounded pride, knowing that they did not like it anymore than he did, but had families to feed. He approached the table in silence, drawing out his neatly folded pay check. He waited patiently until he had reached his turn, set the slip of paper on the table, and leaned forward.

"Hey! Come on, now! W-where's your pride?" He heard Trip call out to him. Rawlins ignored him, the boy was always starting problems.

The man, not an officer of the regiment, spoke in boredom through his teeth. "Make your mark right here."

"I can write my name." He told one of the quartermaster's agents.

The man looked up at him, annoyed, not wanting a play-by-play, the black feather of his hat flying into his pasty face. "Then do it." He snapped.

Rawlins woke up at that moment, and with a sudden burst of pride he dropped the quill pen back on the man's desk. Rawlins stared him down, but the man was apparently much too disinterested to give him a double-take. Rawlins turned away, fuming silently and utterly insulted. They can keep their ten dollars, he would make do without them, besides, his pride would not allow him to accept it anyway.

Trip was a slave to his pride, and he did not like this one bit. He glared up at the colonel, though he knew it was not his fault, he still wanted to blame him. Anger fusing with adrenaline pulsed through every vein underneath his hard, flexing muscles. He clenched his teeth and his eyes flashed with the pounding of his heart as he caught sight of the field hand. Trip was on his case like a duck on a junebug.

"Where you going, boy?" He demanded, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

Jupiter shrugged him off. "To g-get p-paid." There was a stutter, but there was also confidence in his tone. 'Ten dollar a lot of money."

Trip licked his lips and tried to stare him down, but it was useless, the boy's mind was made up. He scanned the crowd for some other supporter. Instead, they were disappointed to land on the old man, who was also heading in line. Trip blinked, feeling like he was just punched in the gut. "Hey, pop, you fitting to lay down for this too?" He cried in disbelief when he sprinted towards him. The old man ignored him.

No. No. No.

"Fall in!"

Trip felt like he had to do something, and do it fast. They were all hypnotized by it, and he wanted to pull them out. Couldn't they see what they were doing? Uncle Sam was pissing on them without even the courtesy of calling it rain. Colored regiment, ha! They could fight as well as a white soldier, if not better, and they were too stubborn to see that. What made whites so God damn better?

Some people were starting to listen. "They gonna give us but ten?" One man roared and Trip almost grinned. He worked harder for more people to 'see the light.'

"You gonna go for that!" He shouted into the air, letting it settle into the ears of his comrades. "A colored soldier can stop a bullet just as good as a white one!" He bellowed. "And for less money too!"

Men were nodding heads in agreement, thinking twice as they stared at their paychecks. Trip waved his in the air like a flag. "Yeah! Uncle Abe got hisself a real bargain hyah!"

He turned to one of his comrades, Jones, a man who always agreed with everything he said. "What you say, boy?"

"That's right, slaves!" Jones bellowed, crumpling up the small paper in his meaty brown fist. "Make your mark, get your slave wages!"

Trip's face flushed in excitement. He was getting through to them. "All you good colored boys sign up!"

He felt better when he saw the field hand frown down at his pay check. Jupiter clutched it with both hands, looking like he had a civil war raging on inside him as well. With a sigh, he did something Trip would have never expected from him, and it earned the boy Trip's extremely-hard-to-get-respect. He clutched both ends of the paper, and with a liquid movement, tore it in half.

Trip grinned. "That's right! Tear it up!"

"TEAR IT UP!"

I watched Trip in an open-mouthed, awed silence. I began to respect and admire him more now than ever before. Ladies and gentlemen, that's leadership.

Robert stared at the crowd in silence, squinting at the brown, irate faces through the blinding sunlight that shone into his face. His hands were clasped behind his back, his feet planted shoulder-width apart. Restlessly, his eyes jumped from the rest of the crowd to the one rogue private, recognizing him as the one he had whipped. The colonel admired his leadership and courage.

But the crowd was getting out of hand. He needed to stop it from becoming a riot; it had already slipped from its orderly militia rows into an angry mob pit. The blue-clad officers stood off to the side, open-mouthed and at a loss of what to do. Their shiny brass buttons reflected the sunlight and also blinded Robert's vision, another problem. Attention, men, attention!

He was left with no choice. Pulling out his powerful Colt Revolver out of its holster that was stationed at his hip, Robert paused to admire the sun glint off of the intricately carved handle. It was a beautiful weapon, but once one thought of what it was meant for, the gun loses its beauty and becomes something utterly macabre. He raised it into the air…

….and fired.

Silence so issued, one that was so eerie, Robert was immobilized for a moment. The weapon's horrendously loud bang had filled his ears and jumped off of his eardrums, ringing and ringing and ringing. Was it possible for silence to be so obnoxiously loud? The troops stared at him, open mouthed, no one was breathing, everyone was waiting for his word.

Robert twirled the gun on his finger, and gracefully landed it back in its holster.

I hate to bring my feminine, young adult hormones here, but as I watched Robert do that-Clint-Eastwood-cowboy-outside-of-a-saloon-gun-flip-oh-I-can-beat-you-at-a-duel-any-day-pistols-at-dawn thing….well….he looked HOT.

Now Robert felt just a tad bit nervous. For a few seconds, he was a boy again, fearful of the world and hardly away from clinging to his mother's skirts, but as those few seconds past, he was a brave young man again, with shoulders that were strong enough to support the weight of the world, a mind calculating and alert, and a heart that was deep and sincere. He looked his men square in the eye, and hoped that what he was about to do would show them that he truly cared.

"If you men will take no pay…" He started off gravely, raising his own, handsome, paycheck into the air. "Then none of us will!" Simultaneously, he ripped his own in half, tearing it apart like the North and South. A satisfying ripping noise echoed in the air.

It paled in comparison, however, to the loud, victorious cheer that Robert received from the Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts.

It was a great honor.

It's me again, I screamed and cheered for him as well, he was being treated like a rock star before screaming fans. I was really proud of Rob, somehow I know that that takes guts, but it was a noble thing to do. I grinned up at him, and even though he could not see me, I blew him a huge kiss from the heart using both of my hands. You know this colonel thing is hard, you can't just say 'Go Go Gadget' and be done with it.

Jupiter stared up at the man in awe, before exploding into a cheer as well. Muskets and hats were raised in honor of the greatest white man who ever lived, and Jupiter could feel that there was a sort of bond, a connection, a pact made between him and the entire regiment, and the men were swept with a force of camaraderie that Jupiter had never seen before. He raised his own musket to the colonel's honor.

"Let's hear it for the colonel!" Jupiter heard Rawlins shout, along with repeated 'hoorays' from the rest of the men. Rio shouted as well, and Jupiter was sure that only he saw the kiss that she blew to the colonel. In truth, he was mighty disappointed that the grinning colonel who was squinting from the glare of the noon sun, did not see it.

He shouted along with Trip, who stood beside him, victorious and grinning.

Comrades.

All done! Review please while I go to bed. All day in the sun really does fry your brain cells. ;p