With a roar of their own, the Twentieth Maine and all the rest of the soldiers charged down the hill. Margaret was just a little bit ahead of the group, slicing the first Confederate soldier that she came across.
Her Hidden Blade found its mark in the neck of the soldier, the metal tasting blood for the first time in about three years. There was more chaos around her than she experienced in all her years in the Assassins. Smoke filled and choked the air, leaving her feeling a bit disoriented as she attempted to discern who was friend and who was not.
A young man in a tattered grey uniform came running at her, his expression more fearful than anything. Margaret took pity on the young solider, only grabbing the collar of his uniform and slamming him down into the ground hard, knocking him out. She glanced down, her gaze lingering on the young boy for a moment before returning to battle. Margaret flew down the hill, nothing more than a blur of blue and silver, darting through the smoke like a wraith.
Those that fell beneath her blade never knew what hit them.
Margaret found herself in the throes of hand-to-hand fighting when a shiver of cold slid down her spine. She slammed her knee into one of her opponents, no doubt breaking a rib or two in the process, allowing him to drop to the ground before glancing around anxiously. She barely saw anything through the cloud of smoke, or hear anything over the sharp pop of gunshot…..that is until she heard Colonel Chamberlain.
It was a yell, desperate and pleading. She glanced around, searching until her eyes landed on the Colonel Chamberlain's brother, Tom. He had found himself in the line of fire of a Confederate, and was unable to reload his weapon fast enough. Without thinking, Margaret took out one of her knives, and tossed with deadly accuracy. It hit the Confederate in the leg at the same time a bullet fired from behind Lieutenant Chamberlain hit the man square in the chest.
The man fell, dead.
She made eye contact with the Colonel, who nodded a silent thanks before continuing to fire. She nodded back before throwing herself back into the fray.
The battle didn't last much longer after that. Many of the rebel soldiers were fleeing, and those who were stumbling were caught by the Union troops. Margaret leaned against a tree, watching as she tried to regain her breath as she witnessed an old officer, with Colonel Chamberlain's blade at his throat, hand over his pistol and saber. He muttered something but the last remaining shots drowned out all words.
Margaret glanced around her, watching the last of the soldiers running. Her legs seemed to give out at that moment, her entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear. She heard victory shouts behind her, including many exclamations to Colonel Chamberlain, probably those underneath him in command. But she let the end of the battle wash over her, feeling completely at peace with herself. Margaret shut her eyes, leaning her head up against the tree and taking several deep breaths. Something didn't sit right with her….
Something didn't feel right.
"Mrs. Lelan!"
Her eyes shot open at the worried shout. Lieutenant Chamberlain was looming over her, his face smeared with soot and gunpowder and was /frighteningly pale.
"Mrs. Lelan?! Are you hurt, ma'am?"
"No, I'm fine, Lieutenant." She waved off his worried expression with a gentle tone, taking his hand as he helped her to her feet. She groaned, feeling every bone and muscle in her body.
I'm getting too old.
"What's happened, Lieutenant?"
"It's Buster. He's hurt."
Margaret felt a cold weight sink into her stomach. She followed the young lieutenant, to where Buster had fallen, his arm blackened and slickened with blood. Her heart stopped and she felt breathless. A surgeon was working on the arm already and Colonel Chamberlain was sitting right next to the old Irishman, holding his uninjured hand.
"Buster….." Margaret whispered as she knelt next to the man. His eyes turned towards her, and she wanted to throw up at the sight of the fog that drifted over those old irises. "How are you doing, old friend?"
There was the huff of a laugh from the old man, a breathy sound that had a husky undernote to it. "They couldn't seem to hardly miss…. Twice, would you believe it. For the love of Mary, twicet."
He probably saw the exhaustion and sadness in her eyes and gave her a rough-looking smile.
"And how are you, Maggie darlin'? This fine day?"
A tear fell from her eyes as she nodded. "We did it, Buster. We won the day."
"Aye, we did. Your father will be proud." Kilrain tried to move a bloody finger. He winced. "In the armpit. For the love of God. 'He died of his wounds, in the bloody bleedin' armpit!' Ak."
"Don't move." Margaret ordered the man gently. She glanced upward at Colonel Chamberlain. "How bad?"
The blond man glanced at the surgeon who answered, "It's an arm."
"By God…. I think you'll live."
Chamberlain's reassurance didn't make Margaret feel any better. The cold weight settled further into her stomach.
"Only an arm…. Got to lose something, might's well be an arm. Can part with that easier than the other mechanics of nature and thass'he truf." Buster's words were slurring slightly now. He was extremely pale. "Used to worry, you know? Only thing ever worried really. Losing wrong part. I could do with a nip right now."
His eyes closed, his voice becoming plaintive.
"I'll see what I can do." Colonel Chamberlain assured.
"You do pretty good."
Colonel smiled tightly, and with some tears in his eyes, he stood and limped off to find something medicinal. Margaret stayed with the old family friend.
"This army was blessed….."
"Buster, please take it easy."
"Want you to know. Just in case. That I have never served…." Buster paused for a breath, put out the bloody hand. "That I have never served with a better friend. Want you to know. Want to thank…. you."
Margaret had stopped fighting the tears and instead let them fall freely. "Don't talk like that, friend. Where's that fighting spirit, huh?"
"Well, I've seen them run." Kilrain said dreamily. "Glory be. Thanks to you, Maggie, we watched them run. Lived long enough to see the Rebs run. Come the Millenium. Did you see them run, Maggie darlin'?"
"I did. You did good, Kilrain."
"I got one fella. Raggedy fella. Beautiful offhand shot, if I say so meself."
Margaret glanced upward, noting that most everyone was moving off. She needed to stay with them, and trust that Buster was going to make it. Margaret squeezed his hand and whispered, "I've got to go, Buster."
"He was drawn' a bead on the Colonel. I got him with one quick shot offhand. Oh lovely." Kilrain sighed. "Loveliest shot I ever made."
"I'll be back in a little while Buster. Promise."
Buster's eyes slid shut, drifting off towards sleep. His pale face relaxed, the lines on his face disappearing. Margaret wiped some of the tears away, as she stood, nodding to the surgeon to keep working on him. The man thankfully nodded.
Margaret jogged off, following Colonel Chamberlain who had returned to along the low stone wall. Most of the dead around the area were covered, mostly, with blankets and shelter halves, but some of them were still dying and there were groups of men clustered here and there. Margaret's stomach tightened dangerously as she took in the faces of the wounded, while some of them didn't have faces or parts of their bodies had been blown away. There was one young man who looked to be about her son's age, whose entire left body was gone, and his eyes…his eyes were pale and staring off into some unseeing thing.
And for the first time in her entire career as an Assassin, Margaret threw up.
Lieutenant Chamberlain found her standing next to her vomit, hacking up the last of the chunks. She heard him approach and stood straighter to greet him. He gave her a sip of some rum. It felt good, running down her throat and settling in her almost empty belly.
"We've got prisoners." He informed her, ticking the numbers off his fingers. "Prisoners from the Fifteenth Alabama, the Forty-Seventh Alabama, the Fourth and Fifth Texas. We fought four Reb regiments."
"That would equate to about two thousand men." Margaret chuckled lightly as she wiped the last of the vomit from her lips. "I have to admit, I'm impressed."
"And we've got five hundred prisoners."
"What about the casualties?"
Tom's face darkened. "I still have to check."
"I'm sure your brother would appreciate the initiative."
The man gave her a two-fingered salute before lumbering off. Margaret gave a small smile as she scanned the area, looking at the Colonel who stood amidst some other colonels. At first, she told herself to give the man some privacy, but then she figured she might as well.
She's already put herself out there.
"You're not regular army?" she heard one colonel ask as she approached.
"No, sir." Colonel Chamberlain replied.
The man glanced him over, before a light sparked in his eyes. "Oh, yes. You're the professor. Uhm…. what did you teach?"
"Rhetoric, sir."
"Really?" the man romanced. "Amazing. Where'd you get the idea to charge?"
This time Margaret spoke up. "They were out of ammunition, sir."
It was then that the men noticed her presence. Margaret bowed her hooded head, keeping her head lowered just enough for the men to see her grey eyes and nothing else. But they recognized that by her voice she was a woman and politely tipped their hats to her.
"Colonel Rice, at your service ma'am."
"Pleasure is all mine, Colonel Rice."
Colonel Rice turned towards Colonel Chamberlain. "So, you fixed bayonets."
"There didn't seem to be any other alternatives."
Colonel Rice just chuckled, shaking his head. Margaret took in the small crowd, and after politely excusing herself, she marched off. She didn't know where she was going, didn't know what she could do in the moment, except watching the men move around the area. Margaret nodded her head to a young man guarding some prisoners, and decided he looked like he could use a small sip of water.
"Greetings, young man." She greeted as she approached, offering her canteen to the young man.
"Ma'am." He said as he took the canteen. He glanced at the canteen, shooting his eyes over at the line of prisoners, and hten to her before leaning over to whisper, "I'd stay back if I were you, ma'am. I'm guarding these men with an empty musket."
Margaret's eyes went wide as she leaned in a whispered back, in a slightly jovial tone, "I'd keep that to myself, soldier."
"That's what Colonel Chamberlain said."
Margaret chuckled as she patted the boy on the back before moving off. She lingered on a ridge, overlooking the valley below her. She removed her hood, allowing the sweat that had collected on her brow to be cooled by the stale breeze that was coming from the west. Margaret took a moment, to close her eyes and to ground herself as her thoughts swirled around her mind….
There were footsteps behind her..
"Excuse me ma'am. Just want to let you know that we're moving off."
And she tensed. Margaret, despite the heat and humidity of the day, felt a cold ball of foreboding settling within her stomach. She couldn't bring herself to turn around and face the speaker of that soothing Irish accent that she had come to know through her married life.
"Madame? Are you well?" the person asked.
He's going to find out sooner or later…..Her aunt's voice echoed throughout her mind as she slowly turned around….and faced her husband.
"Hello Lionel."